Winter Is Coming

Winter is Coming
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/46912876.
Rating: Explicit
Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of
Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Category: F/M
Fandoms: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, House of the Dragon (TV)
Relationships: Sansa Stark/Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen, Cregan Stark & Sansa Stark,
Sara Snow & Cregan Stark & Sansa Stark, Jon Snow & Cregan Stark,
Jon Snow & Sansa Stark, Aegon II Targaryen & Aemond Targaryen &
Daeron Targaryen & Helaena Targaryen & Rhaenyra Targaryen, Criston
Cole/Alicent Hightower, Daemon Targaryen/Rhaenyra Targaryen,
Cregan Stark & Jacaerys Velaryon, Baela Targaryen/Jacaerys Velaryon,
Rhaena Targaryen (Daughter of Daemon) & Lucerys Velaryon (Son of
Rhaenyra), Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen & Daemion Velaryon (Son of
Vaemond)
Characters: Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen, Sansa Stark, Cregan Stark, Sara Snow,
Daemion Velaryon (Son of Vaemond), Aliandra Martell, Jon Snow,
Roderick Dustin, Rickon Stark (Son of Cregan), Vaemond Velaryon,
Helaena Targaryen, Jacaerys Velaryon, Lucerys Velaryon (Son of
Rhaenyra), Corlys "The Sea Snake" Velaryon, Joffrey Velaryon, Daemon
Targaryen, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Aegon II Targaryen, Aegon III
Targaryen, Viserys I Targaryen, Viserys II Targaryen, Daeron I
Targaryen, Alicent Hightower, Otto Hightower, Arryk Cargyll, Erryk
Cargyll, Rhaenys Targaryen Velaryon, Baela Targaryen, Rhaena
Targaryen (Daughter of Daemon)
Additional Tags: Time Travel, The Old Gods (A Song of Ice and Fire), Magic, Maesters
(A Song of Ice and Fire), High Valyrian (A Song of Ice and Fire), The
North is Powerful (A Song of Ice and Fire), The North Remembers (A
Song of Ice and Fire), Religious Conflict, Manipulative Aemond "One-
Eye" Targaryen, Obsessive Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen, Aemond
"One-Eye" Targaryen is Bad at Feelings, Warg Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark
Deserves Better, War, Westerosi Politics, Westeros (A Song of Ice and
Fire), House Martell's Water Gardens (A Song of Ice and Fire), Dornish
Culture & Customs (A Song of Ice and Fire), Northern Culture &
Customs (A Song of Ice and Fire), Valyrian Magic (A Song of Ice and
Fire), Pre-The Dance of the Dragons | Aegon II Targaryen v. Rhaenyra
Targaryen Era, Arranged Marriage, Slow Burn, Eventual Romance, The
Greens | Aegon II Targaryen's Faction, The Blacks | Rhaenyra
Targaryen's Faction, Friendship/Love, Dysfunctional Family, Jon & Sara
Snow are Starks
Language: English
Series: Part 3 of Wolves Amongst Dragons
Stats:
Published: 2023-05-03 Completed: 2023-11-30 Words: 338,344
Chapters: 53/53
Winter is Coming
by BluBooThalassophile
Summary
The match was arranged to save the Realm, a match between Lady Sansa Stark and Prince
Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen, in the summer of the year 128 AC. Despite the celebrations
of the coming Royal Wedding the South faces civil war and a succession crisis which is
meant to tear the dynasty of the Targaryens asunder, but it is all carefully concealed as a
rising faction gives way between the Greens and Blacks. While Prince Aemond struggles to
balance secrets and duty in face of the ruination the Targaryen dynasty faces.
Let it be known, no good ever came from a Stark coming South.
Notes
Edits for Wolves Amongst Dragons will be happening Friday and Saturday, but for now, I see
no harm in posting this.
It will be much slower in the update department, I am working on The Secret & the Legacy
also, but I see no harm in sharing this earlier than expected.
Prologue I
13th Day of the 7th Lunar Cycle, Year 127 AC
Vaemond watched his son, Daeron pacing nervously as his wife was laboring. There was
nothing they could do at this time but wait. Since the Death of Lady Arra Stark though,
Vaemond had firmly refused to permit maesters near his gooddaughter, or any of the women
in his household. Daemion’s recounting of what had happened with Lady Stark was too eerie
to ever desire or trust the maesters to be true of intentions and act in the correct interests
of mother and child, so he had consulted with old midwives and healing specialists for his
son’s wife. His first grandchild was coming into this world alive, and their mother would be
alive as well if Vaemond had any say in the matter!
“Lord Corlys Velaryon is here,” the steward said.
“What, now?” Daeron sputtered as he lifted his head, the fear and anxiety was obvious over
Vaemond’s eldest’s face.
“I’ll deal with him father,” Daemion said as he stood.
“No, stay with your brother,” Vaemond ordered softly as he looked at his sons. “I will
manage my brother.”
He was a bit surprised to see his brother coming to his home, as it was on the other side of
Driftmark for the express purpose of getting away from Corlys and his family. Walking
through his home, he walked down the steps, outside, where he saw his brother being assisted
out of a carriage. He raised his brow seeing Corlys so… well, it had been nearly two years
since he’d last seen his brother, and then Corlys was a weak, dying man. Naturally his brother
would rise again, which was fine, but Vaemond was uninterested. His brother had not ever
bothered to do things simply, and Vaemond would not concede to his fool of a brother’s
whims, particularly regarding his petition.
“Brother,” Corlys greeted as he walked forward, leaning heavily on his cane.
“Lord Corlys,” he greeted his brother as he stood there watching Corlys struggle to walk
again.
“It has been too long,” Corlys smiled as he made his way up the steps.
“Yes, it has, now is not an appropriate time brother,” Vaemond stated.
“Is there something amiss?” Corlys asked.
“No.”
“Then perhaps it is time for us to speak, I have only just now been permitted to leave that
accursed sickbed!” Corlys huffed.
“Mmmm, no, this is not a good time,” Vaemond countered firmly. He was surprised when his
brother looked wounded at his statement.
“Brother…”
“I believe you should go, I must attend to my family at this time,” Vaemond said firmly.
“We are family.”
“You have not been my brother in some time, I advise you to attend to your own, and I’ll
attend to mine,” Vaemond stated.
“Vaemond,” Corlys pleaded. “I wish to speak on the contracts you have made in my
absence.”
“Those contracts are not yours, brother, they are made in faith on my House and Name, they
are made through my ventures, and trade, and even supported by my ships and crews, you
have nothing to do with them and will not be profiting off of them,” he assured firmly. “They
are not your contracts to oversee or venture forth into.”
“I… I meant no offense brother, we had always operated our trade as one,” Corlys
stammered.
“I must look after my own, as you have decided brother, and thus part from you in business,”
Vaemond stated. “I had filed and reformed the necessary documents and had them signed by
the Royal Courts.”
“You will need a business partner no doubt,” Corlys smiled slyly.
“I have a business partner, and several investors whom have assisted me, this is not a matter
of your concern Corlys, and as I said, brother, it is not a time for you to be here, nor a time to
speak on this matter, you must go, now,” Vaemond stated firmly.
“Vaemond, I heard about your petition,” Corlys said softly. “I know about what happened in
Court, and I have come to beseech you for us to have peace, brother.”
“Peace!?” Vaemond snarled. “You dare to come here, knowing what I have said and knowing
what your gooddaughter would do, and daring to insult me and mine to our faces with
those… those… those boys as your heirs!”
“Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey are my blood brother!”
“They are no more yours than Rhaenys was Queen!” he seethed. “You have chosen your
path, brother, and I will not watch all we have built collapse into ruin and destitution to
appease you and your wounded pride. Was the price of Laena and Laenor not high enough for
you?” he demanded.
“Do not speak of them as if they were a cost, they were everything!” Corlys snarled.
“And you insult them, by following the farce Rhaenyra has presented as a truth, when eyes
cannot lie brother, but you persist in believing this foolishness!”
“I am trying to do what is best for our House!”
“Yourself and your legacy, while our House must suffer the consequences, I will have no
more of it brother, not until you acknowledge the damage and reality your wounded pride is
inflicting upon your House. Until that time, we have nothing more to discuss,” Vaemond
stated.
“Brother,” Corlys sighed. “We are of House Velaryon, we should be united in the face of a
storm.”
Vaemond said nothing more, but rather he walked into his house, shutting the door behind
him without inviting Corlys in. Vaemond walked for his sons again, when he heard a scream
of a laboring woman, mingled with the loud piercing cry of a baby. Vaemond started running
the empty halls, coming around the bend.
“It’s a girl!” Daeron appeared, a wild, wide grin on his face, and Vaemond’s own smile
bloomed seeing his son so happy.
“It’s a girl! Hazel and the baby are fine!” he said as he rushed Vaemond.
“That is splendid!” Vaemond chuckled as he was herded to the birthing chambers. He walked
in to see his gooddaughter in the pillows of her bed, still looking exhausted, and covered in
sweat, her hair was matted, and messy, but she was smiling brightly as she held the bundle in
her arms.
“A little girl!” he smiled as he came over to the pair.
The girl had coffee colored skin with a head of thick silver curls, and a face of divine beauty,
the Maiden herself would be envious gazing upon this girl. He smiled at his first
granddaughter.
“Would you like to hold her, father?” Daeron asked.
“I believe for now she should stay with her mother, son, but I would like to hold her very
much in time,” he said as he looked at young Hazel who sagged in her pillows in obvious
relief. “She is an unbelievably beautiful girl; let us let Hazel be attended to. Daeron, stay with
Hazel, Daemion, we have business to address, we will visit in a few hours,” he assured.
He smiled as he walked out of the room and looked at his son who was grinning.
“What business do we have, father?”
“Lord Beesbury has written about the arrangements of the wedding between Prince Aemond
and Lady Sansa, it appears Prince Aemond does not have any friends, and is not inclined to
make appointments to his inner circle, given you and he are… friends, to assist in managing
the stresses of this affair, Lord Beesbury is hopeful to appoint some young Southron men to
Prince Aemond’s inner circle, given he is unusually… solitary by princely standards, and he
has only openly been friendly with Northerners,” Vaemond explained.
“Aemond is an uniquely strong-willed young man,” Daemion said calmly. Vaemond smirked
in agreement, Aemond’s will, and fortitude were becoming something of a delightful surprise
to the Court and Realm. Everyone had thought the boy a halfwit or addled of mind but now
that Aemond had revealed what he hid, everyone was startled and yet, his icy façade
continued with a severity which kept everyone at bay still. But everyone saw him now.
Vaemond was surprised at how Aemond was building his reputation, rather unwittingly,
whether he was aware of it or not. Aemond did not seem overly concerned with what others
thought of him, or he fancied himself invisible still, but regardless, Aemond was something
of an interesting topic as of late.
“And in need of allies, who are not solely of his soon to be goodbrother’s Realm,” Vaemond
pointed out seriously.
“And who else is Lord Beesbury requesting to be Aemond’s lords?” Daemion asked in
amusement.
“A few lords, all of various Houses, Aemond has not responded to these, so, it is in hopes of
your existing friendship, you might… assist the young Prince in managing his duties,”
Vaemond chuckled.
“Aemond’s going to feed someone to Vhagar soon if they don’t leave him alone,” Daemion
chuckled. “He was never particularly friendly and never received attention well, no doubt it is
making him uneasy. But… he is calm, and I do find his company entertaining, besides, I am
in need of seeking out my own wife and way, so perhaps this is a good opportunity to be
had.”
“Thank you,” Vaemond chuckled. Daemion had been thriving this past year with his well
negotiated stake in the North, as well as venturing out on his own to negotiate other business
deals and captain his own ship, similar to Daeron’s own ventures, but it would still do
Daemion great good to assist Aemond in King’s Landing. “Lady Stark has officially obtained
her Ladies in Waiting, not permitting Southron ties in her ranks, it will be important we
maintain a connection with Aemond.”
“I know,” Daemion smiled. “I will attempt to introduce him to some of my friends in Court,
and perhaps assist him in building a council he can trust, we know he will be intermingling
with Lord Stark’s men and council, so I will pick men who are of the fortitude and
understanding that the North is important to Aemond.”
“They do not have to be of the Great Houses, son,” Vaemond pointed out.
“Perhaps, perhaps not, I will attempt to do this in a Northern manner and not offend
Aemond.”
“That is all we ask,” Vaemond chuckled. The wedding would be a true display of Aemond
and his capabilities. A Prince who obtained an entire Realm on a marriage match, no one in
history had obtained such a dowry, and in turn nothing of monetary value to the Realm was
given as a Bride’s Price, it was almost… romantic, for everything about the match had value,
but none of it monetary. The Realm would not gain from nor suffer from the addition of the
New Gift, the Realm did not gain nor suffer under the Night’s Watch abolishing of accepting
murderers and rapists, and yet, the Realm did gain everything with the North being the
dowry. It was impressive. No one woman was ever worth the price of an entire Realm’s
fealty. Their match was already a legend, and it had barely even begun.
Lady Sansa Stark, the Red Wolf of the North, it was said her hair turned red after falling in
love with Prince Aemond Targaryen, that she’d been kissed by fire and the love had seared
her very appearance. The Realm loved a good love story, so they said the Prince was kissed
by ice, and thus his silvery hair was white, despite his Targaryen appearance, it was said the
Red Wolf left her mark upon the Dragon Prince. (Vaemond knew Aemond wore a braid now
with ribbons from Lady Sansa at the end, the token was probably the only outward mark
Lady Sansa left upon Aemond.)
All fanciful romanticizing by the smallfolk, but nonetheless, it had started gaining validity
and traction. A Prince kissed by Ice, his Lady love kissed by Fire, the romance had all but
written itself. Vaemond had had extraordinarily little to promote, though he had
commissioned a few bards to write of the love, and spread the tale, privately of course. Good
publicity spoke for itself, especially as the tales fluttered down from the North about Lady
Arra Stark’s death and how Aemond had protected and comforted the aggrieved Starks in
their time of need. Of course he and Daemion had assisted in spreading the word about how
Aemond had broken down the door to the birthing chamber to try to save Lady Arra, and
when that failed, how he protected Lord Stark’s only son, and sisters.
There was a separate ballad Vaemond had commissioned, again, in secret, for the love and
loss of Lord Stark and his late wife, Lady Arra, the Wolf and Huntress was an epic ballad. It
was full of their love, and history that Vaemond could find out and it had built up on its own
until the end which ended in the death of Lady Arra at the hand of the Maester, and Lord
Stark tearing the head of the maester off his body. The tragic ballad was surprisingly popular
with the smallfolk and the romance was growing, as the Realm was grieving with Lord Stark
for his late wife.
The results of Vaemond’s initial secret publicity attempts though had been surprising. People
were absolutely falling out of favor with Rhaenyra and Aegon as a whole, but also, they were
seeing Aemond. It was a surprising twist of events, because Vaemond had initially thought
that it would be more difficult to get people to notice Aemond as anything other than the
forgotten second son of a Foolish King. The people though were noticing Aemond. Vaemond
wondered how well though and wanted to have Daemion venture to King’s Landing to
evaluate the waters in a manner of speaking. They would need powerful allies if they even
wanted to back Aemond, it would be a time to gauge how Aemond was received by the
Noble Houses as a whole.
“He is not going to like this,” Daemion chuckled.
“He does what is best for the Realm though, so he will have to learn to adapt,” Vaemond
predicted. Aemond probably would adapt to it, especially with a wife like Lady Sansa and
Lord Stark as a goodbrother.
21st Day of the 12th Lunar Cycle, Year 127 AC
The year 127 AC was eventful. Particularly since the announcement of the Targaryen Prince,
Prince Aemond, him, his… his wedding, he wanted to tear his hair out. Aemond had
predicted that his match to Sansa would be received… but not to this degree. Bloody fucking
hell, one would think the heir was getting married! And worse, Aemond was certain someone
was pulling strings behind his back to make it so, he didn’t know who, but on more than one
occasion when he had to endure time with the King, the King said how delighted he was for
Rhaenyra’s wedding. Aemond had repeatedly corrected his father about who was getting
married, but his statements fell on deaf ears, much to his annoyance.
It was one thing to plan a Royal Wedding, it was an entirely different matter to plan a
Wedding for the Heir, and it vexed Aemond that despite all his bloody objections, this
wedding was getting ridiculously out of hand!
One could never say Aemond didn’t try to course correct this matter, but the fucking idiot
King wouldn’t butt out of affairs he’d had nothing to do with in the seventeen years Aemond
had lived! Fucking hells! Aemond had never actively wanted his father to drop dead, but he
did now, he would even arrange the meeting with the gods if needed because gods help him,
this wedding was too much.
The first problems cropped up when his wedding was announced, his match to Lady Sansa
Stark, it was now that Aemond was under scrutiny he’d never been under before. He’d had
work to do, and all of a sudden young Lords, who had never paid Aemond any mind wanted
to take Aemond hunting, or sparring, or discuss philosophy, history, or other nonsense
Aemond had once desperately wanted to be a part of but now did not want to join. It
unnerved him how many people now wanted his attention, or his time, and it made him want
to disappear. The other half of the problem with the Lords now wanting his time and attention
were the Ladies who also wanted his time and attentions. Particularly his sweet cousin
Bethany Hightower who had come to King’s Landing to be Helaena’s lady in waiting, and
same with Lady Cassandra Baratheon, and Ladies Cerelle, Tyshara, and Myranda, as well as
a few other women of lesser Noble Houses.
Aemond did not know if people were willfully determined to be a nuisance to him, and
attempting to sabotage his match, but it vexed him having so many ladies in waiting now
around, and worse, vying for his attention. He was getting married! Had they no shame!?
The second problem for Aemond came in the form of ending his relations with Gwyn Snow,
which was not a massive problem. Until he was all but forbidden from training, riding,
sparring, and anything that might get him killed. Aemond didn’t like being inactive on
principle, but to be forbidden explicitly from everything he genuinely enjoyed, it pissed him
off and he didn’t like having pent up energy. Given his agreement to marry, he had no
intentions of breaking his word of fidelity to Sansa, but godsdamnit he had energy to burn
and tensions mounting and he was ready to tear apart the Red Keep to escape. He wanted to
do something, anything, he hated having everyone try to contain him, and it pissed him off
knowing he had this much attention on him. No one had ever given a single fuck what he was
doing so long as he was exactly where he was supposed to be when he was supposed to be
there, and they were now fucking with his personal time! Something of which he had little of
and liked to spend doing something to get his pent-up frustrations out of his system.
He would make it to the twelfth lunar cycle of the year before he finally lost his temper in full
and escaped on Vhagar’s back.
The third problem came in the form of Lucerys Velaryon. Aemond had to remind himself he
was not permitted to kill the whelp because it would cause a civil war! But Holy Shit! Did He
Ever Want To! It didn’t help Lord Corlys Velaryon had awoken from his wounds and Lucerys
was in the Red Keep rather than at Driftmark learning how to be Lord of the Tides, fucking
bastard was making Aemond’s life miserable.
It had started when his uncle, sister and their brood of brats had returned from the North.
Lucerys had plenty of minor comments, which while as a whole were not damaging, were
vexing, primarily to Aemond. The little brat had then proceeded to spread a wild rumor
through the Red Keep that Aemond had fucked Lady Sansa and they were being wed for that,
which provoked Lady Cassandra and cousin Bethany to be more… promiscuous, towards
Aemond. Then the little shit had proceeded to rub it in Aemond’s face he got to train and
Aemond didn’t, which was irritating, but primarily, any time Aemond even set foot near the
training grounds, Lucerys would make a comment on Aemond’s delicate constitution and
how he shouldn’t be training. That would usually have all of the Kingsguard escorting
Aemond away from training. Then the little shit would torment Aemond all through the
insufferable family dinners he had to attend with Rhaenyra’s brats. Every crude joke, form of
mockery, and torment which could be dealt would be dealt, including Lucerys having pig and
boar served every. Single. Night. Because that was his favorite dish and the King wanted
Rhaenyra’s brats happy.
The biggest and most humiliating moment for Aemond though came in Court. Other Houses
had taken to presenting Aemond with early Wedding Gifts for his new House, and new Bride,
and during this presentation, Lucerys had thought it amusing to present Aemond with swine,
before the Courts, claiming it would be a dreadful atrocity not to have something to keep his
new House fed.
The only reason Aemond did not lunge at the brat and kill him was because that was the
moment Lord Velaryon and his House arrived. Aemond was so startled at how the Velaryons
swept into Court he had forgotten to thank Lucerys for his thoughtless and insulting gift.
Princesses Baela and Rhaena had presented Aemond with a few gifts, and Lord Corlys had
even presented him with a gift for his bride, which surprised Aemond greatly, though he
didn’t react.
The arrival of the Velaryons though put an end to most of Lucerys’ antics, it appeared Lord
Corlys was taking control of Aemond’s nephew.
The fourth problem for Aemond came in the form of Aegon and controlling his brother, who
was being particularly difficult to manage, it was enough to have Aemond wanting to just
feed Aegon to Sunfyre and be done with it. His brother was being particularly insufferable as
of late, and Aemond was exhausted by it.
With all of the wedding plans, and inquiries, as well as the unexpected demand Aemond
found his own House in the New Gift, he did not have time to even examine or investigate
the records like he had wanted to.
His uncle’s clause in that bloody contract to found a new cadet branch House of both House
Targaryen and House Stark was unexpected, and while Aemond had initially overlooked that
clause he was hit in full force of what that entailed. The North was swift to have a Keep
surveyed, near a volcano and located near other well-known hot springs, in the mountains
and heavy forests, they had a massive weirwood untouched which Aemond had agreed to for
the location of the Keep. And then the plans had poured in. Aemond was surprised at how
swiftly Starks arranged designs of the Keep for him, and worse, he knew what they were
after. A fortress, they were going to make the Targaryens well and truly pay for this. Not that
Aemond minded, but he was surprised at the sophistication of the plans.
These were plans they claimed were of the origins of Brandon the Builder, there were parts of
the plans redacted, or not shared in fear of the South obtaining and abusing the designs, but
Aemond mostly agreed with the designs. From the massive Glass Garden, they wanted to
construct, to constructing the fortress around the Godswood. The Keep would be made of the
white stones of the mountains, and steel, while also having that Southron element, which
Aemond had sent them some basic concept plans of the Red Keep that he knew of for
inspiration. When the castle was finished it was predicted by the North to be bigger than the
Red Keep, and would be about the size of Winterfell, possibly bigger, depending on how they
built around the mountainous terrain and the Godswood. Aemond would have been happy
living in a shack at this point, so long as he got the hell out of Court! Gods be merciful, he
just wanted some bloody peace!
The plans for the castle, which did not yet have a name at this moment, was for it to be a
fortress, and castle, and home. The Starks had modeled it off of Winterfell but had been open
to his suggestions for some Targaryen elements. The plans had been agreed upon, it was
predicted, even with Northern ingenuity it would take about five to ten years to build, though
the primary living areas would be completed by year 129 AC provided the weather held true.
Aemond was curious how it would be built, but he also was too busy to focus on those plans.
Instead, he and Sansa had come to a compromise where she would manage setting up their
residence and home, and he would attempt to keep the Realm in check and manage their
wedding.
Aemond also had to found a House, which was a daunting prospect, though he had consulted
Sansa for ideas.
Ultimately though he had presented two acceptable surnames with the compromise that their
seal would have Vhagar’s silhouette in exchange for these names. One was Frostfyre, which
despite being a Northern flower, it was the name of her wolf, and did represent the joining of
their Houses in that unique balance. The bonus of the flower being Northern and thus and
easy color to select; red. The other name he had proposed was Zokla, which was wolf in High
Valyrian, and in true, Northern fashion, it was simple, short, and to the point, it would honor
Sansa’s Stark heritage and his Valyrian heritage, while their emblem would again have
Vhagar’s silhouette, but also a red wolf.
The colors of the emblem had long since been agreed upon with blue, red, white, silver and
bronze, and obviously she had agreed to Vhagar’s silhouette as a part of their emblem.
Aemond was appreciative of her willingness to use Vhagar in their emblem, so he was
attempting to make a conscious effort to found the House in a more Stark manner. Also, the
Starks were obviously doing something right if they had a dynasty that was millenniums old,
while House Targaryen was barely a century old.
With them agreeing to that, Aemond moved forward with an uncertain name possibility
which Sansa would be presenting to the North for approval.
And he was genuinely surprised when, with Lord Corlys Velaryon came Daemion Velaryon.
True, Aemond had spent time with Daemion in the North, and found the man not intolerable,
and rather intelligent, he was uncertain what to expect from the Velaryons as a whole, so he
was wary about the man skulking about. Particularly around him, though, Daemion was not
as loud, boisterous or demanding as some of the other lords who had come to Court. Why
couldn’t people leave him alone?
Which was where Aemond was today as he looked over the old ledgers he had copied from
the North, remaining in the library this day. Daemion Velaryon was there, reading over his
own contracts and reports, and neither had spoken to the other, though Daemion seemed to be
running interference for Aemond, which made Aemond wary. However, he was reading over
the ledgers from Lord Beesbury, and focusing on the North’s mismanaged records instead at
this moment, so he gave little thought to what Daemion Velaryon was doing.
The records were not just mismanaged, there was embezzling happening, which he had
confirmed with Lord Beesbury when he had looked over the records, but the money simply
vanished. Aemond was starting to think he would need to go to the Citadel to figure out if the
Maesters were the root cause, and if they were, what was he to do. Yes, the Maesters were the
agents for tax collecting and recording the records for the Realm, but he wondered if they
were not as neutral as the Realm had believed. But if the money was not going to the
Maesters, where was it going? How many Realms were afflicted with this problem? Aemond
had found that the sums being moved while great, were not great enough to stir notice, and it
was unsettling the casualness to which it was all being moved. The North’s records indicated
that this had been happening during the reign of King Jaehaerys at the very least.
“Whatever it is, my prince, it will have to wait until the morrow,” Daemion spoke, and
Aemond tore his gaze up from what he was reading to look at the Velaryon.
“Hm?” He looked around the library.
“You’ve been summoned,” Daemion stated. Aemond frowned as he looked up at the other
man.
“What?”
“The King wishes to speak with you,” Daemion sighed. “Ser Cargyll came to collect you.”
Aemond now noticed one of the twins and rubbed his temple as he closed his eye. Fuck.
What the fuck did Viserys want now!? Closing out his work, he collected his notes and put
them away as he put them in his satchel he’d been carrying before getting up and walking out
with Cargyll.
4th Day of the 1st Lunar Cycle, Year 128 AC
There was a desolate forest, the winds blew around her as she stood in a field of ice, the red
strands of hair were pulled on the winds. The songs were bright, and pure with a small eerie
sound, it felt like there was a yearning in her heart. Stepping over the ice, she shivered as she
walked through the forest, a caw of a three eye raven drew her eye, as she walked, there were
a fluttering of some black feathers.
Slowly she walked through the forest, winding her way through the limbs and trees, then she
stopped at a massive weirwood, the largest she had ever seen as the face turned to her.
It wasn’t a weirwood though… there was a boy in the tree with a crown of ice atop his curly
head, pale silvery-lilac eyes bright as a sharp smile pulled on his lips, Ice was set before him,
a swirl of mist as a pack of wolves started howling as there was a rumble as a massive
shadow shifted through the mist.
Her eyes widened as the eyes of the shadow opened.
It was the sight of the weirwood’s eyes opening with the Night King’s blue eyes. She screamed
for the boy to get down, get away, the Night King stepped out of the weirwood as the boy
turned from where he sat to look at the Night King. It was when the Night King raised his
sword that she ran forward, screaming, the boy turned with a wolfish smile on his lips.
Gasping, she bolted upright in bed, hugging Frostfyre as her heart was pounding painfully in
her chest. Releasing a shuddering breathe she slowly fell back into the pillows. Groaning, she
rubbed the heels of her palms into her eyes, as she looked around her room. Frostfyre nudged
her arm, and Sansa smiled as she scratched the soft, velvety ear. Getting up, she slipped from
her bed, grabbing a robe as she moved her hair loose from the tangled mess from around her
shoulder.
The dream had been getting more intense lately, she dragged her fingers through her hair as
she looked out the window of her room, she rubbed her hand over her chest as she closed her
eyes. Sansa took a few controlled deep breaths as she counted them. When her heart was no
longer hammering painfully in her ribs, she looked out the window again.
Dreams were never clear for her, but lately they had been most strange, particularly when she
dreamt she was Frostfyre running through the Godswood, or a small bird fluttering about.
Those dreams felt so livid and real, she couldn’t seem to pull them apart, uncertain what was
dream and real.
However, the dreams with the boy… those were different.
The boy never looked the same, though he had a crown of ice atop his head and his eyes were
a pale silvery lilac, everything else about the boy changed. Sometimes he had dark auburn
hair which looked like a flame, other times he had black hair and wild curls, and sometimes
he appeared to be carved of ice itself. She didn’t understand it.
There was a knock on her door, and she turned to see Elissa there.
“Morning,” Sansa smiled at her good sister. Since the announcement of her marriage to
Prince Aemond was known in the Realm, Sansa had been beseeched by women to be her
Ladies in Waiting; Houses from all of Westeros had sent her petitions and offers with their
daughters to be her ladies in waiting. Not that Sansa had dared to take any of those offers.
She wasn’t foolish enough to welcome a snake into her home.
The North was where Sansa looked for her Ladies, not to be mistaken with Ladies in Waiting,
it was similar to a position in the North, it was akin to Ladies in Waiting but with an added
requirement which made the women not Ladies in Waiting. Sansa had naturally selected her
Ladies with care, selecting both of Lord Norrey’s daughters, and her good sisters, Elissa and
Orrina, Bryan’s sister Mira, Lord Reed’s daughter Torrha, and Domeron’s cousin, Gwyn.
They had made up Sansa’s ladies, she had selected them for a myriad of reasons, but
primarily, she found their company pleasant and not overwhelming. None of them reminded
her of Margaery Tyrell or Myrcella Baratheon, and she wasn’t Shae, Sansa had purposely
picked Northern women with no influence of the South, she wanted to make a point when she
went South with them.
Sara had also been given Ladies, now that she was a Stark, she was expected to have these
Ladies. Lord Mormont’s daughter, Taria, Lord Umber’s daughter, Arrana, and Lord Glover’s
niece, Gilliane. Those three ladies were a handful and kept up with Sara’s antics as a wildling
essentially, though they would come to heel when called upon.
None of these girls had any Southron influence, and Sansa intended to keep it that way, they
were Northerners and would present themselves as such. Maester Garrett had hated Lady
Arra for being a Northern Lady, so the North would not cow to Southron ideals, instead,
Sansa had purposely selected her Ladies to be the most Northern and from the most powerful
Northern Families.
Lord Manderly had graciously understood, and expressed hopes that in the future the House
Manderly might have better standing in the North, they were discreetly sending the septons,
septas, and maesters back having wanted to gain Cregan’s favor. Not that they had lost
Cregan’s favor, but the North’s immediate disdain for all things regarding the Faith and
maesters for the death of Lady Arra had left the Manderlys wanting to assimilate to the North
rather than keep their Southron traditions. Which surprised Sansa, if she was honest, because
she never truly understood the Manderlys they had never changed their name, despite their
history and few survivors, and essentially being a cadet branch of the original House
Manderly after fleeing the Reach and many dying out along the way; including the first born
heirs and leaders of the House Manderly. No, they had never strove for their independence
from their histories or rebranding of their House; which would have been expected given they
were in exile and on the run, and dying out. Instead, they had remained House Manderly, and
it was rather like the many Flints of the North, all of whom were known cousins and family
with the other, but still Flints. House Manderly had not rebranded itself like House Karstark
had, or the extinct House Greystark, those two cadet branches of House Stark had honored
their roots while also rebranding themselves as their own branch. The Manderlys had not,
though she was uncertain if that would change.
That also brough Sansa to another problem, one which she and Aemond had both confessed
in their letters they had not actually anticipated, founding a new house, a cadet branch of
House Targaryen and House Stark, and it was… unnerving. Founding a new House, founding
a Noble new House, it was terrifying if she was honest. Cadet Houses had all the histories
and honors of their founding Houses but also had to strike their own paths; House Karstark
and House Greystark were both successful cadet branches. Until House Greystark turned on
House Stark and were eliminated. House Blackfyre was the most famous Targaryen cadet
branches, and they had… caused numerous rebellions, attempted to steal the Iron Throne, and
founded the Golden Company; it wasn’t a good look.
Gods, it was terrifying just contemplating how to form a new House, Aemond was just as
stressed about it as she was, and possibly even more so, though she couldn’t tell in his letters.
The names they had thus far for the House were… Frostfyre (yes, Aemond had slipped that
one in as an option given not only her wolf’s name, but the fact it was a combination of ice
and fire and only if she agreed to use Vhagar as their emblem) or Zokla (which meant wolf in
Valyrian, but it would mean that a dragon, again, would be their emblem as fair exchange).
They were uncertain of which was better, but she had agreed to a green, and bronze single
silhouette of a dragon, if their House name was to be Stark related.
“You’re looking rather unwell,” Elissa stated.
“Just… thinking,” she breathed as she rubbed her hand over her chest.
“About them dreams you insist you aren’t having?” Elissa chuckled. “Don’t deny it, Lady
Sansa, you’ve got the sight, and more…”
“I don’t, I’m just, anxious about the wedding. I have to respond to Aemond’s letter inquiring
about House names, and the final draft plans on our keep are being sent to him for approval,
and there’s the Dornish trade, which also has the glass production rising, I have to discuss
with some of the other Lords the transport of the glass and construction of the Glass Gardens,
and…”
“Sansa, breathe!” Elissa chuckled. “We only have to worry about one thing at a time, not all
of it at once,” she promised. “Come on, you need a bath, then we’ll work on your dress which
will help sooth you,” Elissa predicted. “Your brother wishes to discuss the names Aemond
has presented for your House as the Winter Council is here now.”
“I don’t like going South, nothing good ever comes of a Stark going South,” she muttered.
“You’ll be married, and that, is typically viewed as good,” Elissa pointed out.
Sansa didn’t disagree as she bit her lip and worried about it between her teeth. It had been
over a year since she had agreed to the marriage contract with Aemond, and it worried her as
the time to depart grew nearer, she didn’t like going South. And she couldn’t shake the
feeling that something terrible was going to happen.
Then again, she’d been married twice and both times had been dismal affairs.
Prologue II
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The spring of the year 128 AC was when the North marched South for the second time. The
arrangements at King’s Landing had taken a year to prepare, and it had been a consuming
task to prepare for the wedding which was being considered the grandest affair since Princess
Rhaenyra’s wedding.
Not that Aemond particularly cared, because his home and the court were flooded with the
entirety of Westerosi Nobility attending now. He was not pleased having his home invaded,
and worse, with so many eyes on him, he dared not risk overstepping his known role. Which
made it as if the council had stalled; Aemond was half tempted to tie Aegon to a bloody desk
and force his brother to be in a drunken stupor to pretend he was working so Aemond could
catch up on the paperwork he knew Aegon wasn’t doing. He was never going to catch up on
his work at this rate, he was dreading this wedding affair, and he was dreading the paperwork
he’d never escape. He’d barely caught up before this mess happened. Thank you, King
Viserys! There were also the million things he had been roped into assisting with regarding
planning, and Aemond did not like being in the center of attention because it made his work
so much more challenging.
But his wedding preparations needed supervision apparently because things were getting
brutally out of hand.
The fight he’d had with his mother and grandsire about the actual ceremony was well known
throughout the kingdom at this point. Despite contracts stating his wedding would not be held
in a Sept, and it would not be held by a Septon, and it would not be affiliated with the Faith,
but would rather be Northern and Valyrian ceremony, his mother had started to plan the
wedding in the sept. Aemond immediately said that would not be happening, then his
grandsire had intervened and said that Hightowers always honored the Faith. Aemond then
proceeded to point out he was not a Hightower but in fact a Targaryen, and his bride’s family
had been insulted by the Faith, to the point they had banished it from the entire North, and it
was in the contracts for this betrothal that the union would not be held in the Faith’s
standards. Ergo, he would not be marrying in a sept; not if they wanted to not insult the
Starks and start a war. When asked where he would be marrying, he said the Godswood in
the Red Keep, as per Northern custom, and they would wed by Northern customs his
grandsire and mother had turned mutinous. Then Rhaenyra had truly reminded his mother
and grandsire he would also be wed by Targaryen customs to blend the ceremony to honor
House Stark and House Targaryen, and Aemond had never heard his mother so angry in his
life. Not that anyone bothered to tell Aemond what the Targaryen customs for wedding were!
Then Rhaenyra had proposed her and her family’s aid for the wedding, in place of his
mother’s because his mother had let her fury and displeasure about the wedding be known.
That was a different war Aemond had not expected to be held over his wedding; one would
think the heir was getting married with the amount of feuding going on between the Crown,
gods save him, he wasn’t going to survive this wedding. In the end, Rhaenyra’s suggestion
was what appealed to Viserys, whose addled mind just wanted Rhaenyra happy, he’d even
said it would be so good to see Rhaenyra wed at last! She had five children already and two
husbands!
Aemond did not lose his temper, though he came very close.
When it came to colors, he had not permitted green nor black to even be entertained as any
aspect of the wedding beyond the naturally occurring creations which held the colors green
and black, which was when Ser Vaemond had arrived in King’s Landing stating blue was all
the rage. Which was not incorrect; Aemond was unsettled by the amount of blue which
seemed to be growing in the court, Aemond felt out of the loop on this new emerging trend of
blue but had more pressing concerns on his mind. In the end, red, grey, white, and blue were
the agreed upon colors for this affair, which seemed to appease everyone, except Rhaenyra
and his mother.
Then there were the matters of flowers, and High Garden had flooded the Red Keep in a sea
of flowers, so many, and it was rather unsettling. The Tyrells were very invested in Aemond’s
marriage and what it would entail for the trading opportunities in the North. He couldn’t
rightfully speak to what opportunities it would entail and left it at that.
The Lannisters brought gifts for Aemond’s bride, but Sansa was not yet here, he was
surprised though at the amount of thought which went into the gifts from Lord Jason
Lannister, his brother had apparently mentioned Lady Sansa was as radiant as the moon and
provided Aemond with a wide selection of white river pearls and small sapphires, which
were apparently Daeron’s suggestion.
The Riverlands had flooded King’s Landing with some of the finest bards in the realm, and
they were giving Aemond a headache. Not that it mattered, they bellowed and sang sonnets
about the Starks, and other parts of history. Particular favorites included The Wild Wolf’s
Huntress; Aemond was certain that ballad was about Arra and Cregan; Kissed By
Fire and Kissed By Ice; he didn’t know where those two had come from but they were
suspicious, and supposedly about himself and Sansa; The Maiden and the Dragon; which was
a twist on The Maiden and the Bear; Burning of the Ships, The Wolf’s Moon, The Dragon’s
Sun, Wolves in the Night, Wolves in the Hills, Steel Rain, and The Winter Maid. Aemond was
certain someone behind his back was orchestrating the popular bard tunes, but he couldn’t
figure out who or why, but worse, it made everyone see his match to Sansa as some great
romance which brought more torment to Aemond from Lucerys. The brat had commissioned
a band of dwarf performers to come and perform flatulent versions of all these songs;
Aemond had endured that with as much patience as he could before he slipped away from his
nephew’s laughter.
Every Great House and Noble House was here, and Aemond was getting a bloody migraine
from it, and he wondered why he hadn’t just agreed to get married in the North to begin with
and just have the bride when he had returned.
Not that it mattered, Lord Beesbury was bouncing with glee at the influx on the local
economy and had lectured Aemond multiple times how this was helping the realm. Aemond
didn’t have the heart to tell Lord Beesbury, that at this particular point, he did not care how
his union would assist the realm, the spectacle of all this was overwhelming him.
He and Lord Beesbury though had also started looking over the records he had copied last
year from the North as this year’s taxes poured in. It was surprising to Aemond at how the
numbers fluctuated so minutely it was easily missed, if not for the fact the Northern records
this year were a drastic difference from the normal. Something strange was happening with
the money, but he and Lord Beesbury could not pin it down. Though the investigation was
frequently put aside for this bloody wedding.
His eighteenth nameday was met with no fanfare, not without effort on the part of Lord
Beesbury or the Small Council though; Aemond didn’t understand their new interest in him
though. He had put his foot down firmly though because he would not cost the Realm more
money than what his wedding was costing them. It was surprising though when Aemond
received small gifts though, rarely did anyone who wasn’t his mother, Cole, or Helaena give
him anything for his nameday. Lord Beesbury had given Aemond a tome of mathematical
theories, which he found enthralling, Ser Tyland had given Aemond a new sword, and Lord
Jasper had given Aemond a few books on the laws of Westeros before Aegon’s Conquest.
Daemion Velaryon had gotten him a different book, one on the philosophies of an Old
Valyrian philosopher, Vaeleris Qohaenor, who was someone Aemond was personally
interested in, but surprised anyone had bothered to get him this book.
Unsurprisingly Helaena had given him new tunics, which he was pleased with; Jaehaera had
sewn him a messy flower on a ribbon, which he wore for her and snarled at any who dared to
mock it; Jaehaerys had given him a sloppy copy of his letters and numbers he’d been
diligently practicing; Aemond displayed it in his quarters for the children to be happy. Daeron
had sent him a new leather vest he’d commissioned in the Westerlands, it was lighter than the
Northern leathers, but it was truly nice and well designed with the primary embroidery being
blue and bronze. His mother had given him a new jacket, though she had not presented it to
him as she typically would, simply having some of her own attendants bring it to him.
Sansa was a surprise; Aemond didn’t remember telling her about his nameday, but he was
surprised when a parcel from the North appeared in his quarters with no explanation one day.
It was suspicious until he opened it to Sansa’s sewing spilling out and he shook his head at
the amount of tunics, pants, and a new jerkin he had obtained from her. He stopped though
when he saw the new sigil and smiled a bit, this was her gift and acceptance. She had melded
their House sigils near flawlessly, a silver and greyish-blue snarling dire wolf in the center,
with a green and bronze silhouette of a single headed dragon, atop a black circle. The
simplicity and beauty of the combination was comforting as he looked the sigil over, she’d
sewn her bride’s cloak and sent it to him ahead of time, and he smirked at the gift.
Cregan had sent him a book about Northern customs, as well as the update to the construction
to the new Keep. Sara had given him an obsidian dagger, which she said was made of
dragon’s glass and killed what wasn’t dead.
Overall, Aemond was pleased with the gifts he’d received, even if he was greatly surprised.
He had to double check the records for Sansa’s nameday so he might reciprocate, he was
surprised to find their name days were mere days apart. She was born the seventh day of the
second lunar cycle, he was born the last day of the first lunar cycle, their closeness in age
shocked him greatly. He had not thought their namedays so close when she had never
mentioned it. He hadn’t mentioned his either beyond how he’d manipulate records, but still,
he was surprised.
But it truly hit him how much he had lost though when his nameday passed without word
from Ser Criston Cole and his mother.
Other than the fact his sister’s entire family was in King’s Landing, including his cousin
Rhaenys and her Velaryon family, Aemond’s own relationship with his mother and Ser Cole
were growing strained. It was surprising to him how much he had relied on Ser Cole to be
there for him, even if they had never been particularly close, but now it was difficult for
Aemond because when he turned to Cole for aid, there was no one. And there was no one
because Cole was busy managing the influx of Kingsguard they’d had to select to protect
Rhaenyra’s family and Aemond’s family, and Rhaenys’ family. Aemond had never felt so
vastly and terribly alone than when he realized he couldn’t rely on his mother or Cole
anymore, and it was primarily because of Rhaenyra and Daemon remaining here in King’s
Landing!
Aemond knew he wasn’t the most social or well liked of his family, but he’d always been
able to rely on his mother and Cole when he needed someone. And since his fight with his
mother about his own wedding ceremony she had not spoken to him, and Cole was now busy
with the influx of duties and responsibilities. If Aemond didn’t have Helaena and her family,
and he would even count Lord Beesbury and Daemion Velaryon loosely, he’d be utterly
alone. Which was a horrifying realization when that reality hit him. Aemond had wanted to
isolate himself in his apartments and wallow in his loneliness, but there was work to be done,
even if he had to work around everyone.
Aemond’s loneliness and solitude were natural, but that didn’t mean he noticed them until
people he relied on weren’t his to rely upon anymore.
He adapted though; he always did. And it wasn’t like anyone was aware or cared about his
pain, so he ignored it.
It was the fourth lunar cycle though when his brother was due home, as well as Prince
Jacaerys. They’d both been released temporarily from their squiring duties to attend to their
Royal duties. Which was both to Aemond’s dread and relief. His relief was because he had
not seen his little brother in almost a year, and he wanted to make certain Daeron was as well
as his letters were proclaiming, Aemond wanted to be certain Daeron was well. And the
dread came from the mere idea of having Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Aegon the Younger,
Viserys the Younger and Aegon his brother all in one location; that never ended well for
Aemond.
But the releasing of Jacaerys from his squiring duties also meant the North was preparing to
move South soon, and Aemond was actually looking forward to seeing the Starks again. Yes,
he had found he enjoyed corresponding with Sansa, Cregan, Rody, Domeron, and Bryan
tremendously, but he had missed them also. Which was a horrifying realization to have
hitting him after the agony of his own solitude hitting him.
He couldn’t wallow though, there was work to be done, and today was a day he had found
peace and quiet as he was working. Reading over the ledgers he was mentally tallying all the
discrepancies, because he couldn’t figure out where the money was going. He would want to
see the Maesters’ books and that would be in Oldtown, which he would not be attending to
until after his wedding. He and Sansa would have to campaign through the Realm for a year
according to the contracts, this was a part of the contracts designed by his uncle for reasons
he couldn’t fathom.
He was writing down the inconsistencies as he found them, but they were odd.
“Soon your bride will be here,” a voice said, and Aemond raised a brow as he tore his
attention from his work as he looked up at his sister “I come in peace, brother.”
“I find that rarely to be the case before what little peace I possess is destroyed,” Aemond
informed her blandly. Rhaenyra looked like she was about to frown then as her lips twitched.
“What do you want?”
“I came to congratulate you,” she said.
“For assisting you in preventing the loss of the North from the Seven Kingdoms, or for not
killing your whelps?” He growled as he looked back at his numbers trying to sort them out.
“Boys will be boys, Aemond,” she sighed.
“Mmm, but they no longer possess that luxury, do they, sister,” he growled. “Jace is squire
for Lord Stark, and ten and five namedays old, Luke is ten and four namedays old, to say
they are boys is foolish.”
“Aemond, I did not come to fight,” she sighed.
“And yet, here you are,” he muttered as he set his work aside to give her his attention. It
wouldn’t do for Rhaenyra to fuck up his work and he’d have to start all over because his
attention as divided.
“I did come to give you something of our house, it has occurred to me, I have been remiss in
my duties as a sister and have not shared the customs of our house fully, and you are a
Targaryen, so you should know them,” she said softly.
"Naejot skore ñuhoso hen glaeson nyke dovodedha isse, mandia?" he asked in High Valyrian.
"Aōha valyrio eglie iksos olvie sȳz," she observed.
“Mmm,” he hummed as he looked back at his book.
"Nyke ȳzaldrīzes hen valyrīha ñuhoso hen glaeson syt aōha dīnilūks, naejot dīnagon ondoso
perzys se ānogar,” she said and now he looked at her. She smiled softly. “īlva kepa gōntan
daor dīnagon aōha muñnykeā ondoso īlva ñuhoso, se ziry iksos… daor īlva ñuhoso, yn ao issi
nykeā targārien, se bisa iksos īlva ñuhoso.”
He didn’t respond as he watched her warily.
"Se northern dīnilūks iksos lyka, se orvorta, skore ziry should sagon, se given ziry iksos rȳ se
ābrazȳrys se valzȳrys konīr iksos daor voktys, yn naejot rholagon se valyrīha ñuhoso konīr
jāhor jorrāelagon naejot sagon nykeā voktys."
"Skoro syt?"
"Naejot letagon ao se aōha wifeby ānogar, ziry jāhor daor ōdrikagon zȳhon, nykeā ao, merely
nykeā ñuhoso, se mēre skore iksos vital naejot sagon nykeā targārien. Naejot emagon se
magic hen dīnilūks, ziry takes nykeā ondos toliot hen ānogar,” she explained. Aemond tilted
his head as he looked her over. "Se nektogon se ondos toliot hen ānogar, se letagon hen
ondos, hae konīr iksos nykeā ondos toliot hen averilla, ziry iksos easy, naejot letagon se
ānogar though iksos naejot letagon se prūmia. Se raqagon se northern ñuhoso bisa iksos
jorrāelatan."
"Ondos toliot hen ābrazȳrys ruaragon, pōja ñuhoso iksos quptenka naejot northerners, hae
issi pōja lyka prayers syt pōja dīnilūks, naejot skore ao emagon naejot rigle, ziry jāhor sagon
jorrāelatan aōha ābrazȳrys rigle nykeā targārien tolī," Rhaenyra finished.
“I will speak to her before it is fully decided on how the ceremonies are blended,” he replied
in the common tongue. Rhaenyra gave him a gentle, almost maternal smile then looked out at
the ocean.
“I do wish we had been better siblings, there is much we could have learnt from one another,”
she said finally.
He nodded just as a roar was cried out over the city, he looked out, and his heart plummeted
seeing the green ripple of Vermax’s wings as the dragon circled the Red Keep, Rhaenyra
smiled as she hurried off, and Aemond closed his eye.
He wasn’t going to survive this bloody wedding at this rate.
He looked forward to the marriage to Sansa just so he could stop being pestered by this
wedding, but also he looked forward to being married to a friend he could rely on.
He really wanted to speak with his mother again, he missed her.
They had sent Prince Jacaerys ahead of them, only having him leave a few days ago. His
departure though was a finality of her fate, she couldn’t describe it, merely that, as she
watched Prince Jacaerys leave, she knew that everything was about to change.
She would marry Aemond Targaryen, and they would live in the North, and reclaim the New
Gift for the North. The finality of that hit her brutally as she watched the dragon fly off. And
with that finality also came relief, she had chosen her fate, something she had never had the
opportunity to do when she had been in her era, and the startling power of her relief was
nearly overwhelming. She wasn’t going to be a stolen Stark like her Aunt Lyanna, she wasn’t
a forced Stark like her sister and brother had been, and she wasn’t a reluctant Stark like her
father had been, and she wasn’t impulsive like her uncle and grandfather had been. No, Sansa
was going to be the first Stark to ever want to bind herself to a Targaryen. Perhaps she would
break the curse of her family and Targaryens. Perhaps that was too much to hope for though.
Sansa stood at the gates of Winterfell, looking at the envoy that had gathered for her wedding
precession, and she was uncertain of what was next. Cregan was saying goodbye to Rickon at
this moment, who was remaining here with Jon.
Sansa and Jon had had a terrible fight about his attendance to her wedding. She still viewed
him as her brother, but he had refused to attend. The ensuing fight was brutal, as she learnt
more dismal details about Jon’s own wedding in King’s Landing, and he would not be
attending anything South of the Neck, ever again, he would rather die. He loved her, but he
was not going South ever again! She had been angered by his declaration, and she wanted to
scream and cry, none of her family had ever attended her weddings, she’d gone through both
her weddings without her family!
Their father was not here to give her away, her mother was not here to attend to her, her
brothers were dead, and her sister would have never wanted to attend her wedding, but the
fact Sansa’s last living brother from her time did not desire to even attend her wedding broke
her heart. It had her wanting to scream at him, but she couldn’t do that. Jon’s own wedding in
the South had broken him, so he would not go South, and she couldn’t fault him for that
logic.
Nothing Good Ever Came From A Stark Going South!
History would back her statement, as well as experience, but alas, she was going South, to
wed a Targaryen Prince.
There was irony in this, she bitterly mused.
Thankfully Sara and Cregan had agreed to come to her wedding, Cregan had to attend for he
was her guardian and ancestor, but still, Sara had eagerly persisted in attending. All of
Sansa’s Ladies were attending, with their respective families, and Cregan had a fair amount
of bannermen here to assist in transporting her dowry, which Sansa had selected with great
care.
Primarily though, given she was giving Aemond a Realm, she had selected gifts she thought
his family might like. A few Valyrian flowers, and a breeding pair of Valyrian birds, there
was also a Valyrian tapestry that the Starks never displayed but had preserved they thought
the Targaryens would want. All of these were from Old Valyria, and given how Old Valyria
was held in reverence by the Targaryens she felt these to be appropriate gifts.
Jon came over to her, and she smiled tightly at him as he tucked a stray strand of her hair
behind her ear.
“We always seem to be saying goodbye,” he said softly.

“It seems to be our way,” she agreed.
“I… I wish for the best for you, Sansa,” he said stiffly.
“Aemond is good, Jon,” she said gently. “As are you.”
He didn’t respond, merely leaning over as he dipped her a little, his lips pressed to her brow.
“I love you, sister, I will see you again,” he murmured.
“I will see you again, brother,” she agreed as she stood. He nodded as he walked away,
picking up Rickon from Cregan’s arms, and Sansa sighed, getting up on her horse she turned
the beast and settled herself between Rody and Domeron again. Cregan was the one to lead
them forward, and Sansa sighed. She was leaving Winterfell as a Stark again, and while she
wasn’t filled with dread, she was still uneasy about going South. She wasn’t uneasy about her
own union to be with Aemond, but rather looked forward to having a marriage which wasn’t
a farce. Aemond would be good to her, of that she had no doubt.
Jacaerys had almost shouted for glee being permitted to leave the North for something
familiar. Until Lord Stark had grabbed his collar of his shirt and warned him, that under no
uncertain terms, if Jacaerys fell back on bad behavior he’d be beaten black and blue and
shoveling shit for the rest of his years, and Cregan would make sure Jacaerys was miserable.
He would know too because he’d be speaking with Aemond when he reached the South.
The mere thought of Cregan Stark on Jace’s ass was enough to have him dreading when the
North made it South.
The North had not treated Jace poorly, though they were not as kind as he wanted. He was
learning he had so much work to keep him both out of trouble and to manage his time. He
was not denied time with Vermax, merely taught how to have duties and priorities. Lord
Stark was a busy man, and squiring for him made Jace realize how little he knew about any
duties.
Cregan was always riding out to someone or somewhere, entrusting a council, he trained his
new recruits, he managed his horses and livestock, he worked the fields with his farmers and
people, he oversaw justice and trials, he heard all manner of complaints, and he was always
working. Jace hadn’t ever seen Cregan not working, even in training of the dire wolves,
Cregan was working, with someone or somewhere, or reading. Cregan was also devoted to
his family, he taught his sisters how to protect themselves, archery, riding, he took them with
him everywhere he went; Sara and Sansa were always close to Cregan, whether by design or
intent, Cregan kept his sisters close to where he could protect them. Cregan was also always
with his cousin, Jon Stark, who was sort of serving as Cregan’s second in training the
recruits. Jace had never seen a swordsman more vicious, or prolific with a sword than Jon
Stark; other than maybe Aemond; Jace couldn’t get a true read on Cregan Stark’s own
abilities given how rarely the young man seemed to exert himself openly. Cregan kept Jace
busy though, because when Jace wasn’t working, he was training, when he wasn’t training,
he was hunting, when he wasn’t hunting, he was cleaning, and when he wasn’t cleaning, he
was asleep.
The Starks as a whole were all dutiful, and attentive to their people. Jace rarely saw a Stark
not working, the exception being Rickon who was always with one of the Stark siblings or
his father. Cregan never let Rickon out of his sight, and Rickon was always accompanied by
the black dire wolf, Timber, all the dire wolves were affectionate with Rickon, but the black
dire wolf seemed to serve as guard for the babe.
Lady Sansa Stark was treated like a queen though, she attended to most the affairs in
Winterfell, and was always busy, and when she wasn’t in Winterfell, she was riding out to
attend to her people, like Cregan was. She didn’t hunt, or fight, she did train, but mostly, she
seemed to manage the affairs of the North, and attend to the political aspects, it wasn’t
uncommon for her to be overseeing the hearings and disputes of the people in place of
Cregan.
Lady Sara Stark was similar to her brother and sister, and she was frequently busy. Whenever
he offered to hunt with her, she scoffed and spurned his offer, stating she would not be out
with a heavy footed Southron prince who scared her quarry away. He tried not to be offended
at her abrasive attitude, but it was difficult, until he saw the ease of her interactions with
Northerners. It was Sara who made Jace evaluate how interactions mattered, she’d been both
a bastard and lady, and yet she was never treated as less than a Lady of Winterfell, she was
treated as if she were royal even. Jace couldn’t even seem to make one of the new recruits
like him.
People in the North praised Aemond! Aemond! But they would spurn him, and scoff
whenever he tried to make friendly overtures.
No matter, he was coming home, he would enjoy the break from the miseries of squiring, and
he would enjoy being home.
Vermax chittered excitedly as they circled the Red Keep, and then headed for the Dragon Pit.
It didn’t take him long to bed down Vermax, he insisted on doing it because Vermax was his
dragon and his responsibility, the dragon pit masters looked confused and concerned, but he
managed to convince him he would be fine doing this. He did it all the time in the North.
Once Vermax was settled, Jace headed to the Red Keep, he smiled when his stepfather.
“Jace, I see the North has been treating you well,” Daemon smiled.
“It has been,” he agreed reluctantly. He was always working and training, but they weren’t
unnecessarily cruel to him despite their disdain for him.
“That is good,” Daemon said.
“The North is coming South, they have prepared their final preparations, planting season was
earlier this cycle, and they predict they will be here within a lunar cycle,” Jace admitted. He
had a parcel which Lord Stark had given to him to give to Aemond, and a parcel from Lady
Sansa to give to Aemond as well. Jace didn’t like being turned into an errand boy, but he
knew better than to rebuke Lord Stark, it would be painful.
“That is good,” Daemon said as they rode through King’s Landing. Jace took a moment to
take his home in, and he was surprised at how little it mattered to him. He wanted to go home
to Dragonstone.
“How is mother, and Luke, and Joff…” he started.
“Everyone is well, your mother is disappointed she could not ride out with me, but in her
condition, I would prefer her not to,” Daemon said with a rueful smile.
“I am to have another sibling!?” he asked excitedly.
“We have not shared the information,” Daemon informed him.
Jace smiled broadly as they rode and caught up with one another.
Aemond was reluctant to come greet his nephew, though he knew Royal protocol was that he
do so, and it was simply to prevent a further spread of rumors or whispers that he even gave
in and walked to the Main Gate. He watched as his nephew rode through the gates, and he
resisted the urge to just leave, he instead came to stand over by his mother, who gave him a
tight smile. Aemond gave her a small one too, perhaps she would speak to him again! If
Aemond had anticipated his mother not speaking to him after explaining the logical and
reasonable reasons he would not be following her Faith, he’d have picked a different
approach. Alas, his mother did not speak to him, though she did step on his blind side and
link their arms when he was about to leave, he was a bit relieved, this was the first time she’d
permitted the action of affection. Perhaps she would speak to him when they were walking.
“Oh, nuncle,” Jace was walking up to him then. Aemond tensed as he internally cringed at
Jace coming near him. “Lord Stark, and Lady Sansa have sent their warm wishes, and hope
you accept these,” Jace produced two packages. Aemond blinked twice at them, then eyed
Jace warily as he accepted them, but didn’t respond to his nephew as he walked away again,
his mother beside him.
It was when they were nearing the gardens that his mother sighed tiredly.
“I do not wish this rift between us Aemond,” his mother finally said.
“There is no rift, mother,” he said softly as they came to her favorite bench. He seated her
before setting the parcels down beside him as he sat.
“I… I do not want the Gods to scorn you, son,” Alicent said.
He looked at his hands then.
“It is important to me, that you and your bride be accepted by my Gods, son, so my
grandchildren are not bastards, and… and to protect your soul,” she said softly. “I need to
know you are safe.”
“I… I can’t, mother,” he said softly as he looked to her.
“Surely your bride will understand!”
“No,” Aemond sighed tiredly. “I cannot give that to you mother.”
“Then you damn your own soul and future and lineage!” she hissed as she held her star close
to her breast.
He closed his eye as he took a steady breath. “I cannot in good faith honor your wishes to
betray the one I am to share my life with mother. I will be married to Lady Sansa, and it is
better for she and I if we are at least amicable,” he started.
“She is a Black Aemond!” Alicent hissed.
“Do you think this is easy for me!?” he demanded. “I have tried to do everything to appease
you in this matter! But I am marrying Lady Sansa, and she is a Northerner, and the Faith is an
insult to them!”
“You are a Hightower; you practice the Faith!” she started.
“Mother, I am well aware I am a Targaryen with a Hightower mother, and I honor the Faith
for my mother, but who am I to honor in this matter? My wife to be or my mother? I cannot
appease you both!”
“You should always honor your mother!” she hissed.
“And I have tried! But I must also honor my intended for she is to be my wife!” he countered
through gritted teeth.
“She should honor her husband!” she snapped. “I did!”
“And look at how that has turned out! Forgive me mother if I do not desire a dismal union as
the one you and the King possess!” he snapped angrily. His mother recoiled as if he had
struck her, and he glared at his hands. “I have tried, everything I can to appease you, but I do
not wish to endure this marriage as if it is trial and tribulation.”
“All marriages are trials and tribulations, Aemond,” she said softly.
Aemond sighed. “Mother, please,” he pleaded softly. “What more must I do? I do not wish
for us to be on bad terms.”
“Oh, my sweet boy,” Alicent reached up, and he was startled as she touched his cheek. “I am
sorry.”
“I am sorry,” he murmured.
“I just worry, you will understand when you have children one day too,” she assured. “I
just… I want what’s best for you, and it pains me you do not see that.”
“I do, mother,” he promised. “But please…” he pleaded softly. It pained him to feel his eye
burning with tears he wouldn’t shed right now. “I cannot do much more, please, please do not
abandon me because I have failed in this regard.”
“I… I would never leave you, Aemond,” she said swiftly.
“Then please, forgive me, but I cannot marry her how you desire!” he said softly. “Please!”
he pleaded desperately. “I cannot do much more, mother. I have tried to be a dutiful son, I
have tried to assist this family how I can, please, please do not leave me because I have failed
you.”
“Oh, my sweet boy,” she whispered as she hugged him close then, he sagged against his
mother then. “I… I do not approve of this union, but… I would never leave or abandon you,
my son,” she whispered.
He nodded as he just hid against her. It was the first time in two lunar cycles that he could
even be here. Her fingers hastily slid through his hair as her arms were wrapped around him.
“I am sorry,” he whispered.
Chapter End Notes
Naejot skore ñuhoso hen glaeson nyke dovodedha isse, mandia? - “To which traditions
am I uneducated in, sister?”
Aōha valyrio eglie iksos olvie sȳz. - “Your High Valyrian is very good."
Nyke ȳzaldrīzes hen valyrīha ñuhoso hen glaeson syt aōha dīnilūks, naejot dīnagon
ondoso perzys se ānogar - “I speak of the Valyrian customs for your wedding, to wed by
blood and fire."
īlva kepa gōntan daor dīnagon aōha muñnykeā ondoso īlva ñuhoso, se ziry iksos… daor
īlva ñuhoso, yn ao issi nykeā targārien, se bisa iksos īlva ñuhoso.” - “Our father did not
wed your mother by customs, and it is… shameful, but you are a Targaryen, and this is
our customs.”
Se northern dīnilūks iksos lyka, se orvorta, skore ziry should sagon, se given ziry iksos
rȳ se ābrazȳrys se valzȳrys konīr iksos daor voktys, yn naejot rholagon se valyrīha
ñuhoso konīr jāhor jorrāelagon naejot sagon nykeā voktys. - “The Northern wedding is
rather simple, and private, which it should be, and given it is between the bride and
groom there is no priest, but to meld the Valyrian traditions there will need to be an
officiant.”
Skoro syt? - “Why?”

Naejot letagon ao se aōha wifeby ānogar, ziry jāhor daor ōdrikagon zȳhon, nykeā ao,
merely nykeā ñuhoso, se mēre skore iksos vital naejot sagon nykeā targārien. Naejot
emagon se magic hen dīnilūks, ziry takes nykeā ondos toliot hen ānogar. - “To bind you
and your bride by blood, it will not harm her, or you, merely a different tradition, and
one which is important to being a Targaryen. To have the magic of the union bound, it
takes an exchange of blood."
Se nektogon se ondos toliot hen ānogar, se letagon hen ondos, hae konīr iksos nykeā
ondos toliot hen averilla, ziry iksos easy, naejot letagon se ānogar though iksos naejot
letagon se prūmia. Se raqagon se northern ñuhoso bisa iksos jorrāelatan. - “The cut and
exchange of blood, and fasting of the hand, as there is an exchange of wine, it is simple
enough, to bind the blood though is to bind the lines. And similar to Northern custom
this is vital.
Ondos toliot hen ābrazȳrys ruaragon, pōja ñuhoso iksos quptenka naejot northerners,
hae issi pōja lyka prayers syt pōja dīnilūks, naejot skore ao emagon naejot rigle, ziry
jāhor sagon jorrāelatan aōha ābrazȳrys rigle nykeā targārien tolī. - “Exchanging of the
bridal cloak and consent are important to Northerners, as are their silent prayers for their
union, to which you have agreed to honor, it will be important your bride honor
becoming a Targaryen too."
~*~*~*~
I will hopefully never have that much Valyrian in my story conversations again!
Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy!
Prologue III
Chapter Notes
Sansa had had the best gifts pulled from her dowry when they were less than a day’s ride
from King’s Landing. A collection of preserved, pinned beetles, butterflies, flowers, and bird
feathers from Valyria for Princess Helaena, two of Rody’s finest steeds for Prince Jaehaerys
and Princess Jaehaera, a Northern sword for Prince Daeron, a barrel of ale for Prince Aegon,
and a gown of the finest velvet for Queen Alicent. She also pulled the gifts for the Blacks
while she was here, for Princess Rhaenyra Sansa had prepared a different gown, made of
velvet as well, with some leathers so she could ride Syrax, for Prince Daemon she had a new
riding jerkin for him, stained black, and lined with some Northern armor which was lighter
than the plates the South favored, for Prince Jacaerys she had a war horse, and Prince
Lucerys she had selected the largest stuffed boar (given his affinity for pigs she felt it was
appropriate), for Prince Joffrey she had a dagger commissioned, for the two younger of
Rhaenyra’s children, she had commissioned some beautiful toys. For King Viserys, Sansa
had procured old Valyrian records and copied them, what deals her ancestors had with Valyria
and their accounts of Old Valyria’s stronghold, though far and few in between would be of
great value to King Viserys whose only love seemed his scaled replication of Old Valyria,
according to Aemond.
As for Aemond, Sansa had to get a little creative, she could not continue to give him clothing,
for she had much to give him already, and it wasn’t a courting gift in her mind, nor a
betrothal gift. She liked sewing, she liked creating clothes, she enjoyed it because it soothed
her, and she would not dare to let anyone think her skills to be her gift. And while it could be
argued her gift to Aemond was the North, she knew he didn’t see the North as a Gift. Their
Keep which was being built was not a gift, and she herself, was not a gift, though he would
probably say they were.
No, Sansa had learnt of the harnesses Aemond had commissioned from the Northerners for
the dragons, and she figured out which one was for Vhagar swiftly enough. From there she
had taken her measurements from Aemond, knowing the saddle Vhagar had was old and
from before Aemond rode her, it was an elaborate set of ropes and chains, a mess really, and
Sansa imagined it did not smell overly pleasant. Aemond had told her he could rarely take it
off Vhagar unless he set aside over a half a year, and then the extensions were made hastily.
Vhagar was still growing, surprisingly, he said dragons grew until they could not anymore,
they died of old age only when they were too heavy to fly, which meant they couldn’t hunt,
and their weight crushed them.
Knowing what she knew of the Dance though, Sansa knew Vhagar would not die of old age,
and she intended to change that, Aemond deserved to live with his friend, as long as they
both dared.
Sansa had taken to speaking with Rody, and working with him, and working off of the
sketches and measurements Aemond had graciously left behind.
In the end, the North had structured a war saddle for Vhagar, with mail to cover her soft
breast and under wings, as well as an actual ladder for Aemond to use. Rody had modified
the current saddle designs he had seen on Vermax, Syrax, and Carraxes to better fit Vhagar in
his mind. He had also helped her make it so the saddle could distribute the weight more
broadly over Vhagar so it did not compress against her spine. In the end they had created
something which needed a team of horses to cart. The light weight, but heavy saddle was so
large, it was impossible not to cart it. She had added personal touches, their new sigil being a
primary one, while also utilizing the light mail they had made from a new lightweight
durable, near unbreakable metal that had been discovered when scouting the New Gift’s
mountains. Though it had taken them a long moment to figure out how to smith it properly,
they were pleased with the results, and Cregan’s immediate inner circle had traded out their
heavy mail for the new metal, which was battle tested against a raid of Wildlings last year.
With her immediate gifts prepared, Sansa had changed, she wore the dress she had sewn for
the Solstice before Arra’s murder, she hadn’t touched the gown since Arra’s death, but now
she wanted her goodsister close to her heart. Especially as this was Arra’s favorite style, the
asymmetrical gown was unapologetically Northern. And lightweight.
Sara was wearing hers, and their ladies had gowns similarly styled.
With that set, and her hair styled, Cregan appeared dressed in his armor, with his weapons on
display, as most Northerners were dressed. They both looked down the road at King’s
Landing, waiting for Sara.
“It never changes,” she muttered. “Not in my era, not now, the only difference is that there
are dragons.”
“It’s a shithole, forever,” Cregan decided.
She snorted and smiled ruefully at Cregan, not willing to disagree, but also not willing to
agree. It was King’s Landing, it was a massive city, with five million people crammed
together. She felt the horse beneath her shift as she looked back at the convoy which would
be following her.
“Well, there is no way they don’t know we’re coming, as soon as Sara gets here, we’ll ride
forward,” Cregan decided. Ice, Frostfyre and White Fang now appeared, the three massive
wolves were the size of ponies, and all three moved with an innate predatory grace.
“I’m here!” Sara huffed as she rode up. “Whoa,” she whispered.
“That is King’s Landing, Sara,” Cregan informed her.
“It’s so… small?” Sara stated. Cregan burst into laughter as Sansa chuckled and kicked her
horse into gear. They started for the massive city now.
“It’s not that small.”

“Winterfell is bigger,” Sara huffed.
“No,” Sansa sighed. “We are simply accustomed to sizing up wide spaces, King’s Landing is
very large but compact, you will not leave without an escort, and guard, Sara,” Sansa warned.
“But!”
“No,” Cregan agreed. “Nothing good comes from Starks coming South, let us not chance our
fates.”
“How? Prince Aemond is marrying Sansa!” Sara sighed.
“And there are many who wish it were not so,” Sansa said firmly. “We are outsiders, Sara, we
are not welcomed, this is not Winterfell, you will remain close.”
“Very well,” Sara said softly as they rode forward.
Sansa was tense after a month of riding nonstop, and nearly wanting to run a few times, she
was here. It was not the prospect of marrying Aemond which was terrifying, despite him
being a prince and Targaryen, he was safe and she was fond of him, but what was terrifying
was returning to King’s Landing. Sansa wanted no part of this godless city, and this godless
Keep.
Still, it was worth it, she tapped the center of Sara’s back when her sister started slouching,
and that had Sara sitting up straighter as they rode to the city. The gates were open, Sansa
reminded herself that the North was here for a purpose, they were not campaigning or
anything else. They were here for her union to Aemond Targaryen, she felt her heart
pounding painfully in her ribs as she rode beside Cregan and Sara. Gods, this was terrifying.
They rode into the gates, Sara falling behind them on the narrow streets as Domeron and
Bryan became a guard around Sara. Ice, Frostfyre, and White Fang trotted ahead of them.
Sansa was stunned though at the cheers, and eruption of people on the streets as the North
rode into King’s Landing. She was stunned, both with the thousands cheering, as well as
people shouting happily at the North. She tensed as she rode. She shouldn’t have been
surprised though.
Aemond was a Prince, despite him just being Aemond in her mind, and he was a member of
the Crown, and his wedding would be held in King’s Landing. To not hold his wedding there
would be a grave insult to the people of the Realm, also, it would put the Starks in an
unwanted position of being seen as usurpers. Which she was not going to do because she did
not want anyone in her family targeted for death by being labeled usurpers.
The people were ecstatic though, and Sansa didn’t know how to respond, Cregan seemed just
as uncertain as she as they rode on.
“Do you think they have never seen Northerners before or are we so hideous they can’t look
away?” Cregan whispered. Ice and Frostfyre ran forward, startling people; the dire wolves
were massive, having grown to the size of ponies, and they moved with the loping grace of
their smaller counterparts. “Never mind, it’s the wolves. They see bloody dragons flying
about but wolves are unsettling…”
“Stop it,” she giggled a bit as Cregan pulled a face. “If you’re not careful your face will
freeze in that position,” she warned him.
“Mmm, I can live with it,” Cregan snickered.
Cregan had been recovering his humor over the last few moons, he wasn’t as free spirited or
humorous as he had been before, but Rickon was aiding Cregan in finding his spirits again.
He was more like the man she had first met than the one left behind in the wake of Arra’s
death. He wasn’t as humorous, or even as boisterous, but he was smiling with some ease, and
he did have jokes again.
“Mmm yes, horse face Starks, we’re cursed,” she mused.
“Just because they aren’t writing sonnets about your hideousness does not mean I do not have
ballots about my beauty!” he huffed indignantly.
She laughed now.
“Relax, Sansa, if at any time this wedding feels like a funeral we’ll go home, together.”
“Promise?”
“Yes, but you’ll have to figure out how to steal the Prince because I’m not,” Cregan informed
her. She snorted and shook her head. The North was remarkably pleased with Aemond, even
after he left, they were praising him, and fond of him. And honestly, Sansa would not be
surprised if the North made Vhagar a few luxurious pits of her own, so she’d be comfortable
travelling in the North. Roderick had gleefully declared this was why he and she would never
marry (never mind he was like a brother to her and Cregan, and same with Domeron),
because the North needed to steal a dragon. She didn’t want to burst Roderick’s bubble and
tell him that they weren’t stealing a dragon, she and Aemond had agreed to a mutually
beneficial arrangement based on a friendship and need to stabilize the realm; she had not
stolen Aemond’s heart. And he certainly had not stolen hers.
Roderick though praised her and Aemond’s match like it was a great love match, and it
endeared Aemond even more to the North, so she let Roderick do his work.
The city was open as they rode in, Ice and Frostfyre fell into step with the horses, and Sansa
tightened her grip on the reigns. She had hidden her hair last time, but this time they didn’t,
and she wanted to leave as the scrutiny and whispers began.
The whispers never came.
People smiled, cheered, greeted them enthusiastically, and no one was jeering. It was
unsettling as she looked at Cregan who looked as confused as she felt. They both just
shrugged, and never smiled or waved back. None of the Northerners did. It wasn’t their way.
Making their way along the roads though, Sansa noticed the way there was a City’s Watch
here, and the gold cloaks stood out. She didn’t like this but didn’t say anything.
Making their way to the gates of the Red Keep she was shocked when they opened and so
many people were there, it was overwhelming. Frostfyre and Ice snarled when people came
close, and it was enough to have people backing up. Ser Cole appeared as people were
applauding. Cregan swung down and looked around as a hush fell over the Court. She was
unsurprised at the lack of Royalty here, it was a wedding procession, it would be on full
display in the Great Hall, where she would present her dowry, the King would affirm their
betrothal, and celebrate the match. Sansa’s heart was pounding as Cregan helped her down,
Sansa looked at him, biting her lip nervously.
“You are safe,” he promised.
“I’m nervous,” she confessed.
“I will not let anything harm you,” he assured.
“Lord Stark, Lady Sansa, we welcome you to the Red Keep again, and present our guest
rights,” Ser Cole spoke, she graciously took the offering as she bit into the bread. Once she
had that, and it was passed through the ranks, Cregan gave the orders for the gifts to be
brought to the Great Hall, and she took a deep breath, her ladies quickly filled in her ranks, as
the North’s Winter Council got into file, Cregan’s closes friends and generals were just before
the Council of Lords though, Sara and her Ladies were with Sansa and Cregan’s parties.
Sansa took a steadying breath as she straightened her back, squared her shoulders and walked
with Cregan, it did not take them long to make it to the Great Hall, and she looked at Cregan
as he nodded to her. They both walked in.
“I present, Lord Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North,” an announcer shouted, and
Sansa looked around, keeping her head up as she walked, the hush was immediate as they
walked through the crowd. “Lady Sansa, his sister, promised to Prince Aemond Targaryen.
Lady Sara, his sister.”
The rest of the Northerners would not be introduced, Sansa knew from experience they
would not know who these Lords were, though they might recognize some of the sigils.
Sansa’s heart hitched at the sight of Aemond, he stood there, impassive, but she recognized
the sigils of those near him. She immediately recognized Daemion, the sigils for House
Whent, Lannister, Tarly, Estermont, Morrigen, Royce, Redwyne, Oakheart, and Florent.
Aemond looked at her, and Sansa would admit she was impressed with his mask.
“You Grace, you have honored us with this match, and we, House Stark, are humbled by this
honor,” Cregan said with a low bow, Sansa gave an even lower curtsy then, as she looked
around the Court then back at Aemond. “We have come to honor this union, and present the
House Targaryen with the finest offerings the North has to give. As we have no formal wealth
for a dowry, we have brought a sample of the North for the House Targaryen, so we might
meld our rich histories together.
“For your grace, the King, I have been told long and hold how dear and precious Old Valyria
is for you and yours, as it should be, but precious few true remnants of the great civilization
remains; as a gift, House Stark has compiled all our personal records and dealings with Old
Valyria, may they bring solace to what is lost,” Cregan said as he accepted the book they had
compiled. She saw the way the other Targaryens’ eyes went wide at the book as Cregan
walked forward.
“House Stark is an ancient House, with well over ten millennia of history in our archives,
please forgive us as we are not always mindful to share what is lost and forgotten because we
remember, but I pray this gift will sooth the Targaryen heart,” he held the heavy book up to
the King. Viserys was rasping, soft and Sansa couldn’t hear him, but Daemon was the one to
step forward, accepting the book, putting it on Viserys’ lap, and Viserys’ gold mask was
looking at the book. “For Queen Alicent, from the finest seamstress of the North, in the truest
velvet, styled with the finest mink furs, I hope this gift is befitting to your tastes,” Cregan
said.
Alicent accepted the parcel Elissa presented.
“For Crown Princess Rhaenyra, I present to you a dress, for riding Syrax, made from the
finest seamstress of the North, the leathers are made from the Northern elk, styled with otter
fur, so it might keep you dry, and warm.”
Orrina presented the parcel to Rhaenyra then.
“For Prince Daemon, we have seen fit to fashion you with a new riding jerkin, fitted with the
armor and styles of the North, I think you will find it lighter than the plated armor you
Southron folk prefer,” Cregan chuckled. Daemon snorted but smiled ruefully.
Mira presented Prince Daemon with the parcel then.
“For Prince Jacaerys, I have noted your hard work as my squire, and you still have much to
learn, but you have earned one of the finest war horses, a destrier, from Winterfell, I believe
you know this beast,” Cregan said as he gestured to the grey destrier then, held by one of the
soldiers.
“Ironside,” Jacaerys stared at the beast in awe.
“He will be your responsibility,” Cregan stated.
“For Prince Lucerys,” Sansa looked at Aemond, who frowned, but she gave him a wink and
she hid her amusement as Lucerys seemed to perk up then. All of the gifts had been of the
finest quality, and she knew the prince was probably expecting a horse or jerkin of some sort.
“I have heard of your affinity for the hunt, and love of swine, so I have seen fit to bring you
the largest felled, preserved specimen of a boar, we called him Piglet,” Cregan said then as
the preserved, taxidermy beast was presented.
Lucerys’ face fell then, almost comically.

“For Prince Joffrey, it is customary for all young Lords in the North to be presented with a
dagger of dragonglass, so you may kill that which is already dead and protect your House
should you find yourself engulfed in a long Winter’s Night,” Cregan said.
Torrha presented the gift then to the young boy.
“For Princes Aegon the Younger, and Viserys, I have commissioned some of the finest toys
from the North, so you might grow strong and sure, while also having much fun when housed
within a Keep’s halls,” Cregan said as he nodded.
Gwyn was the one to present the youngest princes with their respective gifts.
"For Lady Baela, your promised has spoken highly to your affinity for riding both horses and
dragons, we have commissioned a jerkin in a similar manner to your father's, so you might be
safe and warm," Cregan said.
Arrana walked forward holding the parcel.
"For Lady Rhaena, a gentle lady I'm told, a relic, one of my ancestors received this in thanks
saving a beauty like yourself, I'm told, may this piece of Old Valyria be well worn and well
suited for a daughter of Old Valyria," Cregan said.
Gilliane walked forward then with her parcel.
“For Prince Aegon the Elder, I have heard of your enjoyment of wine, well, we do not have
that in the North, but we do have honeyed ale, and I have brought from Winterfell’s own
stores, the finest vintage of ale we are in possession in, cased in a smoked barrel of oak and
aged,” Cregan said as another soldier presented it.
“Princess Helaena,” Cregan spoke softly as he looked at her. “I remembered you were
fascinated with the small, rare beauties of this world, and such fascination is not new to a
House like mine, I suspect you have quite a collection already, but I would like to present to
you specimens you will never receive, anywhere else,” he said.
Rody walked forward with Helaena’s gift then.
“They are of Old Valyria,” Rody said softly as he handed the box to her. She stared at the
box, her eyes going wide and a soft smile curling her lips.
“Thank you…” she whispered shyly as she pulled the box close to herself and smiled as she
hugged it and stepped back to be between Aegon and Aemond.
“You are most welcome,” Rody chuckled as he walked back. Sansa looked at Cregan who
smiled a bit. “Now, this next gift, though from my Lord, is for the dragonlings, who I see
hiding right, behind, here!” Rody teased.
There were childish squeals and laughter, and Sansa chuckled seeing the young Prince
Jaehaerys and his sister Princess Jaehaera appear.
“You remember us?”

“Oh aye, it’s hard to forget!” Rody chuckled. “Now, feast your eyes, dragonlings, upon the
finest horses in Westeros!” he crouched down for the kids who stared in awe as massive
shires were presented to them.
“Whoa…” Sansa heard the children whisper.
“Oh aye, and I’m going to teach you to ride them properly before I return North,” Rody
stated. “That is Night and Dawn, respectively, go to your mother,” he ordered as he stood and
left the kids.
Sansa chuckled as Aemond caught his niece, swinging her up to his side, while Jaehaerys
was tugging on his mother’s skirts excitedly.
“For Prince Maelor, the finest seamstress, and finest huntress, worked together to make this
next gift in favor of your son, Princess Helaena, a warm blanket, for which no matter the age,
will endure and be passed through his line. It is a Stark tradition, and we hope you appreciate
it,” Cregan stated. Sansa nodded as she watched Sara’s Ladies now start walking forward,
Taria held her parcel out for Princess Helaena, who looked uncertain before accepting it with
a small, shy smile again.
“For Prince Daeron, we present to you a Northern sword, may it always be true and protect
you in your time of need,” Cregan said as a soldier walked forward, presenting it. Daeron
seemed shocked, but walked forward, accepting it, and saying thank you as he walked back.
“And finally for my new brother, my sister shall present the gift we have brought to
commemorate the union of our families,” Cregan said.
“I present to you, Prince Aemond, a new saddle for Vhagar,” Sansa said as she walked over
to Aemond. The Northerners undid the crate, letting it fall open to present the gift. “I would
prefer for my husband not to fall off his dragon, and I think Vhagar is in need of a new
saddle. All women like to feel beautiful, and deserve pretty things,” she whispered loudly.
There was a chuckle from Daemion and a few of the men near Aemond. “I am reminding you
of this for when I am cross with you,” she teased.
Aemond looked too stunned to speak and she smiled as she waited for him to gather the
words. It took him a moment, but his eye flicked to her, and he nodded lowly. “Thank you,
Lady Sansa, Vhagar will appreciate the gift.”
“Do me a favor, do not fall off her to avoid the wedding,” she teased.
He snorted and she chuckled as she walked back over to her brother. With all the gifts
presented she turned to the Royal family, waiting.
“Thank you… these are… most thoughtful, and beautiful!” Viserys’ voice was soft as he
spoke. “A union between our Houses is… is long, overdue, we should… unite in… blood,”
he started.
“Thank you, we shall get you settled in, and in preparations of the wedding there will be a
celebration feast on the morrow after you and yours have rested, as well as a tourney,” Prince
Daemon spoke up then.
Sansa gave a low curtsey as she walked out with Cregan. It did not take them long to get
settled in the apartments. It was when everyone was settled as Cregan attended to the men
and Winter Council, that Sansa slipped from the quarters, letting her own Ladies settle
themselves. She had Frostfrye loping beside her as she walked, she hummed a little, Sara was
with her Ladies and settling.
“Sansa,” Aemond appeared.
“Gods Stop That!” she yelped as she jumped through the air, turning around to glare at him.
“I will put a bell on you!” she snapped.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “I will never forget Luke’s face,” he rasped.
She snorted as she folded her arms. “I thought you would prefer that to the saddle,” she
smiled ruefully. “I spent much time thinking over what to get you and thought it would be
fitting, after a presentation of finery and amazing, beautiful gifts, a stuffed pig.”
“Cregan delivered that perfectly,” Aemond agreed softly.
“I am pleased one of my gifts was wanted,” she chuckled as they started walking.
“I do… appreciate the saddle,” he stammered out.
“Oh, I know, I selected that one because I do not want you falling off of Vhagar, and I do not
think Vhagar wants you falling off either,” she stated.
“I have never fallen off of Vhagar,” Aemond muttered.
“I will ensure it remains so,” Sansa informed him.
He shook his head. “I also wanted to thank Rody for everything, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera have
been nervous about his return, they thought he would not remember them.”
“Rody is a Northerner, my prince, and Northerners never forget,” she informed him.
“There you are,” Cregan called out, she turned to see him there. “I… what is wrong with the
smallfolk, why are they cheering?” Cregan demanded.
“Yes, about that, what is going on?” she asked as they started walking.
“I do not know,” Aemond answered as she slipped her hand on his elbow.
“Mmm,” she hummed as they walked.
“We will settle your party, and we’ll discuss the matters tomorrow. Tomorrow is our only day
without anyone interrupting or festivities, Lord Beesbury has arranged this, with aid of the
other members of the Small Council,” Aemond muttered. It was as they rounded the corner
that Sansa nearly tripped over her feet as she saw how many nobles were here.
“Bloody hell, there’s a lot of them,” Cregan grumbled.
“My father thinks this wedding is for Rhaenyra,” Aemond grounded out through clenched
teeth. Sansa now felt bad for having left all the wedding preparations on Aemond and his
family and squeezed his arm. “And for some reason this wedding has gotten well out of hand.
I don’t know why!”
“People like you Aemond,” Cregan chuckled as he clasped Aemond shoulder.
“Why!?”
Sansa was giggling hysterically as she hid against Aemond’s shoulder, and Cregan was
laughing. She turned to look up at her bewildered friend and chuckled as she shook her head.
“Aemond, you’re working for the Realm, it means a lot to people.”
Aemond just grumbled about wanting peace as they walked. She shook her head at his
attitude.
“Peace died the moment you decided to act for the bettering of the Realm,” Cregan stated.
“I did not want this!” he sputtered. “I wanted you not to break the realm, and my family to
stop attempting to break the realm. This was not part of my intention!”
“Workin’ so far!” Sansa and Cregan informed him mischievously.
“How is Rickon?” Aemond asked.
“Walking. And Very Fast,” Cregan answered. “How are they so fast on those little legs?”
“When you figure it out, I would like an answer, Maelor started walking,” Aemond grimaced.
“If we didn’t have Timber, we’d have lost Rickon,” Cregan muttered with a shake of his
head.
“No, we wouldn’t!”
“Sara misplaced him!”
“We found him!”
“Because of Timber! Just tie Maelor to your ankle when you’re working on ledgers and
you’ll never lose him,” Cregan stated.
“You can’t tie a prince to a prince!”
“I think it sounds like a clever idea,” Aemond muttered.
“You’re not tying your nephew to you,” Sansa warned.
“I tied Rickon to me when I was doing my ledgers, bastard got tangled up on the legs of the
table,” Cregan informed Aemond.
“You didn’t!” Sansa gasped.
“I did! I had to get work done!”
“Cregan!”
“And what do you do, sister? I saw him running around that planter in the Glass Garden
unable to escape!”
“I didn’t tie him to me!”
“He was fine!”
“Cregan!”
“He was fine, giggling like a loon as I untangled him,” Cregan stated.
“Gods give me patience…” Sansa muttered.
“We’re going to need it,” Aemond sighed. She looked at him then, and noted he looked
exhausted and worn thin, he looked ready to either go sleep for an eternity or run away. She
couldn’t be sure which.
Aegon snorted as he watched Aemond walk with his betrothed and the Northerner. The wine
was bitter, simple, he didn’t like it, but he wanted to be well and truly drunk, the sniveling
maid in the corner of his quarters was crying pathetically, and he just wanted her gone. Not
that he cared how she went. Perhaps she would get fat with his bastard, and he could buy the
whelp off her to put in the fighting pits. His eldest bastard had just died after all, he would
need a replacement.
The sound of his door opening had him sipping his wine as he looked over his shoulder to see
his grandsire sweep in, sharing a dispassionate look with the maid.
“Get out,” Otto ordered, and the girl cried as she ran from the rooms then. “Get dressed,”
Otto ordered.
“I have just gotten undressed,” Aegon countered as he stepped down from the windowsill and
went to sprawl over his chair keeping himself on full display to disgust his grandsire. Aegon
smirked. “To what do I owe this displeasure, grandfather?”
“Must you be so vulgar?” Otto demanded.
“I’m afraid I must,” he smiled.
“You are needed in the Small Council chambers,” Otto stated.
“Summon Nyra, she’s Crown Princess after all,” he snorted. Aegon knew Hel and Mon didn’t
remember the times Nyra was actually a sister to them, but Aegon did, and he didn’t relish
the idea of stealing her throne from her. Nyra was always good to them, until she wasn’t, and
Aegon had never figured out why. Bitch probably hated that she wasn’t born with a cock, not
that she could use one anyways.
“And you are Crown Prince, get up, get dressed, now,” Otto huffed.
Aegon rolled his eyes as he got up but did as he was ordered. When he was staggering out of
the rooms, he could hear the people whispering excitedly about Prince Aemond’s wedding,
and Aegon snorted.
It was when he stumbled into the Small Council meeting that he sighed, this was boring, he
wanted to get onto a ship and sail far away to the Free Cities or something, he hated these
meetings. Or… he could go fuck that fiery Northerner Mon had found himself betrothed
too…
Aegon quite liked the thought of her growing fat with his bastard, and Mon pretending it was
his. The little brat always got everything Aegon wanted, from mother’s love to Cole’s love, to
Hel’s, to Daeron’s, even Aegon’s own children loved Mon better…
Yes, he quite liked the thought of taking what Mon loved and making it his own!
He would have to find time to pay Lady Sansa a visit.
Chapter End Notes
So, from about here, there's little being recycled from the original, so it's technically
going to be new stuff. I do hope you guys enjoy! =)
Chapter 1
Chapter Notes
I forgot I had picked gifts for Baela and Rhaena, they are Targaryen Princesses, and
should've been included in the Royal family at that introduction. The reason I don't think
Rhaenys would be included is she is married to Lord Corlys Valeryon and is not part of
the immediate Royal Family. If I change my mind about that later, I'll add a gift for her
too.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Rhaena would say she was shocked by the reception of the gifts, but more stunned to receive
anything at all! Most forgot they were royalty too, and now she had something none
possessed, and it was stunning as she stared at it in awe.
It was a Valyrian Gold Jewelry Set. Valyrian Gold. There was nothing left of Valyrian Gold
beyond the legend of their smithing abilities! She gaped in awe at the sight which greeted
her, this alone was worth enough to buy an entire army, and yet, the Starks had just given it to
her! She was stunned. The white gold, the platinum, the delicate work, the small rubies
encrusted in the work, it was stunning, so delicate and so beautiful. It was styled like dragon
scales, or dragon eggs, and it was beyond amazing. She had earrings to match the set, with a
three layer necklace, and two bracelets, and one arm band. It was beyond anything she had
ever seen, even when she had lived in Essos, the craftsmanship was unparalleled.
~Forgive us, House Targaryen, for we are an Ancient House, and forget how young and lost
others might be, because we have never forgotten, and never wavered. And with ten millennia
of history, it is easy to overlook what is lost to others, when we remain. These were a gift to
the Kings of Winter in service to a House in Old Valyria.
~These are said to have belonged to a beautiful dragon rider, of House Belaerys, who flew a
mighty beast Terrax, and she flew far South, beyond the known to a land without end. You
will know her as Jaenara Belaerys, but before she took that flight though, she was a captive
of House Bolton, and her father beseeched the King of Winter, Harlon Stark of House Stark,
to save his daughter from the Red King. And he did.
~As payment of gratitude for saving House Belaerys’ daughter, House Stark was gifted with
many beautiful pieces, amongst those were this set, gifted to my ancestor by Jaenara Belaerys
herself, as thanks for our assistance. It is time these were returned to a beautiful daughter of
Valyria.
She blinked at the parchment explaining the gift and smiled.

“Whoa,” Baela whispered as she peered over her shoulder then. “These have to be worth a
fortune…” Baela muttered.
“I have never seen work like this,” her father’s voice said and she turned to look up at her
father then. Daemon was staring at the pieces with a look of wonder and awe on his face.
“They saved Jaenara Belaerys,” Rhaena smiled as she held up the card.
“Did they now?” he chuckled as he accepted the card. “It seems House Stark is a far more
generous House with their history than previously known. I wonder what else they have in
their vaults…”
“Jace could find out!” Baela smiled mischievously.
Rhaena smiled at the gift before her as she traced her fingers down them. This was stunning,
she had never thought such beauty remained.
Daemon was impressed, House Stark’s wealth was grossly underestimated. He had figured as
much when he had visited Winterfell, given the grand display such a Keep was, as well as
having an ancient dynasty, it was probable that they did not flaunt their wealth. Additionally,
Daemon knew from Jace that the Starks were always working, so they did not adorn
themselves with displays of wealth when they would trek through mud for planting season,
go on hunts, train soldiers, or work with their livestock. No, Starks were practical creatures,
and while they dressed finely, it was not easy to think they were dressed of the finest quality
when they appeared so lax and comfortable. Winterfell was a vast keep though, and it was not
displaying their own works, but rather collections of items which seemed to be gifts, or feats,
they did not have portraits of themselves, or trophies for their vanity, it all seemed
meticulously displayed, with the histories of whom they had conquered, befriended, and
fought remaining.
But to see the Old Valyrian remnants from the Stark vaults was startling. Daemon had
scoured and fought hard for the one Valyrian necklace he gifted to Rhaenyra and he did mean
fight. It had had been a hefty wager, he couldn’t just take it, and he had nearly died, that fool
in Essos didn’t even know what it was he had. But Daemon had. To see the Stark casually
returning parts of Old Valyria to them… Daemon wanted to cry he was so overcome with
emotion.
Daemon had grown up hearing the stories, he had grown up being told about Old Valyria,
before its Doom. The ancient ruins which remained were not even habitable, and had killed
all who visited, it was lost. It was all lost and gone, and all that remained were a handful of
relics scattered to the winds. Daemon couldn’t even share his culture with his daughters,
fully, because there was so little to be shared, two hundred years had passed since the Doom,
but there was nothing remaining.
It was all terribly strained, and a lot, seeing these, seeing the thought and care House Stark
had taken to return these to them, it made Daemon want to weep, and beg for more from
them. He wanted to know what the Starks had locked away in their vaults, he wanted to know
what they knew, what history they held, what they kept from the world. But he also didn’t,
because knowing was a terrifying prospect.
Still, he kissed his daughter’s head as he stared at the gifts the House Stark had graced them
with. It was all startling, considering the Starks had admitted they did not have a traditional
dowry to give. This though, this was far greater than any dowry Daemon could have
anticipated. He did not know whether to praise his wife for the match or arrange for the
Starks to marry Rhaenyra’s line as well.
He could arrange a match between Prince Joffrey and Lady Sara, he would have to think
about this though, he wanted to know more.
Sansa woke in the early hours of the morning, and managed to summon a bath, then get her
hair plaited appropriately in one long braid down her back. She left her ladies to their
slumber; it was only nerves which had Sansa awake at this hour and she did not wish to
disturb her friends by waking them after the long journey to get here. With that she picked
out some of her lighter, simple dresses, and fixed herself up for her day. When she felt secure
in that, she left her quarters to see Domeron standing guard outside of her doors, and he
smiled charmingly.
“Did you have the unfortunate task of watching me last night?” she asked as Frostfyre heeled
beside her.
“Cregan would’ve but man’s dead on his feet,” Domeron yawned.
“And you’re not?”
“Not at all!”
“Go rest Domeron, I’ll be fine, I have Frostfyre,” she chuckled.
“Are you sure, my lady? You should at least have one of the ladies,” he started.
“Everyone is recovering, Domeron, go, rest. I’m certain I’ve faced far worse than the Red
Keep,” she assured. When Domeron nodded tiredly she watched him surrender as he went for
his quarters. Sansa shook her head in amusement as she walked with Frostfyre, the wolf was
keeping at Sansa’s side, where Sansa preferred her. Sansa didn’t like having her wolf roam, it
was more of a fear of losing Frostfyre, though Frostfyre was not like Lady.
Frostfyre had a beautiful, stony grey coloring with amber eyes, her black tips, and tints of
reddish brown on the topcoat and the white underbelly, she was a stunning wolf. Ice was
almost easy to mistake for white, the greys and blues of Ice’s coat being so pale, then his blue
eyes, he could be mistaken for the tundra. Timber was dark black-brown coloring with near
red brown eyes, he was a lanky creature too, towering over the other wolves. Finally, there
was White Fang, who was similar to Frostfyre in coloring, but with more dark greys and
streaks of black, black and brown tips in his fur, not to mention the blue eyes again.
Sansa had spoken to the tanners about making the wolves armor, as well as other amenities
for when they were home. She staunchly refused any offerings of muzzles, or even thinking
about muzzling their wolves, she would not do that, they were meant to protect themselves
and the Starks, they would not be muzzled. But the wolves did need things like leashes,
collars, markers to indicate they weren’t just wild beasts. Sansa always styled Frostfyre with
bows which matched her dresses, but Sara and Cregan preferred collars or such for their
wolves.
Frostfyre trotted along beside Sansa with ease as they ventured into the Red Keep. She
rounded the corner to see the main courtyards and saw the servants bustling about. There was
a lot of work happening, and Sansa took a steadying breath as she walked through the Keep.
She smiled, talking to a few servants she recognized. But overall, she just listened to the
goings-on of the Keep; she eventually found a gazebo where she and Frostfyre sat to watch
the morning. There were dragons flying over the ocean, and she watched as they seemed to
dive into the waters, whether it was play or not she could not tell. Despite how absolutely
terrifying they were, it was majestic to watch. She could pick out the ones she recognized;
Caraxes and Syrax were easy to spot, there was a white little blur which she thought was
Arrax, there was Vermax, and a few other dragons she didn’t recognize. She looked around
for Vhagar but didn’t see the massive beast. The Queen of Dragons, she was difficult to miss.
Sansa just watched as the beasts were diving into the waters and shooting up.
“My lady!?” a servant sputtered as Frostfyre let out a low growl.
“Good morning,” Sansa said as she rose, the servant looked nervous, eyeing Frostfyre in
surprise and concern. “If I am in the way of your morning duties, I will be pleased to
move…”
“No! No, my lady! I’m sorry…” the maid squeaked, and Sansa noticed her hugging her
linens.
“I’ve always found the gardens to be a lovely shortcut, especially at home,” Sansa chuckled.
The maid slowly relaxed a little. “I… I like to sneak through here at this hour and watch the
dragons…”
“They are magnificent,” Sansa chuckled. “I’m sorry, but I did not catch your name?”
“Oh… it’s… not important my lady,” the girl stammered out.
“It is incredibly rude, I find to deny the importance of one’s very own name,” she informed
the girl.
“Janyce… my lady,” the girl mumbled shyly.
“Well, Janyce, if you would like, Frostfyre and I were about to order some tea, and after
you’ve finished your tasks, I would like to hear more about your thoughts regarding
dragons,” she smiled.
“My… My thoughts?” the young girl looked astonished.

“Of course, besides, I like having my morning tea with company,” she informed the girl with
a smile.
“I… I will finish my tasks swiftly,” she smiled.
“Do not do them sloppily, I’m not going anywhere,” she assured.
The girl smiled as she scurried off and Sansa sat back down as she stroked Frostfyre’s head.
The wolf’s ears twitched, and Sansa listened. It did not take long before the maid appeared
with focused determination on her steps and a tray in hand. Sansa rose and took it from the
girl, thanking her as she let the girl be seated before seating herself again. Sansa then listened
to Janyce’s observations on the dragons and Janyce told Sansa they were hunting, which was
fascinating. The girl reminded Sansa of Sara and it was fun to have a light conversation.
“My apologies, my lady,” Janyce said after a bit of time. “I’ve just been jabbering away, my
mama always said I jabbered too much…”
“It’s nice,” Sansa dismissed the statement with ease. “To talk freely is a skill most do not
possess.”
“Oh?”
Sansa nodded. “And if you are passionate about dragons, it is pleasant to learn about them
from someone who is not a Targaryen.”
“I do hope that this isn’t to besmirch me now that we’re going to be married,” a new voice
said, and Sansa jolted as she turned to see Aemond walking up.
“My Prince!” Janyce yelped as she nearly fell out of her seat.
“I’m getting a bell for you and all your family!” Sansa warned. “Stop that!”
“Surely your loyal guard would alert you to me,” Aemond stated blandly as he came over, he
let Frostfyre sniff his hand before stroking her ears.
“Mmm, no, she likes you,” Sansa sighed. “Janyce, it appears you know my betrothed.”
“My apologies, my Prince…” Janyce stammered.
“Thank you for keeping Lady Sansa company,” he replied.
“I… I will take this to the kitchens now, it was a pleasure to speak with you, my lady!”
Janyce squeaked as she collected the tea and hurried off with the same focus.
“Befriending the staff already?” Aemond asked as he took the seat Janyce vacated.
“I’m learning things, my prince,” she quipped as she plucked a grape out of the fruit bowl
Janyce had left behind.
“And what is that?”

“What dragons eat,” she answered. “I know we’ve discussed the topic before, but could you
refresh my memory?”
“Ah… Sharks, whales, Vhagar likes whales best; when they’re younger, goats, swine, it’s
when they get larger, they eat less, but they eat bigger meals. My sister’s dragon, Syrax,
prefers horses, and Caraxes likes men, but is partial to cattle too.”
“Mmm,” she hummed. “Human?”
“He developed the taste during Daemon’s conquests of the Stepstones.”
“That’s horrifying,” Sansa muttered.
“He’s particularly fond of maesters,” Aemond informed her.
“Then let him feast,” she shrugged delicately, and he snorted as they watched the dragons.
“What does Vhagar eat when she doesn’t have whale?”
“Whatever she wants, she prefers cattle, or sheep, but mostly she likes whale,” Aemond
answered.
She nodded slowly.
“My sister has brought up Valyrian marriage customs,” Aemond said stiffly.
“I was of the impression the ceremony would be a mix of Valyrian and Northern customs,”
Sansa said as they both watched the Dragons now floating in the oceans, stretched out and
pleased with themselves.
“Yes, but Valyrian customs… are unexpectedly bloody,” he informed her.
“How so?”
“We would have to have cut one another, the ceremony requires an exchange of blood and
handfasting,” he explained.
“Cut each other how?” she sputtered.
“According to Rhaenyra, we cut on the bottom lip, and use the thumb to write High Valyrian
glyphs for spouse on the brow. Then we cut our palms, here,” he held up his hand and traced
a line along his palm. “It’s supposedly the heartline, meant to bind our hearts. After which,
you press your cut to mine, and our hands are bound as a Valyrian priest speaks the oaths of
eternal love, loyalty, and devotion, then we seal the pact with ceremonial firewine, and a
kiss,” he finished.
She blinked a few times.
“We do not have to, Sansa... perhaps we can make it, so it is simply spoken without drawing
blood,” he started uncertainly.
“You… you practice Valyrian customs, Aemond, it’s… it’s important to you,” she
stammered. “Just, Northern weddings are so simple, and this is not…”
“No, it’s not,” Aemond sighed.
“So… we should do the Northern ceremony first,” she stated. “It’s simple, quiet, and between
us, we will be in the Godswood with Cregan and Sara, perhaps with your sister Helaena, and
your mother, and it’s simple, just exchange the cloaks, and we will then, as we exit, publicly
do the Valyrian ceremony. Northern Ceremonies do not require vows, or to be sealed with
kisses, so we will do that for the Court witnesses. Then they can’t dispute our marriage.”
“I have been meaning to ask, why do Northern weddings not require vows?” Aemond asked.
“Because… I do not know,” she shrugged. “I suppose it’s simple, if you’ve decided you’re
spending the rest of your life with someone, what more is there to say? Southron folks don’t
seem inclined to follow their vows, and with all this fanfare, they seem predominantly
miserable, so… why complicate something between the people making the decision to be
married? The wedding isn’t the marriage, the wedding is simply a sort of celebration for
everyone else to share in the joy of the union, but the union itself is just the beginning; why
complicate that with vows or promises you can’t keep?”
“Sansa, as we discussed,” he started.
“I do not doubt you, Aemond,” she promised. “But I do not need you to publicly promise
never to betray our vows, or give the fanfare, it’s of no purpose to me. In time you will either
honor our union, or you won’t, but I believe you to be honorable enough to maintain our
union, and I know I will.”
He nodded.
“I’m not opposed to the Valyrian ceremony, Aemond, it will also annoy the Faith,” she mused
as she popped another grape into her mouth. “But I am not a enthusiast of pain.”
He snorted as he shook his head in amusement. She smiled as she sat there.
“Thank you, Sansa,” he said softly.
“Of course,” she mused. “We are friends.”
“We are,” he agreed.
“But… I do have one request,” she started as she took a steadying breath. She needed to have
Aemond understand though she was serious.
“And that is?”
“No… no bedding ceremony,” she said levelly as she looked at him. “I am not opposed to our
wedding night, Aemond, but the bedding ceremony, the tearing of clothes, and the jeering…
no, I do not want anyone else grabbing me, so… please,” she started.
“Before that can begin, I can always steal you away,” he offered. “It is not a problem to just
grab one’s wife over their shoulder, is it?”
“No,” she shook her head as relief swamped her.
“It bothers you that greatly?” Aemond asked cautiously.
“I… I did not know it bothered me so greatly,” she murmured. “I… I was… there is much
about my life, Aemond, which I do not share, as there is much about your life you have not
shared; and I survived Cregan’s campaigns, but it was not… simple. I was a hostage against
my brother for a period, during the campaigns, they did not get Sara or Arra, but they did
manage to get me.”
“Were you…?” Aemond started.
“Yes,” she answered levelly. “The only touch I have ever experienced was… brutal.”
“And the offender?”
“I fed him to his hounds,” she answered firmly. “After Cregan had retrieved me, when I
sentenced him to die, and struck his name from history and tore his very family out of the
bloodlines, I sentenced him to death. And I watched.”
“Why would you watch?” Aemond asked.
“The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword,” Sansa answered icily. She might
not have been around for that lesson from her father, but it was one she had come to rely on
as words about her brother’s reign as King of the North, and later just the determination to be
Northern in her heart, it was a lesson she had taken to heart. She would not pass a sentence
unless she was the one swinging the sword or unleashing the hounds. She would not be a
monster like Cersei or Joffrey, if she sentenced someone to death, she would carry it out, by
her own hand.
“Cregan did not pass his death. I did. And I was going to make him suffer how he had made
me suffer,” she confessed darkly. “So, I fed him to the only creatures he cared about, not that
he loved his hounds really, he kept them half-starved, beaten, and prepared to kill at a
moment’s notice, and I used that against him. When I sentenced him to die, I released the
hounds, I watched as they tore him apart and I listened to his screams as he begged for mercy.
I waited until he was most certainly dead, and the hounds were ripping him apart, limb by
limb before I left. I wanted to make certain the job was done right the first time; it is a very
pesky thing when the dead will not stay dead.”
Aemond nodded slowly as they sat there. “We do not have to do anything that night…” he
started.
“Aemond, I… I trust you,” she informed him bluntly. She was surprised by herself confessing
she did in fact trust him about this. There was nothing in history, or what she knew of him as
a person, to indicate he was cruel or malicious to women. “Just, be patient, and please, I do
not think I can survive a bedding ceremony, I do not have that fortitude within me. I am a
Stark and I will do my duty, but I need you to be patient with me.”
He nodded slowly and she smiled as she relaxed. “I can be patient with you, and gentle,” he
informed her seriously. “But I expect the same.”
“Have you… before?”
“It is not pleasant in my experience,” he ground out. She did not press the matter given the
shade of red his ears were turning, and how he was glaring at his hands. “My brother dragged
me to a brothel when I was thirteen summers, and… it was the most humiliating moment in
my entire life, and I have many of those, Sansa.”
“What a pair we are,” she muttered. “Aemond, I will not humiliate you, if you do not hurt
me.”
“Then I believe we can learn this act,” Aemond said softly.
“It’s supposedly pleasurable,” she informed him.
Now he laughed bitterly as he leaned against his hand. “It’s supposed to be. And yet it
appears neither of us are aware of that, merely how it is terrible.”
She chuckled as she leaned back in her seat. “Maybe we’ll figure something out.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed. “Is there anything else we should expect about that night?”
“Um… don’t… take me, from behind,” she grimaced. “Please.”
“I can manage that,” he assured, and she sagged in her seat completely.
“I did not know how much stress I had about trying to discuss that night,” she sighed. “I
started a hundred letters trying to inquire about our wedding night, but always lost my
nerve.”
He nodded and she looked out at the sea.
Part of her wondered what could make a man uncomfortable with the act of bedding a
woman, but she also knew Aemond did not like being the center of attention, and he did not
like being humiliated. He always seemed to be the butt of someone’s prank or joke from what
she had witnessed of him with Rhaenyra’s family, and he was always wary when he heard
laughter, and he made himself scarce whenever he was around too many people.
Part of her just thought it was him being shy, but when he admitted to bedding being
uncomfortable and humiliating for him, she had a feeling he’d been harassed and belittled
and attacked for most of his formative years. And that the loss of his eye was the only visible
scar people knew of. Aemond’s discomfort around people did not seem to be because he was
shy, and it saddened her greatly to think he had been molded into who he was because of the
actions of others, particularly his own family.
Yes, she and Arya always fought and attempted to belittle and annoy one another, but at the
end of the day they were sisters. And she would hurt anyone who harmed her sister, not that
Arya could be hurt anymore. Sansa would go to the same lengths for Robb, Jon, and Bran
even. Her biggest regrets were her inability to save Rickon, her treatment of Jon in their
younger years, and never getting to say goodbye to Bran or Robb. She’d been a stupid,
foolish girl, and she wanted to go scream at her younger self to value them, to hug them
closely, because they were all that mattered. Family should not be the source of agony or
insecurity, and Sansa hated that it seemed to be Aemond’s core source of pain and love.
“I did not know how to have that conversation either,” Aemond muttered.
She nodded as she popped another grape in her mouth. “So, would you like to tell me about
your past year, the things you can’t put in a letter?”
“Primarily this wedding is getting out of hand, you’d think it was the heir getting married,
and my father believes this wedding is for Rhaenyra,” Aemond sighed.
“He does?”
“Mmm… Lord Beesbury is delighted though, and driving me barmy,” Aemond sighed as he
rubbed his temple in annoyance. She reached over to pull off his eyepatch, which startled him
as he stared at her.
“I think this is the bigger source of the headaches than Lord Beesbury,” she informed him as
she toyed with the leather.
“Sansa… can I have that back,” he started.
“If it is giving you a headache, no,” she stated.
“Sansa… it makes people comfortable.”
“Well, I am not people, I am your future wife and friend,” she quipped. “Aemond, while it is
just us, you are safe, your scar is not ugly, nor disfiguring, and I would prefer for you not to
have headaches.”
He seemed confused but slowly relaxed as he continued talking with her. She kept the
eyepatch in her lap as they spoke.
Vaemond walked with Lord Lyman Beesbury as they spotted the young couple in the
gardens. Neither one seemed uncomfortable with the other, or doing anything untoward to the
other, so he and Lyman decided to keep their distance and let the couple reunite in peace.
Vaemond was pleased at this development, he had expected the match to be well suited for
the other from what Daemion had told him, but not to this degree. He was very pleased with
these results, because it aided in his own plans even if the pair did not know it.
“Dorne is set to arrive soon,” Lyman Beesbury informed him.
“I know, it seemed important to invite them,” Vaemond smiled.

Even if his brother was going to be the fool and hope his ‘grandsons’ would sit on the throne,
Vaemond was certain after this wedding most would see what he saw. Gathering support for
the match was not very difficult, Aemond had made a good name for himself despite his
disposition. Especially as Daemion’s own friends slowly won Aemond over, it was slow, and
tedious, but Aemond was slowly coming around to the Southron men Daemion introduced
him to. As to Lady Sansa, well, there was hardly any work to be done on her behalf, she was
a Stark, and the Starks were beloved by the North, soon the tales of how the Starks were
spread south into the Realm, and she was a curiosity and becoming interesting to the South.
Just this past hour, there’d been a maid praising Lady Sansa for inviting her, a maid, for tea
and to talk about dragons. The praise was spreading swiftly.
Coupled with the dowry the North had just given House Targaryen, which was no doubt
making the match between the Starks and Targaryens even more legendary in terms of a
dowry and bride price; the pair were quickly going to grow into a legend.
Then there was the work in the North, and Vaemond knew there were rumors declaring the
match between Lady Sansa and Prince Aemond a love match. And Rhaenyra’s support of this
match as her idea had been the last piece, he needed to seal this match. Viserys would never
deny his precious daughter’s whims.
“For what purpose?” Lyman asked.
“They have a vested interest in the North given the trade agreements, but also, there is need
for these trade partners to meet, and perhaps find more common ground. It will also assist
Westeros to see a competent young Prince and his Bride managing foreign diplomatic
relations, competent leadership is so rare after all,” he shrugged.
“You speak of treason,” Lyman informed him.
“I speak of nothing,” he countered. Vaemond had quietly fashioned the newest sect of Court,
though he had been working quietly and behind the scenes. It was simple enough, given
Aemond’s young bride seemed to fancy dressing Aemond in blue or red, even grey, but
because of the change of Aemond’s wardrobe colors, it had been simple to fashion a sect to
follow Aemond. Not that anyone had really noticed it, except those who knew to look. Also,
Daemion had decided this was worth the risk, which had Vaemond agreeing, so they had
agreed to their course of action.
Aemond Targaryen would be King when this was over, even if the Realm did not know it.
Yet.
“If Aemond is gathering support, he is doing so on his own, and there have been no disputes
between Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Aegon regarding succession. And do not pretend you
are not acting in treason either. Just because the Master of Whispers has not heard our
whispers does not mean he is blind,” Vaemond shrugged. He was honestly surprised Lord
Strong wasn’t more aware of this new faction growing under his nose.
“I support the Realm,” Lyman started.

“As does Prince Aemond,” Vaemond stated firmly. “Rhaenyra is weak, dishonorable, and
foolish, and with Daemon at her side they will ruin the Realm, or plunge it into war for
Daemon’s personal ambitions, killing two great families and tearing apart the Realm. Aegon
is a fool and puppet for zealots getting their hands on the Crown. If the terms of peace are
good enough for the Greens and Blacks, then they will not move against the Realm, most of
the Realm is in support of Aemond because even if they have the Crown, they do not have
the Realm, and the fight is for the Realm.”
“Would it not be wiser to inform the young prince and his promised of this?” Lyman asked.
“No. Starks do not betray their oaths, and Aemond has worked hard to keep the Realm
together, if he were to know of the plans, he will not cooperate, and, from my observations,
any perceived threat to his sister and her children, he’ll burn the Realm, so we must have a
true plan to ensure the safety of those who are his before we could ever approach him. For
now, we will let him do the hard work of building his name, and let his union display the type
of King he would make, let the people and the Realm see the options for succession and let
them decide.
“The Greens seek to obtain unwavering power, and influence, through the Faith and the
Crown they possess both and it is enough to drive the Realm into nothing but zealots and
future crusades against neighboring lands after they have conquered all of Westeros; and that
will never happen because of the North and Targaryens.
“The Blacks are entitled, foolish, and have no long-term goals, they will plunge the Realm
into war because they believe the Iron Throne is theirs. They do not possess economic
reforms, or trade deals, or a future plan for the people.
“Aemond is learning, he has offered internal trade amongst the Realms, which will, in time,
build infrastructure and travel; he has an understanding of the power the individual Realms
possess against the Crown, and he is willing to respect that power; in turn he is respected for
his power. He’s becoming a King, and you endorse him as you teach him the economies of
each Realm and the future of this Realm, as do the other members of the Small Council.
“Inviting the Dornish, our neighbors and enemies as well as the North’s closest and newest
trade ally, will make the people see what sort of King we could have, and it will aid in
gaining his support,” Vaemond said.
“It is inviting war and treason if we are caught.”
“War is upon us no matter what we do, as is treason, so we shall endeavor not to be caught,”
Vaemond smiled. “But I would rather lose my head supporting the Realm than supporting the
fools we have to choose from.”
Vaemond watched as Sansa laughed at something Aemond had said, and it was now he
noticed the Prince was not wearing his eyepatch. They were a young, handsome pair.
“This is a dangerous game, Vaemond,” Lyman said as he softened watching the couple. “I do
love that boy like he was my own grandson, but I feel this is too dangerous.”
“You know them all, tell me, Lord Beesbury, who will make the best ruler?” Vaemond asked.
“Any future this Realm possesses… a Targaryen father, a Stark mother, that is a powerful
match. It might be the one match to actually save the Realm, their line could be temperate
enough to handle the burdens and powers of the crown. The Starks have wielded power
uncorrupt and for the North for millennia, and they have never abused it, Targaryens possess
the power to command the Seven Kingdoms, but do not know how to wield this power, tell
me Lord Beesbury, is that not worth committing treason to secure the future?”
Lyman stared at the pair for a long while and Vaemond saw the way he sighed. The pair were
a handsome pair, and young, they weren’t foolish or cruel, and sitting there, it was easy to
believe they would protect the Realm. A Stark and Targaryen, it was a dangerous and
powerful match.
“I am sworn to serve the Realm,” Lyman said softly. “And for twenty and two years I have
struggled to do that, these past two years I have had the resources to serve the Realm though.
I will do what is best for the Realm.”
Cregan woke, looked around for Rickon before falling back in his bed, groaning as he
remembered, again; his son was back in Winterfell with Jon. Getting up he had gotten
dressed and walked out of the apartments as Ice fell into step with him. Ice was also strapped
to his back, and he chuckled as he leaned over to scratch the wolf’s ears. Of all the fucking
things his sister could name the beast after, she had selected his sword. Ice gave him a loving
nip on his knuckles before trotting off.
It did not take Cregan long to find the training grounds, and he spotted his squire and men
there. Lord Mormont came up to him then; the older man was one of the more distinguished
Lords of the North, and Cregan waited as the man came up to the balcony.
“I have not seen your sister this morning, and she dismissed her guard,” Lord Mormont
informed him.
“Sansa is fine, she will have Frostfyre with her,” Cregan stated. He did not doubt that the
wolves would be ferocious guards, and with all the training Sansa had worked on, as well as
all the work he and Sara had done to train the beasts, they were a loyal, dangerous guard. And
Sansa had a knack for making friends wherever she was.
“I am aware, but I would feel more secure if she did not dismiss her guard.”
“I will talk to her about it,” Cregan said. “Is there something else?”
“Dorne is invited to this wedding,” Lord Mormont informed him.
Cregan raised his brow at that statement as he leaned on a post. Cregan did not know much
about Dorne, they didn’t interact with the South, and Dorne was as south as one could go on
Westeros. He didn’t know much about the Dornish, but knew they were rather similar to the
North in their isolationism, and they were openly against Targaryen rule, which was
understandable. They were also saving the North’s arse with all that sand, and they had been,
thus far, fair trade partners. And Dorne did not believe in the Faith, which Cregan considered
good for everyone, he was curious about Dorne, but he had decided to hold his curiosities for
a later time when the North wasn’t on the brink of a famine or collapse. Still, the
independence of Dorne was something Cregan wanted to learn about, and he wanted to learn
about how they’d held strong against the Targaryens for so long.
If Sansa was not marrying Aemond, Cregan would have seriously contemplated breaking
vows to have Northern independence; primarily because of what Sansa had told him of the
future, and because of how Arra died. Cregan would never trust or forgive the South for
stealing his wife from him, but Cregan knew they couldn’t abandon the South just yet.
“And this affects us how?” Cregan finally asked as they looked at the training. “Doren is a
neighbor of Westeros, should they not be invited?”
“My lord, the Dornish are nothing but venomous vipers,” Lord Mormont muttered.
“As we have no strife with Dorne do not create one, Lord Mormont, they’re currently saving
our arses. If they are a problem, they are too far to be our concern, and after this wedding, we
will be home again.”
“I am grateful to their generous trade, my lord, but it is not wise to trust vipers. For now they
are a friend, but what about later? What if they decide to turn on the Targaryens? Prince
Aemond and Lady Sansa are here for the time being, this could harm them.” Lord Mormont
stated.
“No, but that is why we have been constructing that new keep for them, you did not actually
believe I would come south without a gift for my sister and her husband to be closer to us?”
Cregan asked.
“I… I am aware of the keep, my lord, but given the Targaryens are Southron, do you honestly
expect them to move North?” he asked.
“Yes, because I negotiated it to be so,” Cregan answered. “I’m aware Aemond is devoted to
the Realm, and willing to travel the Realm. And the King agreed to give Aemond his own
stronghold to manage, which was part of the bride price I negotiated to get back the New
Gift. Aemond has agreed to reside there with Sansa permanently when they are not attending
to their Royal duties, and it is where their children will be born and raised, before they are
sent to squire and be tutored by Northern Houses.”
“That is… good, very good,” Lord Mormont nodded.
“Sansa is not staying here, I doubt she’d tolerate being here long term; and Lord Mormont,
we have no strife with the Dornish given they are our trade partners,” Cregan reiterated. He
did not have any qualms with the Dornes, they were too far south to be a problem for him,
and he needed their trade. His biggest problems outside the elements were the Boltons and
the Iron Islands, and right now, Aemond had terrified the Boltons into behaving with the
threat of Vhagar, and the Iron Islands were suffering from massive storms tearing their fleet
apart. And while Cregan was not comfortable leaving Jon and his son behind in Winterfell,
he had felt calmer about the choice as he was certain no one would act out during this
wedding.
When it was over and Cregan was home, he would work on keeping his people safe and
making certain his sisters were happy, and his son safe again. For now, Jon, Timber and
Ghost protected what he held most dear while he was away.
“By the way, keep Jace out of fucking trouble, put him to work,” Cregan said as he turned to
leave. A body slammed into Cregan, and he turned to glare at the offender, who was a tall,
young woman, with thick black hair and obsidian eyes. She glared at him in turn.
“Watch where you’re going,” she demanded scathingly.
Cregan’s lip curled back as he snarled, and Ice appeared beside him growling lowly as the fur
rose.
He turned to leave when she flinched. Cregan was going to go find Sansa now, and he would
enjoy a day free of whatever wedding processions were being had. He found Sansa and
Aemond in the gardens watching the oceans, and smiled as they greeted him. Sansa got up to
give him a hug, and Aemond looked uncomfortable for some reason, Cregan just smiled a
greeting.
“What have you two been discussing?” he asked as he sat with them.
“Primarily the wedding,” Sansa informed him.
“There’s a tourney I’m not permitted to participate in,” Aemond grumbled.
“Boring, but we should spar,” Cregan decided with a shrug. Cregan hated tourneys, but he
loved a good spar, and Aemond perked up at that.
It was now Cregan noticed Aemond was not wearing the eyepatch.
Aegon was stunned as he watched Ser Vaemond and Lord Beesbury walk away, completely
unaware of him. He leaned back against the wall of the Red Keep as he stared up at the skies.
Why The Fuck Hadn’t He Thought Of That Before!?
He nearly laughed with glee at the escape he saw before his life, he could actually evade the
death sentence looming over his misery, and he would… he would go, go and be anyone else!
He would go to the Free Cities, bet on the fighting pits, leave Helaena and the brats and the
kingdom behind! He could do that!
He’d have to have a plan though; he would need to ensure it would work.
Aegon rubbed his temples, trying to think past the drink in his system. He’d have to think of
something, anything, there was a way out for him!
Getting up he staggered for his rooms, he’d have to ensure he could get out of this fate.
Sara had woken up and left her ladies sleeping, she didn’t want to wake her friends. The only
reason she was awake at this hour was because of habit, she never really slept late, it was
early to start, late to bed, and she worked. So, she woke with no duties expected of her, and
uneasy by the prospect. Getting dressed in one of her simple gowns, she peeked out of her
rooms with White Fang before walking out.
The Red Keep, it was so unlike any place Sara had seen or been too, she had thought the
South to be like White Harbor, but no, this was… something else. It was grand, intimidating,
beautiful, but ultimately, it made her uneasy, it made her feel like the prey she so frequently
hunted. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling to a wolf to feel like the prey. Even the air felt stifling
here, no birds sang, and no joy or life seemed to echo in these halls. Slowly she walked
through the Red Keep, looking around as she found the gardens, Sansa and Cregan would be
in the Gardens usually, they liked being outside and she did too, but she didn’t know where to
go.
“Lady Sara?” she twisted around, seeing a beautiful Targaryen princess there, with her twin.
One girl had long locks which seemed akin to those the Valeryon wore when he’d been in
Winterfell, the other girl had wild, thick, large curls. The girls were identical, and ethereal in
appearance.
“Princesses,” she gave a low curtsy as she rose, White Fang wrapped around her waist, and
watched them.
“I… I wanted to thank you, for these, they are most beautiful!” the girl with the locks said. “I
am Princess Rhaena, we’ve met before, but I don’t think we were ever properly introduced.”
“I’m Princess Baela,” the other girl smiled.
“I remember us meeting,” Sara admitted.
“We did not see you in Winterfell frequently,” Rhaena said.
“I have duties to attend to,” Sara stated firmly. “Not all of us are pampered Southron
princesses.”
“I…” Baela strangled out. Sara frowned as she folded her arms and looked the girls over.
“Too right, it appears we could learn something from one another,” Rhaena chuckled, her
pink dragon slid around her neck, the tail acting like a necklace.
“Jace has written to me about how hard life in the North is,” Baela sighed then. “I do suppose
we have it easier by comparison.”
“No, I just don’t think you’re given duties to attend to,” Sara stated. “Jace is a ponce.”
“He’s a prince,” Baela stated.
“Doesn’t make him any less of a ponce!” Sara countered.
“Why are you up so early?” Baela asked now looking amused.

“I usually have chores to do, but then I remembered I’m here, and I don’t, so now I’ll find
Sansa or Cregan, and see if there’s something else to be done,” Sara shrugged. She normally
had an endless list of duties she managed, from the hunts, to disputes, waking up and having
nothing was odd.
“Well, how about we go find them as well, we wanted to thank Lord Stark and Lady Sansa
for our gifts,” Rhaena said. “What is your wolf’s name?”
“This is White Fang, what’s your dragons’ names?” she asked.
“This is Morning,” Rhaena smiled at her pink dragon.
“I ride Moondancer,” Baela smiled then.
Chapter End Notes
Yes, this is greatly recycled, but I do have new material coming, because other than one
or two other chapters from the first draft, I'll be writing from scratch for the new plot.
Minor edit and frustration for another piece I'm working on, but WHY ARE MEN SO
BLOODY HARD TO KIDNAP!? If anyone knows, please tell me, because I'm stuck on
a plot hitch and I can't seem to kidnap the idiot. (No, I'm not kidnapping a real person,
but I have hit a plot snag in a story, and I need to kidnap the guy.)
Chapter 2
Sansa was amused as she and Aemond caught up on their last year apart. There were some
things which simply were not for letters, but the prospect of training was too interesting for
Aemond to turn away; the poor man obviously had energy to burn, as did Cregan, so they
both hared off to get into trouble. She was laughing watching them run out of the gardens,
competitive spirits ignited!
“They left without me!” Sara’s voice balked, and Sansa twisted in her seat to see her younger
sister there gaping.
“I’m surprised they didn’t leave earlier,” Sansa chuckled. “You highnesses,” Sansa rose,
giving the two young princesses with Sara a low curtsy.
“Lady Sansa,” Rhaena and Baela both gave her a smile and small curtsy in turn. “We wanted
to thank you… for the gifts.”
“I do hope they were to your taste,” Sansa said to the younger girls.
“I’m going to ride Moondancer with Jace and Vermax later, how did you get the leather so
light!?” Baela asked.
“Brains,” Sara answered.
“Sara!” Sansa groaned in exasperation.
“What! I used brains!” she defended.
“You…” Baela gaped. “You made the jerkin?”
“No… I killed the elk though and made the leather! Sansa did all the sewing,” Sara preened.
Sansa sighed as she looked balefully at her boastful sister. “Sara, this is not an appropriate
topic with the princesses, they do not need to know who made the gifts.”
“Oh.”
“You… you’ve made all of Aemond’s shirts, and jackets…” Rhaena said softly. “They’re
most beautiful, and… and all the gifts… are those your work as well?”
“Sansa loves sewing, she’s always sewing.”
“Sara!”
“What! It’s not a secret!”

“It’s not appropriate.”
“Why!?”
“Because it is a gift,” Sansa answered. “From the North, by the North, it is not from me and it
is not to be boasted out of pride on my behalf, it is a gift from the North by the North.”
“Oh…” Sara nodded then. “I’m sorry, I did not think of it in that manner.”
“And now you will,” Sansa said. “Come on, sit, I have been enjoying watching the dragons,”
Sansa sat again, and watched as Sara came over, while Baela and Rhaena looked hesitant
before they both sat with her.
“Did your ancestors really work with Valyria?” Baela asked.
“Yes,” Sansa answered. “We were Kings once, we had many relations with many other
kingdoms and empires as well as our own.”
“Do you have anything else from Valyria?” Rhaena asked curiously.
“Was the jewelry not to your liking?” Sansa asked warily. She knew that the Stark vaults had
several other Valyrian artifacts, but after discussing the matter with Cregan he had argued
they’d be a gift for her new House and her children, not for the Targaryens alone. Also, it was
still his vault to decide what to do with. They had other pieces in their vault, but the gold set
had seemed the most appropriate for a young princess, and future of House Velaryon.
“No, it is magnificent!” Rhaena smiled. “I have only heard legends of Valyrian smithing
ability and all we have left is Valyrian Steel, to even see, or possess Valyrian Gold! And a
complete set, it is unheard of! It is beyond priceless!”
“I am pleased to hear you enjoy the gift,” Sansa smiled softly. She didn’t mention the other
sets the Starks possessed.
“How did your family deal with Valyria?” Baela asked.
“Infrequently, I’m afraid,” Sansa chuckled.
“There must always be a Stark at Winterfell,” Sara replied ruefully.
“We’re homebodies at heart,” Sansa agreed. “The North though had occasional dealings with
other nations, and empires, as infrequent as they could be, we had dealings though with
Valyria on rare occasions, they would sent diplomatic envoys on occasion, I think at one
point one of the Great Houses of Valyria attempted to arrange a match between one of my
ancestors and his daughter until he met us.”
“Oh?” Rhaena tilted her head. “Why would they not pursue a match?”
“We are notoriously ugly,” Sara giggled. “Horsefaced until our formidable years!”
“Yes, it is quite common for Starks to not be pretty,” Sansa agreed with a laugh. Sara was
recently growing into her features and turning into a beautiful young woman, with thick
black curls, vibrant grey eyes, milky white skin, red pouty lips, stubborn jaw, but at the cusp
of growing into those features she still looked like an awkward Stark. “We do have a fairy
tale up North so we Starks might not despair about our poor looks.”
“But you’re not ugly!” Baela and Rhaena stated.
Sansa and Sara were a bit amused, Starks had such strong features, it was hard to feel
beautiful or pretty as a child when always feeling awkward. “We’re as pretty as a new born
foal is when we are children, but, like any foal, we do grow into ourselves and do not despair
about our vanity. Frequently.”
“Sansa’s the prettiest Stark ever,” Sara decided.
“And you’re going to easily be prettier than I when you are finished growing,” Sansa assured.
Sara gave a bashful smile in turn. “But Valyrians are uncommonly beautiful, with high beauty
standards in their culture, and when they saw Starks were not they did not pursue a match,
instead settling for some diplomatic relationships. Which was fine by us because we aren’t
particularly keen on leaving the North as it stands.”
“So… you marrying Aemond is the first match between a Stark and Valyrian?” Rhaena said
softly.
“It is the first Stark marriage to a person of Valyrian descent,” she admitted carefully. It
would be the first union, and marriage, but she knew it would not produce the first Stark-
Targaryen children, though Jon’s line would likely end with Jon. She knew her brother was
unlikely to ever pursue a relationship with a woman ever again, and even less inclined to
have another child after losing Little Robb so painfully. But if things changed, she would be
pleased for him, Jon deserved to be happy.
“Did a Stark ever go to Old Valyria!?” Baela asked.
“Yes,” Sara answered gleefully. “King Harlon! When he saved that Valyrian girl, he took her
back to Old Valyria, that was when he was said to have been gifted Ice, and he almost
married that Valyrian girl.”
“That’s so romantic!” Rhaena sighed.
“Not really given King Harlon was not inclined to get married to a Valyrian when he had a
bride back in the North of a different noble House, House Reed, so instead, he proposed brief
trade and was gifted with Valyrian gifts, and returned to the North, where he then made the
Red King’s son bend the knee to become Lord instead of King, and claimed the lands for
himself. Spoils of war, and he had yet another foothold in the North to seal his reign,” Sansa
explained.
“Why not wipe out the Red King?” Baela asked.

“Because we are Starks, and we sometimes do something incredibly stupid,” Sara rolled her
eyes.
“I’m going to have to work harder on your history lessons aren’t I?” Sansa sighed tiredly.
“No, that is not why we left the Red King’s line to become Lords, though it has not been our
wisest action. Mercy is sometimes the way to lending rule and conquering a stubborn scared
people who are comfortable with the evil they know as opposed to the evil they don’t. It is
never right to leave evil to fester and grow but know that sometimes that evil is well
protected by the perceptions of those enthrall to it who fear anything new as possibly being
worse. We let the Red King’s son live so his people would not be eradicated, because they
would fight down to the last villager to protect the Red King. And after a two year long, and
bloody stalemate of a war to retrieve a stolen Valyrian princess, it seemed more important to
have peace than to have broken spirits. Mercy was the lesson King Harlon taught the North.”
“Mercy is stupid at times,” Sara stated firmly.
“I am not disagreeing, Sara, but context of history for why it happened is important!”
“I’m not disagreeing but if we had wiped out the Red Kings and their blood then the Raping
of Three Sisters was not what it was, and the Red Kings would not have worn Stark pelts as
coats, and we would not have them around to pester us!”
“I have not disagreed, but at the time it was not a wise move, and would have lead to more
revolts and disasters, after an already straining campaign, wars are logistical nightmares Sara
and the logitistics have to be taken into account for how to act.”
“You sound like Cregan.”
“Cregan is the most brilliant war mind the North has, learn from him!”
“I am! I just think King Harlon was stupid for not killing off the Red King when he had the
chance,” Sara shrugged. “I understand why he didn’t, but I disagree, and if I were there, I’d
tell him to kill the Red King. Is it not better for the Realm if traitors are dead?”
“And it was his Realm, Sara, not ours, and killing him would be seen as treason by his
people, and they would have revolted, no matter our intentions they did not know us, and
they did not love us, we are Starks,” Sansa countered.
“But if we did conquer their lands, properly, we would not have the problems we have had in
the last four hundred years from them!”
“Or we’d have different problems!”
“Like what?”
“Like the Vale invading, or Targaryens fighting us, or the Riverlands crossing the Neck…
there are a multitude of issues here and it is not as simple as eliminating one problem to
prevent that outcome. You prevent or solve one problem for new ones to emerge and new
challenges to be managed, and that is life,” Sansa stated.
“I still think we should’ve killed them.”
“As do I, but that’s not what we did, so we cannot lament what we should’ve done!”
“And it’s not lamenting if I still stand by the ‘we should eliminate the threat’ stance,” Sara
huffed.
Sansa’s head fell back as she prayed for patience.
“Seems like House Stark has a lot of history,” Baela stated.
“We do,” Sara grinned.
“You’re vexing,” Sansa informed Sara.
“I’m going to go find the training grounds.”
“You still have history lessons Sara!” Sansa warned.
“I’m not behind on any of my lessons,” she promised.
“I will be speaking to Lord Mormont about your lessons!” she called after Sara as Sara ran
off with White Fang.
“I’m going to go train too,” Baela said as she ran after Sara.
Sansa shook her head in amusement as she looked out at the sea.
“Does House Stark have other dealings with Valyria?” Rhaena asked quietly.
“A few, but that is one of the most memorable,” Sansa said softly. “We did bring more for my
dowry, but we presented the most appropriate gifts first. No doubt the treasury is rather
pleased with what else we brought.”
“Like what!?” Rhaena perked up.
“Oh, a few tapestries we have, a couple of copied books, a few copied records, a breeding
pair of birds, specimen collections of butterflies and beetles, and few other things, odd things
primarily we have no use for, but belong to Valyrian houses no doubt.”
“That is very kind of you!” Rhaena smiled.
“We are not cruel, princess,” Sansa said firmly.
“I… I did not mean offense, it is just… rare for people to be kind,” Rhaena admitted.
“Mmm. Kindness is a choice, Princess Rhaena, and it starts with how you treat people,”
Sansa rose. She stated this with the knowledge that even Princesses Baela and Rhaena were
not innocent in tormenting Aemond, and she wanted the girl to learn sooner rather than later.
Because later it would be too late.
“Excuse me, I must go attend to my ladies now,” Sansa had Frostfyre coming up to her side
as she walked back to her quarters.
Rhaenys was stunned as she stood in the treasury with the other Valyrians of her family, and
they all gaped at the gifts House Stark had bestowed to them. It was more of Valyria than any
had witnessed, and it was stunning. She slowly walked the trove, though the treasures were
not as grand or vast as they felt, the care, and the quality of these items was undeniable. She
let her fingers trace over a vibrant tapestry, and bit her lip as her fingers trembled at the sight
depicted. There were other things here, a living pair of birds, vibrant and beautiful, unlike
anything she’d ever seen, and then there were cases of butterflies, living butterflies; there
were seeds labeled, with the historical background of Valyrian history, there were preserved
flowers pressed into pages of books, and preserved leaves, there were recipes even, which
had her wanting to try everything. These items were not particularly valuable, but the value
they held, it had her trembling where she stood at the graciousness of House Stark.
“Rhaenys,” Corlys called her, and she moved amongst the crates, and paused as she came
upon a map, which had her husband trembling. He had tears in his eyes, he looked at her and
smiled.
“That was my House’s home,” she whispered as she pointed to an island and smiled,
recognizing the name.
“This is more than we could have ever hoped to ever retrieve from Valyria,” he rasped in a
thick voice.
She smiled softly as she rested her brow against his throat. “Husband, this is a beautiful gift,
to our Houses,” she whispered.
“How did we not know of this?” Corlys asked softly.
“Because they were Kings before they bent the knee and none bothered to look beyond that,”
Vaemond spoke suddenly. She turned to look at her goodbrother, and he looked at his own
book. “They have a history older than ours, and it is something they graciously allow us all to
forget. It would do you well to thank Prince Aemond for this union, if it were not for him we
would not be gifted with such a glorious treasure.”
“Princess Rhaenyra proposed the match.”
“And yet, it is still Prince Aemond’s match, the thanks and gratitude belong to him,”
Vaemond walked away then. Rhaenys looked at the map again and closed her eyes, it would
probably be wise to thank the young man for accepting the match. She had never given her
cousin’s second children much thought, knowing they would claim the Iron Throne, even if
she stood beside Corlys and his push for their family to end up on the Iron Throne with hers.
She had hated Viserys’ second set of brats too, especially Aemond for stealing Vhagar from
her granddaughters.
But this gift Aemond had presented them through his match…
It was all still possible Aemond would claim the dowry for himself and his new bride as
tradition demanded, but she hoped he would share such a treasure with them.
Rhaenyra was enthralled by the gifts House Stark had given, the thought, the detail, the skill,
the beauty, it was all outstanding. She wanted to know more of what they hid away, but she
also did not. To know would be to know how truly ancient House Stark was, and the thought
was intimidating. Still, she walked through the Red Keep, looking at the nobles as she looked
for Aemond’s young bride. Eventually she gave up looking in the gardens before she made
her way towards the training grounds she knew Jace and Luke would be at. She watched for a
moment, but then was surprised to see Lady Sansa with her other Northern ladies in waiting,
she was surprised at the ease the group of young women had with one another. Rhaenyra had
never been permitted to have ladies in waiting, her father was very concerned she’d be
attacked or worse, and then her one friend had married her father, it left a sour, bitter taste in
her mouth still. Walking up to the balcony she looked down at the training and was surprised
to see Aemond sparring with the Lord of Winterfell, and neither of the young men seemed to
be holding back.
Jace had mentioned on the rare occasions Lord Stark would spar he was skilled and vicious.
“Sansa,” a girl said, Rhaenyra saw the young woman turn to look at her.
“Your highness,” Sansa gave a low curtsy, as did her ladies in waiting.
“I was wondering if we might have a word, Lady Sansa, given your brother is indisposed,”
Rhaenyra said as she looked at the spar. Cregan was knocked into the mud, before rolling
through it to knock Aemond into the mud too.
“Of course,” Sansa said. “I’ll be back, and I have Frostfyre,” she said to her ladies in waiting
as they walked away from the training grounds. It was in the gardens that Rhaenyra looked at
the young woman in the afternoon light, her hair looked like fire.
“I… I wanted to thank your House for its kindness, even in face of the insults we have
unwittingly dealt,” Rhaenyra said.
“Kindness, grace and dignity are a choice, which we have found to be the best,” Sansa
replied.
“I see,” Rhaenrya said as they walked. “I, I wish to speak to you about your wedding. It has
occurred to me that you have no mother present, and thus might not be fully prepared for the
wedding and all it entails.”
“That is very kind of you, your highness,” Sansa said as they walked together.
“Has Aemond spoken to you about the Valyrian ceremony?”
“Briefly, this morning,” Sansa admitted. “I was going to speak to him about my using Old
Tongue runes rather than those of High Valyrian because of my heritage, but have not spoken
to him about it; yet.”
“That would be most unusual,” Rhaenyra said firmly.
“Yes, but if we are founding a new House based off of Northern custom and Valyrian custom,
then it seem pertinent to blend them where we can, while holding firm to some and letting go
of others, it is to be a compromise,” she pointed out.
Rhaenyra did not disagree as she sighed. “I will arrange for you and Aemond to speak with
the priest about the matter then.”
“Thank you, that is most gracious of you, your highness,” Sansa said softly.
“Maehamor is a very knowledgeable priest, he officiated my own marriage to Daemon,”

Rhaenyra smiled softly.
“Then I will be pleased to have his wisdom,” Sansa smiled.
“Has anyone spoken to you about the bedding?” Rhaenyra asked.
“My brother,” Sansa answered stiffly. “I have grown up with livestock, your highness, even if
Cregan had not spoken to me about it, I have witnessed the act between many animals, and it
cannot be that different for people.”
“Mmm,” Rhaenyra hummed in amusement. “It is a bit more pleasurable than what you see
the animals doing,” Rhaenyra assured her. Rhaenyra rubbed her hand over the swell of her
latest child, and smiled a bit knowingly as she thought about her own times with Harwin,
Daemon, even Cole, it was an act of pleasure and trust.
“Then… we will have something to learn,” Sansa said tightly.
“Of course, but if you should have any concerns or worries, it sometimes helps to have
someone to keep your confidence about these matters, and men do not always know how it is
to be a women or know how to aid a woman,” Rhaenyra said softly.
“The language of girls is a mystery, but then one could say the language of boys is just as
mysterious in different ways,” Sansa offered.
“Quite right,” she smiled at the girl. “As to your ceremony, speak to Maehamor, he will know
if this blend would be acceptable to our gods.”
“I shall, and I shall speak with Aemond,” Sansa said.
“You are too sweet, including Aemond,” Rhaenyra said softly. “I often wish he and I were on
better terms.”
“He is to be my husband, it seems important to involve him in decisions regarding our life, as
we are to be a family after all,” Sansa stated firmly. Rhaenyra looked at the young woman
and smiled tightly.
“Do not take offense if Aemond is not welcoming of this union, our family is rather cursed
with unwanted unions,” Rhaenyra warned the young woman. “But in time, perhaps your
friendship and understanding will grow into something deeper.”
“Aemond and I will see where this marriage can go,” Sansa said diplomatically.
“Do you have any questions in regard to your wedding though, or your wedding night?”
Rhaenyra asked.
“Not at this time, Aemond and I will agree upon the name of our House, the Winter Council
has given it’s approval, and we shall present it to the Small Council and King after the
wedding, we have marked our sigil, and found words, I believe we have structured our union
well,” Sansa said.
“That is good,” Rhaenyra smiled.
Daemion was walking with his friends, the group of various young men from different
Houses, whom Daemion had rallied to Aemond’s side. Not that Aemond really welcomed
them yet, Daemion was probably the only one amongst the group to possess the title friend
by Aemond, and Aemond had muttered it reluctantly during one of the times Daemion had
intervened before Aemond lost his dying temper on an unsuspecting Lord or Lady. Aemond
had muttered thanks, and Daemion had declared ‘what else are friends for?’ as a tease, he had
not expected the way Aemond looked startled, stunned, then confused before Aemond asked
a question which actually hurt Daemion ‘we’re friends?’, and it was that question which had
so much coming to light about Aemond for Daemion.
Aemond wasn’t reserved, shy, or a loner, he was alone because he’d never had anyone,
everyone for Aemond was enemy or family or threat, he did not have friends, Sansa had won
Aemond by being Northern and being direct and probably declaring them friends. Cregan had
probably done something similar too, and same with the rest of the Northerners. Northerners
were direct, blunt people, and they were honest about their affections. The Northerners were
probably the first people in Aemond’s short life to just treat him well and welcome him
which was why he warmed to them. Aemond had grown up alone, abused, and isolated, and
now Daemion didn’t think Aemond knew fully what a friend was. Which was when Daemion
changed tactics for handling Aemond. They were friends. Daemion would state it often when
he introduced Aemond to other Lords of Court rather than just introducing him as a Prince.
That change in tactic was what it took for Aemond to relax a little around some of Daemion’s
own friends.
He didn’t relax as much as he had in the North, but Daemion supposed that was to be
expected. Aemond didn’t have peers or friends really, so it was work. But it wasn’t a bad
labor, Aemond was likeable when he actually showed who he was; intelligent, witty, biting
humor, sharp tongue, thoughtful, savage, and gentle.
Amory Lannister was a surprise, son of Ser Tyland Lannister, who had been quick to attach
himself to Aemond when he arrived in King’s Landing, Amory wasn’t a bad sort, but he was
staunchly Green. Then there was Wallace Royce, and Daemion didn’t know what to make of
Wallace, but the young man seemed to openly despise Daemon Targaryen. Those two were
two Aemond was most uneasy around, and wary of, but he didn’t spurn them openly, simply
worked around them. As to Daemion’s friends, Aemond was getting along rather well with
Serwyn Morrigen, Leyton Florent, Luthor Oakheart, Hadrian Whent, Dontos Estermont,
Samwell Redwyne, and Colin Tarly, all of them rather liked Aemond once he had stopped
thinking they were a threat to his personage.
They all paused seeing Aemond talking with the Northerners, muddy, bloody, and looking far
more relaxed than he had in the past year as he stood with Cregan, Domeron, Rody, and
Bryan.
“Oh, fuck me, you swindling sea snake, you made it!” Rody bellowed.
Daemion laughed as he embraced the Northerner. “It is good to see you my friend,” he
chuckled.
“You can still swindle money out of him,” Domeron stated.
“I will endeavor to do just that, because I, have another business proposition for you, Rody.”
“Oh no, no, I’m not doing business with you swindling sea snake! I’ve learnt my lesson!”
Rody laughed.
“It is good to see you, Daemion,” Cregan greeted as he came forward.
“It is good to see you too, Cregan,” Daemion said as they embraced. “How has the North
been faring from our business?”
“Well, I have reports for you and your father and brother, but your aid has greatly assisted my
people,” Cregan said with a smile.
“That is good, I look forward to reading the reports! And my brother is most excited to meet
you, he and his wife had a daughter,” Daemion smirked.
“I heard,” Cregan chuckled.
“Daenaera,” Daemion said smugly. “And I must say she’s the prettiest girl to ever live, but I
am biased, she’s my niece.”
Cregan chuckled as he shook his head. “Rickon unfortunately is a Stark.”
“He’ll grow into it, I believe,” Daemion chuckled. “Lord Stark, these are some of my friends
and business associates, Lord Luthor Oakheart, Ser Samwell Redwyne, Lord Dontos
Estermont, Ser Hadrian Whent, Lord Serwyn Morrigen, Ser Leyton Florent, Ser Colin Tarly,
my friends, these are my friends of the North, Lord Cregan Stark, Lord Domeron Cerwyn,
Lord Bryan Stan, and Roderick ‘Rody’ Dustin.”
“Not Ser Roderick?” one of the lords ask.
“I don’t believe they give twelfth sons the title ser, and in any case, fuck no, I’m not a ser,”
Rody snapped.
“Behave or Sansa will kill you,” Domeron muttered.

“I’m not scared of the Red Wolf!”
“He says this now, but she’ll be angry if she finds out you can’t mind your manners, again,”
Bryan snorted.
“What she doesn’t know won’t kill me!”
“She knows all, sees all, is all, you’re fucked if you can’t behave,” Bryan snorted.
“Listen here, I’m…” Rody started. “She’s standing behind me, isn’t she?”
“Yes… but do continue, please, this is amusing,” Sansa’s voice said.
“I choose life!” Rody decided as he marched forward and stepped behind Cregan.
“You’d sacrifice me!?” Cregan sputtered.
“In a heartbeat, she’s your sister!”
“Traitor!”
“Daemion, it is a pleasure to see you again, how is your family?” Sansa asked as she turned
to him.
“Very well, I have a new niece, and she’s the prettiest girl ever,” Daemion boasted.
“I look forward to meeting her!” Sansa grinned.
“Hazel will be delighted to host you and Aemond on your campaigns,” Daemion chuckled.
“Actually, Aemond is why I’m here, we’re here to prepare the young Prince for the
Welcoming feast this evening!”
“I have come to collect my own brother and sister for the same thing.”
“We shall divide and conquer then,” Daemion grinned.
“It is pleasant to have help!” she chuckled.
“Traitor,” Cregan grumbled.
Aemond was unsettled as Daemion and his friends herded him to his own quarters to get
ready, Aemond had never been keen on partaking in events with groups, so for the most part
he was preparing alone. When he was in his quarters he readied himself for a miserable night
with his family, he wanted to go anywhere else. It didn’t take him long to leave his quarters,
redoing one of the vests Sansa had sent him, and a shirt, he was certain this was presentable,
and it wasn’t green or black, which was his only requirements for this affair.
“Mon,” Daeron grinned as he stepped out. Aemond looked at his brother.

“Why aren’t you at the feast!” Aemond demanded.
“Ser Criston said to come get you!” Daeron said.
“I’m coming,” he grumbled as he checked his brother over swiftly, and fixed his shirt a little
before they were walking again.
“Smile Mon!”
“Daeron, not right now,” Aemond pleaded with his brother. He just wanted this affair over.
“Mon, why aren’t you happy about this?” Daeron asked.
“This is a lot of work, and you need to go sit down with mother, and Hel, I have to handle
father…” he muttered as they made it to the hall. Aemond didn’t slow his purposeful walk
through the crowd despite the announcement, and didn’t slow as he scaled the steps. It didn’t
take him long to settle Daeron beside Helaena, he walked by, kissing his mother’s temple out
of habit, and sat on the other side of Viserys, whose stench was difficult not to notice.
Aemond didn’t wrinkle his nose though at the smell he was becoming too accustomed too.
“You are late,” Viserys stated in a tone which was almost playful.
“It’s my wedding, I cannot be late for it,” he stated blandly as the Houses were now being
announced as he was here. The desire for Aemond to disappear was great as he leaned back
in his seat. Hopefully this would be smooth sailing, he did not know if he could manage a
spectacle like Hel’s own wedding, or Rhaenyra’s.
“Crown Princess Rhaenyra, of House Targaryen, and her lord husband, Prince Daemon
Targaryen, and their sons, and heirs, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, Prince Lucerys Velaryon,
Prince Joffrey Velaryon, Princess Baela, Princess Rhaena, Prince Aegon, and Prince
Viserys,” an announcer bellowed. “And with them, House Velaryon, Lord Corlys Velaryon,
Master of Tides, and his lady wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, Ser Vaemond Velaryon, and
his heirs, Ser Daeron Velaryon, and Daemion Velaryon!”
There was an eruption of applause, Aemond grimaced at the show for his sister.
Aemond didn’t rise, though he did nod to Daemion as their party approached. It did not take
long for them to be settled, though there were three seats to Aemond’s left unoccupied for the
Starks.
There was some jovial announcements as other, lesser Houses and Great Noble Houses were
introduced some more. Aemond was getting rather bored as he listened to the talking. Part of
Aemond was wondering if he could create an excuse to slip away after the Starks arrived, or
if he had to endure this farce put on by his demented father, who was gushing to Alicent
about Rhaenyra finally getting married. Aemond had been picking at some blueberries for the
better part of an hour, praying for a reprieve when there was a startling bellow between all the
names as finally House Stark made an entrance.
“Lord Cregan Stark of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, his lady sister,
Lady Sara Stark, and his lady sister, the Lady Sansa, future Princess of House Targaryen,”
Cole announced loudly. The applause which erupted dwarfed the one Rhaenyra received as
Aemond rose.
Cregan, Sara and Sansa were all dressed as Northerners, Aemond noted. Cregan in a brown
leather vest, embroidered with Sansa’s work, two silver wolves, but also some red, he wore a
pale blue shirt, which matched his sisters. Sara was dressed in a simple, but pretty gown, and
Sansa was the main attention aspect of her party.
She wore a gown which delicately clung to her shoulder, nearly off them, but her modest was
preserved. The top layer of the gown was a sweeping, dark blue down with two slits down
her waist, to reveal her underskirts to be the same pale, silver blue as Cregan’s and Sara’s
own clothing. But the embroidery of the gown depicted a silver, entwined pattern, which
looked akin to a wolf going down, and then a vibrant bronze going up, which looked like a
dragon, whose wings wrapped around her waist. The long sweeping sleeves she wore were
trimmed with silver fur, and her hair was pulled up in an unapologetically Northern style,
which left most of the red mass loose and falling down her back. He could see she glittered in
the torchlight, she looked like the night sky on a winter’s night, the gems she had
embroidered on her dress shifted in colors of green, reds, magenta, blue, silver, looking as
vibrant as the dancing lights of the North. Sansa wore no jewelry beyond a pair of earrings
which seemed to glimmer and glint as she turned her head, and one thin silver chain.
Sansa looked every bit a maiden of Winter right then, and even the Great Hall, despite the
warmth seemed to cool as her wolves spread out around her, the Northerners behind her were
just as intimidating of a force.
Cregan gave a low bow, then Sara a low curtsy, Sansa followed as he came around, he offered
her his hand to escort her to her seat.
“Lady Sansa,” he greeted softly.
“Prince Aemond,” she smiled. He was swift to get her settled and seated Sansa carefully.
Cregan seated Sara and they sat together then.
Viserys pushed himself up, then, and Aemond cringed internally as he looked at the Starks,
and was preparing to apologize in advance for whatever offenses his father was about to
spout.
“Be Welcomed! As we join together in celebration! Tonight is only its beginning, we honor,
the Crown’s oldest, and fiercest ally, to begin this wedding, there shall be a fortnight of
celebrations, with feasts, tourneys, and a hunt to commiserate the union between our Houses,
House Velaryon…” Viserys started.
“Stark,” Aemond corrected automatically.
“Huh?” Viserys looked at him.
“House Stark,” he repeated.

“We are here, to honor the union of the oldest house in Westeros to our own,” Rhaenyra rose
swiftly. “Reaching back to well before the days of Old Valyria and the union of old Kings of
Winter to the Crown, House Targaryen. We gather to honor and celebrate the union of my
little brother, Prince Aemond, and his bride, Lady Sansa Stark, may their union be long, and
prosperous, and bring good fortune to the Realm and all within it! We will hope this brings
new strength to the Age of Dragons!”
There was a resounding cheer as people raised to toast them. And Aemond just rubbed his
throbbing temple now.
“Let the festivities, commence!” Viserys cheered. “And after this small celebration to honor
this union between my House! Please be seated!”
Aemond took a deep drink of his wine as he looked at the thundering crowd. Sansa smiled
reassuringly at him. He ate what little he could stomach in silence, side eyeing his family
warily.
It was when the beating of the drums commenced that Aemond was relieved. Now his fool
father could not say anything else, and he could escape this ghastly affair. He did not care that
his stomach was empty as he took Sansa’s hand and guided her out to the floor. He spun her
effortlessly around as she stood there. He was relieved the cloak was back at the table, and
she stood there in her gown. He hadn’t had a chance to take her all in, and now she stood
there, tall, slender, and beautiful in her flowing skirts. He offered her his hand, and he was
reminded of Winterfell, the Northerners had a much more connected way of dance, and it was
more sensual than one would expect of their people. Her fingers came to delicately rest in his
hand as she let him pull her towards him.
“Relax Aemond…” she breathed softly.
He frowned.
“It’s Winterfell, teach me,” she whispered softly as he looked at her. He didn’t really have a
plan, he didn’t know what to expect of her, as he spun her around. He didn’t really know
what to expect from Sansa, but the grace was inevitable, as he lead her along, it seemed they
were doing some cross of dance of dragons, and something Northern, which made him feel
like he was both chasing and catching her as they moved. However, he never released her,
they always seemed to have a touch somewhere, as he followed and led her around.
She laughed a bit as she caught his shoulders, being indecently close, smiling as he raised his
brow at her. However, he spun her around, his other hand catching her waist as she spun
around, and he pulled her back, ending somewhere close to where they started as they
dropped hands.
She smiled as she clapped, and he shook his head in amusement as she came up to him.
“It is supposed to be fun, Aemond,” she chuckled as she took his arm.
“It’s an execution, Sansa, I can’t look away,” he muttered.

“now I feel very beautiful,” she mused. “Aemond, nothing will happen tonight,” she
promised as they left the people who were coming onto the dance floor now.
“And how do you know?” he challenged.
“Because I know,” she said softly. “Trust me,” she smiled.
He was startled, but nodded slowly as they walked up the steps.
Lyman watched Aemond move with Lady Sansa and the couple were rather fluid and
creative, the dance was untraditional, and creative, he had recognized parts of the dances, the
dance of dragons, with the unique twist of actually maintaining contact, a few Northern
dances he didn’t know enough of those to know their name on sight, there was an ease
though as the pair fluidly fell into step with one another. Lyman was impressed watching
them, and now there were other young couples attempting to mimic what had been a sensual
close dance, between a new pair who moved with the fluid grace of a pair married for
decades. It made Lyman miss his own late wife, but it also made him remiss about being
Master of Coin as he missed out on his son’s wedding and his grandson’s, but he was fond of
Aemond like Aemond was his own blood.
He smiled watching the pair, they were very quiet, but it was easy to watch them when they
had danced.
He could see it now, he knew Aemond had the fortitude and will, but he hadn’t seen the
young man ever seeking out the Crown, and he knew that Aemond would never betray his
family. But the man was born to be a King, and with a Stark at his side, that would be a
Queen the Realm was worthy of, it might even save them. He watched the couple intermingle
with people and sighed. He would speak to Vaemond about this matter, but the risk was a
worthy risk, the Realm had suffered, and now, for the first time in near twenty years Greens
and Blacks intermingled and spoke to one another and the Court air was not so stifling as
they went to wish the pair well.
For the good of the Realm, action would have to be taken. Lyman would have to speak to
Jasper about the laws though. There was a precedent for this though, given King Jaehaerys’
own succession crisis, and now, now the one they were facing, perhaps there would be a way
to summon the Great Council without alerting Otto, or Viserys until it was time for the great
Council to speak.
She watched rather scandalized as her cousin slid his hands indecently over that Northern
heathen, but she couldn’t look away, the flow of the fabric and the sensual way the pair
moved. Her hand trembled in rage as she watched the pair, she wanted to scream, but instead
she took a deep, steadying breath. There was still time, she reminded herself, there would be
time until the pair were married by the Seven, she was free to pursue him. It was important to
her father that she form a proper match and the only match of interest to her was that of a
noble cause.
Her cause was noble and pure, the Northern heathen would know her place, she would see to
it.
It ws her destiny to purify her cousin’s wicked House, she would make him see reason, she
would break the Northern heathen’s spell, and then her cousin would see. He was nothing
without a Hightower, his family was nothing without the Seven, she would make him see
reason.
He would thank her when she freed him of the Northern witch’s spell.
She looked at her father and uncle, both who were glaring their displeasure, and she followed
their scowls as she watched the pair.
Aemond would see reason, and he would thank her, he would, and she would bear him many
happy, fat babies who would save the Targaryen dynasty.
Chapter 3
Chapter Notes
Tourneys…
They bored Cregan.
It was just a bunch of grown boys playing at war.
Cregan had grown up in war, he did not play at war, he was war, he was not interested in
playing at war. The tourney was a tournament meant to showcase skills; which was foolish in
Cregan’s opinion, it gave him a base of skill level for his opponents and gave him
information for how to train his men against Southron tactics. Cregan had spoken to his
Council, forbidding their men from participating in this tourney, but it was already something
the North wasn’t interested in for the most part. Cregan had Lord Mormont, Lord Norrey,
Lord Dustin, Lord Karstark, and Lord Umber already taking notes and gathering information
about the South. Information was always useful, even if the South wasn’t aware of the
reconnaissance the North was doing.
Cregan was leaning on a back post of the Royal box watching this tourney, bored as he
sipped his own ale. He had Ice on his back, and a short sword, axe, four daggers on his
person, and a hunting knife; short of being in his armor, full battle armor, he felt his presence
was enough to have the Kingsguard unsettled but not openly threatening. Cregan wanted to
watch the South’s responses, he wanted to test their pressure points. And he had justified his
attire with the insults and assault on his sister the last time he had visited the South, and now
with both his sisters here he wasn’t going to chance a risk of them being assaulted or harmed
by Southron idiots.
Cregan also knew his casual appearance was unsettling to the Southron folk, with their love
of heavy, thick, rich garments, and complicated hair styles, it made Cregan look rather wild
comparatively. Cregan had let Sara and Sansa have fun with his hair, given both the girls
rather enjoyed braiding, which had his long curls braided back in five braids and the rest of
his curls loose. Cregan had also expanded his tattoo on his throat, it went down to his
shoulder in a long seamless design he’d had being expanded since he’d been twelve and
started it. He had let it wrap over his ear though, and the runes and markers for Arra were
obvious to any Northerner who recognized the Norrey thistles. The dark ink which stained
his skin was a dramatic contrast to his skin, and he did not mind, but the same elaborate,
entwined patterns Sansa embroidered on clothes, and that Northerners displayed, they stained
his skin, with a ferocious wolf marking the side of Cregan’s throat. Then there were his scars,
Cregan had never fought with a helmet over his face, and he knew his face was nicked with
scars, if the South was unsettled by the display, Cregan didn’t give a single fuck, let them
think he was a barbaric savage.
“Lord Stark,” he turned his head, raising his brow as he saw Lord Corlys Velaryon coming to
him with his wife on his arm. Cregan looked back out at the tourney, which seemed to be
boring Aemond and Sansa, even Sara was looking unimpressed.
“Lord Velaryon,” he stated.
“I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced,” Lord Corlys said.
“We haven’t, but I’ve heard of you, Sea Snake,” Cregan said the name coldly.
“I wanted to thank you, on behalf of the Valyrian Houses, for your gracious gifts,” Lord
Corlys started.
“Those belong to Prince Aemond,” Cregan stated. “It is my sister’s dowry.”
“And he has been most gracious in permitting us to inspect them,” Princess Rhaenys said.
“Has he now?” Cregan raised his brow.
“He has been most generous, and kind,” Rhaenys said tightly.
“Then what more is there to discuss?” Cregan asked.
“Well, it has come to my attention that the North is rather isolated, and it appears that we
have trade opportunities,” Lord Corlys started. “Perhaps we will be able to come to a
profitable arrangement.”
“That will not be necessary,” Cregan cut off.
“I… What?” Corlys sputtered.
“I have partnered with Ser Vaemond Velaryon, he has proven to be an honest business
partner, and his son is a good manager of the ships and affairs, it has been aiding the North
greatly,” Cregan stated.
“He is my brother, certainly he will not mind my more seasoned assistance with your trade,”
Corlys started.
“And yet he did not mention you when we made our arrangement two years ago,” Cregan
stated. “Thank you for your offer though, but I am pleased with the trades and arrangements
that I am in possession of at this time,” Cregan pushed himself upright as he walked down to
where Sansa and Sara were whispering, and Sansa’s ladies were spread out around her
looking bored.
“Sansa, Sara,” he smiled. “I’m going to go check in with the men, remain here, with your
guards,” he ordered softly as he kissed both of their heads.
He didn’t wait for their response as he whistled for Ice and walked out of the Royal Box.
“Ah, Lord Stark!” he saw Vaemond Velaryon then who was walking with Daemion, and
another young man who looked nearly exactly like Vaemond.
“Ser Vaemond,” he replied. “The North has been most appreciative of your assistance and
trade; we are in your debt.”
“It was a simple business arrangement which will turn most profitable, no debt between us,”
Vaemond chuckled. “Lord Stark, you know my son Daemion, and this is my eldest, Daeron,”
he introduced the other man.
“It is an honor to meet you, Lord Stark,” Daeron gave him a small bow.
“An honor to meet you as well, I heard you and your wife had a child,” Cregan said.
“Yes,” the man had a goofy smile on his lips then. “We named her Daenaera, she is the most
beautiful little girl, ever; silver hair, big violet eyes, a true Valyrian! I heard you had a son.”
“Rickon, he’s cursed with the Stark looks,” Cregan replied wryly.
“He’ll grow into it, you did, Sansa did, and Sara is, it will be fine!” Daemion said.
“Daemion!” Vaemond admonished.
“Starks are notoriously ugly,” Cregan informed Vaemond. “My wife said I looked like a
drowned rat until I was about seventeen namedays,” Cregan admitted.
Daemion snorted, Daeron bit his lip, Vaemond looked surprised.
“We know, too,” Cregan said. “Curse of the First Men is not beauty, but rather being
awkward and ugly, I believe Sansa is the greatest beauty my House has ever produced, and
even then…” he shook his head.
Cregan knew Sansa and Sara would be great beauties, Sansa because of the Tully blood, Sara
because she was growing into her awkward features now, he suspected when Sara was
finished growing, she would be a beauty to contend with. Until then though, as much as it
pained Cregan, the Starks had to laugh at their own dismal appearances, given if they didn’t
laugh, they’d be laughed at. Besides, it was difficult for people to laugh when the Starks were
the most formidable military force in Westeros without dragons.
“I find that difficult to believe given Sansa is becoming an acclaimed beauty,” Vaemond
offered.
Cregan snorted. “As I said, she is the greatest beauty my House has ever produced.”
“I see you’re not on the tourney lists,” Daeron said as they walked now.
“I’m not,” Cregan stated.
“And none of the other Northern Houses are either, why is that?” Daeron asked curiously.
“I don’t fight in tournaments,” Cregan replied again.
“Yes, but why?” Daeron asked again.
“I don’t fight in tournaments, because when I fight a man for real, I don’t want him to know
what I can do,” Cregan answered.
“Well said,” Vaemond decided.
“Excuse me, I now have to go get my squire…” he growled seeing Jace with his brother
Lucerys, and there was a look between the boys which had Cregan gritting his teeth. He
stalked towards Jace and grabbed his collar.
“What!?”
“Shut the fuck up, you’ll thank me later if you never do what you’re about to do, go prepare
the horses,” Cregan snapped.
“You can’t talk to him like that! He’s a Prince!” Lucerys snapped. Cregan turned slowly as he
looked down at the young Velaryon.
“I am very well aware, little lord, to whom I speak to, and I can assure you, I do not have a
single fuck to give. You two miserable blights upon the Crown have assaulted my sister,
attempted to slander her reputation; oh yes, I am well aware of what you have been saying
this past year Prince Lucerys, and I can assure you if I had it my way, I would have your
tongue,” Cregan smiled wolfishly at the young boy who was paling dramatically at every
word Cregan said. “You belittle your House, you belittle the Crown, and you belittle the
Realm with your boorish antics to insult your uncle and for no other reason than you are a
spineless, weak willed, brat. I will not tolerate you dragging your brother down to your levels
again; and Jace, if I should catch you conspiring with your brother, I will make your life a
living hell; your ass is mine until you have earned your place,” Cregan ground out through
gritted teeth. “Come on,” he dragged Jace with him.
“I am not a spineless weak-willed brat!” Lucerys shouted. “I am a Prince!”
“By luck of birth you happen to be born into Royalty,” Cregan said as he shoved Jace
towards the horses. “But that does not mean you comprehend what it is to be Royal, or what
it is to earn your place in an attempted to be worthy of such a blessing.”
“Who are you to speak, you were born Lord of Winterfell, you’re nothing!” Lucerys shouted.
“I am a Prince!”
“I am Cregan Stark. I have earned my place as Warden of the North, Lord of Winterfell, I
have earned the respect of those who follow me, I have earned my power, my title, my
Realm. I have fought for my people, bled for them, killed for them, and been ready to lay my
life down for them, and thus, I have earned the power I possess, because I am trusted to
wield it and not abuse it. I have earned that trust, that respect, and that responsibility. The
only thing, by grace of Gods, I have not earned was the birth into my House, but I have
worked every day to be worthy of such a blessing, you know nothing of that nature. And
until you do, you will command no one, and nothing, you will be mocked, and ridiculed, and
despised for being weak. I see no Prince before me, merely a brat with a crown intent on
being a tyrant,” Cregan stated. “And you will plunge your House and Realm into ruination if
you do not learn to have self-respect, and how to have dignity and grace to earn the respect
and trust of your people while being an actual Prince of the Realm, because until you do that,
you’re nothing but a fool and brat.”
Lucerys was staring at Cregan with glistening eyes, and looked ready to cry as he walked off.
He saw Jace standing a little ways away as Cregan saw him.
“He’s not bad,” Jace started.
“He is a brat and a tyrant, and while we are here, if I see you conspiring with him, again, I
will make your life hell,” Cregan warned.
“He’s my brother,” Jace said softly.
“I am aware, but just because he is your brother does not mean you get to fall into his bad
behavior; you are a Prince of the Realm, everything you do represents the Realm, the Crown,
your House; everything you do means something, and will be scrutinized by everyone, from
the beggars to the smallfolk, to the Nobles, to the Great Houses, to the foreign Royals, to
your enemies; everything you do means something, and it is a reflection upon not only
yourself, but your House, this Realm, and your Crown,” Cregan stated.
“I never thought about it that way,” Jace stammered.
“Because you do not think,” Cregan ground out. “Jacaerys, if you are to be a leader of this
Realm, you should not follow others or be so weak of mind and spine as to comply with what
you know is wrong. Go ready the horses.”
“I thought you weren’t participating in the tourneys,” Jace stammered.
“I’m not, but Sara will be competing in the races,” Cregan stated.
“Sara!?”
“Go ready the horses,” Cregan repeated.
Vaemond walked up to his seats, with Daemion and Daeron. They chanced a look at the
Royal Box, where Aemond and Sansa were; the Realm got to see the couple on display,
again, and after last night’s performance, they were winning the Realm. He was rather
pleased about this because despite Aemond looking uninterested, bored, and indifferent,
Sansa was turning to him with smiles, and soft speaking, and Aemond was even
acknowledging her, it was a massive indication to their connection to anyone who’d ever
observed Aemond. Which everyone had for the past few years. And other than Aemond
giving his attention fully to Helaena and Daeron and his mother, Aemond did not give anyone
the time of day openly.
“I rather like Lord Stark, is he always so… wild?” Daeron asked as they sat.
“Yes,” Daemion said. “He was happier when his wife was alive. But I am pleased to see he’s
recovering his spirits.”
“It is sad to hear of one so young losing their love,” Vaemond murmured softly. Daeron
nodded as they watched the tourney. Vaemond glanced at the Royal Box again, and frowned
seeing Corlys looking in his direction. Looking back at the field he watched as the knights
came out for this jousting tournament.
“Joffrey Arryn, I didn’t know he’d been knighted,” Daeron muttered.
“It happened last year, he’s the Knight of the Gate now,” Vaemond admitted.
“We’ll see how he fairs against Amory Lannister,” Daemion snorted. The knight from House
Arryn rode to the Royal Box then, and suddenly a hush fell over the crowd, Aemond sat up
straighter, and slowly Sansa rose. It was then that a voice carried over the stadium.
“Lady Sansa, your beauty is unmatched, I request your favor!” Joffrey said. Sansa came over
to look down, her face was impassive, no pretty smile upon her lips as she looked down at
him.
“My favor belongs to one man, Ser Arryn, and I will not, in good faith, betray that man,” she
stated. She turned, grabbing up one of the wreaths, marched pointedly up to Aemond and set
it on his lap as she took the seat beside Aemond.
There was a roar in the crowd and Daeron chuckled.
Aemond carefully allowed Sansa to take his hand as she lounged back, her wolf coming to sit
beside her. The pair looked very regal then.
“That was rather bold,” Daeron muttered. “If someone asked for Hazel’s favor who wasn’t
me, I’d kill them.”
“Aemond looks like he wants to,” Daemion muttered.
Corlys leaned back looking at Vaemond who was sitting with his sons and frowned. He had
known his brother’s business in the past year had gone private, but he had never found out
who his brother’s trade partners were, and now he knew.
The North.
Rhaenys was watching him too, and he knew his wife felt the same surprise as he had. Yes,
Vaemond’s son Daemion was in Prince Aemond’s very small inner circle, if anyone could
claim a spot there, and now to know that Vaemond had Northern connections as well as a
Prince in his sights… what was Vaemond’s game?
Vaemond had been pulling from House Velaryon slowly, and Corlys knew he had snubbed his
brother in an attempt to keep their House together, but he did not know what game his brother
was playing now. Once Vaemond had been his second, his trusted advisor, and his confidant,
he trusted Vaemond to serve their House in his stead, now though his brother was pulling
from him. Vaemond’s deal with the North was a surprise to Corlys though, he knew his
brother’s business was doing well, but how he did not know. To hear the North was the silent
partner and trader was a genuine surprise, and after seeing the dowry the North had presented
to Prince Aemond, it made sense.
Perhaps there was a way to win Vaemond’s favor again, as head of their House, Corlys could
arrange a match of favor for his grand-niece, it would elevate Vaemond’s position in House
Velaryon, and perhaps it would mend offenses. He also knew that more Valyrian blood
secured would share the dowry and treasures the North had given Prince Aemond.
“What are you thinking, dear husband?” Rhaenys asked him softly.
“Vaemond has had a granddaughter,” Corlys said. “A new, beautiful addition to our House.”
“Mmm,” she hummed. Corlys knew they hadn’t laid eyes on Vaemond’s granddaughter, only
knowing her name from the family lineage they had growing in a book of records, Daenaera
Velaryon.
“I think it is time we secure my brother’s allegiance, he has been free to drift too long,”
Corlys murmured.
“And how are you intending to do that?” Rhaenys asked.
“Princess Rhaenyra has a son of the appropriate age, Prince Aegon is a fine young man,”
Corlys said softly.
Rhaenys didn’t respond.
“Perhaps in favor of winning him over, elevating his status with an arrangement with the
Royal family will have him agreeing to share the wealth of the North for the good of our
House,” Corlys said softly.
“I believe that will mend offenses done to Vaemond,” Rhaenys agreed. “But be careful,
husband, he will not forgive Rhaenyra easily.”
“So long as she does not break this contract he will be pleased, I am sure, I know my brother.
He is ambitious,” Corlys replied.
“It must be a defining trait of House Velaryon,” Rhaenys chuckled. He smiled ruefully as he
brought his wife’s hand up for him to kiss her knuckles.
“Jaehaerys,” Helaena hissed as she held Maelor to her hip. “This is not funny, get over here!”
she hissed, holding Jaehaera’s hand tightly as they peered into the busy stable, she trembled a
little.
Morghul bounded by, and Helaena saw Shrykos in the rafters. She knew her son was in here.
There were screams from the warhorses who fought their stable holdings. She looked around
for Jaehaerys, desperate to find him before he got himself into trouble. There was a sinister
little giggle from her son, and she walked in, looking around. There was more giggling as she
walked deeper into the stables.
Then there was a mighty roar from one of the warhorses, both Morghul and Shrykos leapt
through the air as a child’s scream followed, Helaena grabbed up Jaehaera as she ran towards
it. There were shouts, curse, barks, and she rounded a corner to see Jaehaerys hugging a
figure tightly as the figure was securing a horse.
“Oh fuck, dragonlings are a menace!” the man snarled and set Jaehaerys on a barrel, it was
now she saw it was Rody. “That there, is no wee beastling, princeling; that there is a
monstrous menace for war, not trying to play, pet, or toy with! What the fuck were you
thinking!?”
“I wanted to see you…” Jaehaerys mumbled, and Helaena felt her knees about to give out as
she set Jaehaera down.
“I want to see you too, but I prefer you alive! You could’ve been killed! And then your
mother would be miserable!”
“But…”
“No buts! Be smarter, princeling, a horse is just as dangerous as a dragon!”
Jaehaerys had fat tears rolling down his face now as he hung his head.
“Alright, you and I both had a terrible scare and we won’t be telling your mother about it, but
now you’ve learned not to spook warhorses,” Rody sighed. “Come here,” he scooped up the
child and turned, his eyes going wide as he spotted her.
“Do you hate me?” Jaehaerys sobbed against Rody’s shoulder, now that he was hugging the
Northman.
“Uh… no? Why would I hate you? You fucked up, but we all fuck up,” Rody grimaced as he
rubbed Jaehaerys’ back. The boy was sobbing in earnest against Rody’s shoulder and he
looked desperately at her. She shook her head as she watched him. “You’re alright,
dragonling, you’re alright, no one hates you, just think!”
“Thank you,” she breathed as he came over.
“Rody!” Jaehaera smiled.
“And there’s a wee lass, what has you… four, here?” Rody asked as he continued comforting
Jaehaerys, but ruffled Jaehaera’s hair.
“I got a new brother!” Jaehaera said.
“I see,” Rody said.
“Is Jaehaerys in trouble?” Jaehaera asked.

“No, sweet lass, he just gave me a right fright, and got the ass chewing for it,” Rody sighed.
“Who is this?”
“Maelor,” Helaena answered as she looked at her shy toddler, who was sleepily hiding
against her neck.
“Maelor, what a strong name,” Rody praised. “Come on, you dragonlings, lets go watch the
games.”
Rody was the one to grab up Jaehaera, effortlessly swinging her up to his shoulders, as he
rearranged Jaehaerys and Jaehaera so he could carry them both.
“Whoa!” Jaehaera whispered.
“How have you been Rody?” Helaena asked.
“Well enough, how about yourself?” he asked as they walked. She smiled slowly.
“I have been well… I… I wanted to thank you for the teas, they have helped,” she said softly.
“That’s good, you should speak to Norrey while you’re here, his family has the greensight
strongly, it might be able to help calm the sight,” Rody said.
“I think I will, thank you,” she said. “The wolves… they hunt, the beast beneath the boards
trembles, and the dance of fire and ice has begun,” she whispered to him.
“I suppose we shall see how this hunt goes,” he decided.
“The Barrow Kings bow to the Kings of Winter, and the Kings of Winter bow to the King of
Dragons, the King of Dragons bows to no King,” she giggled.
“It is not in the nature of Kings to bow,” Rody said. She hummed, pleased he was not looking
at her as if she were insane, she was so accustomed to it.
“When you teach them to ride, will you teach me?” Helaena asked.
“I can, but I don’t know how to teach that fancy lady riding style I see the South doing,”
Rody said.
She smiled. “I ride Dreamfyre astride!” she giggled.
Rody stared at her, she felt her cheeks heating up as she felt scrutinized. She didn’t
understand the look he was giving her, but then Jaehaera grabbed his hair.
“Look! The race!” Jaehaera squealed.
“Right… Lady Sara is racing,” Rody said.
“She is!?”
“She’s a Northern Lady, she’s not racing, she’s going to fucking win,” Rody decided. Helaena
looked amused.
“Really? Can she do that?” Jaehaera whispered.
“No stupid, she’s a girl, girls can’t race!” Jaehaerys grumbled.
“She’s the daughter of Winterfell, sister of the Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and
of Lady Sansa, are you going to tell her she can’t?” Rody challenged.
“She is a wild wolf,” Helaena said. She saw Aemond with Lady Sansa then and smiled as she
grabbed Rody’s elbow and pulled him after her, heading for her brother. Aemond smiled a
bit, and she saw Daeron.
“I found Jaehaerys,” she informed her brother. “And Rody.”
“I’m taller than you Mon!” Jaehaera shouted, Rody winced slightly at her yell.
“So it would seem,” Aemond replied in his indifferent tone, but Jaehaera preened. Jaehaerys
was hugging Rody’s neck again as he pulled himself up.
“Oi, don’t knock your sister off my shoulders,” Rody warned as he gripped Jaehaera’s ankle a
little tighter.
“We should go sit, the race will start soon,” Daeron said.
“Yes, Rody, you must sit with us, it will have the best view!” Heleana smiled at him.
“YES!” Jaehaera and Jaehaerys shouted before Rody could answer.
“I have work…”
“Jace is doing it, come on,” Cregan grabbed Rody’s arm as they walked up to the box.
Aemond sat beside Sansa as they watched the riders come out. Sara was by far the youngest,
and she was riding a massive, grey destrier, the beast was bigger than the other destriers. The
beast was aggressive and unruly, but Sara was handling it with skilled ease as she rode to her
position. The other knights and squires here for the race were shocked as she rode through
them, she was probably the youngest racer there that Aemond could see.
“Are you certain this is a good idea?” Sansa asked, looking over her shoulder to her brother.
“I think we should terrify these soft bellied Southron fools who think they are so important,”
Cregan answered with a rueful smile. “Sara is not only a girl, but the most skilled
horsewoman alive, let’s watch them comprehend that. Because I have forbidden the men
from competing.”
“You’re going to cause an uproar, Cregan,” Sansa predicted.

“I’ll enjoy it,” he smiled wolfishly. Aemond shook his head in amusement as the horses
seemed to be readying, anticipation building. Sara looked rather small compared to the other
men, though he knew she was a slender woman, and the way her skirts fell there would be no
mistaking her as anything but a woman.
The sound of the release for the race to start spurred the horses, Aemond winced when Sansa
grabbed his hand with a brutal force only Helaena had ever used; and she used it during her
labors.
Something must’ve spooked or upset Sara’s horse, for it reared, screamed as it thrashed; she
got it under control and rode behind the crowd, there were shouts of laughter, until that horse
was running in full force. She overtook the furthest back horse in mere moments, and that
horse had cleared a curve of the track, as she turned the curve, she was on the outside, the
horse never slowed, even as she pressed the horse harder. It was almost like the young wolf
was flying, her hair had escaped its braids, and now there was nothing but a silver, blue,
black blur which was quickly coming up on the lead horse, Lannister, they rounded the
second curve, Sara was still on the outside, she was overcoming the horse though. Her
destrier ran harder, and soon she was just gone, all the other horses were behind her unable to
keep up.
Someone threw a chair into the track, Sansa squeezed his hand, the horse leapt over it though,
Sara holding on with practiced ease as they crossed the finish line. There was stunned silence
as she kept going though, the horse racing the track again. Other horses crossed the finish line
and not a single clap or cheer was there, as Sara finally joined the competitors again. She
slowed her horse with ease, turning the massive beast as she stood before the Royal Box.
Aemond pried Sansa’s hand off his own as he clapped, Daeron, Helaena, Jaehaerys, Jaehaera
were all clapping, and soon the rest of the crowd was as wild cheers overtook the crowds, the
Northerners were thundering their approval. Sara rode to the Royal Box fully, and Aemond
shook his head in amusement.
“I thought that’d be more challenging,” she giggled.
“You scared me half to death!” Sansa snapped.
“Ah, but she did it so well,” Cregan laughed. “You have brought us pride sister.”
Sara laughed as she gave a small bow atop her house. Viserys appeared, and Aemond
grimaced watching his father present Sara with the crown of blue roses.
“I have never seen such a race, and normally this is for the champion to bequeath their fair
ladies… but for you, I bequeath the title of Queen of Love & Beauty,” Viserys rasped.
“Thank you, my King, I will wear this with pride,” Sara said as she bowed her head and
Viserys placed the crown atop her head. There was more clapping and now Sara turned her
horse, nudging it in the directions of the stables.
“Where did she learn to ride like that?” Daeron asked in awe.
“Sara was born on a horse,” Sansa sighed. “All she does is ride, ride the drafts, ride to hunt, if
they really wanted to make this a competition for her, they would have had her shooting from
horseback.”
“She is good at that,” Cregan chuckled. “That, is the skill of a Northern woman, she just out
rode all your fine knights with a late start even.”
Aemond chuckled as the next race was readied, and the track smoothed over as the chair was
taken off the track. Sara reappeared then, walking up to them, shaking out her skirts, she gave
the appropriate curtsies and came over to Cregan and Sansa.
“That was fun! Can I race again?” Sara asked.
“Not if I have to watch,” Sansa stated.
“That was amazing!” Baela shouted.
“I was skeptical when Lord Stark entered you, but I see you are a very skilled horse rider
indeed,” Daemon stated. Aemond frowned at his uncle, who was looking the Northerners
over appraisingly.
“You were so fast!” Jaehaera giggled. “What’s it like!?”
“Flying, I suppose, without the dragons,” Sara answered as she was seated and smiled at his
niece.
“Also, that was my horse you displayed, and he did good, I did not think he’d be so
temperamental though,” Rody grimaced.
“Oh, no, I was punched in the shoulder, nearly fell off,” Sara explained.
“You were what!?” Cregan roared.
“Doesn’t matter, I won, they can all hang their heads in shame!” Sara preened as she leaned
back in her seat.
“You’re going to get that looked at by Domeron,” Sansa warned her sister.
“Of course,” Sara sighed.
Aemond chuckled as he looked at the next race readying, and that was how he spent the
better part of his afternoon.
It wasn’t too terrible as long as he didn’t have to deal with Rhaenyra’s family. Even Lucerys
was uncharacteristically quiet at this event.
Otto frowned at the Northern heathen who was now sitting in the Royal Box. Ormund was
frowning, one of the contestants that girl had usurped was Otto’s own son, and his great-
nephew.
“I see what you mean, they have grown willful and forget their place; father will be
displeased,” Ormund muttered. “This will not be tolerated.”
“The marriage is not acceptable, it is not even in the eyes of the Seven,” Otto sniffed.
“I have reached out to Lord Manderly,” Ormund admitted. “The situation North is far more
dire than we anticipated, for he has sent his regards as he will be sending back all maesters,
septas, and septons. Lord Stark has apparently ceased construction on any Septs and had
them converted to those atrocious Glass Gardens.”
“Perhaps we can arrange a match, one to temper the zealous young lord, he is still a hot-
blooded young man,” Otto said.
“Lord Manderly has already warned that the wolves will not be susceptible to our influences,
we will have to seek a bride here,” Ormund muttered.
Otto frowned, he did not like this, he did not like losing a hold in their fight to reclaim and
save the Realm from this debauchery and self-serving sinful ways, the corruption of lust and
greed and vanity was too much, they had to be saved. But to be saved, they had to see they
needed to change their ways to the true Faith.
“The High Septon is greatly displeased, he believes that in losing the North we will lose the
most in need of salvation,” Ormund said as they watched the race.
“Then we shall have to guide the North back, one overzealous maester misrepresenting our
intentions is not acceptable,” Otto said.
“Do not lie, uncle, he misrepresented nothing,” Ormund muttered. “Bethany will marry
Aemond, if we break Prince Aemond of this Northern heathen’s spell then we shall have him
secured again, and with Aemond comes Vhagar, when the time comes, Aemond will protect
Aegon’s rightful claim. But for now, we should seek to indispose Lord Stark and the other
heathens.”
“There is a bride we could seek, House Tarly has beautiful daughters, of an appropriate age,
they are enticing enough to lure even a wolf,” Otto said. Women were beguiling creatures and
also good for bringing willful, ignorant fools to heel, for women did as they were told. If
raised properly a woman would be a servant of the Faith and be willing to do as the Faith
commanded, it was important a woman should know her duty, and follow it thoroughly. They
were servants after all.
“And you believe Lord Tarly will support such a match?”
“He will come to terms with it, for his ambition is great, and House Stark offers…
opportunities,” Otto said.
“There is the matter of Lord Stark’s heir, the breeding is poor,” Ormund said.
“Not to worry, nephew, we might have lost a foothold in the North, but Manderly is not the
only House we have access to, even now, the matter should be being arranged to be settled at
this time,” Otto said softly. “The Starks are not as beloved as they believe they are. The North
does not only follow Starks.”
“I see,” Ormund nodded knowingly.
“In time, the mongrel heir will be disposed of, properly, and Lord Stark with a new, Faithful,
wife shall produce heirs of a proper breeding, with the Faithful wife dutifully rearing the
future of Winterfell, we shall not have to worry about these hedonistic heathens for long, we
will right their course again,” Otto predicted.
“It has been too long, Father was wrong, this error could cost us the heart of Westeros, we
should not have only focused on the Throne,” Ormund muttered.
“Prince Daemon has proved a constant threat,” Otto countered. He knew that their efforts in
keeping the Throne safe, as well as correcting the ways of the Throne were hindered by
Daemon Targaryen, but they couldn’t kill him. Viserys was simpler, King Jaehaerys was
simplest, so long as the influence came from Queen Alysanne and her trusted septon.
“I will speak to Bethany,” Ormund said.
“And you are certain she will?” Otto asked.
“Were you certain Alicent would?”
“I was,” Otto stated. “Alicent is a simple, dutiful woman, she knows her place.”
“Bethany is as well,” Ormund assured. “And she is most fond of her cousin Aemond, she will
do whatever is needed to save his soul, she is a dutiful daughter.”
“Even at the cost of her own?”
“She knows her place well, and her value,” Ormund assured. “No young man can resist the
flesh, uncle, and she is a most comely woman, with generous endowments men cannot resist.
I have watched her turn the heads of every young man with an able cock in Oldtown.”
“Then I shall arrange her passage,” Otto decided. It would not be an issue to get the girl into
the Royal Wing, she was a Lady in Waiting already for Princess Helaena, and she was cousin
to the Royal family, Otto would simply ensure she knew how to reach her destination.
“I will prepare the herbs, it will be important she catch child if nothing else,” Ormund said
softly. “The maesters assure me it will not affect her poorly.”
Otto nodded as they watched another race finish. If Bethany Hightower caught child, even
after Aemond’s own wedding, which would not be binding in the eyes of the Faith, then he
would see the errors of his way, set aside his heathen bride, and do his rightful duty. Even if
the North was offended, it would not act against the Crown, and Otto would personally see to
House Manderly returning to the fold. It was not like House Manderly was Northern, and
thus they had no reason to betray the Reach and the Faith, regardless of the past, for they
were always faithful to the Faith. Perhaps they should speak to the Tyrells about returning
Manderly lands to them if the Manderlys assisted in regaining a hold in the North.
The only way to save the soul of Westeros was by reclaiming all the Realms.
Chapter End Notes
A couple of short chapters, I know, but I hope you enjoy, they'll be back to their normal
length soon enough.
Chapter 4
Chapter Notes
I'm going to be slower to update for a bit, but they should stay pretty consistent.
The sun was hot on her skin, and the sea winds tugged on her hair, she looked over the
banister of the ship as she watched the churning seas. The invitation had arrived some moons
ago, and her father had mulled it over with care before agreeing to send her with their most
prominent guards. There were rumors of opportunities here, and that the Targaryen house
could fall, which was something to look forward to. But at this time, as they sailed near
King’s Landing, to the Red Keep, she smiled; opportunities were here.
Until a monstrous roar shook the ship, and a powerful gust of wind nearly knocked her ship
over, she gasped as she slammed into the railing and looked up as the skies were blacked out;
the beast arched over them, a massive tail, huge wings, and a long, lean body. The beast
turned a long head as the massive green-bronze body rolled through the air, and she saw a
silvery figure atop the beast. Her heart was slamming in her ribs as the beast came right at
her, she did not scream as she recoiled, the ship still unsteadily rocking violently, before the
monster veered upright and disappeared into the sun. Its tail crashed a few tips on the masts,
sending her scrambling as splinters rained down on them.
“Princess!” her guard shouted as he grabbed her and she stared at the blinding sun, feeling it
burn her eyes.
There was a distant roar, and she turned from the sun, seeing other dragons now, but none as
big as the one which had disappeared; they two flew high and disappeared from sight as she
turned to look at the port now, blinking away the sunspots she was seeing. Trying to calm her
heart she stared at the horizon as they neared the port. There were guards waving them
through and she looked up as the massive dragon came for a landing, its body bigger than
most buildings as it opened its massive jaws, which glowed with fires before they stopped.
She looked up to see the rider now, and the beast turned, rolling back, the rider did not seem
scared as they evaded the water, and the dragon flew up and over the keep with ease.
As they neared the docks, she was seeing the welcoming party, and she looked at her sworn
sword, as they came. The party was dressed in greens and black, but two odd figures stood
out, they were dressed in blue. As the ship docked and she waited to have a gangplank
lowered she examined the crowd curiously. Her hand fitted on Ser Lewyn Dayne’s elbow as
they walked down the gangplank.
The Tagaryens were easy to spot, and the Hightowers as well; blacks and greens, it was
unimaginative. Her eyes settled on the odd group, the women dressed in pale blue, with some
brown or white fur, despite the warmth of summer, while the man wore leather. The first
woman was a willowy figure, tall, and graceful, her hair red as fire, and her eyes blue as the
clearest waters at Sunspear, she was so pale though it was like she was a ghost. She was a
beautiful woman too, full lips, sharp watchful eyes, and high cheekbones, with a delicate
look; very beautiful. The second girl was also of the same willowy build, a growing woman,
her long black hair was wild and curly, with startling grey eyes, a stubborn jaw, and pouty
mouth, she looked to be at that awkward stage of woman and girl, not yet beautiful, but not
ugly either. The man was who interested her though. He had black, wild curls pulled back in
a strange style, his eyes were grey as storms, and his face sharp and long. He had some facial
hair, not much, but his face bore scars; the thin lines stood out against his pale, weathered
skin, with an inky design on his neck which disappeared under his shirt. He was also tall,
taller than Ser Lewyn Dayne, and leaner, he was dangerous though, and the way he and the
women were standing together, they were close.
"Princess Aliandra of House Martell, I welcome you to Westeros, may the Gods smile upon
the beginnings of a friendship between our people," the Queen gave Aliandra a small curtsey.
"Please accept our hospitality and protection," she gestured and a servant stepped forward
with the salt and bread.
"I am pleased, may we have a prosperous friendship," Aliandra said as she accepted the salt
and bread, biting into it; and hiding her grimace in distaste as she chewed and swallowed it.
This seemed to please the Royals and Court and she absently did the courteous greetings as
she walked through the Nobles until she came to the unique pair who did not wear green nor
black. The man was taller than she had anticipated, but he was not as tall as Arthur, the
woman though was a graceful, slender, tall woman.
“Princess Aliandra Martell, it is a pleasure to meet you,” the woman gave the most graceful
curtsey Aliandra had ever seen. The man scowled behind her, daring Aliandra to speak. “I am
Lady Sansa Stark, and this is my brother, Lord Cregan Stark, and out sister Lady Sara Stark.”
“The Wolves of the North,” she surmised as she looked at them. “It is a pleasure to meet you,
Ser Vaemond has told Dorne much about our Northern Trade Partners.”
“Dorne’s aid has been most appreciated and welcomed,” Lord Stark stated, his voice was
unique, both bright, and welcoming, but also rough, harsh, the accent was unlike any
Aliandra had ever heard.
“I do wish to learn about these… Glass Gardens you’ve been constructing,” she smiled at
him.
He nodded, as he looked her over with a look of absolute boredom. It was his tattoo which
drew her eye, men of Dorne rarely decorated their skin, it was uncommon, she looked at that
pattern, which disappeared up into his hair, then down his throat and under his shirt. She
wondered how far down it went.
“I believe congratulations are in order, you are the bride, are you not?” Aliandra turned her
attention onto the redheaded woman.
“Yes,” the clipped, firm, no further tone told Aliandra that this conversation would not be
going farther. “Forgive my betrothed, he and Vhagar have so little time together at this
moment, he did not expect your arrival,” she informed Aliandra.
Then they were gone, before she could respond, as the family walked up the stairs. They were
not rude, or inconsiderate, but they were not welcoming either, it was rather interesting.
Aliandra heard Lord Lewyn speaking to someone on her behalf, but she was more curious
about these Starks.
“They are busy with the wedding preparations, I apologize for their manners,” Queen Alicent
said as they walked now.
“I took no offense, weddings are stressful events, and weddings for royals more so, I am
certain Lady Sansa has much on her mind,” Aliandra said with a smile.
She was very curious about the Northerners. In Dorne they’d heard of the North, but the
barbaric heathens of a land of ice and cold were aptly described as wolves, with sharp fangs
and brutal force. They did not come south. Until today, Aliandra had never even seen a
Northerner, and she wondered if that was what ice and cold looked like. She had never seen
the cold, or ice, and now she was very curious. She would observe these Northmen later
though.
This morning had started out hunting Aegon down in Flea Bottom, and did not improve; after
Aemond had dragged his brother back to the Red Keep, literally, he had darted out before
anyone could stop him. Riding hard and fast for Vhagar, Aemond felt his moment of freedom
was in hand, especially after the morning he’d had.
Finding Aegon in the Fighting Pits was not uncommon; finding Aegon fucking a whore
pregnant with his child, while watching the Fighting Pits where his bastard was fighting, was.
Aemond was horrified seeing the child and knowing that was Aegon’s progeny, he didn’t get
to stop the fight in time, the little girl was nearly beheaded with how her larger opponent tore
her throat out, the girl could not have been older than Jaehaera, with the same silvery hair and
violet eyes. Aemond had been horrified, even more horrified when Aegon cheered. The
ensuing fight had Aegon pleading with Aemond to let him disappear into oblivion, sail off to
the Free Cities, disappear into a city like Meereen, or Volantis, Aemond could be King!
Aemond had the support of the Realm after all! (Aemond had no bloody clue where the fuck
Aegon had gotten that idea from, but his brother was drunk and spouting nonsense.) Aemond
had decided then and there he’d be attempting to lock Aegon down in the Red Keep. He
didn’t trust his brother, he didn’t trust Aegon and after the horror he had just watched,
Aemond wanted to ensure Aegon wasn’t free to do it again!
It was also this morning Aemond found out Aegon had had at least fifteen bastards, all of
whom had died in the Fighting Pits. Aegon’s fetish was apparently to impregnate a whore,
maid, or lady, purchase the child, then sell the child to the Fighting Pits to have it killed. The
discovery of his brother’s depravity was both unsurprising but somehow shockingly
horrifying, so startling and upsetting he couldn’t comprehend how depraved his brother
actually was. Yes, Aegon was a man who was depraved, disgusting and horrifying, but he
was Aemond’s elder brother, and Aemond knew how horrid Aegon was. He wasn’t leaving
Aegon to his own devices again, he’d have to speak to Cole about securing Aegon until such
a time the matter of Aegon’s depravity could be properly addressed before the Realm knew.
After his escape to Vhagar, Aemond had just needed to get away. He thought about how to
get Helaena and her children away from Aegon, he also thought about how to secure Aegon’s
bastards; he’d have to talk to someone for an idea of where to begin or what to do. For the
Love Of Gods His Brother Was Sentencing His Own Children To Die! The horror of finding
that out was incomprehensible to Aemond, he had never thought Aegon capable of that!
Of course, his flight did not go as intended.
Aemond returned after his flight with Vhagar; and Vhagar was restless, having seen the
Dornish ships she had gone on full war flight, and Aemond could feel the fires burning
within the dragon.
He had spent much time talking to her today, informing her they were here as guests, not
invaders, he promised she could feast if they made a move against the Realm, and he in
general held on for dear life. She was extremely aggressive, and not afraid to remind the
Dornish of their place, but she had finally complied with his orders as they flew some more.
Finally, after Vhagar had burned the seas, she had settled enough to return to King’s Landing,
but she landed so near the Keep he was suspicious of her motives as she seemed to scent the
air before raising her head to be level with the gardens then she pushed them up through the
air and over the Red Keep as she flew past the camps and for her favorite spot where he’d
tied off his horse.
Returning to the Red Keep, Aemond was relieved nothing had gone wrong with Vhagar
trying to burn the Dornish Royal Party. He was aware the Dornish people were here primarily
due to the trade they had started with the Starks, but the fact they had come to King’s
Landing for this wedding was startling and unsettling, Aemond didn’t know what the Dornish
motives were.
Making his way to his quarters he opened his doors and blinked a few times at the sight
before him. She was sprawled over his bed, and bare as the day she’d been born! This was by
far the most forward and disgusting attempt at seduction he’d encountered! In previous
encounters she’d at least been clothed, he hated that she was here in his quarters
again! Snarling, Aemond investigated the halls to see no one there, and in his fury, he threw
his riding gloves aside, as he roughly jerked off his riding coat and threw it on the chair. She
woke now and smiled as he approached, tugging at a few of the strings on his shirt. Her eyes
were twinkling bright and seductive, she would’ve been considered stunning, but he was
furious. He bit his inner cheek as they looked at one another.
“I believe I warned you last time, if you did this again, I would drag you out of here by your
hair as you are,” he growled lowly.
“I know, but perhaps we can have fun before you marry that Northerner, I heard they’re as
frigid as ice,” Bethany chuckled as she came up to her knees.
“Get Out!” he snarled.

She opened her mouth, and he grabbed her hair, wrapping it in his hand, which had her
yelping as he dragged her off the bed. She stumbled, but he was not slowing, she tripped, and
he dragged her, which had her hysterically screaming behind him. He got her into the hall,
and he was walking for the hall out of his family’s wing.
Sansa and her wolf rounded the corner, and Sansa’s eyes went wide as she looked between
him and Bethany Hightower.
“I was coming to ask you about your flight,” Sansa said conversationally as she looked
between him, and his cousin.
“It was pleasant,” he answered tightly. Bethany Hightower was sobbing hysterically as she
held his wrist.
“Mmm, Aemond, release her,” Sansa sighed.
He tilted his head, and she folded her arms. His cousin was trembling, and naked, but he
didn’t release her. “I tire of this particular tactic of hers.”
“Aemond, you cannot throw a naked noble woman out into the hall, you will destroy her.”
“She destroyed herself,” he snapped as he glared at the now hysterical, crying woman who’d
been driving him insane for the better part of a year. Perhaps proper humiliation would have
her ceasing these antics! Because he was not going to tolerate them.
“I am aware,” Sansa stated smoothly. “But I think she’s been humiliated enough. And if she
should persist on pursuing my husband, then I will feed her to Frostfyre, release her.”
Bethany looked properly horrified as she stared at Sansa’s wolf, which was sporting a pale
blue bow today.
“Sansa…”
“Aemond, you are not throwing her out, naked,” Sansa rubbed her temple as she was glaring
back at him. “Release her.”
He did, throwing her into the floor stones as he glared at Sansa. Sansa sighed as she helped
the woman up, and removed her cloak, wrapping it around the woman, before speaking lowly
with a pleasant smile, which had Frostfyre snarling. Bethany squeaked as she scurried off and
Sansa turned back to him, he clenched his jaw as he focused on not losing his temper fully.
“I threatened her with Northern retribution if she did not leave you be, because I don’t share,”
Sansa informed him.
“And what will you do?” Aemond asked as they started walking.
“I will leave it to your imagination, but it does end with Frostfyre being well fed,” she mused.
“Aemond, if women are sneaking into your chambers, tell me, I will help deal with it.”
He stared at her in shock, because he could not remember anyone ever intervening on
anything for him, especially his own space.
“I came because I need you to come by the eastern solar, Cregan, Roderick and Domeron will
all be there, but I want to make sure my gift fits you before I finish it for the wedding,” she
said. “Your sister’s been helping me, but I want to make sure it fits.”
“I will bathe and be there after,” he promised.
“Do you want me to stand guard…?” she teased.
“Don’t tempt me,” he muttered as he ran his hand over his face. “I miss my quarters being
left alone.”
“Go, I’ll wait,” she promised.
Aemond did not explain why that was reassuring as he pressed his lips to her brow and went
to summon his bath. He threw Bethany’s dresses and shoes and jewelry out of his apartments
and into the gardens as he watched the servants prepare a bath for him. When he had finished
washing off the grime of the flight, he walked out to see Sansa sitting on the ground with
Frostfyre’s head in her lap as she sat there with her eyes closed and head back. In the light
she looked like fire, and stunning, but her eyes snapped open, they seemed to glow as she
looked at him.
“Feeling better, my prince?” she smiled slyly.
He inclined his head as he held his hand out, she took it, and he hoisted her up with ease,
amazed at how slight she was.
“I want this wedding over,” he muttered as they walked.
“I would think you don’t want to marry me with those sentiments,” she teased.
“I’d rather be married, this wedding will kill me,” he sighed tiredly.
“Not to worry, Aemond,” she promised. “We will soon be married and free of this nonsense,
and back to saving the Realm from itself.”
“I do have something to discuss with you regarding our union,” Aemond muttered.
“What do you mean?” Sansa asked.
“When we are on campaign, I wish to discuss the records with you. Particularly when we are
at the Reach,” he murmured.
“What about the records?” Sansa asked.
“Not here,” he said softly as they rounded the corner and he saw a few other Nobles in the
halls now that he was leaving the family wing of the Red Keep.
“Is it dangerous?” Sansa murmured.
“Probably, but not to be discussed with these ears and eyes on us,” he replied softly.
“Very well, will we need Cregan?”
“I hope not, but we’ll need a stronghold, so probably,” Aemond muttered tiredly. He hadn’t
had time to go investigate the Citadel or go to Oldtown either. This fucking wedding was all
consuming and any attempts for him to leave the Crownlands had had his half-sister, or
uncle, or Helaena, or the Small Council, or the Kingsguard chasing him down to come back
to the Red Keep. He had been annoyed about this matter, greatly and he wanted to leave. But
it didn’t matter, his wants were waylaid for this wedding.
“Very well,” Sansa sighed. “We’ll discuss it more after the wedding. And you do need to
apologize to Dorne, before they poison you.”
“No one told me they were coming today, or I would not have been flying Vhagar!” he
ground out.
“Well, she’s not happy, you’re not happy, Dorne isn’t happy, but you’re going to have to
apologize,” she informed him.
“You should come with me, tomorrow,” Aemond said suddenly.
“Hm?”
“To meet Vhagar,” he elaborated and felt his heart slamming in his chest in anxiety at her
answer to this matter. But glancing at her he saw her fear, but she was biting her lip.
“I… I will go,” Sansa stammered. “I’m not brave Aemond, and dragons are… terrifying.”
“You’re marrying a dragon,” he reminded her softly as he felt a smile tugging on his lips.
“And that’s terrifying!” she squeaked. “Aemond, your family is the most intimidating force
other than the Night King’s army of wights!”
“You speak in riddles,” he informed her.
“No… no, I do not. Dragons are as terrifying as the dead rising to destroy everything!” she
insisted.
“But you’ll meet her?” Aemond pressured.
“It’s important to you, so yes, but I’m not brave Aemond, and I need you to promise she
won’t eat me!”
“She won’t eat you,” he promised.
“Are you sure?” Sansa demanded.

“Very,” he chuckled. “Please?”
“I said yes, Aemond, I’m not brave though.”
“You’re very brave,” Aemond murmured softly. He did not think she was very cowardly or
foolish and she was not stupid, so he did not think her to be whatever she thought.
“Mmm, remind me of that when we’re terrified.”
“I can do that.”
Sansa knew Aemond was losing patience with Court given how he had treated the woman,
but Sansa was not surprised. She knew he’d been rightfully furious when Ser Joffrey Arryn
had asked for her favor at the jousting tournament, and he’d been vexed with his sister’s
ladies in waiting, for they rarely attended Helaena. Aemond was also highly suspicious of all
the people vying for his attention now, if they were not Daemion or Cregan or Cregan’s party,
he generally regarded them with suspicion. And she knew her betrothed was about ready to
snap.
Whoever that woman was though had been very surprised when Aemond snapped.
Sansa knew some court women to be crass and upfront with their desires to ensnare a
husband, and catching child was a fast way to ensure a quick marriage. But Sansa was
offended. Aemond had dragged that poor woman out, stark naked, and crying in hysterics, by
her hair and he had been ready to throw her out into the Keep for whatever ridicule would
come her way. Sansa did not agree with Aemond’s tactics, knowing the humiliation which
came from being stripped in front of Court, but she did not feel much in the way of
sympathies for the woman, however she did not want the woman humiliated. Instead, Sansa
had lent her a cloak, and a threat of informing her father she was a loose woman, heavy with
child, who needed to be sent to seclusion until she found a suitable husband in whatever
Realm she was from; it was a heavy threat because Septas and purists would destroy a
woman like her; whomever she was.
Aemond had had enough.
Helaena was sitting with Rody, who had Jaehaerys on his knee as he smiled at the boy, while
Jaehaera was playing with Cregan and Maelor. Helaena’s ladies in waiting were sitting with
Sansa’s own ladies, looking a bit bored. They were in their sewing circle. Sansa spotted
Cassandra Baratheon glaring at her before she looked at her own sewing. Sara was sitting
with her ladies, and Princesses Baela and Rhaena.
“Your brother is very good with Jaehaera,” Helaena giggled.
“Mmm, he grew up with sisters,” Sansa mused, the lie was easy to share.
“I know, we never got him dressed in a dress!” Orrina giggled.

“We tried! Remember when Arra got bows in his hair!” Elissa laughed. “She was so pleased
with herself!”
“Or when she got his hair entangled with flowers!” Orrina snickered. “Gods she had fun with
your hair, Cregan!”
“I remember, because she said even then, I still looked like a drowned rat! Between you two,
Arra, and Sara I’m lucky I did not end up in a dress as a boy,” Cregan smiled at Jaehaera as
he looked at the books with her. Cregan did this with Rickon all the time, just sitting with the
boy on his lap as he did his work or meetings. She smiled at Cregan as he read.
“You’d have made an ugly girl, Cregan,” Orrina decided.
“To be fair, Starks are notoriously ugly!” Mira mused.
“It prevents them from having vain matches,” Gwyn mused.
“Ah yes, their personalities shall win us over, when they aren’t causing chaos, finding
trouble, falling into war, or general shenanigans which ensue around Starks,” Torrha mused.
“I resent that, I am a proper lady!” Sansa huffed indignantly.
“I’m not!” Cregan cackled.
“Me neither!” Sara said with a grin.
“MON!” Maelor ran for Aemond, but was snatched up by Rody, who swung him around
before handing him to Helaena. Sansa was retrieving the jacket she would have Aemond
wear for their wedding.
“Try this on,” Sansa said as she handed him the jacket. Aemond raised his brow as he held it
up.
“To a new House, and new beginning, Aemond, I want us to have some resemblance of our
future on the day of our union,” she informed him. “And Helaena and I have been working
on this for days,” she said blandly.
Aemond shrugged it on, and Sansa looked it over seriously.
It was similar to his riding jackets, long and form fitting, she had embroidered dragons in
silver and blue on the dark burgundy leather, which was difficult, Helaena though was a
wizard with a needle and the dragons looked near life like. The collar was high, like Aemond
preferred, and at the collar, similar to Cregan’s own shirts Sansa embroidered, there were two
wolves there, snarling to face each other, wrapped around the collar; she had done those in
silver and bronze, there were threads of blue too. The Northern patterns continued along the
seams, and it wrapped around the bottom of the coat. The inner lining was a silver fur, but it
seemed light enough it wouldn’t overheat Aemond, and warm enough he could wear this
riding. On the back though was where Sansa was critical. She’d been very worried the
material would be tight on his shoulders; he was a bit broader than Cregan who had been
wearing the coat when Sansa had been working on it in the North, but seeing it on Aemond
now, she was pleased. There was a simple design she had hidden in the leather, snaking
lightning and other patterns into the leather, using black stitching to hide it. But overall, she
was pleased, Helaena was up, examining the work.
“This is the new seal…” Helaena muttered. “Wolves and dragons… dance in fire and ice…”
“Mmm… do you think we should use more red?” Sansa asked.
“No, I like the Stark colors, but perhaps… some gold, in the embroidery, befitting of the
House Targaryen,” Helaena said as she pointed to the elaborate, entangled, embroidered
Northern designs of the seams.
“It’s fine,” Aemond said softly. “Everyone knows I’m a Targaryen.”
“But…” Helaena started.
“It’s a gift from a Stark, it is fine without the gold, I am not to be the King or heir. I prefer it
not be adorned with such nonsense,” he promised.
Sansa looked at him, and he nodded firmly, and she smiled as she examined her work. Sansa
had purposely steered clear of black and green when designing their emblem, their New
House, it would only work if there were enough Stark and Targaryen elements though to
make it clear they were a new House. And given Aemond’s request to have Vhagar in the
emblem, she had felt that to be a reasonable amount of green, and countered that balance by
having Aemond’s coat near black, the burgundy was so dark it could be mistaken as black.
Her own cloak was white, the one Aemond would put on her shoulders, after removing the
Stark bridal cloak.
Sansa’s bridal cloak was the one she had sewn for Arra, which Cregan had encouraged her
Arra would want her to use, and Sansa’s dress was a silvery blue, with white trimmings, so
the cloaks would be a beautiful switch. She also had the Northern blue roses preserved for
her head piece, and Aemond had presented her the gift of pearls and sapphires from his
brother and the Lannisters which she would also be wearing. Seeing Aemond in the dark
burgundy leather, with the silvers, whites, and blues though embroidered, it made her feel a
bit more like he was also hers, as she was agreeing to be his.
Stepping back, she examined the work, and smiled.
“Well, if it does not need anything more to please you, then, I like it,” she said. “Is it
comfortable, does it fit well?”
“It fits well,” Aemond answered as he took off the jacket and handed it back to her. She was
smiling in delight now.
“I told you he’d like it, now stop worrying,” Cregan said as he continued reading to Jaehaera.
“I worry, it’s my duty,” she sighed.
He shook his head, and she shook her head.

“Men don’t understand,” Helaena said.
“They truly don’t at times, but I suppose that’s fair, we rarely understand them in turn,” Sansa
mused.
“Which is our cue to go sparring,” Cregan decided. The Northerners were up, and about to
run. “Before they try to get us to be dressed properly.”
“Wedding is in seven days Cregan!”
“So?”
“Don’t bruise his face!” Sansa called after them. Cregan waved her off, and Aemond
shrugged.
“You don’t want to stop them?” Helaena asked in amusement.
“I gave up trying to stop Cregan years ago,” Sansa sighed. “And Aemond actually likes
sparring, so why should I stop them?”
“My mother forbade Aemond from sparring, and the tourneys,” Helaena mused.
“Well, tourneys are for trouble and glory, but sparring makes the men happy,” she shrugged.
Also, most of Cregan’s friends, and their banners were trapped in other wedding preparations,
and Sansa knew he was dangerous when he was bored, so she’d rather he'd go do something
to burn energy than create trouble. It was bad enough Cregan was not even attempting to
conform to Southron manners for Court decorum, so if this kept him from being a fully
Northerner, she would not stop him.
“You will be good for Aemond,” Helaena said. “He needs to belong.”
“I think if I wasn’t marrying him, Rody and Cregan and Domeron would probably abduct
him,” Sansa confessed which had Helaena giggling hysterically. “I think Rody even tried to
make me a spearwife to abduct Aemond, they like your brother, a lot.”
“I am pleased, perhaps I will visit the North,” Helaena said with a smile.
“We would be happy to have your company,” Sansa assured.
Helaena looked startled then and Sansa smiled as they stood there. “I do not think anyone has
ever said that…” Helaena mumbled.
“Whyever not? You’re lovely, and sweet, you are wonderful company, of course you’d be
welcomed in the North,” Sansa shrugged.
Vaemond was sitting in the gardens with Daeron and Daemion. The encounter with Dorne
was not a good start to the interaction of presenting Aemond to foreigners, but his control of
Vhagar, who was a renowned war dragon, was impressive enough to merit attention. Still, the
start of this affair was better than Vaemond had hoped for.
They saw Aemond, and the Northerners walking by.
Before Vaemond could offer for the young gentlemen to sit with him, the Northerners had
grabbed Daeron and Daemion and dragged them off with them, muttering about soft bellied
Southron folks and needing to tough these traders up. Daemion had protested being called a
sea snake, but Daeron was laughing. Vaemond chuckled watching his sons be dragged off by
their friends, and he leaned back, oh to be young, he mused. Closing his eyes he let the sun
warm his aging bones as he just enjoyed the quiet of the garden.
Aemond was winning over the Realm, a week of being on display and tourneys, hunts,
dances, festivities for his own union to Lady Sansa and it was greatly believed the pair were
in love. The Starks were unsettling the South, but the ease Aemond felt around the Starks was
undeniable, as he seemed surrounded by Northerners or Daemion’s group, at all times. Lady
Sansa had bewitched a few people when there’d been a dance one evening of festivities, and
she danced with not only Prince Aemond, her brother, her brother’s bannermen, Daemion,
and Daeron, but also danced with skill and ease with the smallfolk, she would dance with the
bakers, blacksmiths, tanners, printers, butchers, hunters, beggars, she would dance with
children and laugh, and all the while she seemed to be learning about the woes of King’s
Landing. The amount of ease she could put people at was telling.
Yes, Vaemond was becoming more and more settled in his decision. For the betterment of the
Realm, Aemond would be King.
A shadow fell over Vaemond and he opened his eyes to see Corlys there.
“Brother,” Corlys smiled.
“Lord Corlys,” Vaemond replied as he sat up straighter. He could see the displeasure on
Corlys’ face at the formal addressing, but Vaemond was not inclined to be familiar with his
brother anymore.
“Can we please speak as family, brother,” Corlys pleaded.
“I believe our positions are clear in this matter,” Vaemond countered.
“And I have come to remedy that,” Corlys said with a smile.
“And how do you propose to remedy our rift?” Vaemond asked dryly. “With your open,
sworn renewal towards House Valeryon, or with the matter of offenses dealt to our House to
be brought before Court? I do not believe we have anything more to discuss though, your
goodson intended to cut me down in public, in the Great Hall, before the Court for my
attempts to have my grievances for the offenses dealt to our House rectified.”
“You attempted to usurp me and mine,” Corlys stated.
“No, Lord Corlys, that was not the intent, but to save House Valeryon it will require
sacrifice,” Vaemond stated. “After all, you care more for your ambition than the
repercussions and consequences of that ambition.”
“Cease brother, I did not come for a fight, I have come to make peace!” Corlys stated tiredly.
“And how do you intend to do that, my lord?” Vaemond asked dryly.
“I have grandsons,” Corlys started, and Vaemond frowned as he looked at his brother. “You
have a granddaughter. I propose a match between my grandson Joffrey Velaryon, and your
granddaughter, Daenaera Velaryon, so they might mend the rift which has occurred in our
House, and their union might heal the fractures between us, good brother.”
“No.” Vaemond would not have his son’s first born daughter, his first grandchild, entangled
in the affairs of Rhaenyra, for that bitch was nothing but a vile poison who would break her
word, and destroy what little remained of his House and legacy for his own grandchildren to
have! He would not let Corlys destroy Daenaera!
“As Lord of the House Velaryon, I can command it!” Corlys warned.
“And then you would have to contend with Lord Stark!” Vaemond snapped. He felt his heart
slamming painfully hard in his chest as his palms were slicked in sweat. To his horror he
could see how Daenaera’s future and her possible matches could proceed and he was
horrified. Prince Jaehaerys was a Green, the boy’s temperament was unknown, and for the
most part the boy was not known. Prince Maelor was of the appropriate age, and also a
Green. Prince Aegon the Younger was also of an appropriate age, and given his parents’
temperaments, that did not bode well for Daenaera. Then there was Prince Viserys, and again,
being the progeny of Daemon Targaryen and Rhaenyra Targaryen, it did not inspire much
hope for Vaemond. Then there was the ultimate insult, but one which would appear in the
eyes of Corlys as acceptable because Corlys refused to accept the truth; Prince Joffrey
Valeryon could also match with Daenaera, which would ensure Prince Joffrey’s line’s future
legitimacy with House Valeryon.
Daenaera would undoubtably be a Great Beauty, Vaemond just knew it looking upon her
every passing moon as she became more defined. Corlys was willing to sacrifice her for his
own ambition, the horror of that had Vaemond thinking fast. Promising her to Dorne would
never be acceptable, but the North…
“Pardon?”
“You have heard me!” Vaemond hissed. His mind was quickly spinning the lie, he swallowed
a heavy wad of molten lava down his throat as he thought this over. Lord Stark was a
reasonable young man, and… and saying this didn’t mean that in ten years it would be…
“I… I do not understand brother,” Corlys stammered out.
“I have a contract of promise with Lord Stark,” Vaemond stated swiftly.
“I was unaware of such a contract,” Corlys started.
“Lord Stark is a temperate man, he has a son of the right age, and an arrangement has been
made,” Vaemond lied smoothly. “It is for the best, Lord Corlys.”
“I see, and with a Valyrian wealth in their vaults…” Corlys started.
“No,” Vaemond cut off. “Lord Stark is generous, but no. Now, excuse me, my lord, I have
business to attend to.”
Sansa had spent most of her day finishing the jacket for their wedding and decided to retire
early that evening. The exhaustion of the past week of incessant celebrations was wearing her
down and she felt it slowly seeping into her bones. She was beginning to agree with Aemond,
this wedding was getting out of hand. Settling herself with a book, and a night cup of wine,
she had intended to rest.
Still, she couldn’t focus on the book as she sat there staring at the fires. Part of her was
pondering if this was the right path, her intentions when she had figured out she was in the
wrong time were simple, but now she did not think it was so simple. In the next year King
Viserys would die, he would plunge the Realm into Civil War with his death.
Sansa would not claim to understand how she found herself in this era, she would not begin
to claim she was here for a noble cause for changing the future, because she was uncertain if
the future could be changed.
Arra Stark was still dead, Cregan would meet and marry Alysanne Blackwood, and life
would continue.
But then again, Aemond Targaryen had never married, he had claimed no lady wife. And the
North had never had open trade with Dorne, or the South, and the inner Realms of Wesertos
had never had inner trade. The New Gift was being returned to the North, in a most generous
manner, and House Stark was finally joining with House Targaryen in blood like Cregan had
wanted according to legend. Sansa did not know if this affected the future or not, but she
knew it was changing the era she resided in, which was a daunting realization. She had
realized today, with her Ladies teasing Cregan, watching Sara, Rhaena, and Baela play, and
Helaena and her children all intermingling with Cregan’s men, something was changing, she
didn’t know how or what, but things were not set, this was not the histories she had been
taught.
Part of her wanted to forget about this, just forget that she had been the daughter of Ned Stark
and Catelyn Tully, she had four brothers, and a sister, she’d had a half brother, and she’d
dreamt of marrying a Southron Prince and eating cake all day. Because she loathed that
stupid, ignorant, childish part of herself passionately now.
Another part of her was laughing at the irony of being married to a Southron Prince, with
silver hair, and a dragon. He wasn’t perfect by any means, and she did not think she’d pop out
perfect little Targaryen babes. But this was a life she had never anticipated, and it was here,
and it felt just as real as the life which had been hers before.
She wondered why she had been sent back, and how.
Jon was easy enough to explain, he had confessed to accepting anything Melisandre had
offered him, even if he knew it was wrong, he wanted something good. And he was tired of
being alone. Which Sansa accepted was Jon’s way of saying he missed her, but also didn’t
know what to do with himself. Now they were both here, and they both didn’t know why.
There had to be a reason beyond old magic and Old Gods, there was something else
happening here, but she didn’t know what.
Perhaps she was overthinking this. Cregan had prayed for Stark aid, and she had come, she
had nearly died, but she had come to him, so perhaps it was just that simple. It was baffling
though, she didn’t know if it was or was not that simple. Leaning back she sighed. Sometimes
it was a disadvantage to be so slow to learn.
Was she here to save the Targaryen dynasty? Was she here to merge Stark and Targaryen
blood formally? Or was she simply here because she was dying and an answer to a prayer?
These thoughts were getting too weighty for her, so she tossed her wine out and walked out
onto the balcony, looking out at the sea. Breathing the heavy air in she closed her eyes. She
was a Stark, regardless of what the Gods had planned, or the Fates wanted, she was a Stark,
and she would guide her own Fate now. Robb was not here to kill her enemies, Arya was not
here to fight with her, Rickon was not here to be wild, and Bran was not here with his cryptic
knowledge and strange ways. It was just her, Jon, Cregan and Sara, and little Rickon, and that
would be enough.
She would guide her own Fate.
Damn the histories, she would not play this game, she would guide her own Fate, and she
would build a strong House, and strong Family, and tie them with the Starks as near as they
could, she would raise them to know the Night King would rise, and the dead would come,
and she would raise them to be fearless. Aemond and she would raise them to know their
duty, and binding them to the North and Starks would keep them focused on protecting the
Realm.
Sansa would fight the Night King now, she would begin the preparations for war so her era
would be prepared, so her House could and would stand strong under siege.
They would be wolves and dragons, and she would teach them to respect both.
Comforted by her firm thoughts she opened her eyes to stare out at the night as she reached
down and rubbed Frostfyre’s velvet ears.
“The Lone Wolf Dies,” she murmured.
But the Pack Survives, Ned’s voice whispered in her ear which had her whipping around in
shock expecting to see her father. The tears burned her eyes when she did not see him there.
She wanted her father! She fell down to her knees as she hugged Frostfyre tightly, the wet
nose sniffing her face and giving her cheeks soft licks as she hugged the wolf.
She wanted her father here!

Chapter End Notes
By the way, I'm blown away by the response the previous chapter received, thank you
everyone! I did want to give you a heads up that there will be massive edits on Monday,
and Tuesday, so be patient with me please! I hope you enjoy!
Chapter 5
Chapter Notes
Sansa met Aemond before the crack of dawn, having left Frostfyre with Cregan, and she
shivered a little as she rode with Aemond. People waved at them, or moved aside, but
Aemond and she were racing to get out of the city. It did not take long for them to make it
outside the camps of the banners here, and then they were racing. Sansa had never raced
another rider; other than Sara at times they went riding together, but now Aemond gave her a
wicked grin and spurred his horse into a gallop, and she tore after him. Never had Sansa felt
so daring and unladylike as she chased after Aemond, and clung to her steed. Aemond just
gave her a daring grin, and she felt the need to challenge him. She broke ahead of Aemond,
laughing as they broke the treelines and her horse slowed, with deep, shuddering breaths as
she turned the horse. Aemond was there shaking his head.
“Never race a Northerner my prince! I might not be as gifted as Sara, but even us fine ladies
are born riding,” she panted with a smile.
“So, it would seem,” he mused as he pressed his horse forward and they were riding side by
side at a leisurely pace now.
“How are you, Aemond?” she asked.
“I… There is much to discuss,” he stammered out. “How are you?”
“I am well,” she mused. “The Winter Council has agreed to the name of our House, Cregan is
recovering, Jon is managing Winterfell at this time, Sara is in good spirits, and Rickon in
good health, there is much to be pleased about. And soon, this wedding will be over, and we
will be married.”
He looked a bit amused and smiled tightly as they rode. “Sansa, what… what would you do if
you knew someone to be irredeemable?”
Sansa paused as she looked at Aemond. “The vilest person I knew, I killed, and I told you
how I did it. What he did to me was paltry to what he did to my friend, who is dead, and to
another friend, who is also dead, I watched him take glee in hunting people, and killing them,
in torturing them in every aspect possible, and then, when it was all over, they would be
flayed, and he’d cure their hides to be fine leather. I killed him. The second most vile person I
ever encountered is dead, and he was killed before he could become a true monster, for which
I am eternally grateful I witnessed his death.”
“So you believe death to be the only solution to those irredeemable?”

“It depends upon what they have done, as well as how and what their perversions are. Some
it is simple enough to lock them up, or force them to be interned in working forces; mining
pits, and such. What is this about?” she asked.
“Aegon,” he murmured. “My brother has always been… cruel, but until yesterday I was
unaware of the level of depravity he possessed.”
“What has he done?” she stammered out.
Aemond shook his head as they rode. “I cannot say, I will have to discuss it with my mother,
grandsire, father and my half-sister and her husband no doubt.”
“Aemond…” she started.
“I do not know what to do,” he murmured. “He is my brother, Sansa, and he is a vile monster,
irredeemable, such depravity is beyond my comprehension despite knowing what he could do
to my person.”
She reached over, gently touching Aemond’s arm, which had him blinking a few times as he
looked at her hand then looked at her. She smiled tightly at him.
“Whatever is to come of whatever is happening, you do not lose me, or our new beginning,”
she assured softly. “And you are more than welcomed to invite Helaena and her children to
the North,” she smiled.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“Of course, Aemond. As to your brother being irredeemable, take pity upon him.”
“How can you say that?” Aemond demanded.
“There are two types of cruelty in people from what I have observed and survived,” she
murmured. “One is to be pitied, for they are a product of their environment, the neglect and
turmoil of their Houses. They are raised to be the monsters they have become. They do not
know better, nor knew they could have a choice or chance at a better life. The first cruel boy I
met had two sweet siblings, who lived in terror of him, because his mother saw him as
infallible and perfect, and permitted his perversions to grow, for he could do no wrong. I
believe he learned this behavior in an attempt to gain his fathers approval, though that was
not possible, for his fathers were not good at being fathers. He is who I pity for he did not
know there was a chance to be something else.
“The second is never to be pitied, for evil like that is born, and bred,” she murmured. “They
aren’t born right, there’s something not quite right in their heads, it drives them, their drive
leads them to either brilliance or cruelty, and on occasion, both, but make no mistake, that
evil, that is born, and you will know it when you should encounter it for it shall chill your
very soul, and make even the strongest feel like prey, for those people are an evil akin to a
rabid animal and will destroy all around them,” Sansa explained. “And those people, you kill.
You do not let them spread.”
Aemond nodded slowly as they rode forward.
“On our campaigns, we should begin in the Reach, House Tyrell has offered to host us, as has
House Tarly, and I need to go to Oldtown, if… if it is acceptable, do you mind accompanying
me to the Citadel?”
“I thought girls were forbidden from entering the Citadel,” she started.
“I believe no one shall deny us,” Aemond said firmly.
“Then yes, I have always wanted to see the great libraries, I wonder how they compare to
Winterfell’s,” she smiled.
“Grander, no offense, Lady Sansa, but Winterfell only holds the North’s recorded memory,
the Citadel holds the entire Andal Kingdoms’ before the Conquest,” he reminded her.
“My prince, the North is vast, and at least a third of your precious Seven Kingdoms,” she
mused.
“I am aware, but I am also aware it is not as big as the Citadel,” he chuckled.
“I would be pleased to go there, will we be staying with the Hightowers at all?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Aemond sighed. “I apologize, they are my relations though.”
“Don’t apologize, Aemond,” she said firmly. “Never apologize for what is not in your
control.”
“Very well,” he nodded.
“Besides, I will enjoy flustering Southron sensibilities, I did not get to do that as a girl, but
now I am a proper Northern Lady, so I shall endeavor to embody the best of the North for
them to be properly scandalized.”
He raised his brow and she smiled ruefully. “I would suspect you to be nothing less than a
proper lady,” he stated.
“Yes, but I am a Northern Lady now, and I assure you, there is a difference!” she mused.
“I am aware,” he replied wryly.
“Are you besmirching my character!?” she sputtered.
“Never,” he chuckled.
She smiled a bit in victory at getting Aemond to relax and be somewhat playful with her. It
was fun when she could get past Aemond’s guard and see what he hid behind his indifference
and stoicism, he was rather endearing though he hid it. She enjoyed seeing him relax, when
he wasn’t so intently aware of everyone and everything, he would relax a little and have this
small, near invisible smile on his lips, and he looked closer to the eighteen namedays he was,
not the aged, severe version of himself he often appeared as. She especially liked his hair as
he wore it now, in a long braid, she liked the parts of that braid which escaped and fell free
and loose, he looked much younger and less severe. When Aemond was reaching up to rub
his temple, she leaned over and snatched that blasted eyepatch, she wanted to burn this thing,
he looked startled then, and she took him in fully.
Whatever boyishness had been about him when they had first met was gone, his face was in
hard, long lines, and he was handsome. The scar did not take from that beauty, merely
emphasized how long his face was, which was not terrible. His amethyst eye glittered
brightly, with a brilliant sapphire as contrast. Aemond looked terribly severe and dangerous,
but also very handsome.
“I was genuine in my request for you not to wear this around me when it is just us,” she
stated firmly.
“People do not like the scar.”
“Does it bother you?” she countered.
“Huh?”
“Does the scar marring your face bother you?”
“No.”
“Then why appease people whose opinions do not matter?”
“Sansa…” he started.
“No. You are a dragon, Aemond, be a dragon. The scar is a story, it is a part of you, I do not
need you to hide yourself around me,” she assured.
“It is easy for you to say,” he muttered sourly.
“I assure you, Aemond, I have many of my own scars,” she murmured softly. “He couldn’t
mark my face, but the rest of me…” she sneered and looked at him.
He stared at her and then looked down at his hands. “I do not like the way people look at me
when they see it,” he murmured.
“Then wear this around other people, but not me, Aemond, I like your face, scar and all,” she
assured.
He looked a bit shy as he inclined his head a little and they continued riding.
Cregan’s morning had thus far been rather dismal, he’d awoken reaching for Arra, only to
feel the bed was empty before falling back in it rubbing his hand over his face. Fuck him. He
wanted his wife. Getting up he prepared for his day, the summers here were chilling, and
Cregan would wager a winter was coming, but it wasn’t autumn just yet. Once he had washed
himself, he got dressed and shook out his curls, fixing the escaping wisps of curls before he
left his quarters with Ice and Frostfyre. Sansa was safe with Aemond, they were meeting
Vhagar, to which Cregan commended his sister for being braver than he as he walked through
the Red Keep for the gardens. The direwolves were happy to lope off ahead of him, and he
plucked an apple from a passing servant as he walked.
He made it to a spot near the sea and leaned on the stone barrier, looking out at the glittering
water. Arra would like this view, he thought.
“Do you ever smile?” a seductive, exotic voice purred. Cregan turned, the Princess of Dorne,
a young beautiful woman, with a sharp jawline, full lips, distinct nose, obsidian eyes encased
by turquoise liner and black hair, she was dressed in draped fabrics. She looked every bit the
seductive woman, which had him frowning as he bit into his apple and looked out at the sea.
“What do you want?” he asked tiredly.
“We are partners in trade, I would like to know my partners,” she purred. “One would think
you’d be celebrating your sister’s union to come.”
Cregan glanced at her as she draped herself beside him along the wall, she was a very
womanly woman, very beautiful, but her eyes, despite the calculation, were very youthful.
Cregan shook his head at her antics, and swallowed his bite of apple.
“Princess, this is not the time, nor the place to discuss trade. If you wish to discuss the matter
of our trade, it will have to wait; it is my sister’s wedding after all and it takes my priority.
Regarding the union to be, and my personal views on the union, those are distinctly none of
your business,” he stated as he stood up, walking from her.
“But perhaps I would like to make it my business,” she mused.
“Whatever it is you are after, I am not the one to possess it,” Cregan warned.
“And what makes you think I’m looking for something?” she smiled as she cut off his path.
“Girl, go take your games to someone else,” Cregan ordered tiredly. He could almost hear
Arra laughing her arse off at him as he shooed the girl off, and he could see her pouting as he
walked away, taking another bite of his apple. He wasn’t really interested in whatever games
the Dornish princess intended to play.
“I like this game, Northerners don’t play it,” she giggled as she fell into step with him,
slipping her arm, boldly into his own so they were linked. He scowled at her.
“Go bother… anyone else,” he ordered as he pulled himself from her grasp.
“I like bothering you, Lord Stark. Tell me about the North,” she mused playfully as she again
linked their arms. He stopped as he glared down at her; on one hand, she was a princess of
the biggest trade partners the North had, on the other hand, he felt insulted with what she had
just commanded. It wasn’t so much the command but rather her tone.
“I don’t take commands from brats,” he informed her firmly as he jerked her off his person
and set her aside physically. “I will discuss trade and business after the wedding, but nothing
else. Go bother someone else.” Walking away, he felt that was the best option.
“I Am Not A Brat!” the princess sputtered.
“Could’ve fooled me,” he called over his shoulder as he jogged down some steps.
“You Take That Back!” she demanded.
“Fuck Off!” he called back. There was a thwap of a dagger by his head, and he turned to look
at a very furious looking princess; Cregan knew a threat of power when it was displayed and
frowned at her. She Did Not Want To Play This Game With Him. No doubt, she was
unaccustomed being called out on her blatantly poor behavior, but he was not impressed or
backing down. Reaching up he jerked the blade out of the tree.
“I Am Not A Brat!” she hissed.
“Fuck off,” he repeated as he threw it back, watching her eyes go big and wide as the dagger
skimmed by her head. “I do not play games, princess.”
Walking with Ice and Frostfyre he walked along the shoreline wall, letting the winds tug his
curls and he just about jumped out of his skin when an arrow landed in front of his feet
threateningly. He turned to glare at the offender, and she looked smug. Frostfyre trotted off
then, Ice looked up at him.
“You missed,” he stated as he picked up the arrow and dropped it over the wall. “Ice, women
are the bane of life, never get involved with them,” he muttered to the wolf as he walked. The
wolf trotted along with him. Cregan was eager to return home, he wanted to hold his son
again, but he would be pleased to have a noon meal with Sansa and Sara when the girls were
ready. There was a rustling behind him, and Ice gave him a look. He tilted his head as the
wolf loped into the gardens and he turned to look at the Dornish Princess. Aliandra was
giving him a look of grim determination and he raised his brow.
“Are you supposed to scare me, princess?”
“No man speaks to me that way.”
His lips curled back. “You should assess how you address others then, princess. Respect is
earned after all.”
“Are you so simple to believe me a weak woman?” she demanded.
Now Cregan approached, slow measured steps as he loomed over her. “I am the last man to
believe women are weak, or foolish, but I do not appreciate my person being imposed upon
by one I am unfamiliar with. It is rude, and disrespectful to assume such familiarity, and very
bratty that you persist when I have said we will speak later.”
“Then you will speak to me with the respect for a princess!” she hissed.
“Respect is earned princess,” he repeated for her. He felt her blade press against his gut, and
there was a low growl behind her, which had her eyes widening. “What’s it going to be
princess?”
She turned to look at Ice and Frostfyre, who were slinking forward, fangs bared. She glanced
at him and lowered her knife. “Impressive.”
“You have skill, but you miss your mark,” Cregan stated. “Ice, Frostfyre,” he called out and
the wolf slunk into the gardens as he walked away from her. He saw Ser Vaemond and
walked to the Valyrian. The older man looked amused.
“Be wary, Lord Stark, they are as hot blooded as you are cold,” Vaemond stated.
“Well, her aim is terrible, my wife actually shot me, and hit me with an arrow, she could also
work better on balancing her daggers,” Cregan shrugged. Vaemond laughed then as they
walked now.
“The Dornish pride themselves on their lethal knowledge, Princess Aliandra has trained since
she was a small child, like you have, to command legions, fight in battle, and command her
country,” Vaemond said.
“All of which is impressive, but her diplomacy is lacking,” Cregan said. It was now Cregan
truly took in Vaemond who was looking worried and amused at this moment. “Is there
something you wish to speak to me about?”
“Yes,” Vaemond smiled as he clasped his hands behind his back. “I have not had an
opportunity to speak to you privately. I wanted to give my condolences for you and your
family, I was sorry to hear about your wife, it is a terrible loss.”
Cregan nodded tightly. He still missed Arra deeply, and thinking about her was a pain to him.
Gods he missed his wife, especially at times like this.
“And I wanted to congratulate you on your son,” Vaemond said.
“I believe you have already given me those congratulations,” Cregan said softly.
“So I have,” Vaemond chuckled. “His name, Rickon, I know it is a Northern name, is there
any significance to it?”
“Arra picked it, he was not named for my father, she simply liked the name,” he shrugged.
There was no deeper meaning to the name.
“She selected a strong name,” Vaemond decided.
Cregan nodded.
“As you know, I recently had a granddaughter, from my son,” Vaemond smiled.
“Yes, I believe I have congratulated on your House on a fine addition,” Cregan said. He was
unsure of where this conversation was going.
“Thank you, but… it is about your son and my granddaughter which I wish to speak to you
about,” Vaemond said stiffly. Cregan raised a brow curiously. “I do not know if the North
should practice such arrangements, but it is not uncommon to practice them here, so forgive
me if I am overstepping.”
“What practices?”
“I would like to promise my granddaughter to your son,” Vaemond stated.
Cregan just about tripped over his feet as he whipped around to stare at the man. Vaemond
smiled wryly.
“We are both of old Houses, yours is the oldest and most noble House, and I do not present
this match as a business arrangement, merely because I have heard you raise good stock up
North, Daemion has sung nothing but praises and your work on Prince Jacaerys is truly
commendable,” Vaemond explained. “My granddaughter is new to this world, and the
Valyrian houses of old are scrambling for purchase, which will lead to turmoil, and I would
prefer to secure her future and prospects. My brother has proposed matching my
granddaughter with Prince Joffrey Valeryon, and the match is intolerable, not only because of
the rumors, but also, you have met Prince Jacaerys before you had intervened on his
behavior, I do not desire to entangle my granddaughter with a line intent on producing
tyrants.”
“We do not promise children until they reach the age of five,” Cregan said hoarsely. “The
North is harsh, and children die.”
“And I understand those sentiments,” Vaemond sighed. “Princess Helaena has had another
son, Prince Maelor, and he is also of an age to be a prospect for my granddaughter, no formal
matches have been arranged. But then there are Prince Daemon’s progeny, Prince Aegon the
Younger, Prince Viserys, and whatever other children he and Princess Rhaenyra have to
consider, and after my history with both Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, I fear they
would use my granddaughter as a hostage. I do not trust my family to have my
granddaughter’s interest at heart. I have also placed you and your House in a precarious
situation, to which I wish to beg your mercy and understanding, for when my brother
proposed a match; I assessed where these matches could go, and I am desperate not to have
my granddaughter in a precarious situation or a hostage; I said we had an arrangement. I
plead your forgiveness for this overstep, and your understanding… I will do whatever is
necessary to appease you, but I do not want my granddaughter entangled in this war.”
Cregan frowned as they passed by a wall.
“I would like to secure the possibilities of a safe and noble match before the Crown can
interfere with my family and inflict more uncertainty and fear. The North has proven to
produce good men, and securing a match to your House, while affluential, is also one which
brings me peace of mind.”
Cregan nodded as he looked out at the sea. “I am not pleased with your lie, Ser Vaemond,
but, I do understand the sentiments and do not condemn you for seeking to keep your family
safe.”
“Thank you, Lord Stark,” Vaemond breathed.
“I am not opposed to the match, Ser Vaemond, but I am not promising my child when he is
not yet fully weaned off the teat, and not yet out of the crib.”
“I am not either. And truthfully, the union does not even have to happen, I just want Daenaera
safe.”
“Then… let us observe the prospects later when the children are older, however, I will
consider the match, your family has done much for the North, and it would speak highly of
how you have aided us,” Cregan confessed.
It would be a good match and secure the business Vaemond’s work brought to the North,
Cregan could not turn up his nose regarding the match. But he did not want to promise his
son to someone yet. Cregan liked being a father, and he liked having his small family to
himself, he was reluctant to give Sansa away to Aemond, and he was wary of making a
match for Sara at this time, and he would snap and snarl at anyone who threatened to take
Rickon from him. But he could not turn away the prospect of this match. Cregan knew the
love of his son was powerful, and he’d do anything to minimize a threat to Rickon, even
threat of a horrendous match, and that was where Vaemond was coming from.
It made it a challenge to accept, but Cregan sighed. “I would be willing to… foster, Rickon,
when he is older to your family for a year or two, and let the children meet and learn their
temperaments, if the match is good at that time, I will not be opposed, but if they despise
each other, I would not force the prospect.”
“That is a fair arrangement,” Vaemond stated. “And we would be honored to teach the boy
how to sail.”
“Starks and ships do not have the best history,” Cregan admitted with a grimace.
“With time, perhaps that will change,” Vaemond mused.
“We can draw up a contract, which would prevent your granddaughter from being betrothed
until such a time we agree upon a betrothal arrangement, and it should protect her from the
Crown’s interests. And we will arrange Rickon’s fostering when he is of an appropriate age to
foster before I arrange for him to squire with Roderick.”
“Thank you,” Vaemond sighed. “I am truly sorry for putting your House in such a position,
Lord Stark, and I thank you for your mercy, compassion, and understanding.”
Cregan nodded as they looked at the sea. Cregan took a deep breath of irritation when an
arrow whistled past his ear, slicing his cheek, and embedding itself in the tree below. Ser
Vaemond looked bewildered and startled, then started laughing.
“At least she got the high ground this time,” he growled and turned to glare at the viper who
was perched in the tree. She smiled.
“You Missed!” he shouted.

Vaemond was collapsing with laughter and Cregan stalked off to find peace at the training
grounds. Perhaps if he was lucky, he’d get hit by the arrow in the bloody throat; get him out
of the fucking South! He could hear Arra mocking him from beyond the grave.
The princess appeared beside him and smiled charmingly; he snatched her bow out of her
hands as he walked away. Fucking women were going to kill him!
“I am not a brat, and I have not missed,” she informed him.
“My wife never missed her mark, do better!” he snapped.
Cregan spotted Prince Jacaerys who looked like he was up to no good, and grabbed his collar
as he dragged the boy behind him.
“HEY!”
“Whatever you’re about to do, you’ll thank me in twenty years when you realize it was a bad
idea!” Cregan snapped. “Fucking royalty, going to be the death of me.”
“I wasn’t doing anything!”
“Which is why you’re skulking around at the break of dawn with that look of up to no good
on your face, get a fucking sword, I want your basics,” Cregan snapped as he pushed the boy
into the training arena. He immediately turned on the princess then. “If you’re going to be a
pain in my fucking arse go practice your aim!”
“You can’t tell me what to do!” Aliandra started.
Cregan was fast, grabbing three arrows in rapid succession as he hit the bullseye perfectly.
“Outdo me, only one woman has ever been capable of that, princess, and you sure as fuck
aren’t her,” Cregan stated. He saw a look of disbelief in her eyes, as she stared at him, he
turned away when he saw Jacaerys fucking around with armor. “You, come here,” he pointed
at Jacaerys then leaving the princess behind him.
He didn’t notice the way the Dornish princess gaped after him as he picked up a weapon and
looked at Jacaerys.
“I want you to work on the basics, footwork, and keep in mind everything around you,” he
said. “When you move, the blade is an extension of yourself. Begin.”
“We’re here,” Aemond said.
“Are you certain she’s not going to kill me?” Sansa asked as she watched Aemond.
“Do you trust me?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.
Her heart was slamming painfully in her ribs, and her hands were trembling painfully as she
swallowed thickly.
“Yes.”
He nodded and smiled a bit as he released the reins of his horse and swung down with ease.
She raised her brow, and he tied off the horses before he reached up and helped her down.
Sansa was a bit grateful she’d worn trousers today, it was scandalous, but she did not want to
get tangled up in skirts if she was near a dragon. She didn’t have much chance of survival
against a dragon, but she didn’t want to minimize her very slim chances of survival. Aemond
caught her hand in his and she bit her lip as she walked with him. He didn’t release her hand
as they walked through the forest. She felt the vibrations, and the low rumbling when she
heard the shift in the earth which had her clinging to Aemond’s arm as she peered around
him.
The shadow shifted and she watched with her heart slamming in her chest painfully. The
scent of brimstone and smoke filled the air, with the forest and something… sharp, electric,
similar to Aemond’s own scent. There was a lower rumble, and Sansa felt her fingers digging
into Aemond’s arm. Aemond glanced at her, and she looked up at him.
“I’m not brave,” she reminded him.
He shook his head and looked amused.
They walked a bit further and she saw a break in the tree line.
Sansa had seen Daenerys’ dragons, Drogon and Rhaegal, but always from a distance; and
Vhagar dwarfed those two; Sansa knew that. She knew it intellectually and from
observations, because Vhagar overshadowed the Red Keep and many other buildings, she
was a dragon of old. However, watching as the massive leather wings, and the rough ridges
of scales and the slithering of a massive, muscular body shifting as an eye big as Sansa was
glowing green and it sent every primal instinct in Sansa screaming to flee, run, hide, get
somewhere safe. She froze as she stared.
“Sȳz tubis Vhagar,” Aemond called out.
There was a low reverberating growl, like a purr but deafening as Aemond slipped Sansa’s
grasp. Sansa backed up and pressed herself to a tree. She didn’t scream at Aemond not to go.
The beast was massive, similar in color to Daenerys’ dragon Rhaegal with green and bronze
scales, darkened though by age, the dragon’s long slim, muscular neck was lined with ridged
spikes and horns atop the head. The massive, crocodilian like jaws, lined with massive fangs.
Vhagar was massive! She made Drogon and Rhaegal look insignificant and small, and Sansa
could see now how a dragon could burn an entire land into nothingness, the dragon was a
mountain.
“Nyke emagon maghatan issa ābrazȳrys syt ao naejot rhaenagon,” Aemond spoke as that
heavy head swung down to him, he held his hand out and pressed it to the snout. Sansa
moved to be behind the tree as she watched Aemond as he rubbed Vhagar’s snout. “Zȳhon
brōzi iksos Sansa. Ziry iksos olvie sȳz, se nēdenka, gaomagon daor ōdrikagon zȳhon.”
Sansa flinched as the head swung to her and Aemond smiled at her.
“Sansa,” he called out. “This is Vhagar.”
“She’s… beautiful!” Sansa said weakly.
“Sansa, trust me,” Aemond ordered in amusement as he walked over to her.
“Uh… I trust you, Aemond, but she’s a dragon,” she stammered out.
“And she is very smart, you are safe,” he assured. He held out his hand and she looked
between him, the dragon and his hand again. Slowly she reached forward, and his fingers
curled around hers as he pulled her out from behind the tree. She wanted to claw her way
back behind the tree, especially as a growl shook the grounds and trees, birds screeched as
they took to the skies, fleeing, and she wished desperately to join them.
“Come on,” he murmured. “She will not harm you.”
Sansa stumbled a little as she walked with Aemond.
“I have met Frostfyre,” he pointed out softly.
“Frostfyre can’t breathe fire Aemond, and I’m not a Targaryen,” she whispered.
“You will be,” he chuckled.
She was stiff as she walked with him to stand before the snout of the dragon. Her heart was
pounding with a deafening force in her ribs. Vhagar gave a deep inhale, which tugged on
Sansa’s hair as she pressed herself to Aemond then, Vhagar gave a low hum before there was
a massive snort and Sansa gagged at the scents of rotting flesh, brimstone, ash, and smoke hit
her as Vhagar’s massive head came closer.
“Say Rytsas,” Aemond whispered in her ear.
“Hm?”
“Rytsas,” he murmured again. “Rytsas Vhagar.”
“Uh… Rytsas Vhagar,” she stammered out, butchering the words. Aemond smiled though
and Vhagar gave another low rumble as she laid her head down, her eyes transfixed on Sansa
with a look she didn’t know. That was not a look from an animal though, the eyes were far
too intelligent to be a mere beast, no, those eyes were wise, and seeing, and haunting, like
Lady’s had been, or Frostfyre’s were. Aemond reached forward and rubbed her snout.
“Vhagar is the most important woman in my life,” he informed her. “She is rather
temperamental, but she likes you.”
“She’s very beautiful,” Sansa muttered.
“Reach out and touch her snout,” Aemond murmured.
“I don’t think so,” she whispered. “I like my hands…”

“Trust me,” he chuckled. She was shaking hard in fear as she looked at the dragon who was
watching them intently. Aemond was the one to take her hand as he raised it, and she was
shaking too hard to move. Aemond rested her hand on the snout as he rubbed Vhagar’s snout.
Sansa was startled at how soft the rough scales were, as she slowly moved her fingers over
them. They were warm, soft, and so hard… she trailed her fingers over the ridge lines.
Aemond watched as Sansa traced Vhagar’s scales and looked at his dragon. Vhagar’s bond
was thrumming through his mind, confusion, mistrust, unease, and adoration were all
humming through their bond and Aemond smiled. He had told Vhagar about Sansa before,
and told her of the Wolves of the North, but he had not expected her to be willing to work
with him to meet them. Vhagar’s bond though was filled with curiosity as Sansa stood there,
utterly vulnerable and wary, but she was respectful and kind to Vhagar.
“Kirimvose Vhagar,” he murmured as he watched Sansa, who was staring at Vhagar with
open fascination and quivering with uncertainty. “Ziry iksos issa ābrazȳrys. Ziry iksos olvie
nēdenka, se sȳz. Ziry iksos daor ao, yn ziry iksos olvie jorrāelagon naejot issa. Nyke jaelagon
syt ao naejot jorrāelagon zȳhon hae nyke gaomagon.”
He could feel the begrudging approval from Vhagar as she growled softly and he smiled as
he pressed his brow to her jaw, relief swamping him as he glanced back at Sansa who was
watching them both with unease on her features. He just smiled a bit as Vhagar raised her
head and nudged him gently. Hugging her snout, he gave it a firm scratch as he rested his
brow there. Sansa bolted for the trees, and he laughed. She was a wolf, but so swift to protect
herself. Vhagar gave a low chortle, which came out a raspy growl as her amusement was
clear.
“Nyke zūgagon nyke jorrāelagon zȳhon. Nyke nykeā mittys, yn ziry iksos sȳz.” Aemond
murmured as he watched Sansa peering around a tree, watchful, wary, and uneasy. “Zokla issi
pazavor syt glaeson, se zaldrīzoti issi pazavor syt mēre, zȳhon vyguēsin iksos drēje, zȳhon
vyguēsin iksos sȳz.”
Vhagar gave him a playful nudge to Sansa, and he chuckled.
“Kirimvose Vhagar,” he murmured as he left her. Sansa looked at him as he approached,

Vhagar lifted her head and gave a deafening roar of approval which had him smile a little
more as he looked at Vhagar and she took to the skies to find her other perch. He could feel
her approval in their bond, but also feel her wariness.
“She’s terrifying, beautiful, but terrifying,” Sansa informed him.
“She did enjoy meeting you,” Aemond said as they stood there watching her fly.
“How could you tell!?” she sputtered.
“She didn’t eat you,” he replied dryly.

Sansa glared at him, and he chuckled.
“Vhagar has terrorized every dragon master in the Dragonpit and everyone who has ever
dared to come near her that she does not welcome. The night I claimed her… I did not think I
would claim her, I was so tired, and alone, and Laena was dead, and Vhagar was free. I could
not go on without a dragon, Sansa,” he explained. He couldn’t stand it any longer, it was like
a part of him was missing, dying, aching, and he was so alone. Helaena and Aegon had
dragons, Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey even had dragons, and Rhaena and Baela had dragon eggs
at the time. He had nothing, and he was tired. Claiming Vhagar was his last chance, he felt it
in his bones, and he had been done, he would rather try to claim Vhagar or die, and as Vhagar
had killed her last rider, death was genuinely plausible from Vhagar. He welcomed death at
that point, he could not take it anymore, and then, and he still didn’t know how, Vhagar had
claimed him. She had been about to kill him, and he had tried the commands he’d heard his
siblings and nephews and cousins practice, and she had stopped and stared at him. He didn’t
know what she’d seen in him, or why she had permitted him to claim her, but she had, and it
was… elating.
Sansa’s face was pale then as he looked at her.
“You… you idiot!” she shouted and pushed his shoulder. “You fool! You wanted to die!
You… you were willing to die!” she screeched.
“Yes,” he answered stiffly.
“You Idiot!” she screeched as she pushed his chest. He caught her elbows and pulled her
close. “You… Aemond… you…” she strangled out.
“Vhagar is the only reason I live, Sansa, not the reason I lost my eye,” he said softly. “I…”
“I understand,” she muttered as she threw her arms around him, and he was stunned as he
stood there unsure of what to do. Slowly he wrapped his arms around her, feeling her lithe
form pressed against him. “Aemond, I understand, but… you are more than how you see
yourself, and you are my friend, don’t die.”
“I’m not dying,” he promised.
“Good, and don’t do stupid things like this again,” she mumbled in his shoulder.
“We are only permitted one dragon, Sansa,” he whispered. “Vhagar is mine.”
She nodded as she sagged against him, and he turned to press his lips to her head in an action
he’d do to soothe Helaena. Sansa finally pulled away as she looked up at him, she hadn’t let
him go and he couldn’t read the expression on her face.
Aemond didn’t expect her next action as she stepped up and pressed her lips softly against
his. He was stiff as she kissed him softly.
“I’m glad she didn’t eat you,” Sansa said softly as she pulled away. She moved to walk for
the horses, and he grabbed her, spinning her back to him. Sansa gasped as he kissed her hard,
and how he’d been dreaming of since the night he’d kissed her. It wasn’t soft, or gentle, he
was demanding, and as she kissed back, he was pleased at her challenge. It was not like the
night they’d first kissed, and it wasn’t kind. He pushed her back into a tree, which had her
gasping as he pulled away, they were both gasping for air. She was flushed, and pretty, as she
stared at him through her heavy lashes.
“I am too,” he agreed as he slid his fingers through her hair.
“Don’t do anything stupid until after we’re married,” she breathed.
He laughed a bit as they walked back to the horses.
Chapter End Notes
- Sȳz tubis Vhagar - Good morning Vhagar.
-Nyke emagon maghatan issa ābrazȳrys syt ao naejot rhaenagon. Zȳhon brōzi iksos
Sansa. Ziry iksos olvie sȳz, se nēdenka, gaomagon daor ōdrikagon zȳhon. - I have
brought someone for you to meet. Her name is Sansa. She is very kind, and brave, do
not eat her.
-Rytsas Vhagar - Hello Vhagar
-Kirimvose vhagar. Ziry iksos issa ābrazȳrys. Ziry iksos olvie nēdenka, se sȳz. Ziry
iksos daor ao, yn ziry iksos olvie jorrāelagon naejot issa. Nyke jaelagon syt ao naejot
jorrāelagon zȳhon hae nyke gaomagon. - Thank you Vhagar. She is my wife. She is very
brave, and kind. She is not you, but she is very dear to me. I wish for you to love her as I
do.
--Nyke zūgagon nyke jorrāelagon zȳhon. Nyke nykeā mittys, yn ziry iksos sȳz. - I fear I
might love her. I fear being a fool, but she will not betray me.
-Zokla issi pazavor syt glaeson, se zaldrīzoti issi pazavor syt mēre, zȳhon vyguēsin iksos
drēje, zȳhon vyguēsin iksos sȳz. - Wolves are loyal for life, and dragons are loyal for
one, her nature is true, her nature is kind.
~~~*~*~*~~~
Yes, this is recycled a lot, but the next few chapters do have a bunch of plots, and this
chapter was needed in both the first draft and this.
And yes, I'm keeping Cregan and Aliandra's introduction the same because quite frankly,
I think the clash of culture is amusing. I honestly think the North and Dorne would get
along like a House on Fire initially. Only forewarned spoiler I'm giving to everyone
before they protest about this introduction, is her antics will not be continuing because
that would cause a genuine diplomatic crisis, and while it was amusing in the first draft,
it's too Disneyfied to want to pursue in the actual plot of this story. But for an
introduction, it seems very on par for Dorne and the North, given both are very wild
people by Southron standards.
Chapter 6
Chapter Notes
I did tag Aemond Bad At Feelings. This is your only warning.
Sara was walking with White Fang, Gilliane, Taria, and Arrana.
“I know, but it’s just, if your sister marries a Prince, doesn’t that make you related to
Royalty?” Arrana asked.
“No,” Sara answered. “This is like when the Starks married the Warg King’s daughters, or the
Barrow King’s daughters, or the Marsh King’s daughters, it’s a conquered House being
married into the ruling faction, or rather, the ruling faction marrying into a House. Besides,
Sansa’s moving North after the campaigns, so he’s going to be a Northern Lord and so will
their children, no royalty to be had!”
“It’s still amazing,” Gilliane mused. “Marrying a Prince!”
“It is,” Taria answered. “And father says he isn’t a useless, pompous, Southron Prince
either!”
Sara snorted as she scratched White Fang’s ears. Aemond and Sansa seemed content with the
match, and she liked Aemond, he wasn’t as dour as Jon was.
Since Sara had been informed about the Stark secret, of when Sansa actually came from, and
how she had gotten there, Sara had come to greatly dislike Sansa’s brother, Jon. Jon was not
the bad sort, but his melancholy disposition, and how sad he made Sansa had Sara not liking
Jon ultimately. She didn’t dislike Sansa’s half-brother, but rather found him vexing. He would
rather be lost in himself than take shelter with the pack he found himself with, he was also
always determined to do everything alone, and without help, and Cregan had criticized
vehemently that was not the Stark way, which led to Jon and Cregan fighting infrequently.
Still, thinking about when Sansa came from, it made Sara wary of inviting people into their
small family. Arra was always Cregan’s wife, for as long as Sara remembered, Cregan and
Arra were always together. Sansa marrying Aemond meant Aemond would join the Starks,
but Aemond had his own family, and they made Sara wary of trusting Aemond’s union and if
he found out when Sansa was from? She feared for her sister if anyone knew the truth outside
of Cregan’s circle, and the Starks.
Aemond’s family though was the bigger problem. Sara did not like Jace, and she truly did not
like Lucerys. Lucerys was her age, and a brat, she wanted to punch him in the face since
meeting him. Yes, Lucerys looked more Valyrian than Jace did, but she disliked the
handsome young prince immensely. The brat vexed Sara because she saw how he
antagonized Aemond since she had arrived, did the fool not understand that Aemond’s
patience was not infinite?
Knowing what Sara knew, about the coming Dance of Dragons, it had her wanting to give the
young Prince a well and thorough thrashing.
And Ladies Rhaena and Baela…
They were not bad sorts, but they had learnt this behavior was acceptable and Sara knew it
was not.
All of these factors though, made Aemond’s family a liability to the safety of her sister and
Jon, as well as the rest of the Starks. She wanted to give them all a good thrashing and maybe
pull the sticks out of their arses to beat them over the heads with it. Or a skillet, a good iron
skillet would also do the trick. Sara had had enough of these antics.
“I like Aemond, but his family,” she grimaced a little.
“They do not seem too terrible, Prince Daeron was most impressed with your riding skills,
and Prince Lucerys was too,” Gilliane giggled.
Sara shook her head.
“My father says that if the South can be out ridden by our own Stark, then we have nothing to
fear,” Taria decided.
“Thank you, but they are still formidable,” Sara countered reluctantly.
There was a squeak, and White Fang gave a low growl as Sara turned immediately to the
direction her wolf was looking. There was a girl, about her age, with long golden hair, green
eyes, and obvious beauty, dressed in red and gold.
“He’s so big!” the girl gasped as she backed up.
“This is White Fang, I apologize if he startled you,” Sara said as she tapped White Fang’s
nose as she walked around the wolf. “I am Lady Sara Stark,” she gave a small curtsey.
“I’m… I’m Lady Jocelyn Lannister,” the girl sputtered.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Sara smiled. “I was going to go sew, I’m still preparing a few
ribbons for my sister’s wedding, would you like to join my Ladies and I?”
“I…” Jocelyn’s eyes were on White Fang wary as the wolf sat beside Sara.
“You can say hello to White Fang, he’s very friendly!” Sara smiled as she gestured for the
wolf to lay down. The wolf moved down, looking at Sara again. “Just hold your hand in a
fist, and let him sniff you.”
“He looks like he’s going to bite me!” Jocelyn whispered.
“Is House Lannister not a lion?” Taria sneered. “Such a cowardly lion I see.”
“Taria!” Sara snapped. “Taunts and insults are not welcomed, you were scared of White Fang
when you first met him, and he was smaller, be kind! My apologies Lady Jocelyn, Lady Taria
Mormont is raised by bears apparently.”
“He… he’s friendly?” Jocelyn whispered.
“Very,” Sara smiled as she reached down to scratch White Fang’s ears. “He’s a big lover! He
loves cuddles!”
“He does!” Gilliane promised.
“And scratches!” Arrana said gleefully. “He’s like a giant puppy!”
“He is!” Gilliane agreed.
“And he likes rabbit best,” Taria muttered reluctantly. Sara smiled at her friends, and watched
Jocelyn step forward, carefully as she held out her hand, White Fang obliged it with a sniff, a
snort, shook his ears, before allowing Jocelyn closer.
“He’s so soft…?” Jocelyn whispered in surprise.
“He’s like a puppy!” Arrana repeated.
“He’s so gentle!” Jocelyn giggled a little and shy as White Fang’s snout came around and he
tapped her hand for more pets.
“He’s my best friend, would you like to join us?” Sara asked.
“I would not wish to intrude…”
“Ladies Rhaena and Baela will also be joining me.”
“Really?”
“Yes, more are welcomed to join us!” Sara smiled.
Cregan saw Sansa and Aemond ride through the gates, and slowly walked down, Aemond
helped Sansa down and she smiled at Cregan as he came closer.
“Vhagar is… impressive,” Sansa breathed out as he hugged her close.
“I am glad to see you in one piece, it would be poor form for the bride to be missing from the
wedding,” Cregan chuckled as he looked his sister over. Nothing was ripped or torn, he saw
no indication that her honor had been harmed. Cregan looked at Aemond who seemed to be
waiting warily. “I hope Vhagar liked Sansa.”
“It is very difficult not to be endeared to your sister,” Aemond answered.
Cregan nodded as he walked with his sister and Aemond. “Sansa loves making friends.”
“Why have enemies, when you can have friends?” she asked with a cavalier smile.
“And do you intend to take over Westeros with that philosophy?” Cregan asked.
“She’s already stealing my household,” Aemond muttered. “I’ve had servants asking to go to
the hold in the North because Sansa has become endeared to them!”
“Sansa, you can’t steal a household,” Cregan sighed.
“It is not theft if I’m going to offer better wages, living conditions, and permit them to live in
peace,” she said delicately.
“Sansa…” Cregan sighed.
“Besides, I will need a staff, Cregan,” she pointed out.
“I am aware,” he said.
“And most of them will be Northern, I will have a loyal House in order, but some people are
loyal to Aemond and I want him to be comfortable with the staff,” she continued. “And given
we are blending cultures and Houses, it seems important he hire staff he is familiar with, and
comfortable with, but also staff I find tolerable.”
“I understand, but I am not letting all of the South into the North,” Cregan huffed.
“That is understandable, I will conduct interviews with Aemond after our wedding so he
might assist in hiring staff he trusts,” she offered.
“That would be appreciated, I’ll take them North to Winterfell for training and assistance
while your keep is being built. Have you settled upon a name for the Keep?”
“Lenton,” Aemond spoke up then, startling Cregan at the quiet voice. “The House name will
be in Old Tongue, the Keep should be in Valyrian,” he said softly. “Lenton.”
“Lenton?” Cregan asked.
“It is simple, and short, akin to the Old Tongue and simple names the North seems to favors,
Lenton,” Aemond confirmed.
“And what is… Lenton?” Sansa asked softly.
“Lenton in High Valyrian means… home,” he murmured. “I would like to call it Lenton.”
“Very well, Lenton,” Cregan nodded. He knew Aemond was surprised at the House Name,
and family name the North had settled on, given it was closer to Old Tongue than the
Valyrian and simple offers he had given the Winter’s Council. They had not rejected
Aemond’s suggestions out of hand, but a Northern House with Valyrian words ‘Arghugon
Aōha Vējes’, the Winter Council wanted the House to sound like it belonged in the North.
‘Arghugon Aōha Vējes’, fitting House words in Cregan’s opinion, Hunt Your Fate, it seemed
honest for who Sansa and Aemond were even if it wasn’t the whole truth known to the world.
Aemond had sought after Vhagar, he sought after his own place, he hunted his own purpose
out. Sansa had been found in an unfamiliar era, and sought her own purpose, her own
connection with their line, her own path, and she was hunting for a way to not break the
Realm, or have the Targaryen dynasty come crashing down around them. Hunting their fates
seemed to be essentially who they were, or they welcomed death. ‘Morghon kostagon
emagon issa, skori ziry gūrogon issa’ was also too much of a mouthful, and honestly Cregan
didn’t want to tempt death on his descendant or her soon to be husband, he’d really rather not
have death constantly trying to claim these two.
“I like Lenton,” Sansa said with a smile. “Home, it’s nice to think we will have a home.”
Cregan nodded in agreement. “It is fitting, in Old Tongue, Home is Heim,” Cregan smiled. “I
like Lenton though, makes it unique.”
“And it will be a home,” Sansa said firmly. Cregan had no doubt she would make Lenton a
home, he was not surprised at her determined declaration either. She ran Winterfell to be a
home as well, and she would run Lenton in the same manner.
“I will tell the North, we have a name for the Keep,” Cregan chuckled.
“Thank you,” Aemond murmured.
“It is to be your home, Aemond,” Cregan reminded the younger man. “The village around it
will be called Vetrareldur, to balance the Valyrian and Old Tongue; it is a blend of customs
and Houses, as Sansa claims.”
Aemond nodded.
“Have you thought about your Council and stewards?” Cregan asked.
“I have,” he said softly. “I will be speaking to them later, and privately, but I do not have any
stewards.”
“Good, if you want Northerners to manage the House, I have a few families who could be
stewards whom I can indorse their services, as well as train their replacements so you can
have competent assistance,” Cregan said. “And we have spoken to the families who will be
renting the land from you, the Norreys in particular are rather eager, the New Gift used to be
their land, they are fair tenants, and there are a few other mountain clans who would be eager
to have the lands again.”
Aemond nodded. “I would be pleased to meet with them.”

“Good,” Cregan nodded. “The Winter Council will convene when you and Sansa are finished
campaigning, and we will present options for your lands, as well as staffing and tenants,” he
said. “By the way, I will need your assistance Aemond, but it can be managed after the
wedding. It is important though, and a matter of urgency.”
“I will be pleased to assist you in the matter? Thank you.”
“Of course,” Cregan smiled. He was a bit concerned about taking Aemond from the capital if
Aemond was running all of Westeros from the shadows, but at the same time, Cregan wanted
to get Aemond and Sansa away from King’s Landing and safe in the North before anything
could happen to them.
Aemond saw his mother then and nodded as he parted from Cregan and Sansa.
Dread filled Aemond when he saw his mother, but he walked to her. He knew that he couldn’t
stall on this demand for a meeting, because Aegon was breaking morals, laws, traditions, and
was now not only a threat to his family, but the House, the Crown, and the Realm. His mother
was picking at her nails as she bit her lip, staring at him, despite their amends, he felt her
distance though he could ignore it with the North being here, Sansa and Cregan always
seemed to be making certain he wasn’t alone.
“Mother,” he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.
“I… I wish to speak to you about Aegon,” she started.
“I will get grandfather, uncle, father and Rhaenyra then,” he said softly.
“No, Aemond!” she grabbed his arm before he could walk past her. He didn’t fight as she slid
her arm in his and they started walking again. It was when they were in the gardens that he
saw her biting her lip.
“You cannot speak to anyone about this,” she said softly. “We must… protect your brother.”
“And what about those children?” he demanded.
“They are mere bastards,” she stammered.
“And if he turns on Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, or Maelor? What is to prevent him from harming
them? He already killed Baelor in the womb, so what protects Helaena and her children?” he
demanded sharply.
“And if the Realm finds out then we are ruined!” she hissed. “Your brother is to be King, he
was a gift from the gods after fifteen years of strife and uncertainty! If you remove Aegon
though, then the heir presumptive is Daemon, or Rhaenyra, and they will ruin this Realm!
Daemon is impulsive, and manic, he will drive us into war after war after he kills your
nephews, niece, your brother and sister, and Rhaenyra is a fickle, vain, spiteful, stupid witch
who would destroy everything! And her bastards, do you want them to run the Realm when
their word means nothing?”
“And what does our word mean? Supporting a Prince who kills his own children, bastards or
trueborn, for sport and pleasure, who takes joys in hurting everyone around him and is intent
on drinking himself into a stupor while dragging down our House!”
“I can send Helaena and the children to Oldtown after your wedding and we can maneuver
Aegon out of the public while working to… to, reform him,” she started.
“That will not change what I witnessed him do,” he snarled out lowly. “Do you know how I
found him, mother? Fucking a whore, who he imprisoned so he could impregnate her, with
the expressed intent of buying her child from her to put in the Fighting Pits, and I watched as
his bastard had her throat torn out, she looked like Jaehaera, and he was cheering,” Aemond
stated.
Alicent was paling with every word he said. “And if you put Rhaenyra and Daemon on the
throne, Aemond, we are all doomed.”
“Something must be done about Aegon mother, or he will destroy this House. And then the
succession will not matter, Westeros will turn on us, they will tear apart House Targaryen,
and then, Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, Maelor, Helaena, Daeron even will be killed in the mob’s rage,
and make no mistake they will be in a rage, and they will not stop with us, mother, no they
will tear the Greens and the Blacks apart before you can put Aegon on the throne.”
“And if you remove Aegon from the line of succession, then Jaehaerys will be the next one,
and how is that protecting him? The boy is not yet six,” she snapped.
“I’ll think of something,” he snarled. “But I’m not hiding Aegon’s behavior, mother, it is too
far this time, and he is now a threat to our House. And as you and grandsire and Ser Criston
have proven incapable of controlling him, I will.”
“Aemond…” she started.
“I will not risk this Realm for the perversions of a single brother,” he stated. “Aegon will be
brought to heel, but this House will know what he is, and I will not tolerate any less.”
“You Are Not The Head Of This House!” Alicent snapped.
“No, I’m not!” he agreed. “But you’re all proving useless,” he snapped.
“If you do this, then you are no son of mine!” she hissed furiously.
Aemond felt like she had slapped him as he recoiled from her words, he stared down at her
and felt his heart slamming in his chest as his eye burned with tears. But he steeled himself,
no matter what, he had to do what was best for the Realm, even at the cost of his mother.
Still, it felt like she had driven a knife into his gut, and was sliding it through to his heart. Her
hands were clasped over her mouth, and her eyes wide and glittering.
“I apologize you feel that way, but someone must put the actual Realm first, the one we are in
care of now, and not the ideal one you want to create, we have to care for it now,” he started.
“And me and mine will be gone soon enough, so you will never have to deal with me being a
traitorous son again.”
“Aemond… I didn’t…” she started.
“I will be speaking to Daemon and Rhaenyra, and grandsire and father, you will be present at
the meeting, or I will summon you,” he stated.
“Aemond!”
“It appears we have nothing more to discuss, good day, Queen Alicent,” he said softly as he
left his mother behind him.
Aemond made it to his apartments, before he slammed the door behind him and threw the
books he had on his desk across the room, snarling as he felt the tears burning his eye. Why
Was Nothing He Ever Did Good Enough!? He kicked the desk into the wall, it splintered as
he threw another book. Everything He Did! It Was Never Enough! Fuck Him!
He screamed as he slid down against the wall, rubbing the heels of his palms in his eye and
brow. He could never do the right thing, nothing appeased anyone, he was always alone! The
sob which tore through him had him curling up as he pressed his brow to his knees. He
sobbed now as he felt the agony of losing his mother fully now, why could no one ever see he
was trying to do his best? Why could no one help him? Why did no one side with him? Did
the Gods curse him to spend every moment of this life time suffering, or enduring a
humiliation? Could he keep nothing good in his life?
He wanted to go home.
He just wanted a home.
Daemon chuckled as he sat with Rhaenyra, they were watching Viserys and Aegon play with
the kites they had been given by Lord Corlys who was also sitting here with Rhaenys.
Daemon could see his daughters sitting with the Northern group of girls, who had acquired a
group of Greens and Blacks around them, it appeared the girls were enthralled with this little
collection of friends though. Daemon was surprised, normally Baela and Rhaena did not
interact with the other girls of their class, and he knew Baela looked down on most the girls.
“I have spoken with my brother,” Corlys said. “And his granddaughter is apparently
promised to Lord Stark’s son, there are contracts in the Northern Lord’s possession between
himself and Vaemond in regards to the arrangement.”
“I see,” Daemon muttered. He wasn’t pleased or displeased with the information, because he
did not care what Vaemond Velaryon did, so long as the man knew his place. But the man had
proven cunning, having formed contracts with House Stark, and the North, assisting the
North on preventing a famine, it was all admirable. But now, knowing that the Starks had
hidden treasure, it made Daemon curious as to how they could integrate within House Stark,
given that House Stark only had five members, and Cregan Stark himself would likely refuse
more matches with House Targaryen at this time. But House Velaryon was different, they
would be able to form a connection, and if Daemon maintained a connection to House
Velaryon then they would have access to the dowries or bride prices the North would give.
If Daemon didn’t happen to know that the Stark lands were so vast and if they had hidden a
vault of treasures, and none would find it without a Stark, he’d have raided the North to find
that vault.
But also he wanted to not do that, because the North was too vast, too wild, to uncontrollable
to be held by an outsider. The Starks had maintained their hold for so long, attacking them
would be an attack to have the North rebelling.
“If I can bring Vaemond back into the fold, then it is likely we will have a proper alliance
with the Starks,” Corlys stated. “I did propose Joffrey wed Vaemond’s granddaughter,
Daenaera, but given the Starks are already in an arrangement with Vaemond, I cannot
supersede it.”
“Why not?” Rhaenyra asked.
“Lord Stark’s willful, and volatile when provoked, he is also a man of his word, and only
respects people who maintain their word. But, in time, there will be an opportunity to propose
another match into House Stark to receive another dowry,” Rhaenys said. “We must play the
long game, the North is a mystery to all of us still.”
“We should build a relationship with Aemond, and his new House so we might also connect
with them, maintaining bloodlines,” Daemon stated. Aemond’s cadet branch of House
Targaryen would have to be observed and remain connected to the Valyrian Houses, it would
keep the Valyrian magic strong in their bloodlines.
“Nuncle, sister,” Aemond’s voice spoke softly, and Daemon raised a brow, as he turned, only
to be startled by the sight he saw. Aemond was always serious, solemn, and never showed an
emotion, the red rimmed eye, and the messy hair though startled Daemon because he never
viewed Aemond as young, the boy was always so severe since he had been eleven namedays,
but right then, the young man looked like the eighteen summers he was, and very wary.
Daemon glanced at Rhaenyra who also looked as startled. “There is need for you to be in
attendance to the meeting in the Small Council private chambers, now,” he said softly as he
turned to walk away.
Daemon was too startled to move, and Aemond turned, glaring at them.
“Now,” Aemond repeated as he walked off.
“Lord Corlys, please watch Aegon and Viserys,” Rhaenyra said, Daemon helped his pregnant
wife up, before they started following Aemond. Aemond moved too swiftly to attempt to
keep up with. “What is this about?” Rhaenyra whispered as they walked.
“I do not know,” Daemon muttered. He did not think he’d ever seen Aemond upset, not even
as a child, it was unsettling.
They made it to the Small Council private chambers, and Daemon was surprised to see
Viserys there. Aemond glared at his mother as he circled the table to sit at the other end, as
far from his mother as he could. Otto was seated across from Daemon, and Rhaenyra across
from Alicent. Daemon looked around, but saw only Otto and Alicent glaring at Aemond
while Aemond glared back. This was a surprising development, Daemon mused as he looked
at Otto who was glaring almost venomously. Other than Daemon himself, he did not think
he’d ever seen Otto glare at someone so venomously.
“It has come to the attention of this Crown that Prince Aegon, son of King Viserys and Queen
Alicent, has a perverse inclination of a most sinister nature, which has been left unattended to
for far too long, and now threatens this House,” Aemond spoke in a cold, clipped tone.
“What is… this about…?” Viserys rasped.
“Your neglect, but more specifically Aegon’s perversions,” Aemond ground out.
“The young Prince has many proclivities,” Otto started. “Many young men experiment at
such an age.”
“There are fifteen dead children, sired by Aegon, bought by Aegon, and sentenced to death in
the Fighting Pits, do not tell me that is experimentation of sex and proclivities people
naturally possess, Ser Otto, or do you speak from experience, are such inclinations natural?”
Aemond challenged levelly.
Daemon was stunned.
“I am sorry… what?” Rhaenyra sputtered.
“Prince Aegon has always had cruel proclivities, which Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Baela and
Rhaena have always partook in, particularly against my person, not that any of you have ever
bothered to intervene, and now, those proclivities have spilled outside of this House, and he is
actively creating and sentencing children to die. He has already killed his son, Prince Baelor,
whom was killed in Helaena’s womb, he is an active threat against Prince Jaehaerys and
Prince Maelor, and Princess Jaehaera, you have permitted his behavior, and now, you will
either resolve it, or I will.” Aemond glared at Otto and Alicent.
“I… He does, what?”
“Do not be so surprised, dear nuncle, he is only doing what he always does, but now it will
ruin House Targaryen,” Aemond purred menacingly. “I do believe Ser Otto has accused you
of many perversions and proclivities that Aegon has long since exhibited, and yet, you all
seem surprised.”
“He is your brother, Aemond, he has done nothing,” Alicent started.
“Daeron is my brother, Queen Alicent, or have you forgotten that tidbit of information,
conveniently in giving Aegon an excuse for his perversions? And Princes Jaehaerys and
Maelor are my nephews, who believe I’m their father with how little Aegon interacts with
them, and when he should, it ends in blood,” Aemond snarled. “And given his wandering eye
for young flesh, how long until he should turn it to Princess Jaehaera, or is that not a concern
you have for your granddaughter, Queen Alicent?”
“You are paranoid Aemond,” Otto started.
“Exceedingly,” Aemond answered. “Eighteen years of this farce and managing Aegon’s
perversions though would make anyone paranoid, and you dare to refer to these proclivities
as natural.”
“Aegon… conquered Westeros,” Viserys rasped.
Daemon cringed as he looked at his brother who was smiling proudly. “He did, brother,”
Daemon confirmed. “Do you have proof?” Daemon turned to Aemond.
“Would the body of a nameless Targaryen bastard do, or a whelp in the mother?” Aemond
asked in a low snarl.
“What would you have us do?” Otto growled.
Daemon looked at Otto and Alicent; that was the problem ultimately; what were they to do?
Any actions Daemon spoke for would be seen as a Black eliminating the Green hold, and at
the same time, inaction would be seen as Black weakness.
Chapter End Notes
So a minor thing about Old Tongue, and it's primarily because of GRRM's use of runes
in House Royce's emblem, I do believe Old Tongue to have Nordic roots for the
language, for the sake of this fic, I will be using Icelandic because it's the closest to Old
Norse of the Nordic Languages today. And Yes, I know this chapter is short, the next
one is focused on wedding prepping.
Chapter 7
Chapter Notes
Aemond slowly got up the next morning, he sat in the bed, staring out at the glittering sea, he
heard Vhagar which had him smiling tightly as he whispered a good morning before he fell
back in his bed. Groaning, he pushed himself upright, and went to get ready for his day. It
didn’t take him long to get dressed as he braided his hair, he paused when he saw he’d
grabbed one of the vests his mother had commissioned. Fury filled him as he jerked it off,
then grabbed up everything he’d ever received from his mother, throwing it in the fireplace,
he was swift to start a fire, and frowned as he watched everything burn. Rage had him
trembling, even as his eye burned, but when he dropped the last riding jerkin on the fire, he
turned to leave his room.
He heard the maids’ shock when they entered his quarters, but didn’t pause as he stalked
through the Red Keep.
He paused seeing Sansa and her Ladies, the Northerners, and Daemion and his friends talking
in the courtyard rather excitedly. For a moment, Aemond felt like he didn’t belong, feeling
terribly out of place and uncertain until Sansa turned and spotted him.
“Aemond!” she called him over, and he took a deep breath as he walked forward, standing
between Sansa and Daemion. “We were speaking of the wedding ceremony, Princess
Rhaenyra has arranged for you and I to have time today to speak to Maehamor, and then,
Daemion has agreed to assist you with your portions of the ceremony since we will not be
able to speak after today,” she explained. “Northern customs, I’ll be undergoing a few
traditions of the North with the women, and Daemion has mentioned he and Daeron will be
assisting you during this time. Don’t worry, I’ve asked Cregan and his friends to assist you as
well.”
He inclined his head.
“This will be good, Aemond,” Daemion chuckled.
“We should hurry if we wish to speak to Maehamor, as well as have a walk through for the
wedding,” Sansa chuckled as she pulled him along. Aemond just fell into step with her, and
saw his mother looking down at the courtyard. Anger welled up in him as he fell into step
with Sansa and he glared at his mother.
“What are the Northern customs you speak of?” Aemond asked softly as he tore his gaze
away from his mother.
“Well… that depends on many things,” Sansa said. “Some of the mountain clans practice
bride stealing, where they kidnap the bride and a ransom is paid, it is usually great fun, or so
I’m told. But it is the duty of the bride’s parents to ‘steal’ her away to challenge her groom,
he must ‘steal’ her back, it is a test of strength, duty, cunning, and love.”
“It’s also to embarrass him, and be fun,” one of Sansa’s ladies giggled.
“I did not go through that,” Cregan stated.
“That’s because my sister would’ve had to steal you and not the other way around,” Orrina
huffed.
“Cregan is a special sort of dense with women,” Domeron mused.
“On Skagos we have a grand hunt, for the groom,” Mira giggled. “We women give our
groom a running start, and we must catch him, or he us, and when caught, before the
weirwood, you are married!”
“That’s terrifying,” Daeron said.
“Only if we’re skinchangers and wargs,” Bryan cackled.
“Those aren’t real, they’re myth,” Amory Lannister stated.
“So you soft Southron folk think,” Mira and Bryan cackled.
Aemond shook his head in amusement.
“There could also be a grand trip, similar to a campaign to get to the wedding destination,
many of the more southron families of the North will do that, there is a beautiful Godswood
deep in the heart of the Wolfswood, and many will go there for their ceremony, and the trips
are stunning,” another girl said.
“Oh aye, they trek for miles!” Rody chuckled. “My brothers got married in those woods.”
“Really?” Aemond saw his sister now, she was surrounded by Sansa’s ladies.
“Aye, all eleven of them were married there, it’s a sacred trek.”
“For me, there will be maidenhood rituals, which is a three day cleansing for the wedding,”
Sansa said. “And in that time, us women will share wisdom, gossip, prepare the wedding
attire and appearances, and this is usually a time for mothers and daughters…”
“Mother would be pleased to be here,” Cregan said softly as he stepped beside Sansa. “And
Sara is here.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “And this is when your female relatives and I will bond, so I
might meet my new sisters and family. There will also be time to do my hair properly, with
the correct flowers, and jewels. My bouquet will be prepared during this time. Of course, I
will learn to do some Southron traditions or Valyrian for this wedding in these three days, but
this is the time to prepare for the wedding as a whole and meet my new family, formally,
without interference of Courts or celebrations.”
“That is… thoughtful,” Aemond said.
“Yeah, just be glad they aren’t kidnapping her, that’s always a disastrous trial for us men,”
Rody cackled.
“How many brides have you stolen Rody?” Helaena asked wryly.
“Far too many,” Rody mused.
“You are not stealing my sister, Rody,” Cregan warned. “I will sic Ice on you if you try. This
wedding is a Southron wedding, they will be offended if you steal her.”
“Probably for the best, Sansa, my love, you’ll always have my heart, but never my
manhood,” Rody sighed dramatically.
“Whatever shall she do with it,” Domeron chuckled. “But in the time women prepare and
giggle about, your friends will be attending to you, and we Northerners will manage the
affairs for preparing the wedding itself while you two work on readying for the marriage.”
Aemond nodded again and looked down at the ground. He had known the days leading up to
the wedding would be busy, but he hadn’t anticipated how busy.
“It is good, Aemond,” Sansa murmured and smiled at him, which had him nodding.
Rhaenyra stood there with Daemon very quietly as they watched Aemond and Sansa
speaking with Maehamor. She didn’t know what to do, which was a problem, as she looked
down at the growing swell of her child. The news of Aegon’s perversions was still fresh, and
in the end, the only agreed upon action was sequestering Aegon into his quarters with nothing
more than male attendants, male servants, and a guard of Kingsguards and Gold Cloaks,
because the Greens didn’t trust the Blacks, and the Blacks didn’t trust the Greens, and this
was a disaster. Nothing was as it was supposed to be. Rhaenyra had never wanted Aegon to
be harmed, nor had she intended to have her family all at odds with one another. This was
truly all Alicent’s doing, and Ser Otto’s, and it had her trembling with rage.
Her mother should be here, her mother would have known how to solve this issue, or prevent
it entirely. But alas, wishes were not reality and now it was brought before her. No action she
could take would be the correct action, she was aware; if she spoke to kill Aegon to prevent
his reputation from getting out then she was a kinslayer; if she spoke to imprison him she was
a tyrant in the making imprisoning her opposition; if she spoke to quietly sending him away
to the Wall, she was dishonorable after the North’s bride’s price was the Wall would no
longer accept rapists and murderers. There was no right way to manage this affair, and it was
terrifying, and worse, it also had her telling her children to not be near their uncle.
Lucerys had balked, Rhaena and Baela had looked uncomfortable, Jacaerys looked uneasy,
and her younger children were relieved. The sight of her younger boys so relieved to have
nothing more to do with Aegon broke her heart. What had Aegon done to her children?
It horrified her to think of what her children had been through, but it also had her wanting to
pull Helaena and her children along into her family to get them away from the attacks of
Aegon. Not that she could. If she made any moves to claim Helaena out of the Greens’ ranks
then it would be all out war, and seen as Rhaenyra claiming a hostage; Daemon was not
incorrect in his assessment of nothing they did would be right. But to do nothing would be
disastrous.
“Lucerys will have to be separated from Aegon immediately,” Daemon stated. “I have spoken
to Corlys who had agreed to take Lucerys entirely under his wing so we can cease these
antics, they are… bordering on the perversions of Aegon. I have spoken to many sources, and
Lucerys has been out to Flea Bottom, and it is… not yet concerning.”
“What has he done?” Rhaenyra whispered.
“He has been exploring his interests. They are not perverse, but they are not entirely natural,
he has taken to enjoying struggling girls; to cease this, I will be giving him to Corlys entirely.
Lord Stark’s work with Jacaerys is promising, the boy has not expressed any perversions
though he’s gone to Flea Bottom with Lucerys, I will be speaking to both of them.”
She was tense as she nodded and looked down at the ground.
“Have they harmed Baela or Rhaena?” she whispered.
“No.” Daemon whispered fiercely. “But they have a fixation on Aemond from the reports
I’ve received from staff. Lucerys has never forgiven Aemond for the night he claimed
Vhagar, the words spoken are a deep rift, and deeper yet with the years. Time with Lord
Corlys will help reshape Lucerys and his potential.”
“You are certain?” she whispered.
“Yes. He is young, he will grow, change, and learn his place in this world. As to Joffrey, it
might be pertinent to arrange his squiring sooner rather than later, I have spoken to a few
friends.”
“And?” Rhaenyra murmured.
“Lord Baratheon would be pleased, and honored, but if we arrange for him to squire for the
Vale, with House Arryn, then we secure that alliance,” Daemon murmured. “Lady Jeyne will
be arranging him to squire with Ser Joffrey Arryn, her fourth cousin.”
She nodded.
“If we get our House in order, we will lessen Aegon’s damage,” he murmured.
“And Aegon, Viserys, our babe?” she whispered as she rubbed her hand over the swell of the
baby in her.
“We will arrange that matter later, they are still under ten, there is time, but I will be
managing their studies,” Daemon murmured.
She nodded.
“Prince Aemond has arranged his brother’s squiring with the Lannisters, and it is reported to
be going well too, we will have to make amends with Aemond and his so we might be able to
pull them from Otto and Alicent’s grasp.”
“We… We will save them,” Rhaenyra said. “Yes?”
Looking at Daemon she trembled a bit as his brow came to rest on hers. He had the same
mournful look he would get on occasion, and she trembled as she reached up, tracing his jaw.
“I do not know if there is anything to be saved, but we can attempt to salvage the wreckage of
our actions,” he murmured. She knew he would not promise to save her siblings and their
families for neither she nor Daemon had ever felt they were Targaryens, until yesterday. Gods
this was foolish, and for what? She wanted her birthright, her Throne, but she had never
wanted it at the cost of her siblings, that was always a problem in her heart. For her entire
childhood, especially after her grandfather died, she had only wanted to have siblings, to
cease being so alone, she avowed to have a large happy family when she was older so no one
would feel as she had. Because without her uncle, she would have been utterly alone.
“We have to try,” she whispered desperately.
He kissed her brow then.
“You wish to use Old Tongue Runes in place of Valyrian Hieroglyphs?” the priest sputtered.
“Well, yes, for me,” Sansa said softly. “I am a daughter of the First Men, I have no Valyrian
blood, or connection to Valyria, and it would not be right to solely claim it for a connection to
my… not yet, husband, and we are founding our new House upon a blend of customs from
the North and Valyria, I feel it is appropriate given those circumstances.”
“It has never been done!” the priest sputtered.
“House Stark has had this practice for eight thousand years,” Cregan stated. “Possibly even
before the Age of Heroes, when Bran the Builder was building Westeros in the aftermath of
the first Long Night.”
“That is legend,” the priest started.
“Oh, don’t tell me that,” Cregan smiled wolfishly as he circled the priest. “Your culture’s era
was a mere drop in an ocean for comparison to my family’s era.”
“Yes, I am aware the Starks claim an ancient hold on their lands.”
“We were Kings of Winter, Kings, not Lords, we conquered, and ruled. That is not legend or
claim, that is fact. We have conquered and ruled for well over eight thousand years, and we,
as conqueror and ruler have always strove to blend customs to maintain traditions, and
preserve ways of life. We did this with the first Kings we conquered, the Barrow Kings, in
the Thousand Years War, we have conquered many of our sworn Houses, and we have
conquered the Warg King, the Marsh King, the Red Kings even, though we have avoided
marrying House Bolton, understandably, but blending of customs, and rituals is how we have
maintained our House power for eight millennia.”
“I… I did not know,” the priest sputtered.
“You did not think to ask or examine such a blend, through no fault of your own ignorance,”
Cregan said.
“I believe it is a good custom for this wedding,” Aemond murmured softly. “As Lady Sansa
said, this House is founded upon the customs of Targaryens and Starks.”
“I… I see nothing saying it will interfere with the ceremony,” Maehamor said softly. “If the
groom is accepting of this, then I see no reason not to proceed.”
“Excellent,” Cregan nodded.
“The ceremony will be entirely how traditional Valyrian ceremonies go, as we will have the
Northern wedding before the Valyrian ceremony,” Sansa assured the priest. She was relieved
she would not have to learn Valyrian hieroglyphs for the ceremony now, she knew her runes
well enough not to be worried about writing that out, but hieroglyphs were so complex…
“Very well, I have need to speak to you about the bedding ceremony before the consumation,
for Houses of Valyria do possess those,” Maehamor stated.
“The… bedding…” Sansa tensed.
“We do not require witnesses and the like,” Maehamor assured. “Merely, it will be important
for the bridal party to prepare the bed, have you settled upon a quarters for the bedding?”
“Aemond’s rooms,” Sansa whispered as she felt her face burning, she peeked at Aemond, and
he looked indifferent to the matter then. “I… if that’s comfortable for him. In the North the
wife will take to residing with her husband in his room, they do not have separate quarters.”
“That is fine.” Aemond was so calm as he nodded, and she bit her lip.
“Very good, then, it will be of importance for the bed to be attended to by your bridal part,
there will be new sheets given, Prince Aemond will look this over, give his blessing, and a
few guests will throw some coin into the bed, and if there are children, those are tossed upon
the bed to play and roll freely, it is to promote fertility, there will be a bit of celebration, then
the couple will be tucked into the bed, given some honey and wine, blessed, and the parties
removed from the rooms for the consumation to proceed,” the priest explained. “Queen
Alicent and Ser Otto have requested the sheets as proof to Lady Sansa’s chastity since
Valyrian customs dictate this ceremony is private and none shall witness, is that acceptable.”
“Yes,” Aemond spoke firmly.
Sansa glanced at Aemond then at Cregan as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Aemond
knew she was not a maiden, her flower had long since been discarded, but she did not know
about the deception.
“Then that will be acceptable,” Maehamor said. “Are there any Northern traditions to adhere
to?”
“There will be no Westerosi Bedding Ceremony,” Aemond stated. “I understand it is a

tradition of the First Men, but Sansa is to be a Princess of the Realm, she will not be touched
by anyone but her husband.”
“Of course, we can speak to the Lords and Ladies, and other representatives, it will be
respected.”
Cregan nodded, and Sansa felt relief swamp her as she nearly sagged in her seat. She knew
speaking to Aemond about that matter was important, but to hear him firmly demand it be
respected was a relief. She wanted to cry in relief, and she knew she was safe now.
“Very well, then I would like to see the Northern ceremony, to understand this way, and I
shall need to know the name of the new House as well as the words,” the priest said.
“Of course,” Sansa nodded as she rose with Aemond and Cregan. “We will not perform the
ceremony, given it is very simple, but we can explain it. The ceremony is to be performed
only once,” she said.
Aemond nodded as he walked with her. Cregan took Sansa on his arm then, and she leaned
on him, relieved to have him here, if Jon was here, she had a terrible feeling this would not be
going smoothly. Still, she couldn’t help the small, mournful part of her that wished her
brother was here, and wished her father was here, she ached for her brothers and sister too, as
well as wanted her mother.
“This is unacceptable,” Otto stated as he walked. Alicent wrung her hands as she bit her lip,
her heart was slamming painfully in her chest.
“He is a boy, he knows not what this will do,” she started in Aemond’s defense.
“Informing Daemon was intolerable, and now we will have to act,” Otto stated. “This
situation cannot be permitted to continue, we need the Realm to see the Blacks how they are.
Do you understand? The moment Viserys dies, Rhaenyra will turn her sights upon us, and
eliminate your children!”
“I understand, but what would you have me do!?” she hissed. She had never been permitted
to raise Aegon, and after her father had left, the boy had run wild and no one could bring him
to heel. He was her son, she loved him, but there was nothing she could do. “We can only
keep him here for so long, but father, he will… this is not what I want.”
“Girl, this is not about want, this is about saving the Realm!” Otto stated. “Daemon and
Rhaenyra must not sit upon the Iron Throne, it will ruin the Realm, Aemond’s… rebellious
phase will be brought to an end soon enough and the boy brought to heel, but he must not
take actions against this family again!”
“He is…”
“Alicent, the boy is to protect Aegon, and Aegon’s line, his behavior is a threat to House
Hightower!” Otto hissed.
“I know!” she hissed. “He is a dutiful son, but that Northern heathen has bewitched him, and
Rhaenyra has arranged this match!”
“I will deal with House Stark, but you must bring him to heel, or we will all be ruined, and
the Realm will be plunged into endless infighting and death!”
“I understand, father,” she murmured as he left her behind. She trembled as she stood there
for a moment, there was a gentle hand on her shoulder and she turned to see Cole there, he
offered her a small handkerchief then and she accepted it, her eyes were burning. Dabbing
her eyes she turned to hide herself near Cole, there were times Cole was her only true friend
and partner, he had helped her raise her children, and helped her in this Court and Palace,
especially after Rhaenyra made him betray his vows. She looked up at him through wet eyes.
“I do not know what to do,” she whispered.
“We will figure it out,” Cole murmured.
“Aemond will never forgive me,” she confessed. “I told him he would be no son of mine if he
spoke to Rhaenrya and Daemon…”
“Aemond is young, and confused, you are his mother,” Cole said softly. “And he loves you,
more than anyone else in this Keep. It will take time, but perhaps, you should just speak from
the heart to him. He is a boy who appreciates honesty and he knows how much you love
him.”
“I failed, Ser Criston, I failed as a mother…” she murmured.
“You are an amazing mother, and you have done the best that could be done in this time,” he
murmured.
He briefly gave in as her head came to rest upon his shoulder, when she surrendered in brief
quiet moments with herself and her heart, this felt right. She trembled as she felt his hand on
her back as he pressed his lips to her hair and she bit her lip as she closed her eyes. He only
did this when they were truly alone, and for a moment, a brief moment, she could pretend
she’d been married to a man of love, and life was good.
“Fix your crown, my Queen,” he whispered. “I will speak to Aemond, and this evening dine
with he and I,” he said.
“I… I do not think he will permit that, he calls me ‘my Queen’ now,” she whispered.
“He is a boy, Alicent, they love their mothers more than life, and Aemond is not cruel,” Cole
assured.
“Thank you, Ser Criston,” she whispered. “I will speak to Lord Strong now.”
“If you should need me, summon me,” he murmured. “And do not stay too long, or I will
come for you.”
“Thank you,” she repeated softly and he looked down at her with a tight smile. “Why are you
so kind to me?”
“You are my Queen,” he replied.
“I am the Queen of many and rarely are they as kind as you.”
“They don’t know you as I do,” he murmured. “My honor, name, reputation are all yours,
Alicent, you have saved them and me, House Cole is your loyal servant for as long as you
live,” he promised.
“Thank you,” she whispered as he stepped away and she dabbed her eyes again as she let him
straighten her crown and then she walked past him, gripping the handkerchief tightly in her
fingers, as she fought the trembles of fear which filled her as she went to speak to Lord
Strong. There must be something, something she could do or say before this situation got
worse. The entire Realm depended upon her to save it from Daemon and Rhaenyra’s lines,
she had to do this, she had to save the Realm.
Cole watched Alicent leave and sighed as he looked down at the floor. Why could he not
have met her before she was Queen? Why couldn’t he not have been a foolish boy
starcrossed for a heartless bitch of a Princess? Shaking the old thoughts from his head, he
walked to find Aemond. It did not take him long to find Aemond, and he stood on the fringes
of the group around Aemond and the men around Aemond, the girls and women were
giggling as they were being directed.
He was startled again by the look on Aemond’s face, he didn’t think he’d ever seen the boy
so unguarded or relaxed around anyone other than his mother, sister, and younger brother,
and the children. He watched as Aemond spoke with Daemion and Daeron Velaryon, and
sighed, this would not be simple.
Daemion laughed with Daeron as they watched the Northerners’ teasing, while beginning do
a few traditional dances, which were wild, and scandalous, the women were cheering, and
clapping as they sang in Old Tongue, and Rody fell on his arse laughing.
“They are a good people,” Daeron decided.
“Yes,” Daemion smiled. And he saw Aemond approaching, watching the merriment with an
amused, near invisible smile on his lips.
“Aemond! This is going to be a grand affair, the Northerners seem to have fun with their
wedding celebrations despite the simple weddings!” Daeron chuckled.
“They do,” Aemond agreed. “I have been meaning to speak to… both of you, and your
father,” Aemond admitted then.
“About what?” Daemion asked in amusement.

“I… I would like to employ you in my service as I build a House in the North,” he said
carefully. Daemion stood a little straighter as he looked at Daeron who was looking just as
interested. Aemond looked a bit uncertain, but stood still and determined. “I have found your
father’s advice, and your friendships invaluable, and I am aware of your dealings in the
North, and given the state of your House, I could not help but wonder if there would be
interest in possibly coming North to continue your business practices, and assist me in
building the new House.”
“That… that would be a great honor and opportunity,” Daeron said. “And my father has
spoken to Lord Stark about arranging our children in a match, I would like Daenaera to know
the Northern culture and customs, as we are not a Southron House but rather a Valyrian
House and would like to keep those customs alive.”
“It would be a prime business opportunity to settle in the North, and continue to run our
trades and affairs there,” Daemion said. “As well as assist you in your new House.”
Aemond nodded as he seemed to be waiting nervously.
“We will speak to our father, but this is a great honor you have asked, and it is pleasing to
know our friendship is so strong,” Daemion smiled.
“Thank you,” Aemond nodded.
“What would we be doing in the North if we do come North?” Daeron asked.
“There are a few ports to be built along the east coast of the New Gift, near the Bay of Seals,
it will assist in your trade, but also travel, Skagos is the only seafaring people of the North,
and they have admitted to not being able to build ports to the caliber of White Harbor,
assistance in establishing, running, and managing a new port so far North will aid the Night’s
Watch, as well as the North in distributing trade and building infrastructure,” Aemond said.
“Yes, and it is an expensive venture,” Daeron stated.
“Yes, and none of the Northern Houses who would be vassals or tenants of my land would
know how to build such a structure, I have spoken to Lord Stark and his Winter’s Council,
and they are not offended by my offer of you possibly establishing a new House in my
lands,” Aemond admitted.
“It is truly a great honor, but what would the King say?” Daemion asked.
“King Viserys believes this to be Rhaenyra’s wedding,” Aemond pointed out dryly.
“So he does,” Daeron snorted.
“If there is need to file contracts and statements, it will be with the North, Lord Stark has
mentioned their sheltering of House Manderly, and… so long as there is no maesters or Faith
involved, the North is not adverse to you or yours coming with my new House North,”
Aemond explained.
“We will speak with our father about such a generous opportunity, Lord Stark has offered us
much, and we have a good business with him. It would be in our interests to discuss this
matter further,” Daeron said.
Aemond nodded.
“Regardless, my friend, we are friends and thankful,” Daemion assured with a smile.
Aemond nodded again and he chuckled as they looked at the Northerners again. Daemion
watched the Norrey sisters, they moved with a feline grace in some elaborate dance, while
cackling and criticizing the other for doing it wrong, the men were laughing as they cheered
and clapped, the Southron women and men were looking very scandalized.
“I would like to hire you, Daemion, regardless of how my offer is taken with your father and
family, to assist me in managing the accounts of my New House and to act as a steward for
me,” Aemond said softly.
Daemion smiled broadly. “I would be delighted and honored, Aemond,” he assured.
Aemond looked a bit relieved and nodded again.
It was rare for the second sons of second sons to have an opportunity like that presented to
them, and Daemion was pleased to know he was considered enough of a friend and
trustworthy enough to Aemond to be asked to work as a steward.
“Lord Stark has insisted if I hired a steward he go North after the wedding when I go
campaigning so he might be taught,” Aemond started out in an uncertain, halting tone.
“I think that is wise, I would not want to offend the North, and it would be good to do things
their way rather than the South’s, something is working there where they have less strife than
us Southron folk,” Daemion said.
Aemond sagged a little and Daemion saw his brother give Aemond a sympathetic look. This
opportunity was a grand opportunity, and Daemion was rather pleased to be presented with it.
“This night we will speak to you and Lord Stark with our father present, Aemond, thank
you,” Daeron said.
He nodded again.
Daemion was startled when Elissa Norrey grabbed his hand, and dragged him into a dance,
which had him stumbling after the Northern woman, who smiled predatorily before him.
“Let us see if the swindling sea snake can keep up!” she laughed.
Rody howled, and Daemion was confused until the Northerners were starting out a
complicated rhythm and the girls were singing in Old Tongue, he figured out swiftly this was
a complicated dance which had him laughing as he fell on his face halfway through.
Sansa walked away from the wedding party as she saw Aemond leaning on a wall, watching.
He saw her coming and gave her a small smile and she reached for his hand, which he let her
catch, his fingers curling slightly as she stepped to be nearer to him. He looked her over and
she smiled softly again.
“Are you pleased?” she asked him.
“Hm?”
“With the wedding plans as they stand.”
“Yes,” he answered with a nod as she came to stand at his side. She watched as Cregan was
talking with Sara and Rody and Domeron, Elissa was still dancing with Daemion, again,
while the girls were all grabbing other Southron men to dance with, they were all laughing
and having a good time, and it was not yet the wedding. “I asked Daemion to be our
steward,” he said suddenly.
“He will be a good steward.” She predicted Daemion Velaryon was a shrewd man, and he
was coming to be endeared to the Northerners on his own terms, though he wasn’t as beloved
as Aemond was becoming. He was still well liked, and Lord Commander Osric Snow wrote
Daemion as a friend at times according to Osric. Which was a surprise, and it spoke highly to
how well Vaemond Velaryon’s House was being received.
“He will,” Aemond agreed softly.
“Lenton for the name of the Keep, the Winter Council liked it,” she said softly.
“Did they?”
“Yes, they are also thinking to permit you to rename the New Gift to something Valyrian so
you might make the land your own,” she said softly.
“No,” he murmured. “It should have its Northern name again,” he said softly.
“I think they will be pleased with your decision,” she mused. “Do you wish to speak to me
about what’s been upsetting you all of yesterday and this day?”
“No,” he replied softly.
“Are you certain?”
“I want you happy, Sansa,” he said softly.
“I want you happy as well, Aemond,” she countered.
“I… I will try to be,” he stammered.
“No,” she cut him off. “I am to be your wife, and partner, and we shall have to learn to be
partners, but whatever has you upset, I want to help you with it, as you would want to help
me. I am to be your wife,” she reminded him softly.
Aemond did not respond as he stood there watching the jovial tone of their wedding party.
She leaned against the wall with him as they both watched, and she smiled softly as Sara
dragged Daeron into a dance, and then Baela and Rhaena joined, it was rather fun to watch
the Northerners intermingle with the Southron folk, this would have never happened in her
era. She knew her father and his men kept their distance from everyone in the South, and kept
everything impersonal between them. It was a chilling distance too, which was now
understandable to her. As a child she had never understood the distance, but now she did.
“I will tell you,” he conceded after a long, near endless moment of silence between them.
“But I want you happy, and thus will tell you after our union,” he said softly.
“Very well,” she replied.
“I… I do trust you, Sansa,” he stammered.
“I know,” she assured. “And I trust you,” she reminded him. “I just want you happy,
Aemond, and I want you to know you can rely on me,” she said softly.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
Sansa smiled as she grabbed Aemond’s hand then. “Come on,” she giggled. “We should join
them,” she encouraged.
“Why?” he sputtered.
“They are our friends, and they are having fun, and we will too,” she encouraged. Aemond
looked a little uncertain, but she won him over as she twirled around and he kept their fingers
hooked and entangled. It was rather like that first night of festivities for them, and she smiled
as she leaned into him.
“It’s like Winterfell, just teach me,” she whispered as they were brought to the center of the
group.
Rhaenys walked into the courtyard and paused watching the Northerners laughing and
clapping, there were strange songs being sung, and she saw Aemond and Sansa dancing in
the center of the group who were having fun. She had not expected this, she watched for a
moment as Rhaena and Baela were dragged out into the circle by some of the Northerners
who were spinning them around. It was rather scandalous, but also, all innocent and fun in
appearance.
She did not think she’d ever seen Rhaena and Baela smile like this before, both girls were
giggling with their partners, and then the Northern men started singing. Their rough voices
were sharp and unruly, as they smiled ruefully. Lord Stark was even in the festivities as he
caught Sansa’s hand and spun her around sharply, as they clapped and hooked arms, spinning
around.
Rhaenys smiled as she watched as Rhaena and Baela were also doing this odd dance with the
Northerners. Baela laughed as she kicked up her skirts, and Rhaena was spun around. They
caught hands with the other women who laughed.
Never had Rhaenys seen her granddaughters so free and happy, they were aways so solemn
and serious, she watched in awe at her granddaughters genuinely smiling. Rhaenys smiled as
she joined the clapping, and she saw Daemon and Rhaenyra appear then, looking curious as
the Northerners did this strange ritual of what appeared to just be merriment for merriment’s
sake.
Rhaenys was chuckling as she saw even the Dornish and the other members of Court
appearing to see what was going on, and yet the Northerners were not even deterred from
having fun. The songs kept going as the people kept dancing. She did not think, even in the
reign of King Jaehaerys, had the Court been so openly curious about people.
Aemond was chuckling as the group finally departed, and dispersed, the wedding plans
finalized, and the women were cackling as they stole Sansa away, and Sansa shouted she’d
see him in three days for their wedding. He shook his head as he watched her go, and walked
away with the other men, but paused seeing Ser Cole there. He said the proper pleasantries as
he departed from the group and walked over to the Kingsguard who was standing there was
an expectant look.
“We should speak,” Cole said firmly.
Aemond took a deep breath, but didn’t dispute as he followed Cole’s lead. They walked
quietly for a long time, making it to the gardens which overlooked the ocean. Aemond
spotted Vhagar who flew overhead, giving a low grumble of greeting, which had him smiling
slightly.
“Your mother,” Cole started.
“The Queen,” Aemond corrected firmly as it felt like he was driving a knife in his own heart.
“No, your mother,” Cole growled. “She would like to speak to you about yesterday,
Aemond.”
“There is nothing more to be discussed,” Aemond stated firmly. “I have attempted to appease
her with my own union, I have attempted to appease her with Aegon’s freedoms, and I have
attempted to keep a connection with her, despite not following her Faith anymore. She has
declared I am no longer her son, so I will respect that and refer to her by her title and status,
as my Queen, but there is nothing more to be discussed.”
“Aemond, that is not fair, nor right to your mother.”
“The Queen has declared I am not her son, so it is no longer your concern. Soon me and mine
will no longer be here,” Aemond said. He felt like he was carving out his own heart, he
wanted to beg his mother to forgive him, he wanted to beg her love and affections to never be
gone because he needed her. But there was a need for the right thing to be done, and ignoring
Aegon’s perversions was no longer permissible. He had to do something, and apparently this
would cost him his mother.
“Aemond,” Cole sighed. “Speak to your mother.”
“The Queen and I have nothing further to discuss,” Aemond said indifferently. He wanted to
go sob in his rooms again, but the only reason he remained upright was because succumbing
to his weaker emotions was not tolerable.
“Aemond,” Cole snapped.
“There is a point at which the right thing outweighs personal interest and personal gain,”
Aemond said softly. “You taught me this. And it is not longer tolerable for Aegon to do
whatever he pleases for it will ruin House Targaryen.”
“Is it so bad to ruin a House which does nothing but destroy everything!?” Cole snapped.
Aemond recoiled as he looked at Cole in surprise and saw the man’s eyes burning brightly
with hatred. “I have held your mother as she has suffered under King Viserys’ control, I have
raised you, Helaena, and Daeron like you were my own, I have watched Princess Rhaenyra
break and dishonor her vows and flaunt it before the Court and Realm, I have watched Prince
Daemon fuck and take the Realm for his own personal gain, I have dealt with Prince
Jacaerys, Prince Lucerys, and Prince Joffrey all hurting you, and you are the closest thing to a
son, I will ever have. I love you, and your sister and your brother like you are mine. I love
Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor like they are mine, and none of you are Targaryens. Would it
be so bad for House Targaryen to destroy itself?”
“Yes,” Aemond answered softly. “Not all Targaryens wrought misery and cruelty, and they
are the only House strong enough to keep the Realm together. It would be foolish and cruel to
have the Realm fall into civil unrest and destroy itself with its own anger and grudges to
appease a few people who hate the Targaryens.”
“Aemond, think, truly think, beyond that cock of yours, you did not think like this before that
Northern heathen!” Cole said.
“Careful, Ser Cole, she is still to be my wife, and some might even consider you just as
inferior to the Northerners, you are half Dornish after all.”
“Aemond…” Cole grounded out.
“You can inform the Queen you attempted to talk sense into me, but I will not yield in this
matter, and I am no son of hers, by her own admission,” Aemond stated as he walked away.
He felt the tears burning and bit his lip when he made it into one of the secret passages. Why
did it feel like everything was falling apart, again?
“Nephew?” he jolted, and blinked seeing Daemon there.
Aemond did not respond as he assessed Daemon Targaryen warily. The older man though did
not look at him with scorn, or hatred, merely a look Aemond didn’t recognize.
Brushing past Daemon, Aemond started to return for his quarters.

“We did not know, about Aegon’s perversions, nor his influence on our children,” Daemon
stated.
“Do you truly think it absolves any of us?” Aemond countered softly without looking over
his shoulder. “So long as Rhaenyra was pleased, none cared.”
And he left before Daemon could respond. Making it to his rooms again, Aemond was
surprised to see Daeron, Jaehaerys, and Maelor there.
“Mother says she will be with Lady Sansa and we should guard you!” Jaehaerys giggled.
“I am guarded then,” Aemond mused.
“Hel’s going to spend the three days with Lady Sansa in prepare for the wedding, she asked
me to bring Jaehaerys and Maelor here so they are safe,” Daeron chuckled.
“I would be pleased to have the company, brother,” Aemond said tightly.
“Father’s locked in a tower,” Jaehaerys informed Aemond with serious violet eyes. “He will
not be kept.”
“I put him there, he will remain there until I figure out what to do with him,” Aemond
promised his nephew.
Chapter End Notes
I deleted the previous version of the wedding chapter because when I reread it this
morning, and solidified the coming plots, it felt out of place and inappropriate. So, I'm
restarting this little arch, it should be a couple of chapters, but other than that, the
wedding is coming.
Chapter 8
Chapter Notes
Sorry, I meant to move the Jon part of the chapter from Chapter 8 to here, I forgot to
delete it previously, so I'm sorry, again. I hope you guys enjoy! Oh, and a special shout
out to KuronekoShadow because you're brilliant, and I hope you don't mind me using
your suggestions!
She stood on the icy plains and there was a fluttering of wings, the winds tugged her red hair
around her and she stood alone, the forest around her was frozen, twisted, unnatural, but it
reminded her of a Godswood. She took a breath, feeling the air burn her lungs and nose it
was so cold, she shivered as she looked around. There were black feathers fluttering around
her and she frowned seeing the Three Eyed Raven.
Suddenly she found herself looking at Robb, he smiled ruefully, his auburn curls being pulled
in the winds. She started towards him, the ice fractured, and she barely got to gasp before she
was plunged into the icy depths. She didn’t get to scream and she found herself looking at her
father as she landed harshly into a chair, and she found herself sitting in her father’s study.
Confused, she looked around, it was her father’s study, spartan, whereas Cregan kept his
study inviting, but orderly. She turned to see her father there doing paperwork.
“Father,” she whispered.
Ned’s grey eyes lifted to meet hers, and he looked startled, she smiled feeling the tears
burning her eyes.
“Father! Serena stole my bow and won’t give it back!” Arya stomped in, but she looked a
little different, her black curls were long and wild, but there was no mistaking that face, she
was Arya.
“Arya!?” Sansa whispered, the girl didn’t see her though.
Then everything disappeared and Sansa jolted as she found herself sitting across from Bran,
and he stared back at her with a bland expression.
“The wolves tamed the dragons, the dragons reminded the wolves to be wild,” he rasped.
There was a giggle, and Sansa turned, the boy was back, the crown atop his head as he stood
there, small and childish, shifting with his different colors, the stormy violet eyes filled with
life.
The scene shifted again, and she found herself shoved beneath the weirwood again,
struggling in her tangled skirts, trying to escape the blinding terror welling up in her as she
scrambled back, the sharp pain hit her chest, as she stared into the brilliant blue eyes of the
Night King, the pain was crippling, she gasped, unable to cry out in the agony, the northern
lights danced overhead, brilliantly lighting up the skies.
It was so beautiful, the weirwood leaves were the color of her blood, the northern lights were
dancing, there was a bit of snow falling, and she smiled a bit.
“You dare…” she turned to look at the Night King, the hatred burned in his eyes.
“Remind them, the wolves were never conquered,” Bran rasped.
Sansa gasped as she bolted up in her bed, in a cold sweat, shivering violently as the scar
throbbed, there was a mist from her breath, she groaned in pain as another shiver chilled her
body. Reaching over to Frostfyre she touched the heavy fur of the direwolf who nuzzled her,
she burrowed into the warm pelt, watching her breath dance before her eyes as she tried to
slow her heart. She closed her eyes as she held onto Frostfyre. The nose pressed to her was
warm, wet, but warm to her icy skin. Getting out of her bed, she picked up a heavy fur,
wrapping it around herself as she shuffled to the fireplace. Starting the hearth again, to be
raging in full force, she sat on the ground before it, holding her fingers out before the flames.
She was shivering so violently she felt ready to collapse, but also not.
There were odd times when the overwhelming cold seemed to seep into her very soul, and
freeze her, which would be her hardest mornings to warm up. There were times Sansa
wondered if she could ever be warm again, but she did not know. Slowly the shivering
slowed, and she started to relax, her breath didn’t burn her lungs, and her body wasn’t aching
because of the cold. Closing her eyes, she pressed her brow to her knees as she linked her
hands.
The boy had been in her dreams again, which was startling, his appearance was ever shifting,
but his eyes… his eyes were a strange mix of Targaryen and Stark.
She remembered seeing her father, and Arya and smiled a bit in her knees, she had even seen
Bran and Robb, she shivered a bit remembering them. A nose nudged her shoulder, and she
turned to look at Frostfyre then, the wolf wrapped herself behind Sansa and Sansa leaned
back into the wolf.
Closing her eyes again, she smiled, she had seen her family, and on the day of her wedding.
The door opened and Sansa turned to see Orrina, Elissa, Mira, Torrah, and Gwyn walking in.
“Gods, it’s an inferno in here,” Orrina huffed, they were all opening the windows then, and
Elissa doused the fire, much to Sansa’s chagrin.
“Come on, we’ve summoned you a bath, and prepared the perfumes, and flowers, Princess
Helaena, Princess Rhaenyra, Ladies Baela, Rhaena, and Princess Helaena’s ladies in waiting
are helping us,” Elissa said.
“I… I don’t want to bathe or dress…” Sansa started.
“Oh, you’re not to be bare before them,” Mira assured kindly. “But they wish to assist in
doing your hair and dress, and assisting us in our preparations.”
“Oh… that is… kind,” Sansa offered as the chill started seeping into her body again.
“Sara and her Ladies will be getting ready as well, but they are to be ready before us, so they
will assist in managing the guests,” Torrah huffed as she walked by, collecting things.
“And Cregan has assured us he will attend to Prince Aemond so he is prepared,” Gwyn said.
“Sansa, are you well?” Orrina asked, touching her cheek. The touch was burning hot, and
Sansa jumped away from it.
“I… I had a tiring night, many dreams,” Sansa yawned.
Elissa and Orrina shared a look, but didn’t respond as they helped Sansa up so she could go
be cleaned.
Jon was trailing after Rickon, who was babbling as he trotted with Timber, Ghost was beside
Jon and they watched the pair. Jon snorted when Rickon sneezed, falling on his butt and then
burst into giggles, he softened watching the baby as Timber leaned down and let the babe hug
his snout before putting the baby on his feet. Jon looked out at the wall, and closed his eyes
as he took a deep breath in.
It’d been at least two years since he’d come to this era, and he couldn’t get over the liveliness
of these people, they were not even invited to attend Sansa’s wedding but they were setting
up to celebrate this union. He did not understand it, they should be using resources on the
crops, the harvest, the lands, not this… frivolous nonsense, he wanted to understand though
why they were so jovial about a union which would ultimately get Sansa killed.
Jon did not understand Sansa’s motives with this union, what did she want to do by
entangling herself with Targaryens, nothing good could ever come of that union, he knew it
to be true, and yet she persisted. Aemond was an irredeemable monster, a kinslayer, he would
start the Dance of the Dragons, and worse, he would be the reason that Sansa would be dead.
She would die because of Aemond, Jon wanted to scream at her to be reasonable, but she
insisted on this match, and he surrendered. Sansa was more stubborn than an oxen when she
was determined to do something, and worse, Cregan was supporting her.
Cregan was not what Jon expected either, he expected the man to be more serious, and less…
Cregan. Jon didn’t know how to accept this was the legendary Stark who stopped a civil war,
and became a legend, who left a legacy which was felt centuries later. But somehow that wild
man was Cregan Stark, and Jon could not reconcile it with the Cregan Stark he was taught
about, there was no way that man could end a civil war.
Jon walked over, picked up Rickon, he looked out at the village, which was still preparing for
Sansa’s wedding. The day was long since announced and to be celebrated.
There was a horn, and Jon frowned as he walked to the eastern wall, and saw the riders
coming, his eyes widened as he recognized the banners.
“Blow the horns for an attack, get the people in Winterfell, call the guard!” Jon ordered
sharply. “Send a Raven!” he shouted as he ran inside. He’d have to get Rickon somewhere
safe. They rushed inside as he heard the horns sound, and saw people running into Winterfell
now. When he found Rickon’s wet nurse he handed the boy off as he went to ready the men.
It didn’t take him long as he looked out at the wall, and watched the riders.
Aemond woke at the break of dawn, looking around his bed, and he rolled onto his side
staring out at the ocean, he heard Vhagar’s roar of greeting and smiled a little as he
whispered the reply softly. There was rain pouring today, which had him a bit wary, slowly,
he pushed himself out of his bed, and looked around his room. Since he’d destroyed his
furniture, he hadn’t really replaced anything, and he was a bit wary about Sansa coming here
this evening. Or tonight; Aemond honestly didn’t know how long this celebration would go.
Viserys was thinking it was Rhaenyra getting married though, so it could be well into the
next morning.
Getting out of his bed, he walked through his room, pulling his hair back as he grabbed up a
shirt to go head to training. He needed the time to clear his head.
Making his way down to the training grounds, Aemond was unsurprised to see Cregan there
with the other Northerners, all of whom looked unbothered by the miserable weather.
Stepping into the training grounds, he felt the rain pouring over him, and he was surprised to
see Cregan knocking Jace and Luke into the mud. It was now Aemond noticed Lord Corlys
looking down on the training grounds, and Vaemond with his own sons were watching.
“If you hold the weapon like that again, I will always take it from you!” Cregan snapped as
he all but threw Luke into the mud, holding Luke’s training weapon. Jace attempted to attack
Cregan’s back, only to be tripped face first into the mud by Cregan.
“Oh, the dragonling has graced us with his presence on his weddin’ day! Thought you’d be in
a tizzy with the rest the castle!” Roderick cackled.
Domeron cuffed Roderick who was howling in laughter now.
“Ignore him, he’s upset his unrequited love will never continue,” Domeron stated.
“Oh, come on, it’s just a bit of teasin’! Sansa will always have my heart, but never my
manhood!”
“RODERICK THAT’S MY SISTER!” Cregan shouted and Aemond snorted as the two
Northerners flinched and looked at Cregan who was glaring thunderously at them.
“I meant no disrespect…” Roderick started. Aemond tripped Roderick as he backed up from

Cregan.
“Get over here, you bastard!” Cregan snarled.

“Oh, come on!” Roderick whined as he was hauled into the sparring ring.
“Harnessing controlled aggression, it is how you fight, Jace,” Cregan snapped as he and
Roderick started sparring.
“Shouldn’t the Prince be getting ready for his wedding?” Daemion asked as he clasped
Aemond’s shoulders and walked to stand beside him.
Aemond shrugged. He had other duties to attend to, and energy to burn, he wanted to do
something. Sparring sounded wise in his mind. He picked up a weapon when Stark looked at
him and he almost smiled, because Cregan seemed to be of the same mind after he had
knocked Rody on his ass.
“Aemond, come on, let’s see what the Targaryen Prince can do,” Cregan challenged with a
rather savage smile on his lips and Aemond did not flinch. It was at a time like this Cregan
looked rather akin to the wolf of his House sigil. Cregan was using his long sword, Ice, and
Aemond had his weapon. Cregan was fast, and strong and Aemond met his power with his
own, which had the steel ringing.
“Don’t kill him, Sansa’ll be crossed!” Domeron called out. And Aemond nearly laughed as
he moved around. The spar was well practiced; he’d been fighting Cregan rather
continuously since he had arrived and Aemond enjoyed it. They were fast, and he managed to
get the upper hand when Cregan was disarmed of Ice. However, Cregan kicked Aemond back
into the mud, producing an axe and dagger. Aemond rolled to his feet before he lost his other
eye and blocked the axe only for the dagger to press against his throat but his sword was
pressed to Cregan’s gut.
“You’re getting better,” Cregan snorted.
Aemond chuckled as they disengaged. “At least I won’t have a bruise on the face,” Aemond
said as he rubbed his aching ribs.
“You’re marrying my sister, I can’t have you look uglier than normal,”Cregan stated.
“And they say Northerners have no sense of propriety,” Aemond mused.
“We don’t, but we are not fool enough to cross women,” Roderick declared.
“Or Sansa, she’s got a wolf,” Domeron stated.
“Or Sara. Or Elissa, Orrina, Mira, Torrah, never cross a Mormont woman. Or the women of
the North in general,” Bryan said as he walked by. “We should feast before the wedding!”
Aemond watched as the other Northerners walked off and he looked at Cregan who was
picking up Ice and cleaning off the great sword. Aemond was wary seeing his nephews here,
but waited a moment.
“You’re marrying my sister, why are you here sparring instead of wedding details?” Cregan
asked.
“Because I marry your sister,” Aemond answered. “And why are you awake at this hour?”
“I caught these two after a night of ill-timed debauchery and drink trying to sneak back into
the castle with a pig, that one,” Cregan pointed at Luke then, “was calling the ‘Pink Dread’,
Prince Lucerys was attempting to smuggle a pig in for your wedding night as well. I’m not
amused,” Cregan stated.
Aemond felt the pit of his stomach just drop as he stared at the boys, it was bad enough, with
the incessant pranks of pigs from Lucerys but on his wedding day? Aemond wanted to
disappear from the face of the earth, and ride Vhagar over the edge of the horizon and never
return. Why could nothing just go smoothly, for once, for him!?
“It’s an old joke, right uncle?” Luke said.
“An unamusing joke if there ever was one,” Aemond grumbled.
“I told him not to do it,” Jace grumbled sourly.
“I had to beat the shit out of the little shits for the prank and the debauchery they were up to
the previous night,” Cregan stated.
Aemond looked his nephews over carefully and shrugged as they walked into the Keep. He
spotted Ser Criston Cole then, glaring at Cregan.
“It was a harmless joke!” Luke huffed. “And I’m not your squire! You had no right…”
“As your grandfather witnessed your prank intentions after your night of debauchery, a prank
which would humiliate my sister and the North, do you think he would dare to interfere with
my lesson in your manners? Lord Corlys is many things, boy, but fool is not one of them, you
would be wise to learn from his example,” Cregan snapped. “You represent your House, and
your breeding, and thus far I am unimpressed. If we were in the North, regardless of if you
were or were not my squire, I could have your head for that audacity!”
“I’m a Prince!” Lucerys started.
“Do you even comprehend what that means!? Your uncle here does, if you are Prince, I am
ashamed of the Realm, and you should be ashamed of that!” Cregan snarled and Aemond
raised a brow at his friend. “As a member of the Crown you command legions of men to live
and die, you decide the fate of the people, from the small folk to the Great Houses, you are
entrusted to care for the Realm and serve the Realm, it is your duty to live and die for these
people and you represent them! Pulling pranks designed to humiliate members of your
House, and by extension, your Realm, reflects greatly upon you! Your actions have
consequences, and as a Prince of the Realm, those consequences are tenfold in power! Think!
Go clean up and prepare for the wedding. Jace, if you ever, dare, to engage with any activity
with Prince Lucerys again, during our time I will banish you to the Wall for Lord
Commander Snow to deal with you.”
“You can’t…” Jace started.

“Your ass is mine, you’re my squire, and if your mother and stepfather have a problem with
it, I do not give a fuck,” Cregan barked. Luke and Jace scurried off and Cregan rubbed his
eyes in frustration. “Do you always deal with this?”
“I am the butt of the jokes and humiliation,” he shrugged.
“Fuck,” Cregan muttered. “You need food and a bath; Sansa will be crossed if you smell like
mud and shit.”
Aemond shook his head in amusement as they walked for the breakfast feast being served.
Daemion, Daeron, his brother, nephews, the Northerners, and Aemond’s wedding party were
all present already, and he caught Maelor who ran to him. Aemond spotted Lord Beesbury
speaking to Vaemond, and then saw Daemon enter the hall with some of his Gold Cloaks,
Aemond felt fairly uneasy as he sat with his little group; odd how he actually had a group.
“You’re getting married today!” his little brother preened.
“Eat your meal,” Aemond ordered as he grabbed toast for his brother, and then made a
serving of porridge for Maelor.
“You could be happier,” Daeron grumbled.
“I’ll be happier when you’ve eaten,” Aemond stated.
“I see it is not merely my sisters who have a penchant for being impertinent,” Cregan mused.
“He’s very persnickety,” Aemond stated tiredly as he grabbed some fruit for Jaehaerys who
was still sleepy and looked ready to fall over face first on the table, but completely content on
Rody’s lap.
“I am not!” Daeron squawked.”
“Mmm, I see,” Cregan mused.
“You could express something about this wedding!” Daeron huffed.
“Eat your meal, I have to attend to matters,” Aemond handed Maelor off to Cregan as he
grabbed a slice of toast, slathered it in honey, butter, and left to find Lord Beesbury who was
gone now.
“Aemond!”
“Eat!” he called out over his shoulder as he jogged after Lord Beesbury. Aemond rounded the
corner to see the Small Council gathering and he took a few large bites of his toast, scarfing it
down as he walked behind them.
“The concerns are for the Dornish to be aggressive; it is said she has been spotted shooting
arrows at Lord Stark,” Lord Wylde stated. “This will incite war!”
“If there was a concern…”

“Lord Stark and the Princess of Dorne are having an amicable dispute, it appears to be a
cultural dispute, which neither has brought before this Court, and thus, it is not a Court
matter, if there was need for concern, Lord Stark would have formally addressed the matter,”
Aemond stated. All the Small Council jumped and turned to stare at him.
“You are to be preparing for your wedding!” Lord Beesbury snapped.
“I…”
“No, Lord Beesbury is correct, this is a day for you to be attending to your family,” Ser
Tyland stated sharply.
“I agree, I remember my own wedding being a very tumultuous affair!” Beesbury stated.
“I…” Aemond started.
“It appears the young Prince is not as enamored with his bride as we were lead to believe,”
the voice mused behind Aemond and Aemond turned to glare at Lord Strong, who was
leaning on his cane.
“Given the wedding is hours away, and I am not ignoring it, I have matters to attend to, I
need to speak to Lord Beesbury,” Aemond stated. “It is in regards to the campaign Lady
Sansa and I are to embark on for this year.”
“It can wait,” Lord Beesbury started.
“As you have been actively avoiding me, no, it cannot,” Aemond started.
“We have noticed that the young Prince is very involved in the matters of the Small Council,
but this is to be his wedding, so we were attempting to work without you,” Ser Tyland
started.
“I will deal with that matter at a later time, now, Lord Beesbury, might we speak,” Aemond
demanded.
Lord Beesbury looked amused as they started walking then.
“About the campaigns,” Aemond started.
“I have arranged an itinerary as necessary,” Beesbury started.
“I will be starting in the Reach, Lady Sansa and I will be travelling with Vhagar, there will be
no need for a guard, and I refuse them,” Aemond started. “Direct the funds to maintaining the
Red Keep. As to the other matter,” he started.
“Ah… I see.”
“I will be in Oldtown, and I will be requesting a look at the Citadel records, is there
something I should seek?” he asked.
“What we have found,” Lord Beesbury said softly. “Are you certain you wish to do this,
Prince Aemond?”
“Why would I not be?” Aemond asked.
“It will be dangerous.”
“It always was,” Aemond shrugged. “I wish for us to remain in contact.”
“You might visit my sons and grandsons then, they are outside of Oldtown,” Lord Beesbury
said. Aemond blinked, he would admit to knowing little about Lord Beesbury’s home and life
outside of the Small Courts. But a pang went through his chest hearing Lord Beesbury
mention he had sons and grandsons. “They are at Honeyholt, it possesses the finest mead and
honeywine in the Reach, and the fields in a few fortnights shall be alive with wild flowers
and bees, there will be beauty spread over for miles, even Vhagar would be content in such
sunny warmth.”
“Thank you, I would be pleased to meet your family,” Aemond said.
“And Aemond…” Lord Beesbury stopped him. “Be wary, boy, there are many dangers in the
mysteries you are about to delve into.”
“It is for the Realm,” he answered. “Thank you.”
“Of course, now go bathe, your bride will not like you covered in mud and muck!” Lord
Beesbury huffed. “And eat something other than toast!”
Aemond nodded as he walked away. He was startled to be intercepted by Ser Vaemond then,
and nearly tripped when the older man shoved an apple in his hands.
“We are accepting your offer, we would seek to assist in building a port and city at the Bay of
Seals, and later the Bay of Ice, there will be much to discuss about this matter further, at a
later date, but I believe it to be the wisest move for my family. When you campaign through
the Crownlands again, do come visit us,” Vaemond smiled. “Now go bathe, women do not
like it when grooms are covered in muck.”
“I… thank you,” Aemond whispered softly.
“Of course,” Vaemond smiled. “I owe you and the North much, Prince Aemond, we are
greatly honored by your offer, and it would be a great honor to serve your new House.”
“We will discuss the matter more,” Aemond said.
“Yes, when you visit,” Vaemond smiled. “For now, son, go prepare for your wedding,” he
said softly, and Aemond stumbled a bit at the gentle tone from Ser Vaemond. “I told Daeron
when he wed, it is important to recognize your woman is your partner, but also your best
friend, it appears you and Lady Sansa will have a solid foundation, it is vital to never forget
that. Everything else will grow and build from there,” he assured.
Aemond nodded as he walked away, taking a bite of the apple. He was relieved hearing Ser
Vaemond’s answer.
It was after she was shaved and groomed to the Southron standards, with her hair trimmed,
and every inch of her body bare, she felt the chill receding. To Sansa’s horror, and
mortification; having lived through Southron grooming for a wedding before, every part of
her was shaved, her pits, her legs, and her cunt; which the Southron attendants did at behest
of Ser Otto’s insistence on some decorum of Southron traditions being honored. She could
not fight this, even at the humiliation of all this. Now she felt too bare, and too exposed, and
she felt very vulnerable. Her Ladies and Frostfyre helped immensely though, as she tolerated
the Southron maids grooming her over. After that ordeal was finished, she was dressed in a
simple chemise, and nothing more, everything else would be coming as she got dressed.
Sansa did not like having herself examined as she was dressed. Today though would be the
exception as her Ladies pulled her gown out of the careful packaging it was stored in. There
was a knock on the door, which had Elissa raising her brow as Sansa pulled a robe tighter
around herself. Orrina was the one to open the door, and Sansa smiled seeing Sara there with
all her little Ladies. And there were a few others here to help too.
“I am not leaving my sister to get dressed alone!” Sara grinned.
“Come here,” Sansa chuckled as she pulled the girl into her arms. It was at times like this a
painful, deep ache pulsed in Sansa’s heart for her own mother, father, brothers and sister, but
Sara was here, as was Cregan.
“Princess Rhaenyra says we are to be family, and she would be here to assist in attending to
you, as Valyrian tradition demands, but she has insisted upon assisting our cousin, Prince
Aemond…” Rhaena started.
“We’re here to help!” Baela declared loudly.
“I…” Helaena looked down at her hands, which were gripping her daughter’s hand and Sansa
walked over as she took Helaena’s and Jaehaera’s hands. “I would like to assist you, we are
soon to be sisters…”
“I wouldn’t mind the help,” she assured and smiled at the twins. “I think I will need it,” she
mused. Helaena’s hand tightened on her own and Sansa smiled.
“Do… do Northerners do anything with their hair?” Rhaena asked.
“I’m doing her hair!” Orrina declared. “Kissed by fire!”
“We’re all doing our hair,” Elissa chuckled as she let the other girls in.
“No…” Sansa chuckled. “You’ve seen we don’t have a particular style, it’s best to have it all
up, or drawn back, or wild,” she said.
“Can I try?” Rhaena smiled.

“On my hair, not Sansa’s, Sansa’s hair will be done by our goodsisters,” Sara sat down to let
the girls do their work. “If Arra was here, she would do Sansa’s hair.”
“Arra would put so many flowers in Sansa’s hair,” Orrina mused.
“And Sara’s, and ours, and everywhere, Arra liked her flowers,” Elissa recollected.
“Cregan would give her pig’s weed,” Sansa chuckled.
“Gods, he’s hopeless!” Elissa and Orrina groaned, the other Ladies were laughing. Sansa sat
where Elissa and Orrina could work on her hair, with their vision, and the other Ladies were
working to prepare for the wedding as well. Baela prowled the room, and it was now Sansa
saw a pale pink dragon draped around Rhaena’s neck. Which was startling; it was the size of
a small kitten, and yet she remembered how massive Vhagar was.
“Your hair is so soft…” Rhaena whispered in awe.
“Really!?” Baela was there and touching Sara’s hair then. “It’s like silk,” Baela giggled.
Helaena sat down smiling softly. “Are you excited to be married?”
“Nervous,” Sansa admitted. She had been through this song and dance twice before, and both
were dismal affairs. Her marriage to Tyrion was humiliating, and worse, but rather
convenient in the end, and then her marriage to Ramsay… Sansa was thankful when Torrah
handed her a cup of wine then and she sipped it as she listened to Orrina and Elissa discuss
what to do with her hair. In the end, Sansa’s hair was left mostly down, and the braids were
wrapped around to sweep up half her hair, which was decorated with the winter roses she and
Sara had preserved.
The crown of her head was pulled back with three, loose braids, which met to be entwined
into one, the sides of her head were decorated with two dutch braids, which met the center
point for her crown braids. Once those four braids intercected, the braid turned into a fat
fishtail down. There were other strands of hair twined into other various braids, and then
Orrina and Elissa started decorating her braids. Small ornaments from the prominent
Northern Mountain Clans, along with a few other Northern families’ gifts, there were
ornaments from the Children of the Forest in her hair, old gifts from the Stark Vaults, and
finally, her brooch from Cregan a few solstices ago was used at the intersection of all her
braids, as a delicate pin slid in to hold the ornament in place. The rest of her hair was in long
loose waves which fell down, well past her waist, so the hairs tickled her thighs. When it was
completed, she was surprised to see the addition of white pearls in her hair, as well as a few
sapphires. But there were also a few, small, fragile blue roses in her hair.
“Gifts from House Lannister at the suggestion of Prince Daeron,” Orrina murmured. “And,
the flowers are from Arra. Cregan insisted on the brooch.”
Sansa felt a pang of wanting for her mother, and even Arya, but mostly, Sansa wished Arra,
and her father could be here. Arra would be no nonsense, and firm, and Catelyn would be…
her mother. Sansa didn’t expect the pain of that yearning as she blinked back the tears.
“Are you… alright, Lady Sansa?” Baela stammered.
“Does the hair feel too heavy, is it pulling on your scalp?” Elissa started.
“No, you’re fine, I just miss my mother, father, and goodsister, I thought they would be here
on this day,” Sansa said softly.
“I miss mother too,” Sara murmured.
“It is normal to miss people on your wedding day,” Helaena said softly as she had a spider
crawling over her knuckles. “It is the heart’s way to remember love.”
“Thank you, Helaena,” Sansa smiled.
“That’s a horrible thing to say,” Baela retorted.
“Grief, is love,” Sansa informed the young woman. “It is the love that remains when
everything else is gone.”
“That’s beautiful,” Rhaena whispered. “I would want mother here today, I miss her.”
“You always miss your mother,” Sansa whispered. “Mothers are precious in that way.”
“You look very pretty,” Jaehaera blurted out, and Sansa smiled at the girl.
“Do you think so?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Like fire!”
“Now the dress!” Sara grinned.
Alicent found her son preparing for his wedding with his younger brother, Daemion
Velaryon, Daemion’s friends and the Northerners. She stared at Aemond, biting her lip as she
worried her nails, she had not spoken to Aemond since she had said what she had said, and
she felt the break between them. It was like something had shattered between them, and she
wanted to reach out to him, but his betrayal…
“You’re not wearing the damn thing,” Cregan stated. “It is an insult to the Old Gods, and our
ways, you wed my sister showing your true face Aemond!”
Aemond was looking annoyed, and his brother looked amused, while the Northerners were
scowling menacingly.
“Aemond,” she said his name softly, and the men turned to her, and she saw her son.
Her breath hitched as she stared at his face, she could not recall the last time she’d seen him
without the eyepatch. His long silver hair framed his long, sharp face, and his expression was
neutral, if a bit annoyed, with the deep scar slashed over his face across his eye. The ugly
mark was something she despised on his face, but more startling was his eyes. The dark
amethyst eye which could pass for blue in certain light, alert, watchful, but it was startling
and unsettling as she saw the sapphire. The scar, the sapphire, and Aemond’s unreadable
expression as they looked at one another, it made him unsettling to look upon. Aemond
turned away and grabbed the eyepatch from Cregan; and Cregan grabbed it back as the others
left the room.
Aemond glared at the Northerners as they left with Daemion’s party, and he looked at her.
“I apologize my Queen,” he looked away. Alicent bit her lip as she walked forward, he tilted
his head, so his hair hid half his face from her, and she smiled at him.
“I came to wish you a prosperous union,” Alicent said as she reached up, touching the
unmarred side of his face. He jerked his face out of her reach, and stepped back, frowning
with sorrow glittering in his eye.
“Such familiarity is not between us anymore, my Queen,” he started.
“I am your mother,” she started.
“Yes,” he replied softly, she almost missed his whisper. “But… you have declared I am no
son of yours, and… I will respect that.”
“Aemond… I, I will always love you,” she promised. She did love him, and she hated that
she had failed him so miserably, she could never seem to be the mother he deserved.
“I… I will love you too mother,” he confessed, and for a moment she felt like she had her son
back.
“Then you must…” she started. He recoiled, and she sighed. “Then you must have a
prosperous union, and be pleased, I will pray for your future to be prosperous and happy,
and… I hope you find solace with your bride. I will await news of grandchildren,” she
smiled. “May they bring you joy if she does not.”
“It will be what it is,” Aemond murmured as his eye flicked over her. “But it will never be
your concern again.”
“I wish… I am sorry, Aemond, I am so sorry,” she whispered.
He raised his brow. “Is there anything else, my Queen?”
She felt like he’d stabbed her with those words.
“Yes, this marriage, I could not save you from Rhaenyra, and I am so sorry,” she whispered.
“Do not be, my Queen,” he murmured. “All will be fine; Lady Sansa and I have come to a
tolerable arrangement. It will not be intolerable.”
“I am so sorry, Aemond,” she whispered.
“This union is for the good of the Realm.”

“My brave, sweet boy,” she whispered gently.
“If that is all, my Queen, I must attend to my wedding,” Aemond said as he gave her a stiff
bow and left her behind, she choked back a sob as it felt like her gut was punched, there were
heavy, greasy knots in her stomach, and she felt the tears burn her eyes. Damn them all.
Sansa’s heart was pounding harshly in her chest as she was finished being ready for the
ceremony. The wedding was being held in Northern custom, which meant all the royal
fanfare and royal feasts would be happening after the union was formally performed. But
Sansa had not thought about how that would be performed. Yes, she had walked through it
several times, and several times she had prepared for it mentally, but it was different now.
Now she stood, ready, and draped in Arra’s bride’s cloak, the Stark sigil displayed in full, and
she was ready for her marriage. Her heavy cloak was trimmed and lined with the white pelts
from a pack of wolves which were killed as they hunted sheep they needed; the silvery grey
sigil of the Stark’s wolf was displayed.
Sansa’s dress was long, and done in similar Southron fashion, falling off her shoulders
sightly, but not indecently low by Northern standards. Sansa’s dress was styled Northern,
with small incorporations for her family from her time, and this one. She had down sweeping
sleeves, in a similar style her mother had preferred, lined with white furs, there were scaled
embroidery on her upper arms, similar to the Tully’s fish. She had a pair of wolves wrapped
around her shoulders to be snarling at each other on the front of her dress. The silvery-blue
velvet was embroidered at the bottom with the red leaves of the Weirwood back home. She
wore her circle and needle necklace, tipped with dragon’s glass as her belt this day, having
the thin chain wrapped around her leather belt. She had embroidered small wolves amongst
her weirwood leaves for each of her siblings, Robb, Jon, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Little Robb,
and Sara, Cregan, and little Rickon into the skirts of her dress, and six green thistles for Arra.
The gown was silvery blue, with minimal colors, she had embroidered a dark blue and bronze
northern patterns all through the seams, there was a silvery dragon she had embroidered in a
Northern fashion, akin to one of her festive dresses, to wrap around her waist.
Overall, the gown was simple, similar to some Southron fashions, but also very Northern, and
it was all Stark.
Cregan appeared to take her to the Godswood now, and he looked her over with a wry smile.
Sansa smiled at him.
Princess Baela, Princess Helaena, and Princess Rhaena all looked at Cregan and Sansa knew
they were waiting for compliments.
“Well, you’re not wholly hideous,” Cregan observed.
“Lord Stark!” Baela snapped furiously, but Sansa was laughing.
“No, she isn’t, she looks beautiful!” Sara laughed.
“So you approve?” Sansa chuckled as she took Cregan’s elbow.

“No, you’re my little sister,” he stated. “But you could do worse,” he sighed. “This is for your
husband, after the Northern ceremony, he can wear it during Valyrian ceremony and the
festivities, but he will marry you showing his true face.”
Cregan slipped the eyepatch into her fingers and she smiled as she slid it into her pocket. It
was like a lead weight though, and Mira handed Sansa the bouquet of Southron, and Valyrian
flowers then.
“Come on,” Cregan murmured as he placed his hand over hers. It was now Sansa’s Ladies
walked out before her, dressed in their finest. Sansa tightened her grip on Cregan’s elbow and
she walked with him. It was now that Sansa tensed, seeing the rows and lines of Royals and
Court Nobility, guest Nobility, all of them standing there. They were mostly dressed in blues,
whites, reds, greys, but she didn’t see any green or black, as she held Cregan’s arm. White
Fang, Frostfyre and Ice loped ahead of them now, which had the guests giving them a wide
berth as they walked through the Red Keep.
“I’m scared,” she whispered.
“You will always have a home, Sansa,” Cregan murmured. “I will even fight the bloody
dragon to come get you if I must,” he assured.
“Truly?”
“Yes,” he promised. “I am not Jon, or Robb, or Bran, or Rickon, but… you are my sister,
Sansa, and I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe and happy,” he promised.
“I do not want to be a burden…” she started.
“You are a Stark, we are a pack, Sansa, and packs protect each other.”
“The lone wolf dies,” she whispered.
“The pack survives,” he promised. “I will never leave you to fend for yourself,” he promised.
She nodded. There were some drums and flutes playing and Sansa saw the Royal Family on
the outside of the Godswood, she looked at Cregan who raised an inquiring brow to her, and
she nodded as they walked past the King and Queen, and the Crowned Princess and her
Consort. Sansa’s heart was pounding painfully in her ribs, her Ladies fanned out at the
entrance of the Godswood near Aemond’s own party of men. It was now she noticed the
weight behind her drop, and she glanced behind her to see the other girls moving to stand by
their respective families as they released her Stark Cloak, the Stark sigil on full, proud
display to trail behind her.
Sansa saw Aemond now, and he was dressed in the coat she had given him, and simple attire.
He looked fidgety and uncomfortable, and she smiled as she approached. He wasn’t wearing
his eyepatch and it was clear he was uncomfortable at this moment without it. He was also
holding a heavy white cloak in his arms as she came to him. She looked at the weirwood and
saw it looked no different than when she had been a girl, the face staring at them, the red
leaves around, the greenery which was not as overgrown today as it had been when she had
resided in the Red Keep.
“Aemond Targaryen, I present Sansa Stark before you and the Old Gods, so you may join our
families,” Cregan stated. “Sansa, do you accept Aemond Targaryen as your husband?”
“I take this man,” she agreed softly as she slipped her hands from Cregan’s elbow to
Aemond’s offered hand.
Sansa bowed her head as she went to kneel before the tree, Aemond joined her. She smiled at
his look of uncertainty now and she sent a silent prayer that this union be fruitful, and strong,
and not like her previous unions. She squeezed Aemond’s hand when she was done. He rose
then, carefully removing the Stark cloak from her shoulders as he handed it to Cregan, the
rain was spitting over them. She shivered a little at the cold water hitting her now and peeked
at Aemond, he looked indifferent about the matter of rain. He unfolded their new sigil for
their House, once the cloak straightened to be displayed for the first time before all of
Westeros, the Court and Royalty, he draped it around her shoulders as she rose then.
The relief was visible on Aemond’s face when she produced the eyepatch and helped him put
it on again.
“It is done,” Cregan stated. “Now you carry her out of here, and if you drop her, I’ll hack you
to pieces with Ice then feed you to Ice!”
Aemond scooped her up, and she yelped as she threw her arms around his shoulders and he
walked confidently through the Godswood then. The rain started in earnest then with a crack
of thunder which was followed by a loud roar from a dragon. It was like the heavens were
weeping for joy, and Sansa laughed as her head fell back, Aemond looked confused now and
Northerners roared their approval and joy at this omen.
“'Tis good luck to be wed in the rain, Aemond, it’s a good omen when the Old Gods weep for
joy at a union,” she whispered in his ear. Aemond was surprised at how simple the Northern
wedding was, and more surprised at the reassuring weight of Sansa in his arms.
He had been shocked seeing her, dressed in silvery blues; she had not looked different or
anything new. But rather he was startled at how his own heart leapt at the sight of her, the
sensation of wanting, and relief which swept over him like a tsunami; he would be wed to a
friend, and ally, and someone who wanted him, Aemond, not Prince Aemond. He had been
keenly aware that Cregan had used no titles when presenting the union, or Sansa to him, and
he was surprised but relieved. Sansa was wedding him, not the Crown, or the House
Targaryen, just him; and the ferocity of that fact had startled Aemond immensely.
Setting Sansa down before the Valyrian priest he looked at her. She was a little wet, a little
imperfect, but so Northern and beautiful, he was relieved. She smiled a little nervously at him
as they looked at one another then at the priest.
The fires were rapidly lit around himself and Sansa as he set her down. She looked at
Aemond as his sisters; Rhaenyra and Heleana, with aid of Baela, Rhaena, and Jaehaera
helped unfold and stretch out the cloak. He was surprised any of Rhaenyra’s family were
assisting with the ceremony as a whole, he had not anticipated this action. He was even more
startled when Daemon handed him the knife made of dragonglass.
Aemond felt the weight of the dagger now as he looked at Sansa, his heart slamming in his
chest, she looked uneasy, but not uncomfortable. She looked up at him and smiled, he was,
again, shocked by the trust he saw in her gaze.
"Sir īlon rhaenagon, isse se drēje ways hen uēpa valyrio gō se perzyssy, naejot maghagon
bisa vala se ābra hēnkirī isse dīnilūks…” the priest spoke in Valyrian. Aemond moved
carefully as he reached over to cup the back of Sansa’s head. She gasped and Aemond
absently listened to the prompts of the priest in High Valyrian. “Se ondoso ānogar…”
Now Aemond moved carefully as he lightly slid the dagger over her plump bottom lip,
wincing at the idea of how this hurt as he dabbed his thumb over the blood, reaching up he
drew the glyph for wife in High Valyrian as she took the dagger from him. He was still as he
felt the efficient cut on his own lip as she pressed her thumb to his lip before reaching up to
his brow to draw the rune for husband in Old Tongue.
“Kostagon pōja prūmi sagon letagon naejot se mōris hen jēda,” the priest continued as
Aemond took the dagger from Sansa and held his hand out before slicing it. He did not flinch
at the pain, slicing along the heartline as he looked at Sansa. She accepted the dagger as she
held her hand out, looking at him for confirmation as she tapped the line on her palm for the
cut. He nodded and slowly she traced the line.
The priest took the dagger as he took her hand, wrapping his finger around hers in a firm
clasp, she grimaced a little before the silken red and silver ribbons were being tided over their
hands.
“Kostagon pōnta sagon letagon naejot se mōris hen jēda isse ānogar, se āzma isse se perzyssy
hen arlie rhaenagon,” the priest said as Aemond accepted the chalice of fire wine. He held it
to her lips first, and she sipped it, gagging a little and he smirked as the priest ambled on
about a strong union. Then he sipped the wine as well, before the priest took it.
“Ao issi letagon naejot jēda ondoso perzys se ānogar, se kostagon aōha qogron mazverdagon
bōsa se drēje,” the priest said. “Se ondoso rholagon hen ānogar kostagon nykeā arlie ānogar
jāhor sagon āzma.”
Aemond nodded as he leant over and kissed her. Sansa kissed him back, she tasted sweet and
a bit like blood, as he slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her deep and hard. The crowds
cheered as they parted, and Sansa smiled a bit as he reached up and wiped away the blood on
her lip.
“Is it done?”
“By Valyrian standards, yes,” he murmured. “Now we just have the feasts, the bedding and
the wedding night,” he sighed as they walked through the applauding crowd.
“That we can manage,” she promised him softly as she came up, pressing her lips to his
scarred cheek.
“Weddings for Targaryens are disasters,” he murmured. “Someone always dies.”
“Weddings for Starks are not much better,” she chuckled. “I’ll keep you safe, Aemond, and
you keep me safe,” she whispered as she reached up to pat their joined hands. “That’s what
we just swore to do before your gods and mine, we will manage.”
For the first time he really didn’t feel completely alone in facing anything to come.
Frostfyre nudged between their hands and gave a wolfish smile as Sansa laughed at the beast
coming to be between them. He reached over and rubbed Frostfyre’s ears as they walked.
Daemion smirked as he applauded with his father and brothers, and nearly laughed as
Aemond seemed ready to bolt out of their attention and applause. It saddened him to think
this prince was so wary of attention but it pleased Daemion to have people seeing their future
King with his Queen. Daemion did not know how but those two would be seated on the Iron
Throne by the end of this succession crisis, and the realm was half in love with them.
“Aemond’s done well,” his father murmured. “I’ve never seen the Realm so excited for a
union.”
“Starks are endearing, when they warm up to you,” Daemion murmured. “And they’re
intimidating until they warm up to you.”
“It appears this is a love match,” Daeron chuckled as they clapped. His wife, Hazel was not
here having given birth to Daeron’s fist daughter, Daenaera. “It will endear them further with
the small folk and Great and Noble Houses of the Realm.”
“Have you spoken to Aemond about his offer?” Daemion murmured.
“Later, sons, we will look at the matter later,” Vaemond assured. They nodded as they
watched the processions around them.
He noted that the couple were well received as they walked into the hall ahead of many, the
announcement of their arrival where King Viserys was sitting. The King was ill, his face
covered by a gold plate now, and he looked weaker, but he seemed jovial as the couple were
announced. Daemion smirked at the thunderous applause they received, and he was rather
happy to see the amounts of blue; though Aemond had venomously threatened death if
anyone appeared in Green or Black, the other colors people could wear were endless, the
amount of blues were stunning.
Lord Beesbury nodded his head at Vaemond and smiled ruefully.
Whether Aemond knew it or not, he was gaining traction and support. Daemion would rather
enjoy watching the Greens and Blacks making a mockery of themselves and losing their
precious support, which they needed even if they went to civil war. If the realm would not
battle with them, or for them, then they would have to succumb to their own ambitions.
Aemond was tense as he guided Sansa up to their seats, he smiled a bit tightly as he seated
her where he would be seated, and close to his father. Aemond watched as his family soon
came to their seats, Cregan took his seat of honor beside his Northern Banners, and
surprisingly Dorne was beside the Starks. Once he had Sansa seated, Aemond moved to sit
beside his father, grimacing at the putrid scent.
“It is with great pleasure, his Grace, King Viserys, announces the union of Prince Aemond
Targaryen and Lady Sansa Stark, and for the beginning of the wedding feasts and festivities
to begin for the Royal Wedding Celebrations!” Ser Cole announced.
Aemond and Sansa slowly untied their hands now as Viserys was giggling gleefully; Aemond
doubted his father even knew it was his wedding, merely that Rhaenyra was here. Once
Aemond had Sansa and his hands untied he wrapped a gauze around her own hand. She did
the same for him and he did not pay mind to the families coming up, giving their respects to
King Viserys, instead he leaned back and let Sansa’s fingers loosely entwine with his own.
He was relieved that during the previous fortnight of festivities nothing had happened to
ignite a war, and now that the wedding ceremonies had gone smoothly, dread filled Aemond.
Now was when something was bound to happen.
Which was the part Aemond was dreading. Sansa’s fingers squeezed his hand reassuringly as
she sat there.
It was after all the families were here finally, and seated after their pleasantries, that Aemond
noted his father coming to. His mother was seated by his father, and Aegon beside her, and
on the other side of Aegon was Rhaenyra and Rhaenyra’s family. Then on the other side of
Sansa was Helaena and the rest of Aemond’s family. It was odd, but Aemond had not paid it
much attention given he did not want to be here.
Slowly a hush fell over the crowds of well wishes and delights, as Viserys rose. Aemond
wanted to get black out drunk now so he could not listen to whatever ramblings his ailing
father had to say. Sansa squeezed Aemond’s fingers again which had him glancing over at her
and she smiled softly.
“Be welcome, as we join together in celebration!... To…Tonight is only it’s beginning—as

we … we… honor, the Crown’s oldest and coldest, no, fiercest ally, House Velaryon,” King
Viserys said.
“Stark,” Aemond corrected.
“Huh?”
“House Stark,” he repeated to his father who now collapsed in his seat.
“We are here, to honor the union of the oldest house in Westeros to our own,” Rhaenyra rose
swiftly. “Reach back to well before the days of Old Valyria and the union of old Kings of
Winter to the Crown, House Targaryen. We gather to honor and celebrate the union of my
little brother, Prince Aemond, and his bride, Lady Sansa Stark, may their union be long, and
prosperous, and bring good fortune to the realm and all within it! We welcome their new
House, House Drekaúlfur amongst the Noble Houses of the North. We welcome Lord and
Lady Drekaúlfur this night! We will hope this brings new strength to the Age of Dragons!”
There was a resounding cheer as people rose to toast them. And Aemond just rubbed his
throbbing temple now.
“Let the festivities, commence!” Viserys cheered. “And after this small celebration, seven
days of festivities! To honor this union between my House!”
Aemond took a deep drink of his wine as he looked at the thundering crowd. More fucking
festivities!? Sansa smiled reassuringly at him.
It was when the beating of the drums commenced that Aemond was relieved. Now his fool
father could not say anything else, and he could escape this ghastly affair. He did not care that
his stomach was empty as he took Sansa’s hand and guided her out to the floor. He spun her
effortlessly around as she stood there. He was relieved the cloak was back at the table, and
she stood there in her gown. He hadn’t had a chance to take her all in, and now she stood
there, tall, slender, and beautiful in her flowing skirts. Sansa moved to stand across from him,
keeping her fingers delicately hooked on his own, before the song began. It was rather easy to
fall into step with her, the dance was one for the dragons, but Sansa did it with a Northern
flare as she seemed to command the floor. She moved with the ease and grace of a wolf, and
he was pleased. For akin to the first night of festivities, this dance was very fluid and easy,
Sansa was an enjoyable partner.
“We will survive the feast, and we will go away for the evening, and not be seen for the rest
of the festivities he just promised,” she assured softly.
“They will think I have captured you,” he murmured as she came near him.
“It would not be the first tale of a maiden locked away by a dragon to be sung,” she chuckled
with a smile on her lips.
“Mmm, or a wolf harassing a dragon,” he shrugged as they moved.
“No one would dare to think I stole a dragon,” Sansa mused.
“They don’t know you,” he muttered.
Now she laughed, her head falling back as he spun around her with ease. The people were
clapping as she caught his shoulders and smiled.
“I’m sorry for the humiliations of tonight,” he muttered as he looked at his father.
“Aemond, this is fine,” she promised.

“He never cared before, it should not be surprising now,” Aemond muttered.
“Aemond, I am not offended, we are married, he is no longer a part of our lives, we will leave
King’s Landing and have our own stronghold, and we will build a life without him,” she
promised. He nodded as they were surrounded by the crowds now. Sansa smiled as she came
up and pressed another kiss to his lips as the songs finished. “We are secure, Aemond, and
wed, he’s old and dying, leave him in peace.”
“I apologize for my family,” he murmured.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
Chapter End Notes
"Sir īlon rhaenagon, isse se drēje ways hen uēpa valyrio gō se perzyssy, naejot
maghagon bisa vala se ābra hēnkirī isse dīnilūks…Se ondoso ānogar…” -- “Now we
begin, in the true customs of Old Valyria before the gods, to bring this man and woman
together in matrimony… And by blood…”
“Kostagon pōja prūmi sagon letagon naejot se mōris hen jēda." -- “May their hearts be
forever bound."
“Kostagon pōnta sagon letagon naejot se mōris hen jēda isse ānogar, se āzma isse se
perzyssy hen arlie rhaenagon." -- “May these families be bound in blood, and forged in
the fires of new beginnings."
“Ao issi letagon naejot jēda ondoso perzys se ānogar, se kostagon aōha qogron
mazverdagon bōsa se drēje. Se ondoso rholagon hen ānogar kostagon nykeā arlie ānogar
jāhor sagon āzma.” -- “You are wed by blood and fire, and may your line continue long
and true. And by sealing this union, a new blood will be forged.”
I hope this wedding turned out better than the previous ones even with the recycled bits!
Thank you to DeerShifter for everything, and I'm sorry for the last time I posted this
chapter and deleted it, your reviews are so appreciated, especially for all the typo point
outs which I'll be attending to on Monday. Thank you everyone, and I hope you enjoy,
again! =)
Chapter 9
Chapter Notes
Vaemond clapped as Aemond led his bride out, the elegance of the pair did enrapture the
Court, the guests, the servants, it was plain to see their natural charisma which had been on
full display for the entire fortnight of activities they had garnered attention, but now they had
the Court enraptured with them. It was rather lovely to see.
Daeron and Daemion had approached Vaemond with Aemond’s proposal for Vaemond’s
branch of House Velaryon to move North, and help Aemond build a city and port in the
North, and it had been too great of a surprise that Vaemond had not known how to
immediately respond. His immediate response was naturally, yes, but he had to actually
discuss the matter with his sons.
Moving North would mean abandoning their ancestral home and House of Driftmark and
leaving for something new. But the more Vaemond thought about it, the better opportunity
this was than it would not be. Being presented with an opportunity to build a port and city in
the North was an opportunity to rebuild an aspect of Valyria which Westeros had never
permitted. Vaemond had the tapestries, the murals, remnants of Old Valyria to be used
architecturally, and then there was the matter of running a city in the North. White Harbor
was one of the few cities Westeros had, and it was prosperous to a point where House
Manderly had a seat on Cregan’s Winter Council, they were a Great House of the North.
There were opportunities in the North which would never happen in the South.
There was also a need to look at the North’s military might, they were prepared for almost all
manners of war, but the sea. This also offered Vaemond an opportunity to assist in structuring
a formal navy for the North, which was something to examine. The North did not have a
navy of any manner, and given how disciplined and structured their military was, it was a true
shame they didn’t have a navy, this presented Vaemond with another opportunity which he
didn’t think Aemond was aware of. It would be a matter to discuss with Cregan, as well as
another reason to solidify their relationship so as he might have a genuine reason for
Daenaera to be bound to Cregan that was reassuring and true, not just a way to protect his
granddaughter.
However, moving their House would also mean examining other members of Vaemond’s
House.
His nephews from his deceased brother Aerymion; Malentine, Rhogar, Gahaeraenar,
Taegarys, and Vaevon; would also have to be considered. Vaemond had never openly been
supporting his nephews, all of whom were in the Velaryon navy since his brother’s untimely
passing, but he had also never turned his nephews away. Malentine, Rhogar, and Gahaeraenar
were all captains of their own ships, and Vaemond had been invited to Malentine’s own
wedding, and Rhogar was speaking to Vaemond about a match he was interested in. Taegarys
and Vaevon were first mates on ships in the navy. All five of them had good skills and been
underutilized in Corlys’ quest for power. There were also Vaemond’s own sons to consider,
Daeron had a wife, and child, and Daemion was of the proper age.
There were other Valyrian families who were minor and scattered through Driftmark who
might also be interested in accompanying Vaemond if he went North; the Taendaerys,
Ragaenor, Malnaeros, Valiar, Qartalos, Daernareon, Celennis, Caltigar, Baeleneos, and
Rahiar, all minor families from Old Valyria who had followed the Velaryons to Westeros, but
also minor families on Driftmark who held very little Court power or sway on Corlys’ own
Council, and they might want to leave with Vaemond. This would be an opportunity to do so,
and it would be an opportunity for Valyrian families to speak up and hold power in a city or
port they could build, and learn to be with the Northerners. There would also be opportunities
with the Night’s Watch for second and third sons interested in making names for themselves,
and bringing honor to their families.
Whether Aemond knew it or not, he had presented Vaemond with a unique opportunity,
which many other minor families would be interested in. But given the North’s disdain for
outsiders, and their general dispositions, it would have to be handled with care. Vaemond
would have to speak with the other families on Driftmark about if they were even interested
in accompanying him and utilizing their knowledge to aid Aemond.
Daemion of course had accepted the offer to be Aemond’s steward, Vaemond would’ve
thrashed his son if he turned the opportunity down.
Yes, Vaemond was going to go North, he would get his affairs in order, move his business,
and his House North, he would speak to his nephews, and he would speak to Cregan about
bringing other Valyrian families with him. The Northern culture and climate would be a
shock, but he was certain they could build a true life there, and a true Valyrian stronghold, as
well as get along with the Northerners. He was sure this was a right move, and given the
North had sheltered and preserved House Manderly, it spoke highly to their tolerance and
compassion, as well as their memory.
“I know what you seek brother,” Vaemond raised a brow as he turned to look beside him.
Corlys stood there, clapping as the couple finished their dance. “It will not work.”
“And what is it I seek?” Vaemond asked in an amused, bland tone.
“I feel you pulling from my House brother,” Corlys started. “But your pull to Prince Aemond,
it will not end in your favor. He possesses no claim to the Throne, no power of influence, and
your business is with Lord Stark, not Prince Aemond. Performing business deals in my
House name without my consent will not be tolerated, brother, we have built this House
together. I will have those contracts.”
“Mmm, brother, that was always your problem, personal ambition blinds you,” Vaemond
started. “My affairs are my own, attend to your own, for soon you will be facing the
consequences of your actions.”
“You are a part of this House!” Corlys hissed.

“You have not cared about this House in well over twenty-five years when you decided to
take a personal slight to losing a Throne which was never yours to possess by a decision from
the Great Council, a decision which this Realm has suffered from,” Vaemond stated.
Corlys was quiet for a long moment, and Vaemond watched as Aemond danced again with
Sansa. He smiled seeing Daemion being dragged out onto the floor by one of the Norrey
daughters, from this distance he could not tell which. And he spotted Rody dancing with
Princess Helaena, which was an amusing combination given the children also ran with Rody
and Helaena. Aegon was scowling where he sat.
“You seek to make him King,” Corlys said suddenly. Vaemond fought everything in him to
not tense at such a declaration. “He will never be King.”
“You think I am behind this?” Vaemond asked in amusement. He was, he had started quietly
speaking with other Nobles who were impressed with Aemond, he was careful not to connect
with any of the Great Houses beyond the Starks, because the Starks were his business
partners, but other than them, he had spoken quietly to several Houses which felt neglected
with the Crown’s growing division and they had taken interests in Aemond’s activities. Most
of those Houses were friends of Daemion’s, or Daeron’s, but also business associates
Vaemond had worked with in the past, overall, they were very interested in Prince Aemond.
“I can assure you, you know nothing of my affairs, my family, but I would never betray the
Realm in the manner you are proclaiming for my own self-interests and pride.”
“Then you support Crown Princess Rhaenyra?” Corlys questioned.
“This very match was her arrangement,” Vaemond smiled a bit then. “Do you not agree with
your gooddaughter’s arrangements?”
“Whatever game you are playing, do not,” Corlys warned.
“I play no game, brother, however, give the couple your well wishes, or you insult your
gooddaughter’s matchmaking skills,” Vaemond said as he walked away from his brother. He
saw the Princess of Dorne walking into the dance on the arm of a Northerner, who looked a
bit surly and scowling at Cregan who was leaning back in his seat. Sansa and Aemond were
dancing again, to a new song, and again, were center stage for this affair.
It was like watching fire and ice dance around one another, Aemond’s cold severity, and
Sansa’s warm animation, it was endearing. Aemond seemed to soften slightly around Sansa
as well, and she was always seeking Aemond out.
The pair appealed to people, the smallfolk, Noble Houses, Great Houses, they were a very
appealing pair. The pair were unlike the other options for the succession as well, which added
to their appeal, they were clearly here to help the Realm, or at the very least take an active
interest in it.
Rhaenyra and Daemon were watching everyone with smug expressions, both looking like
cats who had eaten the canary. Queen Alicent, Ser Otto and the other Greens and Hightowers
were scowling, looking like they’d eaten something sour. The younger Blacks looked
uncertain, while the other Greens were looking excited; their brother had just gotten married.
Cregan was watching the affair with a soft expression on his face.
“Lord Stark!” Vaemond smiled as he walked over.
“Ser Vaemond,” Cregan greeted. “Ser Vaemond Velaryon, this is my goodfather, Lord Lucan
Norrey, Lord Montrose Mormont, Lord Roderick Dustin, Lord Karlon Karstark, Lord Harkon
Umber, Lord Domeron Cerwyn, and Lord Hallis Hornwood,” Cregan introduced.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Vaemond said. “Formally, of course, I hope our trades have
been going well.”
“Very,” Lord Norrey said.
“That is good to hear, I do believe congratulations are in order,” Vaemond said.
“It will be a strong union,” Lord Mormont said in a gruff tone.
“It will be a prosperous alliance,” predicted Lord Karstark. “It has been a long time since the
Starks have had another cadet branch, it will do us well to have more Starks in the North.”
“And Queenscrown settled again,” Lord Norrey said with a smile. “Us Norreys look forward
to returning to our ancestral grounds!”
“Yes,” Vaemond smiled. “It is always a pleasure to return to one’s home.”
“Aemond told us he would like for your house to join his lands and be vassals, and we would
be pleased to discuss some of those matters,” Cregan said.
“After the celebrations,” Vaemond chuckled.
“Is that your lad dancing with my daughter?” Lord Norrey asked.
“Yes,” Vaemond answered. “Daemion is very fond of your daughters.”
“Hmphf…” Lord Norrey grunted. “Remind the lad, I know how to use an axe and his hands
are not to be wandering over them! And if he goes near a godswood or weirwood without my
permission and blessing, I will be using it!”
“Don’t threaten our trade partners, Lucan, it’s bad for the North,” Cregan stated.
“It’s bad enough I had one wildling daughter abduct her groom, I won’t let the other two
make it a tradition!”
“I will speak with Daemion, he won’t dishonor your daughter,” Vaemond assured.
“I’m more worried my daughter will dishonor him,” Lucan grimaced. “Gods gave me strong
willed, hardheaded daughters who are more stubborn than their mother,” he sighed.
Vaemond chuckled in amusement. “It is a good thing, I believe.”

“It is, but if you don’t want your lad marrying a Northerner, warn him away,” Lucan sighed.
“You’re never going to get them off your hands if you don’t marry them off, my friend,” Lord
Umber mused.
“Aye, but abducting grooms will not be a new tradition, none of us will ever get our
daughters married off because the lads be scared shitless to go near them!” Lucan huffed.
“On second thought, now that I’ve said it, that does not sound like a bad idea!”
“No, I am still trying to get Rody married, we will not be scaring the lads away from the
lasses!” Lord Dustin barked.
Helaena giggled as she danced with Rody, who had Maelor on his shoulders, and one hand
holding Jaehaerys’, the other holding Jaehaera’s as they were moving in a circle, just
giggling. She had never had so much fun, she laughed as the song ended and found herself
clapping.
“That was fun!” she laughed.
“AGAIN!” Maelor shouted holding onto Rody’s hair tightly.
“Absolutely not, next dance is for your mother, you three go play with your uncle,” he huffed
as he smoothly handed her children off to Daeron. She watched her brother take the kids and
go racing to the games other children were playing.
“Are you certain…” she started.
“Hel, it’s fine, it’s meant to be fun, besides, your brother is now family,” he chuckled as she
took his hand and let him lead her to where the rows were forming. She found herself settled
beside Aemond, who smiled a little at her, and she smiled broadly as the formal Southron
music started for a dance. The Dance of Dragons, she had never actively gotten to do this
Dance, Rody rolled his eyes, as he hastily started to follow suit and she laughed.
He was not graceful, or good at the dance, but she was having fun!
At her own wedding, which had been a rather solemn affair, she had been keenly aware of
how miserable this union would be, and though Aemond had tried to make it fun for her,
there had been nothing to be done to salvage her own wedding. The Northerners though
seemed intent on not permitting this affair to be dismal. She smiled as Sansa caught her hands
and they spun in a circle, she squealed a little when she was about to trip from spinning too
much and felt hands catch her, she found herself looking at Aemond.
“This is most fun,” she informed her brother.
“Are you pleased?” he asked softly as they were partnered for this interval.
“Yes!” she smiled. “Are you pleased, brother?”
“It will be a good match,” he said levelly.

“Do not be disheartened brother,” she whispered as they circled the other in the dance.
“Mother will follow her heart.”
“It is too late, Hel,” he whispered.
“It is never too late, for a mother’s love knows no true bounds,” she murmured. “Seven
tremble, let the ancient wolves hunt, as the Night settles before the break of a new dawn. You
will be happy, Aemond, and you will find more than you sought after.”
“Thank you, Hel,” he smiled.
She grinned as she spun around to face Rody again.
“Having fun, dragoness?” Rody asked.
“I have never had such fun,” she declared as she smiled.
“That’s a shame, pretty dragons should always have fun!”
She smiled as Rody caught her waist before she tripped, she rather liked his eyes, she
decided, he was so alive in the eyes.
“I believe you to be the best friend I have ever had,” she murmured as he set her down.
“May I have this dance?” a voice said, and she stopped laughing with her friends as she
turned to look at him. Prince Lucerys, he smiled smug and handsome with wild brown waves
of hair, and big brown eyes.
“If I was the last girl alive, and you the last boy, I still would not dare to dance with you,
Prince Lucerys,” Sara stated.
“You… you can’t talk to me like that! I am a Prince!” he snapped.
“I do not give respect to boys who attempt to humiliate and belittle my sister, I do not care if
you are a King, you intended to hurt my sister on her wedding day,” Sara stated. She had
heard, from her brother, about the Pink Dread incident, or rather the intentions, it was why
Princess Rhaenyra had not been in attendance to Sansa this day. Sara knew Rhaena and Baela
had tried to cover for their mother’s absence, but they had been talking about what Lucerys
had done between themselves, and Sara had put what she knew from Cregan together with
what she heard, and she was reminding herself she could not pummel a Prince.
“I will be Lord of Driftmark, I outrank you!” he stated with finality.
“Prince Lucerys, I would like you to think, because I was born a bastard, I do not care about
your rank; I was raised, regardless of my rank, to respect my people, whom I represent,” Sara
countered. “I do not care if you are King or pauper, you are a brat, and I do not like you.”
“You are nothing,” he hissed.

“You’re right, I am nothing, I will marry to strengthen House Stark’s ties to the North and be
nothing in the grand course of history, and I am comfortable with this fate for it is more than
most receive. My marriage will be noted for House Stark, and my sons will be raised to take
over their father’s House and lands, and I will live as a proper Northern Lady and raise my
daughters as such too, and I will be forgotten in time to the grand schemes of history. But I
will not have disgraced my House or my husband’s,” she countered. “You, Prince Lucerys,
will be remembered for starting a war at the rate you seek attention, and it will end in a
bloodbath.”
“I will not!”
“Oh really?” Sara asked blandly. “Then… let us think about little situation you will possibly
find yourself in for your grandsire will not live forever, I would be surprised if he survives
another year, maybe two, with his health as it is. Now, let us think about when he has died.
Princess Rhaenyra is still declared heir, but many of Westeros will not follow her because she
is an inferior candidate with little time in King’s Landing and an expressed lack of
knowledge regarding the goings-on of the Realm. They will crown Prince Aegon, and declare
him King, and they will do so in a sept, before the Seven, the gods this region acknowledges,
and thus the Realm will find itself torn between your mother, and your uncle.
“Now, this will lead to war, so your family, and the Greens will need allies, so neutral Houses
will have to be approached. Now, let us say the Greens sent Prince Aemond, my new
goodbrother, in their stead, and your mother sends you in hers, and you two meet, because
you two can not get along, and you are insistent upon humiliating and hurting your uncle at
every turning point of his life, and he rides Vhagar, the largest dragon in the world, and you
two have a deep, personal, volatile history, tell me, how do you see any diplomatic meeting
ending?” she inquired.
Sara had paid attention to much of Cregan and Sansa’s conversations with Jon after
discovering when Sansa and Jon were from, but it put in perspective how volatile the South
was becoming because of this succession crisis impending. And knowing everything Sansa
had said about the Dance of the Dragons, it terrified Sara to think it was because of bad blood
between family members who couldn’t see how their relationships impacted the Realm.
Lucerys was standing there looking very pale now, his eyes horrified.
“I believe it will end with Vhagar eating you and Arrax, a befitting fate, don’t you think?
After all, you have intentionally humiliated my goodbrother at every turn, your final insult
will be to push him too far, so he becomes a kinslayer, and you, nothing more than a martyr
for your mother’s cause. Your actions from before now, will ignite a civil war which will
plunge the Realm into chaos and a bloodbath, and history will not know because the South
will remember you fondly,” Sara finished. “But I will know, and the North, Prince Lucerys
Velaryon drove his uncle, and my good brother to kinslaying, all because he couldn’t be
bothered to grow up and be a proper Lord and Prince of the Realm and comprehend his
actions hold consequences.”
“I… I never thought about it like that.”

“Because you do not think. I do. And I would sooner throw myself from a tower than ever
sully my hands with the likes of a bratty prince, who intended to harm my sister and
goodbrother on their wedding. No, I will not dance with you, excuse me,” Sara brushed past
him then as she went to dance with one of the Northern squires. She smiled catching
Eddard’s arm for a dance, Eddard Umber smiled as he was hauled after her, he was a big lad
towering over near everyone, and thick as a tree, she giggled as he spun her around. She
grinned as he lifted her with ease, and laughed as Sansa gave her a smile.
Aliandra walked up to Lord Stark then, who was clapping as the dance finished and she
smiled at him. He gave her a wary look and she nearly skipped in delight.
“You missed,” he stated as he leaned on the post, folding his arms.
“I never miss,” she promised. “But, I have come to request a dance of you this night.”
“I do not dance with anyone but my sisters,” he stated as he looked out at the crowd.
“Mmm, but I must insist,” she purred.
“Go away,” he ordered.
“I rather like your insufferable company,” she informed him.
“Princess, this is inappropriate,” he said it softly, and she saw the sadness in his eyes. She
frowned.
“I heard about your wife,” she said softly. He stiffened entirely and she looked at him. “I
apologize if I am to overstep, but the Dornish do not dwell in grief, we enjoy living life to the
fullest for the dead would not want us to join them just yet. I apologize if my actions have
been forward, I do find you interesting and handsome, I did not mean to overstep if you are
still grieving your wife. I have heard about her from the other Northerners and it sound like
she was an amazing woman, I am sorry for your loss. We Dornish do not dwell grief long,
though it might linger.”
“It does not lessen pain,” he murmured.
“No, it does not,” she whispered in agreement. “But, I would like for us, to be at the very
least, friends, as we do have trade and I have rather enjoyed our week of teasing,” she smiled.
“You are tolerable, when you are not being a brat,” Cregan stated and gave her a raised brow.
“You offended my abilities, brats are children with no skill or abilities, and I am not a brat!”
she huffed.
“Then I apologize for that offense, but do not think to demand something from someone
princess,” Cregan stated. “It is rude, and insulting, and offensive,” he explained.
“How? I am a Princess of Dorne, why should I ask for what is mine?”

“Because it is never yours, it is entrusted to you,” Cregan countered. “Leading, ruling, power,
it is entrusted you by those following you. Yes, as leaders we have to lower ourselves to pick
up this power, and it will corrupt the best of us, and attract the worst of us, but regardless, we
are entrusted with that power to protect and represent our people, it is not our power, it is
theirs,” he explained.
She frowned as she mulled those words over and glanced up at him. He was watching the
people again, and he smiled a bit at his sister.
“I had never thought about it like that,” she admitted. “I was born to lead, and I have not
thought about it in relations to the people I am to lead, for I lead,” she shrugged.
“It is an honor to lead, but it is only made possible because our people trust us to lead,” he
said softly.
“I understand,” she nodded. “Then, forgive my blunder, Lord Stark, it appears we have not
gotten off on the right foot, as we Dornish say.”
“It appears we have not,” he agreed.
“I would still love to learn about the North, and the Glass Gardens,” she said.
He nodded. “I would like to learn about water gardening, and maximizing our space for
crops,” he admitted.
“Then… I believe we have much to learn about from each other,” she admitted. “But, forgive
me, I request a dance, and you cannot refuse, in Dorne it would be a shame to refuse, and you
would not be considered a proper man for refusing.”
“I think you’ve made that up,” he snorted.
“No, I’m serious, and I would like for us to be friends, we have sparred often enough, a dance
is no different than a spar, Lord Stark.”
“It is very different, princess!” he huffed.
“Come along!” she grabbed his elbow before he could refuse. She smiled as he stumbled
after her. For a week she had been amused and vexed by this man, and she had been trying to
impress him, but nothing seemed to impress him. If she could not impress him in a fight, then
she would impress him in a dance, for her grace and skill was second to none and he would
see she was not a child or brat!
She turned before him, and for the first time ever, she saw Lord Stark look uncomfortable,
and she smiled as she moved in the fluid moves of a Dornish dance, her hips swiveled and
swung as she held her head steady, her fluid grace was irrefutable. Slowly she moved,
keeping time with the Northern music, Cregan seemed less certain in the dance as she added
the Dornish touch. She giggled as she twirled around him, and he seemed confused.
“Relax, Lord Stark, it is nothing but a dance!” she giggled at his wary glare.
“I do not like dancing,” he grounded out.
“It is like a fight, a spar, just move with your partner,” she mused. “Did you not dance with
your wife?”
“I did, but Arra knew I could not dance,” he admitted.
“Mmm… then I will teach you!” she decided.
He looked horrified as she grabbed his hand, and she nearly laughed at the expression. She
made him spin her, and then she started telling him which foot to move, keeping a firm grip
on his hand so none of the Westerosi Ladies could steal the Northerner from her. She would
get this wolf to dance, and she would get him to be her friend, he nearly stepped on her toes
which had her nimbly skipping out of the way. He grimaced as he nearly tripped her again,
and she chuckled as she caught his hand.
“You dance well,” she decided.
“This is ridiculous,” he grumbled.
“But you are having fun, do not deny it!” She purred, she saw a glint in his eye and it was a
hint of wildness.
Daemon watched the wedding, keeping a close eye on Aegon who was brought out of his
rooms for this affair. It had been a point that the Greens had made, and Daemon conceded not
having Aegon round would be suspicious until House Targaryen decided on a course of
action it would be unwise to isolate and hide Aegon. But it was infuriating to Daemon to
have the Prince out in the open.
The fool was scowling as he drank, and looked ready to throw a fit. He sat between Rhaenyra
and Alicent, because Rhaenyra did not trust the Greens enough to believe they’d actually
hold Aegon in the Red Keep. He did not disagree with this assessment. He turned to see his
daughters dancing with their betrotheds as Aemond and Sansa started walking around the
Court and speaking to people. Daemon would admit this ceremony was larger than he was
anticipating, but for the first time in his memory, since his grandfather’s reign, the entire
Court was not openly divided. It was startling, Aemond and Sansa intermingled with Greens
and Blacks with ease, and it had Daemon surprised. He hadn’t thought House Targaryen
would be this united since his grandmother’s death. He got up and offered Rhaenyra his hand
so they might dance.
She took his hand with a relieved smile and Daemon motioned for Allar Bywater to watch
Aegon as he walked with Rhaenyra for a dance.
“Are you certain it is wise,” she whispered.
“You and my child need to celebrate this evening, as the Greens wallow in their
discontentment,” he smiled as he spun his wife out onto the floor for another dance of the
dragons. They had always indulged in this dance since their wedding, it reminded him of
when he should’ve stolen her, before Harwin Strong grabbed her over his shoulder and
stalked off.
“What are we to do?” she whispered.
“For now, there is nothing to be done, we will enjoy this wedding, and after Aemond is
campaigning, we will decide what to do about Aegon,” Daemon stated. Gelding Aegon was a
serious possibility, but it would have to be done root and stem, and monitored quietly to keep
his perversions in check. What Daemon had learnt about Aegon’s perversions from his
contacts in Flea Bottom made it worse than what Aemond had presented, which meant
Aemond didn’t know the full scope of his elder brother’s actions.
But there was no doubt in Daemon’s mind that if Mysaria knew about Aegon’s perversions
then so did Lord Larys, and Ser Otto, which made the question why they permitted the
perversions. It unsettled Daemon greatly that they had permitted this. It had to be for a
reason, because even when Daemon wracked his brain to remember his uncles and aunts, he
couldn’t remember these perversions in his family. Even Maegor, for as horrific as he could
be, was not what Aegon was.
Alicent leaned back as she watched her son dance with that Northern heathen, and her heart
broke as she trembled in fury. Rhaenyra had won this round and she despised she could not
move against the North without the threat of war upon their head. She watched as Aemond
moved with Sansa, and as the crowds came around. Fury had her trembling as she watched,
and Cole came around to her. Leaning back, she looked at Rhaenyra and Daemon and wanted
to scream at them for daring to look so victorious. They were not welcomed here, and she
could not believe they had matched her son to a Black.
This would not stand. Getting up she walked out to the floor and saw Aemond and Sansa step
apart. Sansa smiled softly to her Aemond, and Aemond seemed content at this moment.
Aemond walked past her though without offering a dance as he went to speak with Ser
Vaemond, and Alicent trembled in fury.
“Dance with me…” she ordered as she grabbed Aegon’s hand.
Alicent smiled at her son as they fell into step together.
“I don’t want to,” Aegon protested.
“Dance with your mother,” she repeated.
Cregan smiled as he rose, catching his sister’s hands as she came over and smiled. He kissed
her cheek as he pulled her close.
“Oh, it is good this has finally happened,” Cregan chuckled as he drew back.
“Thank you.”
“They smile upon you, Sansa, as I do,” he murmured. He knew she was missing her family
on this day, and he had hopes for this wedding to be rather good for her, granted her record
with weddings was not good in her eyes, she made her history clear with him.
“Are you sure?” she asked as they stood there.
“Gods brought you here for a reason, Sansa, it is not known yet, but you do change things,”
he assured.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he nodded.
“I saw the Dornish Princess got a dance with my brother, and she scandalized the Court with
her seductive hips,” Sansa mused.
“It was not my idea, I don’t dance,” Cregan started.
“Could I get, a simple dance, from my brother, I’ve never gotten to dance with my family on
joyous occasions,” she explained.
“Anything you want today,” he promised as he let her grab his hand and they laughed as she
pulled him into the center for a simple Northern dance. He laughed a little at her jumping out
of his steps when he almost stepped on her toes, she was giggling as she kept her skirts in
hand and moved out of his way. Cregan caught her waist as he spun her around and set her
down. He glanced as Aemond approached.
“Don’t let anyone start the bedding ceremony, Cregan, I don’t… Aemond only, please,” she
whispered.
“No one will touch you, I’ll spread the word to the North,” Cregan promised as he kissed her
brow.
Sansa was surprised as the festivities wore on, it was great fun, and so many were wishing
her well with the marriage. She laughed, declining drinks and dances, but she always had
someone pulling on her hand. It was hours of laughter and good wishes, which was delightful
as she spun around from one man to another. She danced with Lord Beesbury, Ser Vaemond,
Prince Daemon, Prince Jacaeyrs, Prince Lucerys, Prince Joffrey, Prince Daeron, Rody,
Domeron, Bryan, and lords she could not remember ever encountering before but who
wanted her to dance with them. It was more fun and merrier than any wedding Sansa had
attended, including her own two. Cregan and Arra’s wedding had been swift and no nonsense
as Cregan established himself as Lord of Winterfell, and Sansa had not enjoyed any other
weddings really.
This was the first, truly enjoyable wedding she’d ever attended, and even as her own, it was
fun! No one died, no fights broke out, and everyone seemed in merry spirits. She was uneasy
about that, and then the hour grew late when Baratheon stood, laughing, deep in his cups.
Sansa had been dancing with Prince Daeron, when hands grabbed her, she yelped as she was
then roughly jerked out of the hands.
“The hour has grown late! Time for the bedding!” Baratheon laughed as meaty hands tugged
on her dress. She screamed bloody murder when the hands were pulling on her dress, and
fear welled up. There was a roar, and ferocious snarls as she stood there terrified, Baratheon
was thrown back and she found herself pressed into Aemond’s chest.
“Do Not Touch Her.” Aemond roared. The wolves snarled, and Sansa felt the festivities
dropped and the festive mood gone. Sansa’s heart was slamming hard in her chest as she
clutched Aemond’s shirt, looking around wildly as it appeared the Northerners were forming
a wide circle around her and Aemond.
“The hour has grown late, I believe Lady Sansa and I will retire now,” Aemond stated.
“Frostfyre…” she whispered as Aemond scooped her up. Draping her arms around his
shoulders she hid against his throat as she trembled.
“You’re safe, Sansa,” Aemond murmured as they walked.
She whimpered as she hid against him.
“I did not expect the bedding to be so sudden, otherwise we would not have been there,”
Aemond murmured as they swept through the halls.
She nodded against his neck as he walked them through the keep. She couldn’t relax as she
hugged Aemond tightly. She just closed her eyes, trying to calm her beating heart; Aemond
was safe, he was, he would not harm her, she knew that, and she did not feel scared of him at
this moment, he was safe. Inhaling Aemond’s scent she just focused on feeling the security of
being safe.
He was quietly watching his wife, she was enjoying herself immensely; it was odd, to think
of her as his wife, but still, they were husband and wife. Sipping a goblet of wine, Aemond
enjoyed the reprieve from the dancing and being the center of attention as he watched Sansa
dancing. She was enjoying herself immensely as she moved with ease from partner to partner.
“You bored with your wife already?” a voice inquired. He raised his brow as he turned to
look at the woman. He swallowed his now bitter wine as he set the goblet aside, Cassandra
Baratheon smiled a bit at him.
“No.”
“Then why are you over here, instead of over there with her?” Cassandra inquired playfully,
he tried to step back when she reached to touch him, only to find himself pressed against a
wall. She caught the lapel of his riding coat, and he tensed. “Then again, the hour is late…”
she mused.
“What do you want?” he asked as she stepped nearer.

“No reason you cannot enjoy yourself a little before being wed to a Northerner, I’ve heard
they’re as frigid as that wasteland they call a home,” she mused, her face was really close to
his, and he caught her hands as she pushed his jacket open, her fingers catching his vest.
“I would rather not,” he stated firmly. “It would be an insult and dishonorable to my wife.”
“She’ll never have to know,” she purred. He hit his head pulling away from her approaching
lips. Pushing her back firmly he kept her at an arm’s length.
“I said, no.”
“Oh, my prince,” she mused.
“Lady Baratheon, this is improper, and I am married,” Aemond stated firmly.
“Plenty of men are married, it doesn’t stop the passions,” she promised as she took him by
surprise, stepping out of his grasp, her fingers hooking on his belt as she started tugging on it.
Aemond did not know what to do in this situation, did he push her away or…? There was a
scream as people seemed to move to the dance floor. Fuck! The bedding ceremony! Women
were coming towards him, and Cassandra smiled giddily, he snarled as he pushed the
Baratheon against the wall, she yelped as she now seemed to grasp, she was in danger.
“I said no!” he snarled as he shoved her hard into the wall, as he pushed through the women,
and saw Sansa being manhandled by a Baratheon brute. He caught his wife just as Cregan
and his banners appeared with the full wrath of war on their side.
Getting Sansa to his room was a challenge, but the guard dissuaded people from trying to
grab him or Sansa. Once they were in his rooms, Aemond handed Sansa off to her sister and
the Ladies when they made it to his apartments, where he was surprised to see Helaena’s
Ladies in Waiting actively stripping his bedding and remaking his bed with silken sheets.
Aemond didn’t get a chance to protest as Cassandra grabbed him and pushed him behind a
changing screen and undid his coat and vest before he could protest, but he managed to save
himself when she had opened his shirt.
“Don’t touch me!” he snarled as he finally caught her to cut her off as he captured her nimble
fingers on his drawstrings of his pants.
“It’s tradition, my prince, to ensure the groom is ready for his bride!” she said as gave him
another sultry look.
“Touch me again, and I’ll cut off your hands,” he snarled. She looked offended as he pushed
her aside and waited until she was gone before he took off his boots and socks. Walking out,
he was unsurprised to see Maelor, Jaehaerys, Jaehaera bouncing on the bed playfully, he was
surprised to see Aegon the Younger there, and Viserys, he glanced to the side to see his
sister’s family there, and he tensed. Aemond tensed as he noticed now there were many other
witnesses, he wanted to disappear. Sansa reappeared, her hair free of the flowers, pearls,
gems, and other decorations, she was in nothing but a chemise, and looked very shy then.
Jaehaerys laughed as he launched himself at Aemond. Aemond grunted as he caught his
nephew.
“Mother said we should jump on the bed!” Jaehaerys giggled. Maelor laughed and Jaehaera
squealed as she fell on the bed.
“So you should,” Aemond agreed.
“And they put gold coins in the bed, but that can’t be nice!” Jaehaerys wrinkled his nose in
distaste at that one.
“It isn’t,” Helaena chuckled.
“Come on, there will be many more children from this bed,” Rhaenyra predicted.
“Why?” Aegon the Younger asked.
“Silly, babies come from mother’s bellies, mothers get babies in bed, everyone knows this!”
Jaehaera declared.
“Correct,” Helaena blurted out desperately. Daemon laughed, Rhaenyra was biting her lip in
amusement as she rubbed her own growing swell, while the older children were snickering.
Rhaenyra and Daemon were the ones to turn down the bed, though the Norrey sisters helped
Sansa into the bed, and Aemond reluctantly sat beside her as they had the blankets pulled
over them.
“May the Gods smile upon this union and bring you much fortune and many children!” the
priest started in the common tongue.
“For the fruits of your labor to be sweet, and strong,” the priest gave then a goblet of wine.
Aemond watched as Sansa drank it all, and he downed his own serving in one gulp, feeling it
burn his throat as he watched everyone finally leave them.
Once alone, Aemond bolted out of the bed, and sat beside the fire, letting his head fall back
as he sighed tiredly.
Sansa’s heart was pounding as she lay on the bed, and she looked up at Aemond who had
gone to sit in a chair beside the fire. She fell back on the bed and sighed in relief as she lay
there for a long moment, her hand resting on her stomach which had twisted into knots.
Slowly she sat up and got off the bed to sit in the chair across from him. Aemond glanced at
her, and she smiled as she arranged her skirts. They both sat there for a long time in silence as
she watched the fires dancing.
“I do not know what we do now,” Aemond admitted.
She chuckled as she lifted her gaze to his and he was watching her warily. “Neither do I,” she
assured with a soft laugh. Aemond sagged in his seat with a self-depreciating laugh. “We
appear to be at a stalemate.”
He laughed now and she giggled as she looked at the flames.
“We are very bad at this.”
“Very,” she agreed. “How does this normally start?”
Aemond looked uncomfortable now as he looked at the flames. “Seduction I suppose…”
“Aemond… I will not laugh, or anything, but in your experiences… If you have ones in
which you were… willingly engaging, what do you do?” she asked. He gave her a wary look
and she bit her lip.
“What happened to you?” Aemond countered.
She looked at the fires now, Sansa knew this was a test for Aemond. ‘You tell me yours and
I’ll tell you mine’, tit for tat, even if the deal was unspoken. It would be a show of trust to
confide in him what had happened, and he would take it that way, but she was not entirely
sure if he’d share his experiences. Still, Aemond did trust her to a degree, he had confessed to
unpleasantness and abuses of his sibling and nephews to her, and how discouraged he was in
life that at ten summers he was willing to die if he couldn’t have a dragon. The implications
though were that he had other abuses and experiences which he didn’t trust her with, yet,
saddened her. However, she was on equal footing with Aemond, she had her own secrets and
abuses she had survived, and she had confided those tortures to Cregan, even Cregan did not
know everything about her.
Taking a steadying breath Sansa bit her lip.
“He bought me, he was a bastard of a house of no importance, and he bought me, or rather I
was sold to him. I believe I told you about my mentor, the one who taught me to play the
game of thrones; I never trusted my mentor, but at the time it was him or no one and I could
not survive alone; or so I thought. My mentor sold me to him, this bastard of a house of no
importance, and my mentor knew what a sadistic bastard this Snow was. Everyone knew, it
was hard not to know, he was rumored and feared for his vicious, impulsive, and cruel
tendencies; I think he got some sort of gratification out of being cruel… My mentor sold me
to this bastard though, and he ‘married’ me, you’ve witnessed Northern weddings now, and
know they’re swift, efficient affairs, we do not… they aren’t frivolous, and this can be abused
by some. The bastard dragged me before the weirwood and declared us married, I never
consented, so I do not believe it counts, and I refuse to think of him as my husband.
“He tore my dress, I hated that dress, he asked if I was pleased, and that he wanted me to be
happy, and I just remember this was terrifying. He was amused I was a maiden; never mind I
was young and most men in my life had been kind to me. He accused me of lying, and I was
so terrified; I knew his reputation, everyone did, and he was shorter than me. Odd thing to
remember, but so many are shorter than me… He had someone there to watch, a different
prisoner, and he demanded I take off my clothes, I did not, I did not move fast enough for
him, and he tore my clothes. He said I’ve known you since you were a girl, and it was time
for me to become a woman…
“The sheer amount of pain when he took me… I froze, I do not know why I froze, but I am
not brave, I rarely fight, and I rarely flee, I primarily freeze when I am scared. Perhaps there
is something broken in my mind or soul, but I can never seem to face fear or run from it, I
just freeze. This seemed to displease him though, he wanted my tears, he wanted my fear, and
I just was… frozen. They mock the North and say we are cold people; I do not think it is
wrong, on more than one occasion I’ve been accused of being made of ice, and perhaps
they’re right. Perhaps that is why I freeze instead of fighting or fleeing. But this was not the
reaction he wanted, he wanted my tears, my fear, my humiliation, he wanted my suffering.
“I could not cry or weep, I tried not to make a sound. But the pain, I did cry out, and it made
it so much worse; he liked my pain, he liked me humiliated.
“I had never given anyone the satisfaction of knowing how much they hurt me, or how much
they humiliated me. I had taken beatings without a sound, and thanked my attackers politely,
it always irked them. A lady’s best armor though is courtesy, and I would not lose my
courtesy, it was my dignity, my composure, it was my manners, no one was taking me from
me. I never gave anyone the satisfaction of seeing my pain, or knowing how much I hurt, or
how I was humiliated, until him. He broke me, he delighted in having my pain, agony, my
tears and humiliation, and it hurt so much worse as I cried.
“Eventually I escaped, found Cregan, he led the assault to kill him, and in the end, I fed him
to his hounds, and I don’t think that counts as a good experience to try to replicate.”
Aemond looked at the fires and he seemed to be thinking carefully. Sansa waited, either he’d
tell her, or he wouldn’t, and in time, perhaps she would gain his trust fully to tell her. But for
now, she could only wait. They sat in silence for a long time while Aemond seemed to think,
she was about ready to doze off when he spoke, his voice was soft, harsh, and ragged when
he did which had her snapping all her attention onto him. He had his elbows propped on the
arms of the chair, and his hands clasped in front of him, he did not look at her.
“I was thirteen, the first time, Aegon thought it would be a good… nameday gift. I had never
had time to go to Flea Bottom, or out of the Red Keep for that matter, I was always busy,
studies, assisting Helaena with her twins, my mother, the Small Council, squiring for Ser
Cole in place of Aegon because no one could ever fucking find Aegon! I had to work, always
tasks to be done, training to finish, someone needed something; I had forgotten about my
nameday and no one ever cared about my nameday, so it was nothing but another day to me,”
he snorted in amusement, his gaze was distant. “Helaena was due to have the twins, and she
took priority; we did not know she was having twins, but she was so big and uncomfortable,
and upset all the time. We also had to hide Viserys’ ailing condition, the courts would be in
an uproar if they had known, at that time, it was just after Rhaenyra had left, and the maesters
conceded defeat in what was ailing him; we still don’t know, and we were giving him milk of
the poppy to manage his pain. And this is before the succession crisis became a more
apparent problem, when people were thinking this was a mere family dispute, and not… this
mess.
“Aegon though, it was a rare day he had managed to drag himself back to the Keep, and it
was my nameday,” he grimaced. “I had not thought about having a woman, I was so bloody
busy and tired, never even crossed my fucking mind. Aegon proposed we celebrate; I had
long since learnt it was better to endure whatever humiliations Aegon had plotted than to try
to fight him; fighting him made it so much worse. And I was tired, I believe Ser Cole had
beaten the ever living shit out of me previously in an attempt to get me to work harder on
close quarter combat. I needed to be able to protect Aegon, I did not have my height until I
was fifteen summers, and before then, everyone believed I’d be shorter than Aegon,” he
informed her.
She smiled. “Boys grow like weeds when they hit that summer, and their voices change, I
almost didn’t recognize my brother after his summer.”
He snorted and smiled a bit wry. “It’s disconcerting when you go from being the shortest one
around to towering over everyone in a matter of six moons.”
She laughed and smiled as she rested her cheek on her fist. “I can’t see you as small.”
“I was… I was the smallest of us, Jace is four summers my junior and he was bigger than me,
for the longest time, and Luke was also as big as me, and he’s six summers my junior,” he
confessed. “I was the runt, the runt of the litter, dragonless prince, piglet; that one is a
different story, imp, dwarf, and nuisance. I was small.”
“Mmm, I was always too tall,” Sansa informed him.
“You? Too tall?”
“None of the boys particularly like it when a girl of merely eleven summers towers over them
and is the height of a grown man!”
He shook his head in amusement. “I was a small lad, and Aegon thought it was a good time
thought to make a man of me, as he put it. And we went to Flea Bottom. If you know the
proclivities of my brother, you should see where this is going.
“He had arranged, not for one harlot, but thirteen, one for each nameday, I did not entirely
know what to expect, I tried to leave, most of these women were as old as our mother, and
older, and terrifying, and I did not want to be there. Aegon was there, laughing; he rather
enjoyed the entire affair and had fun tormenting me. So many hands, they tore my clothes, I
did not have anything after that. Aegon also took perversion in selling me after the thirteen
harlots were finished, and those who would pay a price for a Prince of the Crown… it was
unpleasant. And when it was over, I had to walk back to the Keep, without any clothes,” he
said. “Ser Cole found me, I was covered in grime and other…unmentionable fluids, and
terrified, and alone, and he took me straight to my mother, who dragged me, naked, through
the keep to the maesters. And if that was not enough, I had to repent, I was exposed for days
before I finally got to have a bath. Mother said she’d failed one son; she would not raise
another lecherous disgrace to the realm, and that is my experience.”
She grimaced.
“The rare times I have needs to be relieved by someone, I choose carefully, and it is a
transaction, so I do not know how this works either.”
“Mmm,” she nodded as she reached over, touching his hand. He turned his hand over as he
caught her fingers in his own and stared at the fires. She could feel Aemond watching her
warily and she squeezed his hand and turned to look back at him. “Well… I enjoy kissing
you, and that seems as good of place to start as any,” she murmured. “And it seems to lead to
the beginnings of this…”
He relaxed slowly as he nodded.
Standing she took his hand, pulling him up to his feet. “We’ll… we start slow,” she
murmured. “Figure it out, if we don’t like something, we just won’t do it, and… we’ll be
okay.”
Aemond looked down at Sansa, his heart pounding painfully in his chest as they watched
each other. He was painfully aware this could not be the best night of either of their lives, but
she was giving him a look of trust, and it could not be the worst night in history with her
looking at him with trust. She came up, brushing her lips to his and he examined her. She
smiled a little and kissed him soft and innocent as her hand came up, tracing his jawline.
“It’s okay, Aemond,” she whispered.
He looked her over and saw no fear, or hesitation, which was reassuring as he kissed her
back. Aemond had enjoyed the few kisses she had given him, and as her lips parted for the
kiss to deepen, he was astounded at her trust. He felt her hand on his jaw, tracing up to the
eyepatch before her fingers brushed against the leather. Slanting his mouth over hers, tilting
her head a bit, she gave a soft whimper, and he pulled away.
“You didn’t hurt me,” she whispered near his lips. He was examining her when he felt the
leathery pressure slid off his face entirely. He turned to catch her fingers. “There you are,”
she murmured. “I quite like your face, Aemond, scar and all.”
He caught her lips again with his own and kissed her how he had. She tasted of wine and
sweetbread, with some fruity flavor. She was so sweet, and soft, he groaned when she kissed
him back, her hands tangled in his hair, her blunt nails slid over his scalp, which startled him
as he felt a painful desire for her to never stop that action. Caught off guard by her action, he
stopped paying attention as she kissed his jaw and then his neck. Her other hand was between
them, and he felt it slid under his shirt.
Not one to be outdone, he carefully traced his hands up her sides, she trembled a little as she
peeked at him. He kissed her cheek, and her neck, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull
her closer. She gave a soft sound as he found a lace on her chemise.
“Don’t tear this one…” she whispered. He smiled a bit as he felt the lace untie as he pulled it.
When the lace gave, Sansa stepped back, the chemise fell weightlessly to pool around her
feet, and she stepped back warily. They stood there for a long moment as he looked her over.
She was a tall, slender woman, narrow waist, flaring hips, strong legs, and delicate shoulders.
Her long neck was slender, and her limbs were also slender, she looked both delicate and
strong, and he was surprised. There was a nasty scar under her breast though which scared
him, the placement of the wound left no illusion to what had happened, someone had almost
killed her, the violently violet skin was a dark, infectious mark to her milky skin, the contrast
was startling, the violet was near black or blue. She bit her lip nervously as she looked back
at him. Aemond stared at her for a long moment, her milk pale skin was no longer flawless,
he was surprised at the scars littering her body, the small slashes, and marks, numerous as
they were. But he couldn’t look away from the one which had almost stolen her from this
world, who could do that to her?
Stepping towards her he looked back in her eyes; she smiled shyly as she reached up and
traced his scarred eye.
“Did he do this?” Aemond murmured.
“Some of it,” she whispered. “Others did the rest, it is all lessons of life,” she murmured.
He nodded and she slid her hands under his shirt which he let her slide it off, he dropped it on
the ground. Aemond was careful as his fingers traced over her ribs and brushed the sides of
her breasts. She slid her fingers over his own skin cautiously.
“Perhaps we aren’t as hopeless at this as we thought,” Sansa mused and he smirked as she
came up and kissed him again, he kissed her back, her arms slid around his shoulders as one
of her hands tangled in his hair, he felt her body pressed up against his. She was so warm,
unlike her cold appearance, and so soft, and she felt good against him as he backed her up.
They both yelped as they landed on the bed, and Sansa laughed a bit as she traced his jaw, he
propped himself over her and saw the smile. He felt his hair give, and it felt like a curtain fell
around them, which had her smiling as she traced his jaw and cheek. Turning his head, he
kissed her palm. Her lips pressed against his pulse and Aemond closed his eye as he felt a
strange emotion in his mind as he turned to glance at her.
“Do you mind if I touch you?” he asked her softly as they lay there.
“No… just…” she whispered.
“I’ll stop if you ask,” he promised as he came up and kissed her lips again. She kissed him
back vigorously. He groaned as he kissed back rather pleased with as she squirmed, pressing
up against him, she was so warm, and soft. Slender fingers slid through his hair again, and he
shuddered feeling her nails on his scalp, she felt so good here in his arms. They parted as he
kissed down her throat, nipping her collar bone where he saw a small mark. She chuckled as
her fingers trailed over his shoulders; he glanced up to see her not uncomfortable.
Sansa shivered as she felt a tension building and pooling in her stomach as she let her head
fall back against the bed. Aemond’s mouth was warm, and gentle, as his hands slid over her
sides, she whimpered a bit when she felt his breath near her breast, she bit her lip as he kissed
her breast. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and she was breathing hard, everything in her was
thrumming in anticipation for something; she knew what… but she was startled by the
ferocity of her want. The cry escaped her as he kissed her nipple then, one of his hands had
her hips gripped tightly when she squirmed, arching up, and his other caught her free hand,
she shuddered at the heat as he swirled his tongue over the nub. It felt like lightning was
arching through her as she cried out. His hand squeezed hers tightly as he lavished her breast
with attention, she whimpered in surprise.
It felt so fucking good!
She felt the tensions coiling in her stomach, and her legs were trembling. His hand holding
her hips kept her still, even as she tried to squirm.
“Aemond!” she strangled out desperately. He pulled away, pressing his lips to the underside
of her breast, and she shivered as he kissed the scar she had from the Night King. She felt this
aching cold being warmed as he pressed his lips to the scar, it felt like fire igniting in her
blood to chase off a cold she had grown so accustomed to she didn’t notice it. The warmth
was startling, as he turned his attention to the scar. Crying out she bucked desperately, there
was a throbbing ache of emptiness in her core, she wanted… wanted him. Shuddering as she
wrapped a leg around his middle, Aemond chuckled as he looked up at her now. He kissed
his way to her other breast, his fingers tangling with hers as his other hand slid down to grip
her thigh.
“Gods!” she gasped, the heat, the pleasure spread. She felt warm for the first time in years!
She felt this throbbing ache in her core as she rolled her hips, feeling his weight but not what
she wanted. Aemond let out a soft laugh, and she bit her lip as a whine threatened to escape
her control. His tongue was her undoing, she gave up trying to be quiet as he lavished her
skin with attention. Aemond seemed to enjoy that as she felt herself struggling, she ground
her hips against him hard, and she felt like a pathetic mess.
He came back over her, capturing her mouth, and she kissed him back hungrily, she finally
wrapped her legs around his waist, he groaned loudly as she rolled her hips against his
hardness. She smiled as she pulled away, catching his bottom lip with her teeth. He snarled as
she rolled her hips again, which had her moaning, the friction wasn’t what she wanted, but it
felt good, and the ridges of his pants were helping. Her thighs clenched as she pushed herself
up to kiss the underside of his chin, he moaned as she rolled her hips again.
Gods she felt so hot, and empty, and she wanted… him. The ferocity of her want was still
surprising. Kissing his throat she felt him growling as he pushed her back into the bed, his
hands catching hers as he kissed her. She cried out when he rolled his hips against hers,
which he took advantage of deepening the kiss, his hand caught her thigh, hiking her leg
higher.
There was an indecent moment of exposure, Sansa felt she should be ashamed, she’d been
ashamed this morning when the maids had groomed her cunt, but Aemond didn’t seem to
care. She cried out as he just brushed knuckles over her core. He was undoing his pants, and
she was falling apart by whispers and touches… she felt pathetic, and soaked… she was hot,
a whine escaped her as he kissed her again. His knuckle slid over her slit, and she squirmed,
she wanted more. Jerking her hand free, Sansa reached between them as he kissed her and
desperately grabbed his hand. He stiffened as they stopped kissing, her chest was heaving,
and she had his fingers captured, his hand resting on her mound between her legs.
Sansa did not know what compelled her, she’d witnessed this act before, she had never
touched herself though. Biting her lip, she looked Aemond levelly in the eye, and slowly
guided his hand to where she wanted it. The throbbing ache, the gentle touch of calloused
fingers, she helped his fingers slide between her folds, and let her head fall back.
Aemond took over, his fingers sliding more firmly between the folds, she moaned when his
thumb pressed against her nerves, and shuddered as the arch of pleasure had her squirming.
Aemond’s thumb started circling her nerves, and she cried out, her hand jerking free from
between them as she bit her knuckle.
“Do you enjoy that?” he whispered hoarsely.
She couldn’t answer as it felt like she was being consumed by white hot fires building
tensions in her stomach, there was a coil winding tighter within her. She moaned lewdly
though when a finger slid into her passage, having her eyes screw shut. Oh Gods… the pain
she had been anticipating did not come, and she only felt this small burning stretch, which
made her core ache for something more.
“Aemond… Aemond,” she panted desperately as she found him pumping his fingers in her,
and she rolled her hips to his fingers. “I… please…”
“Please what?”
“Feels good… don’t stop,” she moaned as his thumb pressed the nerves.
He pulled away, and she whined as she looked at him now. He was careful as he unlaced his
pants. She smiled as she came up, kissing him, their fingers tangling. She didn’t know if she
wanted to do this, but she did know Aemond was safe, and tonight might be her only chance
to learn why women did not mind breaking virtue and risk a babe. It took a minute, and she
giggled a little when he snarled in frustration at her attempts to assist him, which lead to her
being pushed back on the bed as he kissed her again.
Finally, his pants were discarded, she was a bit surprised to see his manhood. It wasn’t a new
sight to her, but it was different. Aemond was different, he had lean muscles and smooth,
there was a trail of silvery hair and his manhood was erect. She shuddered as she reached up,
kissing him again. There was a bit of fear, but she didn’t think it’d hurt this time. Aemond
kissed her back as she fell back against the bed, her legs cradling his hips. He tangled his
fingers in her hair as she let her fingers trail over his throat and chest. Aemond looked at her
and she stared back.
“I… I still am not sure about this…” he muttered.
“I trust you,” she whispered as she reached up, between them. “I trust you.” He rested his
brow on hers, and she bit her lip before giving him a soft kiss. “If it hurts, I’ll tell you, and if
you don’t want to do more tonight that’s fine…”
Aemond’s eye met hers, and she smiled as he seemed to be thinking over his choices
carefully. She could see his residual uncertainty and she smiled softly. She didn’t think about
Ramsay, Aemond was nothing like Ramsay, and he hadn’t harmed or threatened her, she was
safe, he was safe, she was content if this was where they ended the night.
The aching throb of emptiness though had her tightening her legs around him, and he bit his
lip as he seemed to decide.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered and kissed her hard. She moaned as he rolled his hips, his manhood
sliding over her soaked, aching core, and he reached between them. “I’m sorry, Sansa,” he
whispered.
She moaned as she felt the tip of his manhood press into her. It was fast, the way he sank into
her, the groan he gave, was low, almost pained, as he pressed into her. Sansa flinched a little
at the burning stretch, but groaned as she felt some relief from the ache she’d been feeling.
Aemond’s brow pressed against hers.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he muttered. He rolled his hips, whined at the loss, and moaned as he
surged into her. It felt strange, it felt good, and it felt… amazing. That coil tensing in her was
now priming to snap, she cried out as it felt like he seared pleasure through her body, like he
had ignited a wildfire. Aemond caught her for a kiss, swallowing her screams as she felt the
pleasure building. It felt so good…
Now Sansa understood, she could understand why people wanted this, Aemond’s rhythm
wasn’t steady, or perfect but it felt good, she whimpered as he pulled away from the kiss.
Something snapped in her, and she screamed in delight as a wave of pleasure washed over
her, and she fell back in the bedding gasping for air.
Aemond moaned and she felt a flood of warmth erupt in her.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered softly as he lay there, trembling, his brow resting on hers, she felt
her legs slide limply from his, and she felt boneless, but so loose and good. It took a lot of
effort on her part to kiss him softly, which seemed to startle him.
Aemond rolled off her and she whimpered at the loss of him. She could feel his seed in her,
and dripping out as he removed himself.
“I’m sorry…” he started to get out of the bed.
“Aemond,” she whispered his name before he could freak out. She was freaking out with
how good it had felt to have a man in her, she could see the appeal even if she wasn’t sure of
what more there was to this act. She caught his bleeding hand with her own.
“Aemond, just… stay,” she murmured. He stared at her. “Stay… it felt good…” she
confessed.
He nodded slowly and Sansa smiled as she closed her eyes, she shivered a bit feeling cold,
but Aemond was radiating warmth. She didn’t remember drifting off, or pulling herself into
bed, but she did wake to arms around her, and a face buried in her shoulder before she felt
exhaustion drag her back to sleep. He was warm, and safe, and she felt safe right here.
Aegon laughed drunkenly as he watched the pits, two kids slashing each other’s throats out,
and he laughed as he watched their blood stain the sands they fought on. He cheered as his
bastard was becoming victor.
A cloak caught his eye, and he turned, only in time to gasp as a sharp pain sliced through his
abdomen and gut. He stared into familiar hateful eyes and smiled as he felt the blade tear
through him and he stumbled back, unable to feel his legs. The blood was warm and sticky, it
spurted before his eyes, and he felt faint.
“The Stranger greets you, Prince Aegon,” his killer sneered as he felt the world slip from his
grasp.
There were shouts of celebration and excitement in the distance.
Aemond woke once when he felt Sansa shift, and looked around his room, pulling his bride
closer as he closed his eyes again. It was odd, but he felt absolutely content in this moment,
he even ignored the maids who came to check in on them, and the state of the room. Sansa’s
even breathing, and warmth was comfortable in his arms. He felt the heavy weight leap up on
the bed, and cracked his eye to see Frostfyre settling to sleep. Which had him closing his eye
as he let sleep reclaim him.
Sansa turned to cling to him, her breath was warm against his skin and he was content for this
moment as they lay in his bed.
Chapter End Notes
Yes, I recycled the smut. Again, I am not a smut writer. Please leave feedback regarding
the smut so I might improve it as we go, also, I hope you have enjoyed the wedding
because I am terrible at writing weddings!
Chapter 10
Chapter Notes
It was the soft weight in his arms, as the sun glinted in from the misty morning on the seas
and he heard Vhagar roar in the distance. Grimacing as he squeezed his eye shut against the
light, before cracking it open. There was a vision of red, which greeted him, it smelled of
flowers, peppermint, lemon, and tickled his nose, which had him grimacing as he tried to
burrow back into his pillow. The soft, warm weight in his arms shifted, which had him
looking fully at his companion.
Sansa…
He stiffened, she was real, here? He pushed himself up carefully, and looking Sansa over, the
sheet had fallen so he was greeted with the vision of her breasts, and her prone form. He
looked at her face, she was still sleeping, looking completely relaxed as he stared at her.
Carefully removing himself from the bed, Sansa groaned as she rolled into the spot where he
had been, stealing his pillow as she sighed. He grabbed up some pants as he turned to her, her
exposed back gave him pause. There were slashes, not whip scars, but rather small little cuts,
and slashes. He traced her spine carefully, she grumbled, Frostfyre leapt onto the bed and
flopped along the edge. Sansa sighed, and he smiled slightly as he felt the cool warmth of her
skin, before he grabbed the sheets and a quilt, pulling it up to her shoulders, she sighed lowly,
and he grabbed up his shirt.
Pulling on socks and his boots, he went to grab his eyepatch, pulling it on, he didn’t grab up
the sapphire today as he walked out of the room. He saw no guards, but felt safe enough to
leave Sansa with Frostfyre, that was guard enough for the Starks as they rarely were without
their wolves. Aemond snagged an orange as he walked passed a servant with a fruit tray
towards the training grounds, where he was unsurprised to see Cregan and the other
Northerners training. Stepping out into the air, he was a bit surprised at the misty rain falling.
He saw Cregan, also picking apart an orange, and Cregan raised a brow as Aemond came
over to him.
“Hard habit to break, being up at the crack of dawn,” Cregan sighed.
Aemond grimaced.
“No shame, Aemond, I was up at this godawful hour the morning after my own wedding
night, tending the fields, training, and the books, lots to do, not a lot of time to get it done,”
Cregan sighed.
“Why is the Princess of Dorne here?” Aemond asked as he spotted her slight form on the
archery training grounds. Jacaerys was getting his arse kicked by some of the Northerners,
which was amusing to Aemond.
“She’s being a pain in the fucking ass,” Cregan stated. An arrow hit the post where they were
both leaning, startling Aemond, Cregan looked unbothered. “You Missed!” he shouted as he
peeled continued his orange.
“Are you two…?” Aemond started.
“Friendly competition to see who will flinch first,” Cregan cut him off. “Arra actually shot
me, when we were fourteen, fell in love with her on the spot, after I finished cursing her out
for shooting me, and pulling my sorry carcass out of the bloody river.”
“And her shooting at us is her missing?” Aemond asked.
“She’s missed me all week, and besides, last night we established we’re friends,” Cregan
shrugged.
“Northerners, you’re all mad,” Aemond shook his head.
Cregan laughed. “We are!”
Aemond pulled another slice of his orange apart as he took a bite. “Why permit her to
continue this then?”
“It’s amusing,” Cregan chuckled.
“I’m going to go find the Small Council, they keep trying to avoid me,” Aemond grumbled.
“And what do you need to speak to them about?” Cregan asked.
“Why they are avoiding me,” Aemond grumbled.
“Are you behind on paperwork?” Cregan asked carefully.
Aemond side eyed his new goodbrother as he looked over the men again, Cregan was the
only one to know the full extent of Aemond’s actions, and role, so he knew the other man
understood why Aemond would need to find the Small Council. A fortnight of nonstop
celebrations, and then there was also his past year of nonstop wedding preparations, Aemond
had barely kept up with his typical workload, and now the Small Council was actively
avoiding him and there were matters he had to discuss, with the Small Council, the
Northerners, and Sansa about their campaigns. Discussing the matter with his family was not
acceptable, but with this campaign there were actual matters to be investigated, and it wasn’t
as simple as campaigning for the sake of it. Sansa was not yet privy to the full extent of what
Aemond had been up to, but he felt no point in hiding the matter from her, when her brother
was aware.
“Are you going to tell my sister?” Cregan asked him.
“Yes,” he answered honestly. “Your sister is my wife, and partner now, she should be privy to
matters which could harm or threaten her.”
“I knew there was a reason I liked you,” Cregan mused. “But also, she will be merciful with
your secrets, you should remember to be merciful with hers when she should share hers.”
Aemond nodded in agreement.
“As to the Small Council, I saw Lord Beesbury, I believe that’s his name, and he was going
that way…” Cregan stopped as he and Aemond raised their brows at the commotion they
heard. Aemond raised his brow, and Cregan frowned as he looked at Aemond, there were
shouts, and Aemond saw the guards running. That was when Aemond walked to the cart
riding through the gates. He heard the men shouting, and as he round the cart edge, he was
stricken by what he saw before him.
“Get the Maesters! He’s Alive!” one of the Cargyll twins shouted.
Aegon was laying there prone, bloody, and Aemond rushed forward seeing his brother there.
Aegon was supposed to be in his apartments! They had locked him up until they could figure
out what to do with Aegon! Aemond helped pull his brother onto a stretcher, Cregan was
barking orders, Aemond did not even dissuade people from following the orders as he pulled
Aegon onto the stretcher and rushed after the guards. They all rushed through the Red Keep,
Aemond barely remembered making it to Aegon’s quarters.
He pushed past his mother without slowing. He did not care wit nor whim about his personal
regards for the maesters, he just didn’t want his brother to die, yet. He needed someone to get
here and save his brother!
“Maester Alfador!” he shouted. “Get every maester, Aegon’s been stabbed!”
The Maester who had been walking to perform his morning services dropped everything in
his hand as he rushed with Aemond to go care for Aegon. Aemond made it to Aegon’s
quarters, pushing through the guards as he looked at the maesters who bustled in to work.
Aemond’s head snapped over when the doors open, and Ser Criston Cole walked in.
“What happened!?”
Aemond reacted fast, drawing back his fist and slamming it into Cole’s face. The kingsguard
stumbled back out of the room and landed at Cregan’s feet, and Sansa’s too. Aemond snarled
as he glared at the kingsguard. Grabbing the older man’s armor as he hauled Cole up and
slammed him into the wall.
“My brother’s been stabbed! Outside of the Red Keep! He’s Supposed To Be In His
Apartments!” he snarled. “What the fuck happened!? How The Hell Did He Get Out!?”
Aemond demanded.
“Ow, fuck…”
“ANSWER ME!” Aemond roared as he shook the older man.
“Aemond! Release Cole Now!” his mother grabbed his arm.
“Answer Me!” he demanded as he pushed his mother away. “Where was Aegon’s Guard!?”
“Aemond,” Sansa’s voice was soft, and he turned to glare at her. He saw her helping his
mother up and glared back at Cole. “Aemond,” she touched his shoulder and he turned to
glare at her again. “Not like this.”
“My brother…” he growled.
“Needs you,” she said softly. “And your mother, brothers, sister, nephews and niece, they
need you,” Sansa said. “If you want, Cregan and I will manage this,” she offered.
He snarled as he pressed harder against Cole who winced; his nose was broken, and his eyes
were watering.
“Aemond, not here, not like this,” Cregan’s voice said. “Go be with your brother, I’ll find out
what happened,” Cregan promised.
Aemond wanted to shake Cole until he had answers.
“Aemond,” Sansa’s voice was gentle, and he looked at her. “Trust me,” she said softly.
Slowly he pried his fingers back as he glared at his oldest protector, and mentor, and the
Captain of the Kingsguard, letting the man slump to the ground in a daze, which was when
Cregan moved, grabbing Cole out of Aemond’s reach. Sansa’s fingers were gentle as she
cupped his cheek and turned him to look down at her.
“Go be with your family,” she whispered. Aemond tensed when he saw his grandsire coming
towards the commotion, and Sansa turned to see Otto. “Go, Aemond, protect your family, I
will manage this.”
He was about to protest, but there was a cry from his mother, and he walked into the room to
see the maesters working. He saw Helaena there, wringing her hands, and Aegon’s children
looking nervous. Aemond caught his mother as she threw herself in tears at him, and he saw
Daeron was consoling Helaena. Aemond hugged his mother tightly as he pressed his lips to
the crown of her head, she was sobbing now.
Sansa shut the doors on Aemond and looked at Cregan.
“Roderick and Domeron, even Bryan,” he informed her firmly. “Ice and Frostfyre remain
with you, I will take this one to find answers. No one gets past you.”
She nodded as her brother came over and kissed her brow before dragging Cole after him.
She watched Cregan and turned slowly as she saw Otto there and clasped her hands as the
direwolves sat on either side of her.
“Move woman.” Otto’s order was calm and even icy, filled with authority and contempt,
which had Sansa grinding her teeth in fury. There was no familial concern in his tone.
“No,” she said firmly. “You heard my brother, no one is getting past me,” she stated firmly.
“That is my grandson!”
“And my goodbrother,” she snapped back. “No one is getting past me, Ser Otto, or would you
like to test me?” The wolves growled beside her now, reinforcing her threat.
“You are not in charge of this Keep!”
“No, but I am the imminent threat if you move against my husband and his family,” she
stated.
“I am his family!”
“I am looking at the Hand of the King, not a grandsire distraught for his grandson,” she
informed him. “Do not test me, Ser Otto, you will not like the results.”
“You dare to threaten me!”
“No. I am a Stark. I do not make threats. I forewarn outcomes if you do not heed my
warnings,” she countered. “Now, leave, if there is news about your grandson which is to be
shared, I will send a messenger to you. And if Aemond is needed for the Small Council, they
can find me. I will be sitting in his place until such a time he is able to resume his duties.”
“You dare…”
“I am now Princess of the Realm, Ser Otto, I outrank and outclass you, and I dare, now go,”
she replied icily. She was standing there on trembling knees as she watched Otto stand there
looking like a gaping fish, but a loud growl from Ice was enough for him to walk off. Sansa
leaned back against the door, shuddering as she pressed a hand to her fluttering stomach. She
had never had a battle of wills or used her rank or position to command someone, ever, not
even when she’d been Lady of Winterfell. She pulled her robe tight around her as she stood
guard outside the quarters, she couldn’t hear them in there, but occasionally a maester would
hurry out, then return with supplies. Sansa shivered as she stood there, Janyce was the first to
find her holding a tray of tea.
“I heard… I heard what happened to his highness, and you were here to stand guard, your…
Lady Sansa, Princess Sansa…”
“It is just Sansa,” she smiled.
“I thought you could use tea,” Janyce admitted with a blush and shy smile. Sansa nodded as
she accepted the drink, she scented the minty tea and sipped it as she waited quietly. Roderick
was the first to appear, with Domeron in tow, Bryan came last.
“Cregan sent us… he wants us to stand watch, are you alright?” Domeron was in front of her,
checking her over.
“I’m fine…” she sighed. “Sara?”
“Is with her Ladies, in your apartments, they were sound asleep, White Fang is guarding
them. Just in case, Cregan’s got men on Sara and her Ladies,” Rody assured. “Your Ladies
are at your quarters, and await your instructions.”
Domeron nodded. “Rody, Bryan, you’re to stand guard, no one is to get to the family, Rody,
go in the chambers, Bryan, you’re outside the door, I’m taking Sansa to her quarters, can you
set Ice here and keep Frostfyre with you, Sansa?”
“Uh… yes,” she nodded. It was a simple command to guard, and she went into the rooms
then. Aemond was sitting with Jaehaera on his chest, and he turned to look up at her. She saw
his mother was passed out with her head in Helaena’s lap, while Daeron was bouncing
Maelor, and Jaehaerys was sleeping against Aemond’s side. Rody had selected a quiet spot,
and was unassuming, she leaned over Aemond who tilted his head back then. She slid her
fingers through his loose hair.
“Cregan’s set Bryan and Rody as guards on you and your family’s quarters,” she murmured.
“I’m leaving Ice with Bryan, Domeron is going to come guard my quarters, I’ll return when
I’m dressed properly, or do you need me to sit in on the Small Council affairs?”
“I have time because of the wedding…”
“Aemond…” she murmured.
“The Small Council,” he grimaced. “I… they need a moderator,” he muttered. “I do not think
you should…”
“I’m your wife, I’ll stand in your place; take care of your family. If I need reinforcements, I’ll
summon Cregan, he’s taken over the Kingsguard at this moment.”
“That’s… good, that’s good, someone needs to find Rhaenyra and secure her family too,”
Aemond muttered as he rubbed his niece’s back.
She nodded and kissed the top of his head as she left the quarters. She nodded to Rody who
gave her a reaffirming nod. When she left, she looked at Bryan who was standing there
threateningly with his sword displayed as a threat. Ice was sitting beside him, a gesture had
Frostfyre falling into step with her as she walked with Domeron.
“We need to secure Princess Rhaeynra and her family, all of them, including Prince Daemon,
Lady Rhaena, and Lady Baela,” Sansa explained. “Cregan already has the castle in lockdown,
send word to our bannermen, and speak to Cregan about securing the city. We need answers,
not a mob, then we need to organize the City Watch now, and find information, the goal is to
not create panic. Use Northerners you trust, have them work with the City Watch to gather
information. Also, we need to prevent a witch hunt from happening so there is to be no
mention of Prince Aegon’s condition, or the state he was found in. Find the knights who
found him, and go to where he was found, the more information we have the better. I will
speak with the Small Council and see if the Master of Whispers has any information which
could assist us, there has to be something. Ensure the other Noble Houses, and Royal guests
are guarded as well, we need to circumvent the possibility of panic and a revolt, if the people
take to rioting, we have no way to secure the Dragonpit.
“I’ll speak to Aemond after the Small Council about how we proceed.”
“Yes,” Domeron nodded.

“Thank you,” she breathed.
“Your Ladies are not leaving your side, I’ll get Cregan to come to you as needed,” Domeron
informed her. “I will also be acting as your guard for the time being.”
She nodded.
“For now, all festivities are on hold, and we will inform the Noble Houses of this before they
take it as an insult,” she said. “And when we know about Prince Aegon’s condition we will
proceed with the information carefully.
Jacaerys was startled as Lord Stark appeared, barking orders with the authority and command
which sent the Kingsguard, Queensguard, and City Watch scrambling. He grabbed Jace
before the chaos could swallow him.
“Get to your family, now, I will follow,” Cregan ordered. “Ser Cole, send for Lord Mormont,
now, tell him to find me when he arrives, secure the camps, lock this Keep down, no one in or
out without my orders. There will be no retribution or movements until I have my banners
here.”
“I follow orders of the King…”
“I speak for Prince Aemond, defy him and you defy royal order, now,” Cregan snapped. Jace
watched the older man fume but work to comply. “Come on,” Cregan grabbed Jace’s
shoulder, and there were furious roars from the Dragonpits which had everything shaking as
Vhagar flew over the city, other dragons followed, and Cregan dragged Jace into the Keep.
“What is going on?”
“You saw, now move,” Cregan stated.
“What is going on…” Jace started.
“I am charged with your safety, I might not like you, but you will do what I order, and move
when I say, it is for your safety, where is the Princess of Dorne?”
“I’m here!” Cregan grabbed the Princess.
“You’re with me until we find your guard,” he snapped to her as Jace stumbled with Cregan.
“I can protect myself! I will go find my guard,” she started.
“I do not care, someone is attacking Royals, you’re staying where I know you’re safe,”
Cregan snapped. “Move,” he ordered as he shoved Jace’s shoulder. Jace scrambled then as he
walked through the Keep. People moved out of Cregan’s way, and they made it to his
mother’s apartments.
“What is the meaning of this?” Daemon asked, appearing, half asleep.

“The Keep is in lockdown, is everyone accounted for?” Cregan demanded.
“Lockdown, under whose authority?” Daemon asked as he pulled Jace into the room.
“Mine,” Cregan stated. “Who’s in your quarters? I need everyone accounted for,” Cregan
repeated. Jace watched his stepfather, too stunned to counter Cregan walking in. He put the
Princess of Dorne by Jace. “Watch her, she stays until I get her to her guard.”
“Wolf, I can go get to my own guard,” she started.
“She stays put, Jace!” Cregan barked as he swept into the apartments.
Jace sputtered as he looked at the Princess of Dorne, who glared at him with distaste.
“What has happened, you are not of the authority to command the Red Keep!” Daemon
shouted as he followed Cregan.
“I do not care, my authority is from Prince Aemond, you are to remain here,” Cregan stated.
“Jace, if anyone leaves, cut them down, anyone who is not me or Northern enters, kill them,”
Cregan ordered as he handed Jace a sword.
“I…” he started.
“You want to be a Prince of the Realm? This is the Realm, protect it,” Cregan snapped.
“Come on,” he grabbed the Princess of Dorne as he swept out of the room and Jace gaped
after Cregan as the Lord of Winterfell swept out of the room.
“What exactly has happened?” His mother appeared holding Viserys in her arms.
“I… Aegon… he was… attacked…” Jace sputtered.
Daemon looked stricken then and his mother looked uncomfortable as they looked at one
another. Jace watched his stepfather and mother scramble to get dressed and he trembled as
he looked up at Daemon. Daemon clasped his shoulder.
“Lord Stark has overstepped, but he is right, we will protect our family,” Daemon murmured.
Jace bit his lip as he looked at the heavy doors to the apartment and he held his blade firmly
in his hands. He didn’t want to know the consequences for failing.
The dragons were roaring and chittering as they now flew around the Keep. Jace could feel
Vermax’s confusion and fury, and protection, and he could only imagine what the other
dragons were feeling.
Cregan pulled Aliandra along to her apartments and saw her guard there as he pushed the
doors open and swept through her quarters. When he was satisfied no one here was a threat or
missing he released her and turned to her guard. The man was similar to Cole, dark hair and
dark violet eyes as he assessed Cregan.
“You protect the princess?”

“This is Ser Dayne…” Aliandra started.
“I do.”
“She remains here, I will come personally, the Red Keep is in lockdown, Royals were
attacked,” Cregan stated as he left. The other man seemed to understand that implication, and
he heard Aliandra protesting, but ignored her as he shut the doors behind him. Cregan saw
the other guards moving through the hall, the white cloaks were organized, and he paused
one.
“Who protects King Viserys?” he asked.
“Ser Willis Fell,” the man answered.
“Take me to him, now,” Cregan growled. The man complied as they moved through the
Keep, other nobles were arguing at their doors, but they could not leave and Cregan did not
care. They made it to the King’s quarters, Cregan pushed into the room and moved quietly,
there were a few maids who yelped as Cregan moved through the rooms. He paused, checked
the King’s breathing, and grabbed the nearest maid.
“How long have you served this House?” he demanded of the old woman.
“Forty… forty… years,” she sputtered.
“Then you are to personally attend to the King, no one is to come near him until I return, not
the Small Council, not the Kingsguard, not the Lord Hand, not a maester, Ser Fell will be
guarding the door,” he informed her. “Is this understood?”
“Yes…” she stammered.
“Good,” he nodded and released her as he walked out, shutting the doors he looked at Willis
Fell. “No one, until I return, is to enter the King’s quarters, is that understood.”
“Who are you to command the Kingsguard!” the knight snapped.
“I’m the Warden of the North, and if the King should die under your watch, I will take your
head first and put it on a pike and then I will do the same thing with every Kingsguard here
until I find the offenders who harmed the Royal family,” Cregan warned and left. He would
have to find Lord Mormont. Walking the halls, he saw another maid approaching him, and
frowned.
“Lady… Princess Sansa,” the maid stammered.
“Yes?”
“She commands your presence,” the woman stammered.
Cregan nodded. “Get to safety, secure the other servants,” he murmured as he patted her
shoulder and left her as he went for Sansa’s apartments. He arrived to see Domeron standing
guard.
“We’ve secured the Green faction,” Domeron stated.
“Blacks are secure, I need you to remain with Sansa, no one gets close to her,” Cregan stated.
“I’ve sent for Lord Mormont, and we’ll start an investigation. I will keep tabs on the guards,
but for now I have a command. The visiting nobles, and Princess of Dorne are secure, keep it
that way.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Any word on Prince Aegon?” Cregan asked.
“No, the maesters were busy, and Aemond guards his brother with Rody and Bryan.”
Cregan nodded, when Sansa opened her doors, she was dressed in one of her Northern blue
gowns, and Frostfyre on her side and the Norrey sisters flanking her. Both the Norrey sisters
were armed, and wearing light battle armor. Sansa’s other Ladies were also readied in a
similar manner to the Norrey sisters.
“Domeron, Elissa, and Orrina are staying with you, I will tell you more information as I
gather it, Lord Mormont’s arrival is when I will pair off the City Watch with Northerners and
we’ll sweep the city,” Cregan said as they started walking. “I need the rest of your Ladies to
attend to the healing, and manage the House servants.”
“Aye my lord,” Mira said as she and the other Ladies left.
“I’m taking Aemond’s place on the Small Council, after they are managed, I would like the
Great Houses gathered in the Great Hall, and the Greens and Blacks, both should be present,”
Sansa explained.
“I will spread the word when I have more men,” he affirmed.
“Good.”
“Princess Rhaenyra and her family are secure, all of her children, and stepchildren were
accounted for, as was Daemon, he appeared to be barely awake.”
“I don’t know what we’ll find, if it’s a conspiracy or random act,” Sansa murmured.
“I do not know either, but all royals are secure and accounted for.”
“What happened to your cheek?”
“Later, go handle the Small Council, I’ll manage the Keep and city,” he stated.
“And the dragons?”
“Speak to your husband, my aim is to keep the peace and calm though and not have the city
in a bloodbath.”
“I’ll speak to him after the Small Council,” she decided. “Cregan, stay safe.”
“Stay safe,” he replied with a wry smile as he left her.
Cregan walked through the keep and he saw the way the guard parted around him, he went to
his quarters, grabbing Ice, strapping the great sword to his back, he pulled on his armor and
other weapons swiftly before he walked out. The North was rarely at true peace, and the ease
of pulling on his weapons was comforting. Walking to the entrance he watched the
approaching riders, barking a command as he recognized the Mormont banners, then leapt
down to greet Lord Mormont who was riding with Ser Roderick Dustin, as well Cregan’s
goodfather, Lord Lucan Norrey.
“Stark, what is the meaning of commanding King’s Landing?” Mormont swept down and
Norrey followed.
“My apologies, my lords, the Royal family was attacked,” Cregan winced as he looked up
seeing the flurry of angry dragons circling King’s Landing. “I wish to keep the people calm
and safe, call the banners into the city, pair off with the City Watch, sweep the city, we will
gather information and prevent a slaughtering or panic in the city.”
“Fuck,” Lucan muttered.
“Roddy, Roderick is guarding the Greens, with Bryan, Domeron is protecting my sister with
the Norrey sisters, Sansa’s Ladies are securing the House and staff, Sansa is meeting with the
Small Council, can you spare your sons, Rience, Rogun, Rolan, Ramsond, Robard, and Ryon
to assist in protecting the Blacks and, Royce, Rognar, Robett, Randar, and Rickard to assist
Rody in protecting the Greens?”
“Yes,” Roddy nodded.
“Good, I need the other Houses contained and accounted for, all celebrations are on hold,
summon the Lords of the Houses to the Keep, Sansa will be hosting a great collection of
Houses this evening, everyone is to be disarmed who is not known. I want Kormed Karstark
to investigate the Prince’s stabbing, he’s the best tracker and his hounds are with him, have
Lord Karstark form a perimeter around the city, no one is leaving, and no one is entering who
is not approved. Sweep the city in grids, keep it secure, and keep contact, find flares, use
them to signal when an area is secure,” Cregan stated as he walked with the Lords.
“Yes, my Lord.” Mormont and Dustin walked off to proceed with their work. Cregan looked
at his goodfather, and released a shuddering breath, he felt so out of his depth he couldn’t
express how he felt. Lucan smiled wryly.
“What the fuck,” Cregan muttered.
“You’re doing fine, my boy,” Lucan assured.
“I don’t…” Cregan rubbed his brow. “What the fuck am I doing, Lucan!?”
“You’ve secured the Royal families, the Keep, you’ve fortified your position and have now
begun securing the city, this is good, I will have the banners around,” Lucan started.
“No, I need… guidance,” Cregan admitted as they walked.
“I see… for what?”
“Not overstepping,” Cregan muttered. “Aemond helped me after… Arra, I do not want to
overstep here,” he murmured.
“I am thankful to Prince Aemond for everything he did for our family and my grandson,
protecting our family is priority, and Prince Aemond is now a part of this family. You’re
securing your family, Lord Stark, this is not overstepping, this is preparations for more
attacks,” Lucan said. “Protecting is a good defense, and whoever is coming will not get
through us. We stand with you, Lord of Winterfell.”
Cregan nodded his head as he braced himself on his knees and just took a few deep breaths.
Lucan clasped his shoulder as Cregan took a moment to catch his breath before he stood.
“You’re the man my daughter believed in, and loved, be the Lord she knew you to be,” Lucan
said.
Cregan nodded as he accepted the older man’s comfort for a moment before he rose again, his
head falling back. “Take men, secure the Dragonpit, the Targaryens might accidentally turn
those beasts loose on us if they’re feeling threatened or attacked, so secure the Pit, just to be
safe.”
“Very well,” Lucan nodded.
“And convert the septs for refuge and care, people have been hurt, so take the injured or lost
to the septs, keep the refugees organized by grid location found within the city; it’ll make it
easier to relocate or identify them, look within the other Noble Houses to supply the men to
secure it… the Vale, the Vale we have had dealings with before, have the Vale secure the
septs for refugees. When we have secured the Nobles, then we’ll work from there,” Cregan
said.
Lucan nodded as he left and Cregan went to go up and start examining the Kingsguard, he
saw Ser Cole returning now, and Cregan looked around at the men.
He could do this, he was but twenty summers, but he could do this, he had led a campaign of
war since he’d been sixteen, and he’d been training for this since he could walk, he could
manage a Keep of this magnitude.
Sansa walked into the Small Council chambers with the Norrey sisters beside her, and saw
Ser Otto arrogantly perched on the King’s seat, as she walked in. Sansa sent Frostfyre to be in
loose hold, which had the wolf moving around the room, snarling at the Kingsguard present.
Sansa looked at Lord Beesbury, who was looking very anxious, there was Ser Otto, Ser
Tyland Lannister, Lord Larys Strong, Lord Wylde, there was an empty seat; Sansa presumed
that was the Grand Maester’s seat and in place of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard
was a knight present who Sansa did not recognize.
“Ser Otto, that is not your seat, move,” Sansa ordered firmly.
The older man’s gaze lifted to her, and she waited.
“Do not make me repeat myself, I’m here on authority of my husband, whose family is very
distraught right now, if you challenge me, you challenge them, and they are far less forgiving
than I,” she warned. Ser Otto moved, and Sansa took the seat, which had the others of the
Small Council looking at each other. “Ser Lannister, we will need to lock down the ports, and
secure the holdings to protect King’s Landing, use the Lannister Guard, if there is trouble
moving the men, find Cregan, he has secured the Red Keep and is working on securing
King’s Landing. No one is to leave or enter the ports.”
“I… my lady,” Ser Lannister started. “This is an unusual request…”
“No, it is not, my goodbrother was attacked on my wedding night, the Royal family is secure,
the Red Keep is secure, and we are working to secure King’s Landing, we will find the
perpetrator, but to prevent his escape we will be locking the immediate area down.”
“And if the perpetrator is gone?” he asked.
“Then we will be sending our best hunters after him, the North never forgets, and we do not
cease our pursuit,” she said calmly. “Lord Strong, you are Master of Whispers, were there
any reports or whispers regarding a plot against the Royal Family?”
“I am listening, but there has been no confirmation.”
Sansa nodded slowly. “When you have information, you will pass it along to my brother and
husband, and they will proceed, if you withhold information, I will have you redesignated to
being merely Lord of Harrenhal, to manage that atrocious curse and post a competent Lord of
Whispers, is this understood?”
“You do not have the authority!” Lord Strong started.
“No, I do not, but my husband does, and he will be displeased if you cannot inform him on
the simple matter of who has threatened and harmed his family, and then, when my husband
is already furious, he will demand your blood, so think carefully before you tell me I do not
have the authority at this moment,” she warned.
“And the other noble families?” Lord Beesbury asked nervously.
“At this time there is no diplomatic crisis,” she informed him with a smile. “My brother
secured the Princess of Dorne, and has checked on the King, Princess Rhaenyra and her
family are secure, as is Prince Daemon and his family, I left Northern guards with my
husband and his family, which is where Queen Alicent and Princess Helaena are, the
maesters are attending to Prince Aegon right now. The other Great Houses have been
secured, and we are confident in that security,” she assured.
She could see the older lord visibly sag with relief.
“Ser Cole was sent out into the city by Lord Stark, the Kingsguard though has taken posts
throughout the Red Keep, under orders of Lord Stark, and we are prepared to protect the
Royal Family,” the Kingsguard said.
“Thank you, Ser…” Sansa trailed off.
“Lorent Marbrand,” he answered.
“Thank you Ser Lorent Marbrand,” she nodded. “Keep my brother apprised of the matter
until after this lockdown is finished. Lord Wylde, I apologize for the North’s swift reaction,
and the lockdown of the city, to ensure the fair care of the smallfolks, is there a court system
in place to separate the criminal from suspect and innocent?”
“Yes, I will have the laws of the last hundred years pulled,” the man stammered.
“Good, do you know the judges of King’s Landing?”
“I appointed all of them myself,” he started.
“Then you are to summon them, speak to my brother so he might send the men, but to
maintain order and peace I would like to be prepared. I do not know what my brother will
find, but there is to be no retribution on the smallfolk without a fair trial, no one is guilty until
they are sentenced as such, the City Watch will not be exacting justice in this matter without
proper trials, with witnesses,” she warned.
“Yes Princess,” the man smiled slightly.
“Now, all celebrations and tourneys are suspended, the knights will work for my brother and
assist in securing the city, Ser Lannister will secure the port, and we will gather the Noble
lords for a meeting in the Great Hall this evening, both factions are to be present,” she
warned.
“You do not command us, girl.”
The Small Council flinched, and Sansa leveled a glare on Ser Otto.
“I do not, this is true, and to be frank, I do not want to command you, however, someone has
attacked a Prince of the Realm, which is an assault on House Targaryen as a whole, and that
is a dire matter to which you have not handled appropriately. Now, I do not speak for the
Targaryen House as a whole, but I am representing my husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen,
and this is what we are doing,” she stated.
“Princess… the costs of securing the city and men…” Lord Beesbury started.
“Take the funds from the tourney, the celebration is to be cut short, we will also structure
charities to help the people who have been hurt in the proceedings of the past hours because
the city was in chaos,” Sansa stated. “Then we will look at costs for rebuilding, after Prince
Aegon’s attacker is brought to justice. For now, the main objective is securing the city and
Royal Family. Ser Lannister, I need the ports shut down, coordinate with Cregan.”
“Yes, your highness,” he smiled as he got up and hurried off. Sansa watched the other Lords
leave to work and she looked at Ser Otto Hightower who was glaring at her. She rose and
walked out of the room without another room as she summoned Frostfyre to her side, the
Norrey sisters flanking her.
Daemon watched his wife’s worry as she walked about the quarters. The children had hidden
away in one of the private rooms to entertain the youngest children. He could feel the anxiety
and fear roiling within himself, and knew the dragons were displeased as they circled the city.
“This is not good for the babe,” he said as he caught his wife’s hands.
“Did you…” she turned on him and he would’ve grimaced at the unasked question which
hung between them now. It had crossed Daemon’s mind, a time or two, over the years on how
easy it would be to secure his wife’s rule, but he had never made a move. It would not take
much to kill Aegon, the fool was always wandering about the city without a guard and given
the new discovery of Aegon’s proclivities, it would not be a difficult arrangement to make
either. But the timing of this attack, even Daemon would not be so impulsive or brash.
The problem after Aegon was also the Hightower influence, and how the Greens would frame
this action after Aemond had informed all members of the family of Aegon’s perversions.
Moving now would be suicide, politically because it would ruin Rhaenyra. This would give
Otto everything he needed to claim the Blacks were Maegor’s second coming.
“I did not have anything to do with this,” Daemon swore.
“You swear?” she demanded.
“I swear upon the lives of your sons, my daughters and our children, I did not have anything
to do with whatever has happened to Prince Aegon,” Daemon assured fiercely. Rhaenyra
seemed to collapse beside him now as she fell against him. He pulled her close and let his
head fall back.
“I did not know what to think,” she whispered. “And given his… nature…”
“I would do it in a heartbeat if I thought it would secure your claim, but alas, I did not, you
foolishly care about them and I would not hurt you that way,” he muttered as he stared at the
ceiling. Daemon felt the babe within her move as she pressed against him.
“I was terrified you had…” she whispered.
“No,” he assured fiercely. He had not arranged this, or even orchestrated it, he had not
breathed word for anyone to attack Prince Aegon. Someone was moving against his House
and it was not him, and it unsettled Daemon deeply. He did not like having enemies moving
against him or him being in the dark. This was not like battle, and worse, he now had to trust
his family’s safety to a man who had just let his sister marry a Green, and it was horrifying.
Worse, Daemon knew if he attempted to counter the young wolf’s commands, it would be
met with vicious retaliation, because Jace would have to cut him down. Jace had stubbornly
been standing at the door as a protector, and he was pasty white.
Aemond’s head snapped up when the doors opened, he put Jaehaera down and got up, as
Sansa walked in. She walked straight over to him, which was when he caught her as she
threw her arms around him. The relief of holding her was startling, so he hid against her
neck. She just held him for a long moment, she pressed a kiss to his pulse, and he took a deep
breath as he released her.
“How is he?” Sansa murmured.
“The bleeding stopped, they are worried about the wound though, it is deep,” Aemond
murmured against her neck, he held her a little tighter.
She nodded against his throat. “Your family, and Rhaenyra’s are under protection of House
Dustin, and the North. Cregan’s taken control of the Kingsguard, Queensguard, and City
Watch, he’s securing the Red Keep and King’s Landing for your family right now. I spoke
with the Small Council, there will be trials set in place, and our wedding celebrations have
ceased, I’m using those funds for the city and securing aid for the smallfolk. Rhaenyra and
her family are secure, as are Damon’s family, yours is here, and we have secured the Princess
of Dorne. This evening, when you can, I will need all of you to come to address the Lords of
the Realm, I have them coming to the Great Hall.”
“Good,” he murmured. He wanted to be surprised that the Starks had this all well in hand, but
he’d seen the efficiency the siblings had in commanding the North and knew this was not
unfamiliar territory for them. They commanded by experience, and the entire Realm was just
a larger scale than their normal. He was relieved that they had taken the weight off his
shoulders, because he’d be fighting his grandsire and sister to just get things done.
“Do you need anything, does your family?” Sansa murmured.
“We… food, mother… the Queen, and Hel haven’t eaten, neither have the children,” he
muttered.
“I’ll get the kitchens organized,” she promised.
“Sansa,” he caught her hand as she turned to leave.
“Don’t,” she turned. “You are family, this is what families do.”
Her hand slipped from his and he walked around the room. Checking the other apartments, he
saw Helaena and his mother asleep together, and Maelor between them, Jaehaerys tugged on
his pants leg and Daeron looked at Aemond while biting his lip.
“What do we do if he dies?” Daeron whispered.
“He will not die, it’s Aegon,” Aemond rolled his eye. He did not think his brother could do
the mercy of dying easily. What Aemond wanted to know though was where the fuck
Aegon’s guard had been and how the hell did he get out of this fucking Keep when he was
supposed to be locked up after the wedding celebrations? At least, Aemond hoped people
intended to lock Aegon up after the wedding, he would wager Daemon would at the least be
insistent on that.
“Mon, is father going to live?” Jaehaerys asked with a cringe, he was too young to have fully
experienced Aegon’s depravity, and Aemond tried to protect his nephew from Aegon.
“I do not know.”
“I hope he dies,” Jaehaerys whispered viciously.
Daeron nodded in agreement and Aemond did not respond. He did not think anyone
understood how bad it’d be if Aegon died right now. Or the amount of danger Jaehaerys
would find himself in.
Aemond raised a brow when he heard the door open and saw Cregan walked in.
“Sansa spoke to me,” Cregan stated. “I need you, your uncle, and Princess Rhaenys, you
three are coming with me to the Dragonpit to secure it, then we’ll return for the great
meeting.”
“Securing the Dragonpit,” Daeron started.
“You’re staying,” he cut off his brother. “I’ll meet you at the gate,” Aemond looked at
Cregan.
It did not take Aemond long to get prepped or meet Cregan at the gate, he was surprised at
the horses he saw ready, and a few of the gruff Northerners already manning the gates, and on
horses.
“Prince Aemond, I will be escorting your family,” Lucan stated.
“Lord Norrey,” he nodded.
“I have wanted to thank you for everything you did for my goodson, grandson, and
daughter,” Lord Norrey said. “There was never a correct time to thank you, my Prince, and
I’m sorry it is under these circumstances I can thank you.”
“Lady Arra was… very kind, to me,” Aemond said tentatively. Daemon and Rhaenys
appeared, both looking uneasy and glaring at each other. Aemond spotted Cregan as the
Warden of the North swept to him.
“Aemond,” Cregan nodded to him.
“The securing the Dragonpits…” Aemond looked up at the dragons anxiously circling. “They
won’t hold Vhagar.”
“I need you to work whatever magic is needed to settle Vhagar and the other dragons, the city
is mostly secure, the Lannisters have secured the ports, searching every ship, and the Keep is
secure, you and I will ride out after Princess Rhaenys and Prince Daemon are returned to the
Keep to get Vhagar,” Cregan stated.
“Who are you to decide when I will return?” Daemon drawled out.
“I am the Warden of the North, and I act for the Crown, you are the Crown, and like it or not,
I will drag you back here by your short hairs if I have to, to ensure the safety of that Crown
until we have more information,” Cregan snarled. “Lord Norrey, you have my permission to
use whatever force is necessary to return Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenys to the Red
Keep.”
“Yes, my lord,” Norrey answered gruffly.
Aemond saw Rhaenys’ surprise and she swung up on her horse with aid from a Northern
guard. Daemon was scowling and Cregan pulled himself up on his horse. Aemond was
already up and ready as they rode to the gate.
“On the Gate!” a Northern guard yelled.
Aemond watched as Cregan signaled for it to open, and when it opened, he rode out. Ice
loping in pace beside his master. They rode hard and fast, and Aemond was surprised at how
quiet the streets were, the City Watch was paired with Northern men, and everyone had
buildings secured, and watches set up, it appeared that the North had rapidly secured and
locked down the city, Aemond saw the odd men directing folks through the city to where they
could get aid, and upstarts were being carted by. Aemond was fast to dismount as they came
up to the Pits, and he saw Dragonmasters posted outside of the Pits being detained by
Northerners.
“Lord Stark,” a man walked forward.
“What can you tell me?” Cregan demanded.
“There is a count of fifteen dragons circling the city,” the Northerner started.
“I don’t see Sunfyre,” Aemond informed Cregan and looked to his uncle and cousin for
confirmation. They nodded as they seemed to be observing the dragons.
“Whatever it is you need done to get them down here and calm would help,” Cregan said.
“Well, we don’t command all of them, they only respond to those they’re bonded to,”
Rhaenys explained.
“I’m not risking the entire Royal family to come get their bloody dragons, so figure it out,”
Cregan ordered.
“Vhagar, Caraxes, and Meleys, they’re the oldest up there, the younger ones might follow
suit if we can calm them,” Daemon proposed.
“Vhagar is the problem,” Rhaenys stated as she gave Aemond a glare.
“I can get Vhagar,” Aemond muttered. “She’s going to follow me, but we need to know
where Sunfyre is.”
“Who’s Sunfyre?” Cregan demanded.
“Aegon’s dragon,” Aemond answered. “I don’t know why he wouldn’t be up there; dragons
respond to us…” Aemond looked at his uncle and cousin then and they both shared his look
of concern. “Fuck.”
Aemond was fast to bolt into the Dragonpits, with Daemon and Rhaenys on his heels.
“FUCK NO! NO! SHIT!” Cregan shouted after them. Aemond didn’t slow as he ran through
the Pits. The inner labyrinth of tunnels and caves, the warmth, and volcanoes.
“He likes the western sun,” Aemond shouted as they ran through the pits. He rounded the
corners, and they came upon Sunfyre, curled up, breathing, bloody bones scattered about,
which had all three of them slowing. Aemond heard a rumbled breath from the dragon.
“Gods above…” Rhaenys muttered. Daemon was examining the bones, and there was a low
growl, which had Aemond looking behind him as he saw Cregan and Ice there. Ice’s lips
were curled back in distaste, and his fur was up as he backed up beside Cregan who looked
just as tense.
“It’s foul meat,” Daemon stated as he rose. “The meat was rank, seems to have unsettled the
beast’s stomach…”
“Someone poisoned a dragon?” Cregan muttered with disbelief etched on his face.
Daemon didn’t respond, and Aemond sighed. Now it seemed inevitable that he would have to
share his suspicions about the maesters as he looked at Cregan. Aemond still hadn’t had time
to properly investigate the maesters, but they were truly the only ones who’d have the
intimate knowledge other than a Targaryen to poison a dragon. But was it actually the
maesters or was it someone else? Was there another reason to attack House Targaryen? Was
this a simple assassination attempt, or was it the attempt to goad Greens and Blacks into war?
Cregan was still looking tense and wary as he and Ice pressed together watching Sunfyre
warily. Cregan had his long sword on his back, and his axe in hand.
“Not quite, it most likely happened days ago, given the beast is still breathing, it could be
why he has not reacted to Aegon’s attacks,” Daemon muttered.
Aemond was inclined to agree with his uncle, this had to have happened a few days ago,
Vhagar had been livid when he had lost his eye and they’d barely been bonded, Sunfyre and
Aegon were a decade of partnership between them. Sunfyre would have razed King’s
Landing if Aegon had been injured, which unsettled Aemond, it implied what happened to
Aegon was planned.
“We should have the dragonmasters check the pit for more rank meat, and have the maesters
out to examine Sunfyre,” Rhaenys decided as she kicked the bones.
“No,” Aemond shook his head as he looked at Cregan. “No…”
“I…”
“Tonight, I call truce, the feud between our family cannot precede this, Cregan, have Sansa
and Lord Norrey present tonight, with Domeron, Roderick, Bryan and Lord Mormont, we
can’t discuss this here. Tonight, Lord Corlys and his brother, they should also be there for the
discussion, as should Ser Vaemond’s sons, Daeron and Daemion. We’ll… we’ll meet in the
private apartments of the Royal Family. Daemon, I need you to find someone you trust to
look after Sunfyre.”
“The maesters know healing,” Rhaenys started.
“Not maesters,” Aemond stated. “I will explain later, tonight, but not maesters,” Aemond
stressed. “Cregan, we need to… I need to get Vhagar down here,” he said softly. “We do not
get the maesters here.”
“Then who the fuck is to watch the dragons?” Cregan demanded.
“Find the dragon masters, the ones we trust, speak to them, they should know basics of
healing, but we should not involve the maesters,” Aemond stressed again as he looked at
Sunfyre, the beast looked pitiful, but was still breathing, and alive.
“I understand the North’s dislike of the maesters, Aemond, but surely we should have their
healing skills,” Rhaenys started.
“No maesters!” Cregan and Aemond snapped in unison then.
“There is more to this than you or I know, cousin, it is important though,” Aemond sighed. “I
haven’t had time to fully investigate the matter.”
“What matter?” Daemon demanded.
“Fuck,” he muttered sourly as he looked at Cregan. “Get your dragons, I’ll discuss the matter
tonight. Come on, we need to get Vhagar.”
“Whoa, hey, there is no ‘we’ in getting Vhagar, I am staying firmly on the ground, never
doing that dragon flight again, no!” Cregan warned as they were running through the Pit
again.
“Trust me,” Aemond smiled sharply.
“I let you marry my sister, didn’t I? That’s as much trust as I’m giving you dragon boy!”
“I do believe that was her idea,” Aemond informed Cregan.
“Fuck… don’t tell me, I don’t want to know, I want to know nothing, you just happen to be
married to my sister,” Cregan warned.
Daemon looked at his former goodmother and sighed. She had raised Rhaena and she loved
his daughters, they were however unsettled by whatever had upset Aemond. Aemond and
Lord Stark though were friends, and it was unexpected in Daemon’s views; he had not
anticipated the pair to be friendly given they seemed civil at best most of the time.
“How do we get the dragons down here?” he asked finally as they walked out of the Pits.
They walked out to see Aemond and Lord Stark racing off and Daemon looked at Lord
Norrey and the other Northerners. They seemed set in grim determination, and Daemon knew
he would not be winning them over or swaying them to let him patrol the skies.
Lord Stark was expected to dislike maesters, after what had happened to his wife and the
lengths he had gone through to banish the Faith from the North, but Aemond’s dislike of
maesters was a surprise. What the fuck was going on?
“We should get ours here, then we should herd the others down to the Pits…” Rhaenys said
softly. He nodded as he looked up. Letting out a piercing whistle he watched the circling
dragons. Two peeled away as they dove for the pit rapidly.
The Northerners seemed unsettled, and Daemon smirked as Caraxes came flying down,
flapping his wings as his long neck snaked over and around Daemon, breathing his scent in.
Daemon smiled as he rubbed the snout of the beast.
“What do you think, ol’ boy, we can wrangle your hatchlings in and down here,” Daemon
muttered.
Caraxes gave a low chortle.
Chapter End Notes
This is the Final Recycled Chapter. We're about to head into uncharted water folks!
Onwards to war! And Mysteries! You know I've never actually written a proper mystery,
this is gonna be fun!
I need more caffeine... I should get coffee... Or... sleep. I'll sleep when I'm dead, I need
coffee. To the Coffee Machine!
Oooo, I have Monkey Bread! I'm having breakfast for dinner!

Chapter 11
Chapter Notes
“Surrender!” the order was demanded, and Jon leaned on the outpost of Winterfell looking
down at the attackers, Boltons. Veron raised a brow, and the defenses were lined with the
archers, all of whom held their arrows drawn and tense.
“What would Cregan say for this?” Jon asked dryly knowing the answer.
“Fuck off,” Veron mused.
“Right… Fuck Off Lord Bolton, or you’ll find yourself embroiled in a war, after which I will
deliver your head to my cousin personally!” he warned seriously.
“The head was a nice addition,” Veron said.
“Cregan seems to like them,” Jon replied.
“I haven’t had a Stark pelt in my collection in a long time, and you’re the prettiest Stark I’ve
ever seen, I think I’ll enjoy this,” Bolton decided.
“I think not,” Jon answered. He stepped behind the stones of Winterfell as the flaming
catapults were released, he winced as he snarled.
“What’s the plan?”
“I’m taking the best hunters through the crypts, we’ll outflank them, you hold them here, they
do not break Winterfell,” he stated firmly as he motioned for the rangers and hunters he had
in the yard to follow him. They ran for the crypts.
Winterfell was an ancient Keep, it had many hidden exits into the natural labyrinth of caves
which ran beneath the grounds, the lava tubes which fed the hot springs had many millennia
of evolution. It was difficult to navigate, and thus most of the Starks had also utilized these
tubes as their family crypts, it gave the Starks an advantage though because none knew better
than a Stark how to navigate these crypts. He made it to King Torrhen’s grave, motioning to
the men to push the grave aside, the ancient stones protested but eventually the tunnel was
revealed, he motioned for the men to go forward, they were uneasy about it, and he swept
through their ranks, into the tunnel without hesitation. The lava gave it an eerie, dim glow, he
ran though, and he heard the men behind him. They rushed through the warm tunnel, and Jon
pushed through the overgrown roots, which felt like they shifted aside before they ran out of
a tunnel into the forest line to the east of Winterfell.
“Now what?” one of the men huffed as they all assembled.

“Now, we outflank them and funnel them to Winterfell’s moat,” he stated as they grabbed the
last men. “Take the horses alive, we’ll need them,” he ordered, they ran through the flurries,
he noted most of the men wore grey cloaks and grey garb as they rushed behind Bolton’s
men. The defenses of Winterfell were holding strong. He attacked without a battle cry as he
cut down the catapult operators, and picked up some of the alcohol to douse the wood as he
set it aflame, other members of the guard were doing the same, there were shouts from the
Bolton ranks now.
Jon saw a Bolton soldier coming at him, drawing Needle he slashed the man’s throat, letting
his body hit the ground, as he grabbed Long Claw.
Cregan made it back to the Red Keep with Aemond, swinging off his horse as Lord Karstark
came at him with reports. Cregan accepted the reports.
“Men have sectioned off the city, they have secured the upper grids, and have started in on
the lower levels of the city, Kormed’s hounds are tracking Prince Aegon’s blood, it’s gone
into the lower levels of the city, but they still hunt. Kormed is displeased with the stench of
the lower levels, and worries it will ruin the hounds’ noses, if that happens he has requested
Sara to aid him with White Fang, wolves have superior noses, but he is still hunting the
quarry. Sansa’s Ladies have secured the staff, they have begun the interrogations of staff as
well. Lady Sara and her Ladies have taken to assisting Lady Sansa’s Ladies. Lady Elissa and
Lady Orrina have taken to guarding Lady Sansa, Lord Cerwyn was summoned to assist in
healing Prince Aegon, given his healing knowledge this seemed wise to me and I told him to
do it,” Karstark said.
“Wise move, Ladies Orrina and Elissa are enough protection for Sansa with Frostfyre,” he
agreed.
“House Dustin has taken to securing the Royals, Lord Norrey returned with Prince Daemon
and Princess Rhaenys, and had House Dustin secure them. Lord Velaryon has been a
problem, he has been demanding to know what is going on, we had him moved to be secure
with Princess Rhaenyra and her family given he is the children’s grandfather. Princess
Rhaenys was also moved to the Crown Princess’s quarters.
“Lord Mormont has been taking count of every Noble House and party in those Houses, he
has said all are accounted for. Lord Hornwood has taken to securing the injured, the septons
are displeased with the septs being converted to hospitals, but Lord Hornwood is attending to
the matter.”
“Good, what else?” Cregan asked.
“Lord Umber has been working with the judges of King’s Landing by order of Lord Wylde,
there is need to assess the crimes and criminals, we have circumvented the possibility of
riots, but there are concerns, the Gold Cloaks have a bloody reputation in these parts, there
are concerns of the Gold Cloaks overstepping to inflict harm or fear to maintain order.”
Cregan paused at that as he thought it over, fingering through the reports he had of casualty
numbers, as well as injured and criminals.
“No action is to be taken without trial, and then Northerners will be executing sentences, we
will bring Northern justice here, manage the Westerosi laws, every Gold Cloak is to be paired
with a Northerner, we do not let them do as they please,” Cregan decided.
“Yes, my lord,” Lord Karstark nodded.
“Is there anything else?”
“Yes… but… I do not know what to do about this,” Lord Karstark admitted.
“What?”
“I will show you,” he said and Cregan frowned as he walked with Karlon. They walked to the
barracks and Cregan frowned seeing children here. The eldest had to be about eight, the
youngest was perhaps a few days old, there were about twenty children here.
“What is this?” he whispered as he looked the children over. They all looked very similar,
and very… Targaryen.
“These are Prince Aegon’s bastards,” Karlon stated. “He sells them to peddlers of flesh and
fighting pits, these are the ones we’ve found alive.”
Cregan turned to stare at Karlon with wide eyes, then he looked at the children. It was now
Cregan noticed Aemond staring in horror behind him and Karlon, he had honestly forgotten
Aemond was with him. He looked at the children and grabbed a boy’s chin, tilting it up as he
looked at those violet eyes, and pretty face.
“What is this?” Cregan turned to Aemond who was looking at one of the babes a girl was
holding.
“I…I found out about this four days ago,” he stammered. “I did not know there were this
many,” he whispered in horror.
“What is this?” Cregan asked.
“Aegon is perverse, and he was supposed to be locked in the Red Keep, he should not have
been in Flea Bottom,” Aemond said softly as he picked up a toddler and put them on his hip.
“My brother has apparently developed a taste for breeding children so he can sell them and
have them die in the fighting pits, I knew of fifteen dead children, I just found out about this,
I have not had time to manage or investigate the depths of his perversions,” he admitted.
“There’s so many…” Cregan whispered in horror.
“They can’t stay here,” Lord Karstark said as he was holding another child on his own hip.
Cregan picked up a toddler before it could fall on its face. There were so many young faces
here, he looked at Aemond and Karlon feeling very out of his element now.
“Get them bathed, cleaned, attended to,” Aemond said. “I… I will figure out what to do from
there,” he stammered.
“They can’t stay here, not in King’s Landing,” Karlon stated as he bounced the child in his
arms.
“We take them North,” Cregan decided. “I’ll… gods have mercy,” he muttered as he looked
at the child in his own arms, the child had big violet eyes which were almost exactly like
Aemond’s. “Shave them, clean them up, get them food, we’ll take them North, they can be
Snows,” he said.
“Are you certain…?” Aemond sputtered.
“Yes,” Cregan whispered as he looked at their faces. “We’ll figure out what to do with them
in the North, but they aren’t staying here. Here they will be in danger, and stand as a threat to
your niece and nephew, as well as your sister and her children, we’ll move them North, they
can’t be a bargaining chip then, and foster them out amongst the Houses.”
“And getting them North, my lord, they are Targaryen bastards, if any of the Great Houses
suspect?” Karlon said.
“We don’t tell them, smuggle them with the Dustin’s men, they just need to make it North,
shave them to cut out lice and mites, burn these rags, if there’s clothes to spare from our
squires and men, get it, and we’ll move them out to the encampments then move them with
us when we return North,” Cregan said.
“Thank you,” Aemond whispered. “I… I’m certain I can take them to my House.”
“For their safety let’s spread them out, keep the ones who claim to be brothers and sisters
together, but spread them out and scatter them through the North,” Cregan said.
“Like seeds? You want to plant dragonseeds through the North!?” Karlon sputtered.
“They’re children!” Cregan snarled. “I want them safe, do what I’ve ordered,” he said as he
set the toddler on the bed. “We’ll find families to foster them in the North.”
“Thank you,” Aemond whispered.
“Were you going to inform us of this?” Cregan asked softly.
“Yes,” Aemond murmured as they put the children down and started walking out of the
barracks. “I was going to discuss the matter in full with you and Sansa as I need assistance
with figuring out what to do with Aegon. But I did not know his perversion had become so
vast, I was aware he had this perversion.”
“How did you find out?”
“When I found him fucking a pregnant whore while his daughter was in the fighting pits
having her throat torn out, she looked like Jaehaera,” Aemond whispered. “I had her buried,
at a nice spot, near where we set pyres for our own dead, I let her be close to Baelor, she
didn’t have a name so… so I gave her a name and a marker,” he explained.
“What was her name?” Cregan asked softly.

“I selected Jelaesella, she looked so like Jaehaera I thought she would be similar,” he
explained. “I don’t know what to do about this, Cregan, I have known he is perverse, I have
suffered his abuse for all my life, but I did not think his perversions were to this degree,” he
whispered honestly.
“What did he do to you?” Cregan asked warily.
“It is best to leave it in the past,” he murmured.
Cregan stopped as he looked after Aemond, that wasn’t an answer he wanted to have because
it insinuated something so much more horrifying than what Cregan had been beating out of
Jacaerys. Cregan had heard the stories Jacaerys thought were amusing for humiliating and
hurting others, and a common element in those stories was Aegon egging on Jacaerys, and it
was probably to avoid the abuses of Aegon. Cregan walked up and clasped Aemond’s
shoulder which seemed to startle the other man into pausing as he turned to look at Cregan.
“Lenton,” he stated and smiled. “Lenton is in the North, and it’s safe, Aemond,” he promised.
Aemond inclined his head then. “I will go see to Aegon.”
“Yes, also, get ready, the sun is setting, we’ll have to address the other Houses.”
Corlys was standing in the apartments for Rhaenyra, worrying his signet ring as he looked
out at the misty sea, the world was still damp, wet, and he was worried for Rhaenys. He bit
his lip as he closed his eyes and took steadying breaths, she was a Targaryen, she was a
strong woman, and the best dragon rider alive, they would be well. Daemon and Rhaenys
returned just as he finished praying for their safety, he reached out, catching his wife’s fingers
as he pulled her closer and kissed her brow.
“We need to speak,” Daemon stated.
“About?” Corlys stammered.
“Not here,” Daemon motioned and they walked into a small, private study, which had
Daemon shutting the doors behind him. Corlys frowned as Daemon checked the room over
before gesturing for them to sit.
“As Rhaenys knows, Sunfyre was poisoned, but, what you do not know is four days ago,
Prince Aemond summoned his mother, grandfather, myself, Rhaenyra, and Viserys into a
meeting, it appears he had found Prince Aegon in Flea Bottom, and his perversions were
great,” Daemon stated.
“A dragon poisoned…” It was a mystifying though, Meleys was near indomitable and
completely terrifying. Dragons seemed invulnerable, which made them an ultimate weapon,
it was how the Targaryens retained power. “What perversions?” Corlys raised a brow.
Perhaps they could remove the Greens entirely and retain the dragons.
“He has an affinity for not only tormenting and abusing his own brothers, wife, and children,
but has begun to enact perverted fantasies in Flea Bottom, he has a record of over fifty
children he has sold and killed in the fighting pits, he’s purposely purchased whores for
expressed purpose of impregnating them to kill the children, and he’s purchased the children
of his victims in these halls to put in the fighting pits,” Daemon explained.
“Gods,” Rhaenys paled as she clasped her hand over her mouth.
“This… this is terrible,” Corlys stammered. “Of course, the Realm must know,” he stated.
“No,” Daemon and Rhaenys stated.
“No!?” he strangled out.
“They can never find out,” Rhaenys whispered, as she looked at Daemon.
“This will ruin them, it will secure Rhaenyra’s reign, and Jacaerys’, it will secure a sure
succession,” Corlys argued.
“It will ruin House Targaryen,” Daemon and Rhaenys stated.
“The people will come for us in a mob, wanting our heads on a pike, and how long until that
wrath turns to all Valyrian Houses?” Daemon demanded. “And if Aegon dies, in this manner,
it will sully any claim we might have for the throne, and that will be something we never
recover from.”
“We have the dragons,” Corlys stated.
“Dragons can be killed,” Rhaenys said softly. “We’ve seen it before. It is not impossible, and
when outnumbered, even then a dragon can only do so much, yes Aegon conquered Westeros
on three dragons, but he was also a strategist, as was Visenya, they did not just use brute
force.”
“There’s also the problem of how I’ve acquired this information, which ensures, to me, that
Otto Hightower, and the Hightowers possessed this information previously at the very least,”
Daemon stated.
“Why… what makes you believe that?” Corlys asked.
“Mysaria was the one to inform me the full extent of Aegon’s… inclinations, as well as the
magnitude of this perversion, it leaves little doubt of if the Otto and the Hightowers know,”
Daemon grimaced.
“Ah,” Corlys said softly. He now understood, but it also put the Blacks in a precarious
position.
“Why… why would they keep this information to themselves?” Rhaenys stammered, she
looked sickened as Daemon had spoken and Corlys knew his wife could see the fall of her
House. Corlys had never been fond of Targaryens, but there was no denying they were a
strong, proud House, and they were a part of his own House. His legitimate granddaughters
would marry Rhaenyra’s sons, securing the Velaryon line on the Throne, which was
everything he had ever wanted for his House. Given House Velaryon had not been a powerful
House in Old Valyria, it would be a good change for them to have the power they were due.
Everything had purpose, had meaning in this world, and Corlys would admit he had been
upset his legacy would be so lacking and fought fiercely to reclaim his wife’s rightful place,
and rectify the Great Council’s foolishness, Velaryon blood would temper the Targaryen’s
more impulsive, dangerous natures and inclinations.
“There’s several real reasons,” he said softly and saw his wife and Daemon look at him.
“Everything has meaning and value in our circles, the names we select with care for our
children, the way we raise them, the matches we arrange, the colors, flowers, the placement
of our futures, it all holds meaning and it is our legacies. The Hightowers have a legacy with
their ties to Oldtown, the Faith, and their war with Maegor, they do have a legacy, to which
King Jaehaerys assisted in helping them heal with granting amnesty to many of the rebels
after he reclaimed the Targaryen throne.”
“But that was over eighty years ago, before any of us were alive,” Daemon pointed out.
“Eighty years is but a heartbeat to Houses as ancient as Stark, Lannister, Hightower, they
were Kings,” Corlys stated. “House Stark is the one of, if not the, oldest living House in
Westeros, Hightowers are not much younger than them, do we honestly, foolishly think they
would forgive and forget Maegor’s actions against them? No… they were snakes in the
grass.”
“You… you don’t think they actually planned this?” Rhaenys stammered.
“I do not know, but they have a boy named Jaehaerys, after the greatest King Westeros has
ever known, and they have a son named Aegon. They have created a rift long before they
ever arrived at the Throne,” Corlys said.
“Alicent was close to King Jaehaerys before his passing,” Rhaenys said.
“Yes, but she and Rhaenyra used to be close, and did grow up together, here, and Alicent is a
mere handful of years older,” Corlys said. “And even that relationship would not justify
her grandson being named after King Jaehaerys, Princess Helaena and Prince Aegon had no
relationship with him. There would be no need to name him such, unless there’s a meaning to
the name.”
“I have named my own sons Aegon, and Viserys,” Daemon countered.
“Yes, but you have personal ties to those names, Viserys is the name of your brother, and
Aegon the name of your ancestor,” Corlys said.
“And Aegon’s own ancestor,” Daemon countered.
“Indeed, but the Faith opposed the Targaryens, the Hightowers resisted the Targaryens, why
would they willingly name a child after a leader they opposed? And Otto has cast you as his
Maegor since well before now, he has equated you to the ruination of this Throne and Realm.
There is purpose behind that equation, you have never openly opposed the Faith, and have no
cause to be referred to Maegor,” Corlys stated.
“But I am ruthless, and harsh, and unmerciful,” Daemon countered.
“So is Aemond, so was Aegon the Conqueror, and Visenya his Queen, to equate you to
Maegor…” Corlys frowned. “They’ve been planning this for a while.”
“You think they mean for House Targaryen to tear itself apart to death?” Rhaenys asked.
“It makes sense, they never arranged marriage matches for Prince Aemond, or Prince Daeron,
both of whom are at an age to be matched, they did not seek alliances, and broke their own
Faith to arrange a match between Princess Helaena and Prince Aegon, they have pushed their
views and hold on the Crown thoroughly through King’s Landing, and have a strong
foothold,” Corlys said. “If there was a war, I would wager they intended to secure Jaehaerys,
let the rest of us tear each other apart, and in the ashes, have Jaehaerys rise to be King
Jaehaerys’ second coming to reunite Westeros under their Faith. If Prince Jaehaerys was
secured at say… Hightower, which would not arouse suspicion given he is Otto’s grandchild,
and he is steeped in the Hightower ways, after this civil war…”
Daemon was very pale as he stood there trembling, gripping the back of a chair, Rhaenys
looked pale.
“They intend for the Green boys to die in this war,” Daemon concluded.
“And ours,” Rhaenys whispered. “Oh Gods…”
“They would have to have pure reputations, irrefutable perfection to have been killed by
Blacks mercilessly, they’ve raised these boys to be sacrifices,” Daemon muttered. “FUCK!”
“For that to work, Prince Aegon’s perversions could never be known, or his death would
have to look like you ordered it,” Corlys whispered harshly. His heart felt like it was being
shredded as the horrid realization settled over them, those boys, those Targaryens were never
intended to live to adulthood. Why arrange a future when a future was not in their plans? No,
Aemond would have died, as would Daeron and Aegon, and probably Helaena and her other
children, they would be killed in this conflict and used by the Greens to fuel rage against the
Targaryens who had killed these Targaryens raised in their Faith. It would be enough to spur
the downfall of all Valyrian Houses, no one would be safe, if they believed in different Gods,
or religions, the Faith would purge the lands, and use the death of the Greens as martyrs to
their cause. Purge Westeros to be pure again. It was an old, but not new sentiment of
Westerosi society, but it was a sentiment frequently pushed beneath the surface in exchange
for self-serving ambitions.
“But… what changed, this feels too… unorganized to be a simple plan of theirs?” Rhaenys
asked. “Yes, there is premeditation in attacking a dragon; they might have intentions to attack
other dragons, and securing Aegon, but if Aegon was under guard how did he escape, who
released him, what is the meaning of this? Did they intend for him to escape for him to die?
Or did he genuinely escape and they saw an opportunity? I do not think this was planned
thoroughly, and on Prince Aemond’s wedding night? That is too much even for them.”
Corlys did agree with his wife to a degree, there would have to have been a measured plan in
place, and releasing Aegon seemed risky. If Prince Aemond was the one to inform them of
Prince Aegon’s perversions, and Prince Aemond was the one to break party lines, and to
move without Green consent… Corlys thought about what he knew from the past two years,
and everything he knew to have happened while he was ill. Prince Aemond was the one to
act, to force the Crown’s hand, to bypass Greens and Blacks to assist the North. It was Prince
Aemond who had moved freely and Prince Aemond who had had no matches who consented
to marrying a Black Lady. And not just any Black, the Black the Blacks were banking on to
assist them, the Starks, and the North, Aemond had married the Blackest of Blacks, for a
Stark would never break an oath.
Prince Aemond had the respect of the North though, and he was known for being accepted by
the Northerners, which Corlys had observed. Outside of Daemion’s friends, Aemond did not
intermingle with anyone, he had however drastically relaxed since the North’s arrival. Or as
relaxed as Aemond would dare to be, he did not spurn his betrothed or her family, or their
people’s wildness, but rather seemed to embrace it. And Prince Aemond had never contested
the match, rather he accepted it with astonishing ease and grace, and even communicated
with his betrothed in their time apart. Corlys had heard about that in passing and thought
nothing more of it other than Aemond was attempting to make the best of a bad situation.
“Prince Aemond is what changed,” Corlys concluded. “Prince Aemond has been the Green’s
weapon, the threat of Vhagar is enough to have people toeing the line, and he has been their
weapon, he’s not anymore.”
Corlys looked at his wife and Daemon.
“Aemond?”
“Yes, that’s what’s changed, it is the only thing to have changed,” Corlys stated.
“He… he did become interested in the North, and he did bind the Realms in trade contracts,”
Rhaenys said softly.
“You think Aemond is the cause of this?” Daemon demanded.
“He is the only thing to have changed in the last two years of strife and feud,” Corlys
countered firmly. “Whatever the Greens planned, they need Aemond, but Aemond is pulling
away, he is moving on his own, I don’t think they have control of him, and I think they’re
moving up their plans as a result.”
Daemon stared at Corlys and Corlys stared levelly back.
It was the only thing to make sense.
Aemond spotted Sansa speaking to the Noble Houses, and nodded as he left Cregan behind
and walked up behind her, catching her fingers, she jolted as she turned around. He felt her
curl her fingers in his then as she smiled.
“We need to speak, now,” he murmured softly near her ear.
“I…” she started.
“It cannot wait,” he murmured. “Not with everything… now,” he said softly.
She tilted her head, but nodded.
“Excuse me, my lords,” she smiled graciously at the other lords, and Aemond nodded to
them, ignoring the looks they gave him as he led her away from the Norrey sisters towards
his own apartments. Once there, he secured the door as he trembled a bit. He looked at her,
she stood there, looking uncertain as she watched him.
“I… I must confess, this is… dangerous, what I have to tell you,” he murmured. “And I beg
your forgiveness for putting you in danger without your foreknowledge of everything that
this match could entail.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” she started.
“I disagree,” he murmured as he clasped his hands behind his back, he noted her wolf was in
the room, and Sansa’s fingers were rubbing Frostfyre’s ear then.
“What is this about?” she asked and he looked at the chairs for her to sit, Sansa got the cue,
and did sit, he circled the room, thinking this over. He was uncertain what he had to confess
to first, the forgeries seemed trivial to Aegon’s atrocities, and the twenty nameless children
Cregan’s men had found. But also, he knew the maesters were an unknown, and he did not
know what else he could say. Slowly he came around, bracing himself on the back of the
chair he preferred as he looked down at her, she was sitting posed and elegant, looking very
much like a creature carved of ice right then.
“There are many things you could not be privy to about me before this match,” he confessed
softly as he looked at his hands, he noted now he had Aegon’s signet ring on his pinky, which
he nervously twisted a bit. “For one thing, my brother is a perverse monster,” he admitted. “I
knew his abuses on my person, but I believed them foolishly limited to me and mine alone,
and not… not what I have discovered in the past few days. Aegon has always been perverse
and cruel, but he was always weak, and I did not believe him capable of what I have
discovered; he has purposely bred bastards for the express intent of selling them to the
fighting pits of Flea Bottom and flesh peddlers, to kill them. He had already killed a child of
his in Hel’s womb, Baelor, he was born dead, Aegon threw Hel down a flight of stairs on a
rare occasion I sought companionship, and it… it killed her babe.
“It was recently discovered the depths of his perversion, four days ago to be precise…” he
whispered.
“Is this what has upset you so?” she asked.
“I… No,” he said weakly. “I betrayed my family, Sansa, I confessed Aegon’s perversions to
my uncle and half-sister against my mother’s wishes, and I do not know what more I could
do, but this is too far, and… my mother declared me no son of hers,” he whispered.
“Aemond,” she got up, and he flinched when he felt the fingers on his scarred cheek, being
forced to look at her again he was again startled to see nothing but a gentleness in her gaze. “I
am sorry for your pain.”
He nodded. “I… I have also put you in danger,” he confessed.
Now she looked confused, and he carefully pulled off the signet ring he so frequently forgot
he had stolen because Aegon never wore it, and placed it in her hand. Sansa looked puzzled
before she looked at him. “This is the Royal seal, the Crown’s…”
“Aegon’s,” he whispered.
Now her head whipped around to him and her eyes were wide, he pulled his own signet ring
from his other hand and held it out for her to see. She carefully reached for it, trembling
fingers as she picked it up. It was their new House’s seal, he had not commissioned it, but
rather the North had presented it to him in one of their missives for approving the House
sigil, and words, and informing him of their name.
“I don’t understand…” she whispered as she looked at him.
“I… I am a forger,” he confessed as his heart slammed painfully in his ribs then. Her gaze
was still confounded and he took a steadying breath. “I have assumed Aegon’s
responsibilities since I was eight, I have practiced and perfected many hands but… I have
been a forger for over a decade, and I have been having a heavy hand in the Crown’s affairs,
before you forced my hand.”
Now she blinked as her eyes widened and she stared at him with unblinking blue eyes. He
stared levelly back.
“You… you… oh my gods…” she whispered. She was paling so drastically and rapidly,
trembling as she stared at him, he moved, catching her as he helped put her in a seat.
“Aemond!”
“I forged a letter from my grandsire to spur my uncle into agreeing to our match,” Aemond
whispered. “I have forged many things, primarily everything in Aegon’s name, I have never
harmed the Realm though. I have been managing the Small Council since I was fourteen, and
I have been managing the Realm’s affairs quietly since before then. I do not believe Rhaenyra
nor Aegon have ever attended a Small Council meeting in my entire lifetime.”
“Who… who knows?” she stammered.
“Cregan,” he admitted. “It was the only way he’d agree to our match. And Daeron, my
brother, but he does not know the extent of my forgeries,” he murmured.
Sansa was clutching the rings to her heart, and he saw her eyes were wide and unblinking.
“No one will know,” she whispered firmly.
“Sansa…” he started.
“No. No one, Aemond, no one can know, gods… the implications… everything… everything
we know, it could all be wrong, it could… oh gods…” she whispered, more to herself. “If you
forged… what records are right? Is… is it even right?”
“Sansa, no one but you, me, and Cregan truly know my forgeries,” Aemond whispered. “No
one can know, it will get us killed, and my sister, brother, and their children,” he explained.
“Aemond, you don’t understand…” she whispered in wide eyed horror. “If you forged…
what records can be trusted!? Was any of it actual fact or just… false… was any… oh
gods…” she breathed.
“Sansa,” he caught her hands and she looked at him. “I will not let anyone harm you or
yours, but for the good of our House you must know the danger we could be in,” he
explained.
“I understand, Aemond, I don’t think you do,” she confessed softly. “If the records are
wrong, is my history even correct, can I change anything? Or are we doomed? Was any of it
real, is the Realm real? Aemond, you do not understand…”
“There is more…” he grimaced.
“More?” she whispered in horror.
“The maesters…” he bit his lip, he felt her hands shift in his, he expected her to jerk her
hands out of his own and was startled when she gripped his hands with bruising power, the
rings in her grasp digging painfully in his own palms. “I have found cause for concern in
regards to the maesters, it is connected to both the messy records from the Stark lands, and
North as a whole, as well as Lady Arra’s death.”
“What?” she whispered.
“You presented records which insinuate massive amounts of money being embezzled from
the Realm, as well as other records for money mismanagement, and concerns for incorrect
taxation, the tax records of the Crown and your realm do not align, and money is
disappearing from the Realm. As the maesters act as agents of the Crown even where the
Faith is not practiced, I fear there is a connection between the embezzled money and Lady
Arra’s death, though what it is I do not know,” he confessed. “You said Arra and you were
the ones to discover the discrepancies, and her death was… unexpected, I believe there to be
a connection.”
“What?”
“I found a missive, from the Reach, I do not dare infer deeper meaning to it, but the phrasing
is alarming,” he murmured.
“Does Cregan know?” she whispered.
“Yes,” Aemond answered. “I would never dare to hide evidence about his wife’s murder from
him,” Aemond confessed. “I did not want to hide it from you and yours, but I did desire to
gain more information before having to tell you. Alas that was not possible with the past
year’s plans.
“I have needed to speak to you about our campaigns, and there has not been a moment for us
to have,” Aemond murmured. “I intend for us to go to the Citadel, and Oldtown to investigate
the records of the Realm, and maesters, I fear the maesters might possess a patron behind the
scenes whom I am unaware of, and I wish to ensure the safety of this Realm, as well as figure
out where the funds are being embezzled to. We will travel by Vhagar, if we are in need of a
swift escape I would prefer us to be able to leave with haste, and a lack of guards will permit
us to move freely until we can return to Lenton.”
“And… Oh gods…” she breathed. “Sam was right… I… I’m with you, Aemond,” she
promised fiercely.
He blinked a few times as she looked at him, her eyes were glittering with tears, and she
looked fiercely determined.
“I am sorry,” he murmured.
“No,” she cut him off in a harsh whisper. “We all have secrets,” she whispered. “I… I do
need to figure out what we are to do though.”
“We?”
“I am your wife, I will be with you, Aemond.”
“I…”
“You will not go where I cannot, Aemond, and I will not go where you cannot, we are
husband and wife, I will be with you,” she assured firmly.
“I am sorry,” he murmured as he bowed his head to rest against hers, she didn’t move away,
but he felt her pull one hand free as she traced his scar.
“So you are running the Realm?” she whispered.
“This wedding has been a pain in the arse,” he ground out.
She gave a wet giggle and he opened his eye to look at her. “I see that now, more than
before,” she whispered, there were tears in her eyes as they escaped her.
“I trust you,” she huffed softly. “Just… do not think you will be shutting me out of your
affairs now, I will assist you,” she promised.
“You do not have to,” he murmured.
“Oh Aemond, I cannot forge but I believe you will find my skills to be useful in your
endeavors,” she smiled softly.
He nodded as they sat there, her knees bumped into his, and he just enjoyed feeling her
fingers in his as she moved the rings back to his hand and held his hand. She was trembling,
and he just wanted to comfort her, but at the same time, could not find it in himself to move.
The implications… he was a forger… gods have mercy, she trembled at the implication alone
of what that could mean for the history she knew about Aemond. He was wild, willful, hot-
tempered, unforgiving, and dangerous, and now, cunning, she trembled at the implication
though of him managing the affairs of the Realm, and forging of all the things. Nothing
accounted for forged records, granted, Sansa knew the records were managed by men and
men were flawed, there were famous accounts of maesters burning their own records out of
distaste.
Hell, the Dance of the Dragons was only held in accounts by a handful of maesters, but the
official record was transcribed by Septon Eustace and Grand Maester Munkun. But there was
a version of the Dance Sansa had read about written by a dwarf known as Mushroom, and his
account was considered fable rather than fact. The realization had her feeling like she was
punched in the gut as she stared at her husband. Aemond… a forger, it terrified her, but
worse, it had her trembling.
She remembered from time to time, how Samwell Tarly when he had returned to Winterfell
before the Long Night, he would occasionally seek her out to babble about Citadel
conspiracies and worries. He had mentioned a few things which had just sounded… wrong to
her but now a new fear was gripping her heart as she sat there with her husband and tried to
wrack her brain and memories for what Sam had babbled on and on about. There’d been a
few conspiracies he had babbled on about.
The dragons not dying out naturally, but rather their shrinking forms and deaths were caused
by maesters poisoning them. Sam had said he theorized confinement had dwarfed later
dragons, but Daenerys’ own dragons had suffered a period of confinement by her own
admission and they were massive, dwarfing Caraxes and Syrax… and she had seen Vhagar.
If, and this was an if, if the records were not only wrong, but the maesters actively lied, then
the consequences, in her own historical knowledge, would have her terrified, and worse, she
was terrified what that could imply.
Were maesters hoarding magic? Were they after power? What were they seeking? What did
this mean? Sansa remembered a few times Theon would mention occasionally he feared the
maesters, calling them grey rats; she hadn’t thought about it. The maesters had free run of the
Realm, they were situated in every Great House, their sphere of influence was immeasurable,
they were housed, fed, clothed, trusted, relied upon, and welcomed. And in turn, they healed,
they conforted, they educted. But if they controlled the education eventually they would
control the House, for young Lords would seek them out and only them…
She shivered at the fear of that notion, the rulers would be ruled, and forced to conform in
thought, and when there was no diversity of thought, there was no adversion to the ruling
faction, even if that faction wasn’t the actual ruler. Controlling the method of thought, it was
what Lord Baelish sought, and perfected, and he utilized it to tear apart the Realm for his
own amusement.
Reaching up, Sansa touched Aemond’s cheek again, tracing his scar, he turned into her touch
and she reached up, pulling herself into his lap as she hugged him.
This man, this young man was remembered as nothing more than a kinslayer and monster
and he was so much more than that, it broke her heart. She trembled as his arms wrapped
around her waist and she slid her fingers into his hair as she kissed his brow. The maesters…
she was sure of it now, the maesters were masters of control, and they controlled the accepted
narrative.
“I will guard your secrets,” she whispered. “I am with you Aemond,” she promised.
She would have to speak with Cregan about this, she did not think her accounts of history
could be trusted now. And that notion terrified her as she sat there trembling.
What did the maesters want? What did they gain? She could not see the end for them. Even
in her time they were nothing more than quiet grey shadows in the House to educate the
Noble Families. She trembled at this information.
“Gods I’ve been a short-sighted fool,” she whispered.
She needed to talk to Jon, see if he knew anything more of what Sam had spoken of, or if he
had discussed the records from the Citadel in depth. Sansa had never paid them mind or
attention given her other worries, but she had always leant Sam her ear and time, as she
worked on other problems. She cursed herself for not paying him more mind or listening
more intently, she needed to cease her self-important moments, she needed to perfect the
listening she’d had as a girl, because she needed to know more.
“I am sorry,” Aemond whispered.
“No,” she cut him off. “No, never be sorry for serving the Realm,” she whispered. “Someone
has to care about the people, and to keep it running, for so long without anyone knowing, that
is selfless, never be sorry for that, Aemond.”
His arms tightened around her, and she pressed her lips to the crown of his head as she
trembled violently in his arms. She was terrified for what this could mean. Aemond’s lips
pressed against her throat and she held him tighter.
“I will not let history repeat,” she promised him so softly. “Nor forget.”
“Hm?” he hummed.
“I will help you,” she whispered again as his head tilted back and she smiled down at him. “I
will help you,” she repeated.
“I am sorry for this danger, if you had had the foreknowledge of my activities,” he started.
“I would have agreed to the union, but I would have been here last year to assist you,” she
countered. “You aren’t doing everything alone, Aemond, I will help you.”
“You do not have to endanger yourself,” he murmured.

“I’m married to a dragon, and you’re married to a wolf, danger trembles before us,” she
smiled.
Chapter End Notes
On to new material, let the curiosities begin! Hope you guys enjoy!
Chapter 12
Rhaena was surprised when her father ordered her and Baela to wear their Northern gifts, and
their finest garb. For her it was a black dress with pale Velaryon teals, trimmed in gold. It was
a long, silk gown, and it was not her favorite. Still, she let herself be dressed in it, before her
father came to see her again.
“You should wear this,” he murmured as he looked at the set.
“It… it is so precious,” she whispered uncertainly.
“And it is important,” Daemon stated. “Today you wear this, as a daughter of Valyria,” he
assured as he picked up the necklace delicately. She shivered as he draped it around her throat
and clasped it behind her. She was careful putting on the earrings now, and the bracelets,
when she had the full set on, she trembled seeing her reflection. For the first time she saw
herself fully in the set, and it felt like she did not recognize herself in these jewels. She
looked at her father, he gave her a soft smile.
“I’m scared I’ll lose it,” she confessed.
“No, you will not,” he assured. “Come on, we must go,” he said. Walking out, she slipped her
arm in her father’s, and Daemon held her tightly, patting her hand in his elbow. She noticed
the Northerners who were scattered through the Gold Cloaks and White Cloaks, all looking
gruff and out of place; they didn’t wear the heavy plated armor, they didn’t shine, or gleam,
they didn’t look beautiful. No, the Northerners looked dangerous, and menacing, their faces
were set in hard lines, and indifferent, their leather armor and mail didn’t gleam or shine. But
shockingly, Rhaena saw the women in similar armor, and also armed. Rhaena looked at Baela
who was openly gaping, the Ladies Sansa and Sara had always been surrounded by were
openly armed with swords, daggers, axes, they looked dangerous.
Rhaena would never have thought the Northern Ladies as dangerous, they were so gentle and
thoughtful, but there was a harden look about them, and it was clear they were ready to fight.
She finally saw Sara as she and her family walked into the Great Hall, and Sara Stark stood
tall, looking like a general, she was wearing mail, leather, armor, trousers, and her hair was
pulled up in a braid. She looked like a warrior, she had a bow and arrow on her back, and she
turned, her young gaze now looked a thousand years old, her eyes were harsh and grey as a
thunder’s storm cloud, startling Rhaena. The other Ladies with Sara also looked like Sara, but
not as old, there was something about the Stark gaze which was ancient.
It was shocking, she walked up to her place, standing with her grandmother and grandfather,
her father kissed her brow, and Baela’s before he stood beside Rhaenyra, Jace, Luke, Joff,
Aegon, and Viserys. Rhaena peeked at her Northern friend again, and Sara wasn’t looking
back.
The Greens were assembled, she noted that Daeron and Helaena were both looking rather
subdued, while Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor were all clutching their mother’s skirts.
Queen Alicent arrived, assisting King Viserys, and Rhaena wrinkled her nose a little at the
stench of her uncle, but schooled her features when her grandmother squeezed her shoulder
tightly.
Rhaena’s gaze settled on the Court instead, and she saw a lack of Greens and Blacks, which
was curious, there were a sea of blues, greys, whites, reds, but curiously a lack of green and
black, which was different. Since two years prior, and most of Rhaena’s lifetime, she could
not remember other colors being amongst the Court unless they were muted.
The doors of the Great Hall were pushed open and she was startled, the Notherners fanned
out, two wolves loped ahead and she saw the way Sara’s own wolf rose, shaking out it’s pelt,
but didn’t move from Sara’s side.
Cregan Stark walked in, looking indifferent, harsh, wild with his Northerners, he looked very
dangerous, but his eyes were like Sara’s. Ancient. There were something heavy and old about
the Stark gaze she hadn’t noticed, and looking at Sansa Stark, she saw it reflected in Sansa’s
blue eyes as well.
Startling, Aemond walked behind Cregan, with Sansa tucked at his side, he was looking tall
and intimidating as ever, not an emotion or thought to be seen on his face, and his hard face
was etched in stone. She was shocked seeing Aemond and Sansa together, she had not seen
this though, the way they commanded the Great Hall, it was unsettling, there was a hush that
followed them as they walked. Sansa walked with Aemond, she leaned over, whispering
something, but Aemond’s expression never faltered or altered.
Cregan said something, shrugging, and then he walked over to Sara. None of the Notherners
looked unsettled or uncertain about their place, instead they looked very at home here.
Aemond and Sansa walked up the steps.
Now was when Rhaena really took the pair in, neither was dressed in styles of Court, but
rather simply, Sansa had on a leather bit of armor, and Aemond wore one of the vests he’d
been favoring since his betrothal to Sansa. Neither looked Royal and neither looked out of
place, Aemond looked very, unnervingly, like a leader, while Sansa at his side looked like his
Queen. She was startled by the sight.
Sansa leaned up, whispering something in Aemond’s ear, his eye flicked to look at her then at
the crowds. The pair never released each other though, Sansa’s hands were comfortably
linked on Aemond’s elbows, and they appeared comfortable like this.
“I apologize, for these are unexpected, unforeseen and unfortunate circumstances which we
have gathered for,” Aemond started. “I… I speak in proxy for Prince Aegon, who is unable to
attend this evening given he was attacked. Last night Prince Aegon was stabbed by an
unknown assailant, he was found by the Cargyll twins, he is in an unknown state of health.
The assault on the Royal family was deemed a threat, to which we commanded the Red Keep
be secured and King’s Landing locked down to prevent panic and fear from spreading as we
furthered the investigation into the attack on Prince Aegon.
“Princess Rhaenys, Prince Daemon, and I hae secured the dragons, I left Lord Stark in
command of securing the city and Red Keep, and my lady wife in command of assisting the
Small Council in distributing fair, and true justice, as well as assisting in aiding the people of
King’s Landing at this time.
“Prince Aegon’s health is in an unknown state at this time, and he is being attended to by the
Royal physicians and maesters. Prince Daemon will be resuming his post with the City
Watch, while my family attends to Prince Aegon. My apologies at this time for the heavy
handed manner in which we have conducted ourselves, but we were greatly concerned with
keeping all parties of the Realm safe and secure in case of further attacks. Princess Aliandra
of House Martell, on behalf of Westeros and House Targareyen, House Stark, and House
Drekaúlfur, I would like to extend our deepest apologies for our harsh conduct and if we have
overstepped, we sought only to secure all parties and guests of our wedding,” Aemond said
looking at Princess Aliandra.
“I have no grievances, Prince Aemond, for House Targaryen, House Stark, or House
Drekaúlfur, I merely will pray for Prince Aegon to recover and for the safety and security of
Westeros,” she replied with a gracious smile.
Aemond inclined his head. “At this time, there is nothing further to add, we apologize again
for the celebrations being cut short, and thank you for your service to the Realm. When this is
concluded we will proceed from there,” Aemond dismissed. He and Sansa were swift to exit,
guiding the Greens out, and Rhaena bit her lip.
“That was presumptuous of him,” Baela snorted. “To speak as if he were the Crown.”
“It is bold, but he is also the one aware of everything happening,” her grandmother spoke
then. “And it is in his knowledge that he is free to speak on behalf of the Crown at this time.”
“He isn’t even a true Targaryen,” Baela muttered.
“Enough,” Corlys snapped. “We will cease this now, come along,” her grandfather ordered.
Rhaena recoiled with Baela as they both stared at their grandparents.
“We are Valyrian children, Valyrian Houses, we will never speak as if the other is an other,
we are one,” Corlys said as they walked. She blinked a few times, she had never heard those
words before. The Hightowers were never Targaryens, they weren’t entitled or worthy to ride
the dragons, especially Aemond after he stole Vhagar from her. He was not a true Targaryen.
Her grandfather’s words were startling though.
She looked at the back of her father and grandfather as they lead their family, both were
speaking quietly to one another.
What was truly going on?
Aemond took the moment of their exit to grab Sansa, herding her into a small alcove as he
caught her, sagging against her body. Aemond never did anything in the open, he didn’t do
anything that people were aware of, and despite the display of their wedding, this had been
his breaking point as he sagged against Sansa. He was relieved as her arms wrapped around
him, holding just as tightly as he was, her breath was warm against his throat, and he felt her
fingers tangling with the loose ends of his hair.
He had wanted to reach for his mother, earlier this day had been the first time she had been
his mother since declaring him no son of hers, but at the same time he was terrified to hear
her say he was not her son. Which had him keeping his distance and remaining close to
Sansa, at least the woman he had married wanted him. That was a novel concept to Aemond
given he didn’t think she would after everything he told her, but she was the one always
linking their arms in public, and she was the one moving with him.
For the past hour Aemond had been trembling in fear and terror at having to speak, verbally
address, the entire Court and Realm, he had never had to do that in his life, he aimed to be
unnoticed and now he had to be before them all. The best part of the entire display of his and
Sansa’s wedding was the fact that he never had to speak beyond their marriage vows, and
even then, he was mainly speaking to her. But alas, no one knew more than he about the
entirety of what was going on, and he would have to speak to the Realm. His mother couldn’t
speak, he didn’t think she had gotten over the shock of what had happened to Aegon yet, his
father was senile, his grandsire was not Royal, Hel was in no condition to speak, Daeron was
too young, Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra had primarily been under guard, and
Aemond only knew as much as he did because he was under Cregan’s guard and Cregan was
in charge of commanding the situation they found themselves in.
His heart was pounding painfully as they stood there, he trembled holding her close, she was
trembling just as thoroughly.
“Sansa…” he rasped.
“We’re alright, we’re safe,” she promised softly as her arms tightened around him. Aemond
pulled her closer as he was relieved, never had he received comfort or support. He felt her
breath, soft and warm against his skin, and he squeezed his eye shut.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“Of course,” she kissed his pulse and the underside of his jaw as she pulled away. He stared
down at her in the dim light of the torches. “The lone wolf dies, the pack survives,” she
whispered.
“I’m not a wolf.”
“You married a Stark, Aemond, you’re a part of this pack,” she warned seriously.
He nodded as his brow rested against hers for a moment longer and then she stood straight,
stepping back as she tugged on his vest a bit and he linked their arms.
Cregan looked as Aemond and Sansa emerged, today had been exhausting, and he knew that,
getting Aemond to understand he would have to speak before the Great Hall and the Great
Houses had been like pulling teeth. Aemond had been very hesitant to even speak before
people and Cregan guessed part of it was being a shadow figure of the Realm and being
forced to address the Realm was probably a lot to him. Also, Cregan got the sense Aemond
rightfully hated being in the center of attention. When the pair approached him, he fell into
step on the other side of Aemond.
“That went as well as can be expected,” Cregan sighed.
“It is over now,” Sansa murmured.
Aemond inclined his head, and Cregan saw the Princess of Dorne walking after them.
“Go, I have to attend to something,” he ordered softly as he patted Aemond’s shoulder, then
gave a stray strand of Sansa’s hair a tug before walking to Aliandra who was looking at him
with a frown. “Princess,” he said as he inclined his head slightly.
“You will never attempt to protect me again, Lord Stark, I am a Princess of Dorne, I am no
maid in need of protection,” she stated firmly, her guard standing beside her.
“I would never believe that, but, in the face of the unknown, I do not like risking the Crowns
in favor of their personal pride,” he stated.
“You are a proud man, Cregan Stark, it would do you well to remember humility, a good ruler
is never too full of themselves they ignore the skills and abilities of their partners,” she stated.
“I will remember that in the future,” he decided.
“Good. It appears we will have much to learn from one another,” she said.
He inclined his head in agreement.
“You are forgiven, Lord Stark,” she stated suddenly. “Do not presume me a fair maid again
though, or I will not miss.”
“Normally, she’d have poisoned her offender for daring to underestimate her,” her guard
stated. “You have made an impression, Lord Stark.”
He inclined his head and left the pair behind him as he went after Sansa and Aemond, he saw
Aemond turn away from his mother and his siblings and followed after them.
“Gather Lord Corlys and his wife, as well as Daemon, Rhaenyra, Vaemond, Daeron, and
Daemion, we will meet at the Small Council Chambers,” he decided.
“I will send Ice there to secure it,” Cregan said.
He nodded and Cregan walked away from Aemond and Sansa to find Vaemond, Daemion,
and Daeron, he would have to summon Corlys, Rhaenys, Rhaenyra, and Daemon. With this
meeting, it would be important to secure the room though, he would have the Dustin brothers
assist in securing the area, given they were guarding the Crowns at this moment.
Aemond did not bother to see to Aegon’s condition, he was uncertain if he could restrain
himself from smothering his hapless, helpless brother to death. Aemond had been weighing
Aegon’s death most of this evening, even when he had addressed the Court. After speaking to
Sansa about what he had withheld from her, he had started thinking over what to do about
Aegon. After discovering all those children in the barracks today he was firmly of the opinion
Aegon could not be left to live.
If Aegon could die quietly in… a week or two or three, it would give Aemond enough time to
move Hel, her children, and Daeron out of the Red Keep, and to the North, it would also give
him a chance to get these ridiculous celebrations out of King’s Landing and evacuate the
people who mattered at this time. No doubt if Aegon died this was not going to be good,
Aemond wasn’t fool enough to think his grandsire would just accept the death and permit
Aegon to pass away quietly; which would be for the good of the Realm. But Aemong was
certain his brother would not pass peacefully, this was Aegon, and Aegon never did anything
Aemond wanted without massive amounts of drama, abuse, and feet dragging; Aemond
doubted Aegon would just die.
Castrating Aegon was not feasible given the perversions his brother seemed inclined towards,
which had Aemond certain his brother would just get others to enact his fantasies for him to
watch. Afterall, Aegon had goaded Jace, Luke, Joff, and others into harassing Aemond for
most of Aemond’s life, he didn’t think Aegon would change just because he lacked a cock.
Because Aemond was certain if he did castrate his brother, he would be doing it personally to
ensure root and stem were gone.
Sending Aegon off to a septon life was not even to be entertained, Aegon would be a
nightmare to have, and Aemond didn’t want his brother exposed to the world to inflict his
perversions upon it.
Locking Aegon up for the long term was not feasible either, as this incident was showing
because his brother could still escape and be free to inflict his cruelty upon people. Which
infuriated Aemond because if no one saw Aegon as a threat, then Aemond had already lost
the war before it could begin. And worse, Aegon was just charming enough that most people
were eager to comply with his requests until they truly got to know Aegon. Aegon did have a
silver tongue when he wanted one.
And that left only one option: death.
Aegon would have to die to fully secure the Realm from Aegon, but in killing Aegon there
would be war. Aemond didn’t know who, but he didn’t think it was anyone from House
Targaryen, but he didn’t know if it could’ve been someone from House Targaryen, someone
though had attempted to kill Aegon, publicly in Flea Bottom outside of one of the fighting
pits. And that would lead to civil war. Aemond could see that even if someone in the Green
faction did attempt to kill Aegon and failed, the Greens would point the finger at Rhaenyra
and the Blacks and that would equal war. If someone in the Blacks had actually attempted to
assassinate and failed assassinating Aegon; that would also equal civil war. If someone had
finally fought back against Aegon, even an unknown stranger, and almost killed him in the
process, that would also lead to war because Greens would accuse Blacks, Blacks would take
offense, and that would lead to war. Everything lead to war!
Which was exhausting whenever Aemond tried to think of ways around war.
No matter what, nothing would truly come of Aegon’s death until Viserys was dead and
rotting in the ground. Aemond wasn’t giving his father a dragon rider’s funeral, he’d rather
never acknowledging Viserys was a member of House Targaryen since the fool had created
this bloody situation that Aemond found himself in! But at the same time, he was dreading
his father’s death because it would lead to war.
War was inevitable at this point. Whether or not he wanted it.
So, he needed to secure Hel, her children, and Daeron away from King’s Landing before war
could break out. Daeron would be secure with House Lannister, Hel could go… North, to
Lenton, oversee it’s construction, with her children, or she could go to House Hightower, but
he didn’t think she wanted to do that. Aemond needed his family secured before he started
thinking about this truly and trying to figure out what to do next. One thing at a time, it was
always, solve one problem at a time, crisis could come and go, but one problem at a time.
He was unsurprised when he made it to the Small Council chambers with Sansa on his arm,
and he leaned on the wall, seeing the way Frostfyre loped in, sniffing the air, circling the area.
Sansa looked up at him, and he tensed as she reached up, moving the strands of his hair aside.
“We’ll figure this out,” she assured softly.
He nodded again, as they walked in, Frostfyre was swift to settle on the balcony and Sansa
looked around. He watched her, her fingers absently brushed over the backs of the chairs, and
she paused at Frostfyre, rubbing the wolf’s ear as she walked around. She paused at the
mural, and folded her arms, frowning as she studied it. He knew about the secret room behind
that mural, and walked around, peering at the holes, seeing nothing more than the empty
space. He was certain Frostfyre would’ve alerted her mistress to something more, but he was
relieved checking it.
Sansa looked at him, and smiled slyly. “She looks very small compared to the other two
dragons,” she stated.
He looked at the rendition of Vhagar then. “That is Balerion, the Black Dread, he was the
largest dragon alive, and the only one I know of to die of old age.”
“And this one?”
“Meraxes, she was killed at Hellholt, in Dorne, during the Dornish wars,” he answered.
Sansa nodded. “Well, Vhagar does dislike the Dornish,” she mused.
“It’s an old grudge,” he defended. “You would not believe how frequently she’s attempted to
eat Ser Cole,” he murmured with a small smile on his lips.
“Truly?”
“Yes,” he snorted, and then frowned as the pang of sorrow lanced through his heart. He’d lost
his mother, his brother, and Cole, all in one decision. Sansa touched his shoulder and he
turned to look at her.
“Love is not always forgiving, or kind, and it is rarely simple, Aemond,” she sighed
knowingly. “Give yourself and them grace.”
“You are so beloved, what could you possibly understand of this matter?” he demanded as he
felt anger boiling in his blood as he glared at her.
“Aemond, we all have secrets,” she said softly. “And… I, like you, have many which I cannot
share openly.”
He paused staring at her again. He saw no mockery or anger or defenses in her stance, merely
a relaxed gentleness she always had.
“As I have told you mine…” he started.
“I will tell you mine as well, but, it is not for here,” she murmured as she reached up, tracing
his jaw, he leaned a little into the touch, surprised at the comfort of her touch. “But I will tell
you, I just… I need to figure out how to tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because it is difficult to comprehend, in a world with dragons, and wrights, and Others, one
would think it would not be so difficult to comprehend, but rarely does a day goes by I do not
struggle with it. And if I have difficulty believing it, how am I to tell it? But I will find the
words, I just need you to have an open mind,” she confessed. Aemond didn’t understand, but
he didn’t get to press her as the doors were opened again, and they both turned to see
Vaemond, Corlys, Rhaenys, Daemon, Rhaenyra, Daemion, Daeron, and Cregan walking in.
“I… I trust you, Sansa,” he murmured.
“I know, and I will not betray that trust, Aemond,” she assured as they walked to the table.
He seated her first, leaving the King’s spot empty as he sat in his normal spot, Cregan sat
beside Sansa. Vaemond assumed the end of the table, Daemion and Daeron sat on either side
of Vaemond, while Daemon sat across from Aemond, Rhaenyra took the King’s seat, Corlys
sat beside Daemon, with Rhaenys on his other side, their hands were clasped.
He felt his heart slamming in his chest again, and felt Sansa’s knee brush his as he sat there,
fighting every urge to fidget under their gazes. The last time Aemond had had to deal with
Rhaenyra, Daemon, Corlys, Rhaenys, Vaemond all at the same time was the night he’d lost
his eye. He felt his scar throbbing at the painful reminder as he looked them over.
“You have called this meeting, what is this about?” Daemon demanded, as he leaned back,
lounging in his seat, Rhaenyra reached over and Daemon clasped her fingers.
“Many things,” Aemond confessed. And he looked them levelly, taking a deep breath he
steeled himself then, this was like managing the Small Council, and he’d been doing that for
years. “To begin the full scope of what I am to speak of, I will have to have your open minds,
and your silence until I have completed this narrative, because I do not like repeating
myself.”
“I…” Rhaenyra started.
“Of course,” Vaemond smiled as he leaned back in his seat.
“Two years ago, Lord Stark and Lady Sansa brought records to this court’s attention
regarding mismanagement and negligent records of their Realm, from the births to the taxes,
to the general record, there has been a malicious mess which I have been patiently sorting
through and it has lead to a conspiracy greater than I have anticipated.
“These records were found by Lord Stark, his late wife, Lady Arra, and Lady Sansa, which
revealed the maesters as either incompetent or not truthful agents of the Crown, which is their
sole purpose in the North, as the North is the largest Realm in Westeros not practicing the
Faith, and not a patron of the Faith or the Citadel, which is their prerogative,” he assured
Cregan and Sansa before they could speak up. “The North has been mismanaged until recent
years, and that is understandable, whether through malicious intent, or true negligence, it has
been mismanaged.
“The records uncovered large amounts of the taxes, collected from the North for the Crown,
to not be brought to the Crown, there is a great discrepancy in funds, which are being
funneled to an unknown third party, or the Citadel itself. I am uncertain at this time, however,
there is a mass amount of embezzling happening, as the Crown is afloat, but the Realm is
hemorrhaging money, the fund discrepancy has had me looking over the Realm’s records for
the past twenty years, and they appear to go further back.
“As the problem was discovered in the North, by a Northern Lady, I have also found this to
be the more disturbing aspect of what I have discovered, and due to the past year of
preparations for this wedding. I believe there is a possibility for the maesters to not be
neutral, but rather serving an unknown patron, I believe when Lady Arra discovered the
records, it put her in danger. A grave danger which killed her.
“I do not believe Lady Arra to have died simply for a cultural clash between a Northern Lady
and Southron Maester, but rather for what she had learnt and the threat she posed…”
“Birth has risks,” Rhaenyra interrupted. Aemond frowned, as he slid his gaze to her. “The
babes can be too large, not in the right position, or the hips too narrow, there are many things
which can kill a woman in birthing the babe.”
“I am very well aware of the risks around childbirth, and I have no doubt that it is harrowing,
and mean no belittlement to the suffering of women who endure the labors of a child. Women
undergo tremendous risk to give us life, and it is dangerous, but Noble Ladies, women of
Great Houses, with the best midwives, maesters and healers around, do not simply die in
birth. And Lady Arra was killed because Young Rickon was cut from her belly when he was
in the birth canal, he was cut, along his face, arm, stomach, and leg, he was in the birth canal,
I saw the bruising myself, I witnessed his healing, and if it were not for the quick actions of
Lady Sansa and Lady Lyra, he would not be here today. Maester Garrett nearly killed the
babe, almost expertly so, and it would have been overlooked because women face this risk,”
Aemond stated firmly. “There is also evidence which was not presented publicly or shared
with the public record, which has me inclined to believe Lady Arra was murdered by order of
someone and Maester Garrett acted as their agent. I have no definitive proof, yet, beyond one
missive from the Reach.”
“And how do you know it is from the Reach?” Corlys asked.
Aemond looked at the old sea snake, fighting every urge in his body to tense, and snap, snarl,
defend his knowledge and hide his secrets.
“Because I recognized the script, I have dealt with many contracts in the Reach, uncle, and I
have come to have an eye for these things,” Daemion spoke suddenly. It startled Aemond as
he glanced at Daemion who was staring levelly back at his uncle.
“So, what is the meaning of informing us?” Rhaenys asked and Aemond turned his attention
back on the older woman.
“I do not care for you and yours,” Aemond stated firmly. “But we are House Targaryen, and
Houses of Old Valyria, and this is our home, and Realm, and we are under attack. The attack
on Aegon is suspect enough, to which I have no doubt none at this table were involved given
it would be suicide ultimately and fools do not sit at this table. So we are under attack,
Greens and Blacks, and we face an unknown opponent who has been patient for over twenty
years, if the records are to be trusted, and the options are unite or perish.”
“That is a grim outlook, nephew,” Daemon snorted.
“I do not find much in life is hopeful, nuncle, but given your pride for your House and Old
Valyria, I am safe in my assumptions that you will serve this House above your ambition
ultimately,” Aemond stated firmly.
“Do you have a plan to find this unknown patron as you call them?” Corlys asked him with a
snort.
“Yes,” Aemond answered. “There are logical patrons to examine in funding the Maesters and
their craft, those being the Hightowers, Tarleys, Tyrells, and many other Houses within the
Reach but it does not necessarily mean they are behind this. I intend to leave on campaign
soon, with Lady Sansa, and head for the Reach first, where I will begin hunting information
in the records.”
“Aemond, I don’t think you thought this through,” Rhaenyra chided gently.
“And what would you have me do, sister?” he sneered as he glared at her.
“Not endanger your new wife,” Rhaenys snapped.
“I…” Sansa started.
“Have you thought this through, Aemond?” Rhaenys demanded. “Truly thought this through?
What is your plan, essentially? Investigate until you strike a nerve and the patron reveals
themselves?”
“I do have a plan, cousin,” he stated smugly. “I married Sansa.”
Cregan started laughing, as did Daemion, and Vaemond snorted.
“I’m flattered I’m the plan,” Sansa chuckled, he smirked a little at his wife and goodbrother’s
amusement.
“A match I arranged,” Rhaenyra started.
“Yes, thank you for that, it saved me much troubles in convincing King Viserys to arrange the
match,” Aemond stated. He took glee in watching his sister and uncle’s expressions morph
into bewilderment then open confusion as they looked at one another. He never got to enjoy
getting one up on Rhaenyra and Daemon, and he would be enjoying this for a long minute.
“And how is that a plan!?” Corlys snapped.
“The North banished the maesters, and without an intimate knowledge of the Northern
politics, and inner struggles of the North, it is near impossible to infiltrate, also, it is difficult
to hold. My ancestors have worked at it for millenniums, and it is no simple feat. We also
have independent records, kept by the Night’s Watch, and then there are Winterfell’s own
independent records. Further, this has secured Aemond land, and a holding of his own, we
have designed Lenton to the specifications, akin to Winterfell, with the intentions of it being
able to withstand a siege from everything but dragons. Further, due to conscription, and
training, the North has the largest standing military, and the return of the New Gift has
granted Prince Aemond lands, funds, status,” Cregan stated. “And with my sister, Aemond
now has ties to House Stark, and our military, and the North. I was serious when I said the
North was my sister’s dowery for Prince Aemond.”
“You… you arranged this union?” Rhaenyra sputtered.
“Of course,” Aemond shrugged. “It would never be approved without you, sister, thank you
for your assistance, it saved me troubles of eloping, though I wish we had. Gods this
wedding’s been a never ceasing nightmare!”
“Arra just dragged me before the weirwood,” Cregan supplied.
“She did not! I was there!” Sansa snapped.
“She decided we were marrying!”
“That is true, you’re utterly hopeless,” Sansa conceded. Daemion, Vaemond, and Daeron
were laughing, and Aemond smiled slightly as Cregan smiled softly and Sansa was smiling
fondly.
“I am not!”
“You picked weeds for her,” Sansa sighed.
“They were very pretty,” he countered. Sansa was shaking her head, and Aemond bit the
inside of his cheek to keep his amusement to himself.
“She was so pleased to the match!” Sansa smiled broadly.
“It was her idea!”
“She was wise,” Sansa giggled. “And Lucan understanding.”
“It’s for the best… else Lucan would’ve used that axe he likes on me,” Cregan grimaced.
“Not that I blame him, I would use my axe on Aemond if he harmed you, or any man who
looks at Sara right now…”
“Cregan!”
“What!?”
“You are not harming my new husband! I like him, you’re not using your axe on him!”
“I’d prefer not to lose anymore body parts,” Aemond admitted to Cregan.
“Northern women love scars!” Cregan smiled wolfishly.
“Even so, I like my husband in one piece,” Sansa countered.
“I don’t know whether to applaud you, or cut you down, nephew,” Daemon finally cut
between the siblings, and Aemond turned his attention fully on his uncle who was staring
intently at him. “You manipulated us.”
Aemond shrugged.
“It is a good match,” Vaemond stated.
“I would have vied for Sansa’s hand myself, if not for you, my prince,” Daemion confessed.
Aemond frowned at Daemion, and Sansa was laughin.
“Sorry, but the North has a no substitutions, exchanges, or refunds policy regarding our
sisters, and I am invoking it before Aemond realizes what a nightmare she is,” Cregan stated.
“Cregan!” Sansa swatted Cregan’s shoulder, and the Lord of Winterfell gave a dramatic yelp.
“What!? One of you are married off, now one to go! Soon I will no longer be outnumbered
and outflanked in my own Keep!” he declared.
“Arra’s going to come back and haunt you just to irk you,” Sansa warned.
“I can live with that,” Cregan decided softly.
“Securing a stronghold seemed important, and I find Sansa tolerable,” Aemond stated to his
scowling sister and uncle. Daemon was making Aemond uneasy, same with Corlys and
Rhaenys stares.
“And now that you have a stronghold, in the North, you intend to continue this investigation
on your campaign, with your new wife?” Rhaenys demanded coldly. Aemond looked over at
his cousin and frowned, he did not understand her tone, but the disapproval was blatantly
obvious.
“As we have a year to campaign, due to the contracts of our union, while Lenton is under
construction, yes?” Aemond answered uncertainly.
“You’ll endanger your Lady Wife?” Rhaenys pressed.
“I am a Northern Lady, I will not wilt in Southron warmth,” Sansa said delicately.
“And if you catch a babe? Or should you need rest? What then? You cannot just follow
Prince Aemond around the Realm in an investigation which will endanger you.”
Aemond flinched at Rhaenys tone, it was almost maternal, he’d heard her speak to Rhaena
and Baela that way from time to time. But Rhaenys had brought up things Aemond had not
fully thought through, as he glanced at Sansa, she was pale as ice, but did not look horrified,
merely like she was carved of ice, same with Cregan. Neither Stark revealed a thought or
intention as they stared levelly at the table.
“If Sansa should need rest, she’ll come home, she’ll always have a home at Winterfell,”
Cregan decided.
“It is not that simple when there is a babe involved, have you two not discussed this?”
Rhaenys sighed as she looked at him and Sansa.
“Tehre’s been more pressing matters than a nonexistant babe,” Sansa started gently.
“Given the state of your sheets, I suspect that might not be true much longer,” Corlys snorted.
Aemond tensed as he looked at Sansa who was looking stricken then. Aemond had forgotten,
in the chaos of this day, that the bedsheets would be collected for examination, and given
how much had been done this day he had not paid it any mind. His hand was throbbing
painfully, and now he felt a headache brewing.
“You might very well be with child at this moment,” Corlys stated. “These are matters that
are not nonexistant, but rather developing, and it will be a concern in your travels, as well as
hinder Lady Sansa in her attempts to aid you.”
“Pregnancy is very taxing,” Rhaenyra confessed as she ran her hand over her fat belly.
Aemond felt like cold water was pouring over his head, and he glanced at Sansa who was
looking very uncomfortable right then.
“We… this is a matter between us to be discussed when it arises,” Aemond started.
“No, it is not,” Corlys countered. “You married, boy, she is your responsibility and any
children she provides you.”
“I’m aware!” Aemond snapped.

“Are you? You have secured a stronghold, and lands, and titles, but do you comprehend what
a wife is!?” Corlys demanded.
“Despite the rumors, Lord Corlys, I am not lack witted, nor slow of mind, I am aware of
exactly what I have accepted into my life, and I am aware of the responsibilities attached to
this commitment,” Aemond snapped furiously. “I arranged this match, I selected Lady Sansa
not because of her beauty, status, breeding or political standing, but rather because we have
an understanding of our arrangement and the full commitment it entails. We discussed this
match, and we agreed to it before I ever arranged for it to happen.”
“I do not think you lackwitted or slow of mind, Aemond, but you are young and young men
do not think rationally, nor do they understand the consequences of committing to a wife,
these are serious concerns,” Corlys countered.
“As I am neither your blood, or your House, I do not believe you have a right to lecture me
on my affairs, Lord Corlys,” Aemond countered firmly.
“But I do,” Daemon stated.
“I do not believe you do, as you are thrice married,” Aemond countered. “Once to a bride you
never wanted, once to a bride you tolerated, and once to a bride you chose, and all three of
your marriages are disastrous at best.”
“I would disagree, nephew,” Daemon countered. “I have loved Rhaenyra for a lifetime, I
enjoyed Laena as both friend and companion, and Rhea was a bitch your grandsire selected
for her pedigree. And I speak as a father, as a man of travel, war, and adventure, as well as an
impulsive Targaryen, and I speak as your uncle, have you truly thought about everything
bringing your wife along will entail? The dangers she could face? The threats overt and
covert that will seek to use her against you in your investigations, as well as any children that
could be born? And when she is with child, what are your intentions? Travel until the birth?
Returning her to Winterfell? Who will look after her? Her Ladies, your mother, Rhaenyra, or
any member of this House?”
“It is not as if I have ever belonged to your House, nuncle,” Aemond snarled. “Me and mine
will figure out our own lives, as to every concern you have spoken abut, those are matters I
have discussed with Lady Sansa, and the consequences are mine regardless, not yours, or
yours Lord Corlys, so I will manage them as they arise, as I always do. I have only opened
this matter to your attention because of the threat the maesters could pose to you and yours;
there is an attack on House Targaryen and that will end in war.”
“And what do you know of war, child?” Corlys demanded.
“Lord Corlys, since I was ten, I have accept I would die in war, I know much despite a lack
of experience, and I happen to be a quick study,” Aemond stated firmly.
“Do you accept it might kill your lady wife?” Rhaenys demanded.
“I accepted the consequences of my decisions the moment Prince Aemond and I discussed
our match,” Sansa stated coolly. “Do not mistake youth for ignorance.”
“I shall, because only a fool believes in endangering their family,” Rhaenys stated.
“Then it is a very good thing Prince Aemond married a wolf, is it not?” Cregan asked.
“Wolves are the danger, and make no mistake, I endorsed Prince Aemond’s hunt, and I will
be assisting, regardless of if he had or had not married Sansa.”
“You are young, Lord Stark,” Corlys started.
“Do not speak as if I am a boy in need of guidance, Lord Velaryon, I have a council who has
served as fathers and guidance since my boyhood in place of my own father,” Cregan stated.
“I am with Prince Aemond, he hunts who took my wife and the mother of my son.”
“Whoever attacked Lord Stark and his, they threaten us,” Aemond stated as he looked at his
family.
Daemon, Corlys, Rhaenys, and Rhaenyra seemed to be having a silent conversation and
Aemond felt Sansa’s fingers hook his beneath the table as they waited. He curled his fingers a
little and she curled hers.
“There’s more to discuss, but not here, you will come to Dragonstone in two moons time, and
we will discuss the matter further. In the meantime, we will arrange Jacaerys wedding to
Baela to be next year, and for him to continue his squiring for Lord Stark,” Daemon stated.
“Lucerys will go to Driftmark to learn from Lord Corlys, he will wed Rhaena in three years
time. We will arrange for Joffrey to squire for Ser Arryn, and return with Aegon and Viserys
to Dragonstone. When you and your wife visit we will discuss matters further and discuss
what you have uncovered.”
“My brother will continue his squiring in the Westerlands with Lord Lannister, and I will
arrange Helaena’s movement with Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor,” he said.
“Princess Helaena can visit us,” Rhaenyra decided. “It has been sometime since my sister and
I have had a chance to bond about motherhood, and it would do Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and
Maelor good to be at their ancestral home.”
“I will speak to Helaena about if she wants to go to Dragonstone, if she consents I will make
arrangements,” Aemond stated.
“Good, we will discuss this more on the morrow, there is much to think about,” Vaemond
decided.
“Thank you for your time,” Aemond rose as he helped Sansa up then. He was still terrified
inside but he didn’t dare mention his fears as he slipped Sansa’s hand in his elbow and they
walked with Cregan, it felt like a weight was lifted from him though. He and Sansa wished
Cregan a good night as they walked for their quarters.It was only in the safety of his
apartments when the exhaustion of his day was hitting him in full force, and had him
staggering as he pulled off the eye patch and carefully placed it by the sapphire. Sansa was
already turning down the bed, and he slid into a seat tiredly as he rubbed his throbbing
temple. Watching her he wasn’t sure where they went from here, she didn’t seem to have the
same discomfort about sharing her space though as she just walked around the room. He was
stunned when she pulled off her jewelry, looking at where he had laid out the sapphire and
his eye patch before she placed the necklace he’d given her the other day, and her earrings.
She did a quick wash of her hands before she started pulling her hair loose.
She took up the seat opposite of him as she worked on detangling her hair.
“What do we do now…?” Aemond asked her warily.
“Whatever we want,” she sighed tiredly. “I am going to bed, after I wash, if… if you want to
share the bed, that is… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t… presume, we share quarters now… in the
North wives sleep with their husbands, my mother and father shared quarters, Cregan and
Arra shared… the married men of the guard share apartments with their wives… I’m sorry I
shouldn’t presume, I can… go back to the quarters I originally had.
“I do not mind,” he murmured. “We can have your things moved here,” Aemond offered.
“I… only if you’re comfortable with it, this is… your space,” she grimaced.
“We are married,” he started.
“And in the South husband and wives do not always share space…” she grimaced.
“I would prefer us not to do things the way things are done here,” Aemond muttered. She
smiled a bit and nodded as she let her head rest on her fist.
“I would prefer not to follow in Southron customs, if possible,” she breathed. “I was fostered
in the Vale… I do not find Southron customs… appealing,” she murmured softly.
“They aren’t all bad,” he grimaced a little at the lie he had given her.
“Thank you for attempting to be comforting, Aemond,” she chuckled.
He smiled wryly as they both looked at the fire.
“I saw the maids stole our sheets…” Sansa murmured.
“Confirmation of the bedding.”
He saw her discomfort, as she shifted in her seat.
“We took care of it,” he muttered and held up his hand to show her the reopened cut on his
palm. Targaryen wedding customs also meant they did have bloodier sheets than normal, but
he’d been deliberate in letting blood loose where they would think Sansa was deflowered.
She reached over, grabbing his hand as she examined it and sighed as she seemed to sag with
relief. "It is unlikely they will know, we had very bloody sheets."
“I didn’t think about my flower being a part of our wedding contract or how to hide that I did
not have it,” she muttered as she rubbed her thumb over the callouses.
“I did not wish to make you uncomfortable and was aware of my own plan to fool my
grandsire might be... uncomfortable. If my grandsire suspected anything, he’d declare insult,
and we are not annulling this marriage,” he muttered. "The one-time bloody Targaryen
traditions thwart his intentions to make a mockery of us, those sheets were bloody disaster
after the Valyrian wedding, thankfully, he won't know if it's your flower, or moon's blood, or
if we had a bloody fight."
She laughed.
“Cassandra Baratheon is a nightmare, and I refuse to be married to my grandsire’s puppet

Bethany Hightower, and arranging this wedding was nightmarish enough, you are not
escaping.”
Sansa was howling with laughter as she hugged her gut. Aemond was completely serious
though, she was stuck with him after this, until death do they part, because he was not going
through that circus again, it was not happening, he’d rather be set on fire! And he had been
set on fire, by Aegon when testing how fireproof Targaryens actually were! Sansa was
wheezing as she held his hand in her own and she was gasping for air.
He smiled a little at her humor, and she finally caught her breath, smiling broadly as she sat
there.
“Gods be good, may we both survive this marriage, because I didn’t want to get married
again, either,” she chuckled. “Weddings are nightmarish displays for everyone else, the
marriage is what matters,” she sighed.
“We’re not off to a good start,” he sighed tiredly.
“It wouldn’t be a Stark wedding if someone didn’t try to die, or a Targaryen wedding for that
matter,” she mused. “Also, we are off to a fine start Aemond, we’re… we’re going to figure
out how to be a partnership, and… we’re friends, and that’s a good start, it’s… it’s what
smallfolk get, and they get to enjoy life, so I think we are off to a fine start.”
He glanced at her again and saw her seriousness as she was tracing the callouses on his hand
then. She was not uncomfortable with him, and this was unusual in his experience. She had
not even flinched at his scar being fully uncovered and empty.
“We are still friends?” he confirmed softly.
“Yes, Aemond, we are friends,” she reaffirmed gently. “I do think Princess Rhaenys brought
up something we had objectively discussed but hadn’t actually discussed, children. We did
discuss the concept, but not the theory or actuality of having them.”
He inhaled sharply as he tried to pull his hand from her grasp. Her fingers were firm as they
held on.
"However, Aemond, I believe that is something we will discuss when we are ready, now it is
time for rest," she decided.
He inclined his head in agreement as he closed his eye and just let their fingers tangle.
Exhaustion was seeping into his bones now, and he wanted to remain here, but he wanted to
also crawl into his bed and sleep for a month. It was when her fingers slid through his hair
that he opened his eye to look over at her.
“Come on,” she murmured. “It’s been a day, we should go to bed.”
He rose slowly, seeing Sansa in only a shift then, she helped him shrug out of his coat as he
toed off his boots, he was about to just surrender to the discomfort of wearing a shirt when
she tugged on his shirt and pulled it free. He didn’t even process her actions when it was
gone.
Sansa crawled into the bed, and Aemond collapsed into it. She had turned out the lamps, he
noted, and only the glow of the hearth illuminated the apartments. Frostfyre was sleeping by
the door, and he closed his eye again. Her fingers were slight as they slid over his scarred
cheek and moved his hair aside.
Chapter 13
Chapter Notes
Vaemond sat there, watching Cregan, Sansa and Aemond leave, and he looked at his sons,
who were both sitting beside him impassively. That young man was going to be King,
Vaemond was more certain of it after this meeting, but the young man was still young and
impulsive, no doubt he had no intentions of revealing his manipulations. However, youth,
temper, and ego had emerged in Aemond in that moment, and for a moment the young man
seemed youthful and smug about his victory. It was also rather pleasant to see, Vaemond had
never seen Aemond act his youthfulness, and the smug victory was amusing; so, the boy had
spine and bite. Looking back at the table, he saw Corlys, Rhaenys, Rhaenyra, and Daemon
staring after the boy, scowling, whether because Aemond’s willful independence was
showing, or because they did not understand the boy was free, he could not say.
“He’s going to get himself and his bride killed,” Rhaenys whispered in horror. Vaemond
frowned at the Blacks’ open horror at this revelation. Vaemond, personally, doubted that
Aemond would be getting himself and Sansa killed, he just wasn’t inclined to show his plan
to those he didn’t trust. And Gods knew Aemond didn’t trust Blacks, or at least, not
Rhaenyra, Corlys, Rhaenys, or Daemon, and rightfully so. Aemond had lost his eye claiming
Vhagar, but that night he’d been threatened with torture, denounced by his father, attacked by
his nephews and cousins with no repercussions on their part, and he was left to comfort his
mother who had tried to exact revenge. Aemond was disinclined to trust them, or anyone
really.
“Just because we are not privy to his plan does not mean there is none in place,” Vaemond
stated.
“And he is a fool for not sharing that plan if there is one!” Corlys hissed.
“And why should he share any plan, brother?” Vaemond countered. “The last time he dealt
with all of you in one place was eight years ago. Princess Rhaenyra attempted to get him
tortured after the poor child, because that was what he was at that time, had had his eye
viciously cut from his face; a wound which could have very well killed him. A wound which
has killed grown men! Prince Daemon threatened his mother, and his own father denounced
him for being a child and speaking a rumor that was not new to Court at that time; do not
deny it, it is not a new rumor, and as a child he would not know better than to use it as a
weapon against his own tormentors. All the while, his tormentors and attackers faced no
retribution for nearly killing him, because that was a mortal wound, and there was no justice
for him. And there were years of documented tormenting of Prince Aemond by Prince
Aegon, Prince Jacaerys, and Prince Lucerys, and the culmination of a five on one fight was a
young boy nearly dying, and no justice being served.”
“Alicent stabbed me,” Rhaenyra stated.

“Yes, and that wasn’t justice, it was a child who decided an eye was a fair price for a
dragon,” Vaemond stated.
“A dragon he had no claim to,” Daemon countered.
“A dragon that permitted him to claim her, and make no mistake, Vhagar could have killed
the boy if he displeased her, so she willingly permitted the claiming, do not tell me a child
could bully a beast like Vhagar,” Vaemond countered. “Now, that child is a young man, do
not be surprised he does not trust you. If Aemond has a plan, and he probably does, the
young prince is not lack witted or slow, he is under no obligation to share it.”
“You sound as if you are angling to put him on the Throne,” Daemon stated.
“I’m showing fealty to my new lieges,” Vaemond countered calmly. He was going North,
Cregan and Aemond knew, but the full details of what hat would entail were not known at
this moment. He would be speaking with Cregan and Aemond before this was over about it.
But regardless, he was going North, and he would be a vassal in Aemond’s new lands.
“What?” Rhaenys, Corlys, and Daemon sputtered.
“You cannot do that brother!” Corlys snarled.
“Prince Aemond and Lord Stark have offered an opportunity for me and mine, and I will be
taking it, for I will be attending to me and mine, as you have permitted our House to fall into
ruins and ramble. I will take what can be salvaged and move North where I will rebuild my
House and name, and I have given my fealty to Prince Aemond, and Lord Stark,” Vaemond
stated.
“You can’t…” Rhaenys started.
“I have,” Vaemond countered. “Whilst you have squabbled about your own ambitions, and
own desires, I will move on, and attend to me and mine, and the North has graciously
extended an opportunity which I will be taking. It’s nothing personal, brother, it’s just good
business.”
Standing he and his sons left the Blacks behind. Vaemond walked back to his quarters, and he
saw Daeron looking at him questioningly.
“Are we truly moving North?”
“Yes,” Vaemond decided as he turned to look at his eldest son. “I do not want you and yours
in danger, or Daemion’s when he should have his own family to attend to. And Prince
Aemond’s intention to employ Daemion as his steward, as well as this offer to be vassals for
Prince Aemond, it is too good of an opportunity to deny it. I was to speak more about the
matter after Aemond’s wedding with Lord Stark, his Winter Council, and Aemond himself,
but I have agreed to take this opportunity for us.”
“Is… is this because of Daenaera’s match?” Daeron asked uncertainly.

“No,” Vaemond shook his head. “Though, if we do go North, we will build the North a navy
and make it worthy of their military prowess, which could and would justify the match
between Daenaera and Rickon if they should get on in their older years. I have studied the
Stark’s family tree, and they do not marry outside of the North often, the Starks maintain
strong bonds with their Northern brethren by intermingling and marrying within the North. If
Lady Sansa had not married Prince Aemond, it is likely she would have married Lord
Cerwyn, or Lord Stane, and Lady Sara is likely to marry an Umber or Hornhill, or even a
Mormont, the North maintains connections with the Starks by the Starks marrying the North.
They don’t marry outside of the North frequently.
“If two Southron matches are to be justified to the North, we must bring something of
irrefutable desire to the North, and that is difficult to do. Yes, they are thankful for our trade
and business, but the North would have likely endured the famine and survived if weakened
even without us. The North is one thing Valyrians should learn to be, and that is resilient, and
if we offer then something they have never recovered, we should have a place with them.”
“You want to structure them a navy?” Daeron asked.
“Yes,” Vaemond answered. “It is the only thing we could ever offer the Starks to justify, truly
justify, them permitting two Southron matches in the span of two generations. And with
Northern law having a conscription in place already, it will be easy enough to obtain
disciplined, willing, ablebodied young men to assist us in this endeavor if the North agrees to
it.”
“Then we should also speak to our cousins,” Daeron said.
“First, I will speak with Lord Stark and Prince Aemond before I make invitations of
expanding our intentions to go North. Regardless though, the North has homed Manderlys
who had been a threat to the Gardeners when they were Kings, and the Starks accepted the
Manderlys without fear of being usurped, the Starks are sure of their position and power as
well as their influence. They also permitted the Manderlys to practice their ways in peace,
even taking that into consideration when banishing the maesters and Faith from the North, so
they do respect their vassals as well as accept new cultures being integrated into their
territories. However, I will not act in a manner to usurp that power,” Vaemond admitted.
There was a reason no one could take the North, and why it was said you had to have a Stark
to even have the North. The Starks were the North, they were it’s brutal, cold, wildness, they
were it’s protectors, it’s liege, it’s conquerors, it’s beloved, the Starks were the North.
Examining it, truly, Vaemond felt the North was not a part of the Seven Kingdoms in any true
capacity when he had started examining the Starks and their history with the North. The
North was almost entirely independent, in all but name, and the Starks might not be Kings of
Winter anymore, but they were Kings and conducted themselves as such, they ruled, they did
not manage a realm, they ruled their realm. Most of the Great Lords managed their realms for
the Realm, the Starks ruled their Realm, and there was a difference.
“I will be swearing our fealty though, and we will be going North to attend to the matters of
assisting Prince Aemond establish his new House and life in the North,” Vaemond stated.
“I prefer Lord Stark to our uncle,” Daeron decided.

“I have grown fond of Northerners,” Daemion smiled then.
“You will be conducting yourself with the utmost honor and dignity of House Velaryon while
you are in the North,” Vaemond warned his younger son. “You will treat our future neighbors
with respect and honor, and we will show them what Valyrians are truly made of. You will
not have a dalliance with a Northern woman unless you are serious about obtaining a wife;
am I understood?”
“Yes father,” Daemion said somberly.
“I have seen how the Norrey girl looks at you,” he chuckled.
“Elissa is a fair friend, I enjoy her companionship,” Daemion defended.
“I look forward to this wedding,” Daeron decided smugly.
“No, no, I am not… no…!” Daemion strangled out and Daeron was laughing. “The Norreys
are going to be my neighbors! They’re apparently going to reclaim Queenscrown! Which is
apparently not its true name, but to appease the late Queen Alysanne; before she made it part
of the New Gift, they renamed it because they were so fond of her. They painted it in
imitation of her crown, after she took Queenscrown as part of the New Gift they were
insulted though, and offended. I will be neighborly though, because they will be Aemond’s
neighbors and mine, I should get along with them.”
“You’re being very neighborly, brother,” Daeron teased.
“I am not marrying a Norrey, they’re hellions, I’ve met all three and I’m not marrying a
Norrey,” Daemion huffed. Vaemond bit the inside of his cheek seeing his son’s face
darkening and the way the young man seemed so flustered.
“The Norrey women are very beautiful, strong and willful,” Vaemond stated. “Lord Norrey
threatened you with his axe if you dishonored either of them.”
“He has to use it more for Orrina’s future husband than on me, Orrina’s going to be married,”
Daemion dismissed.
“To who!?” Daeron demanded.
“Hm?”
“You can’t just say that and not elaborate!” Daeron sputtered.
“Oh, she and Lord Bryan Stane, she’s set her sights on him, I heard Bryan cursing her name
after one of their sparring sessions. Elissa declared they’d be married in the year,” Daemion
shrugged.
“Does Lord Norrey know this?”
“Probably, the only one who might not know is Cregan, but he’s not exactly normal…
apparently the Princess of Dorne’s flirted with him and it escaped his notice,” Daemion
shrugged.
“He did just lose his wife.”
“Yes, and he loved Arra very much, but even Arra flirting with Cregan escaped Cregan’s
notice, and I saw that,” Daemion snorted. “There is a reason the teasing of him giving her
weeds is valid, brother, the man is clueless to the fairer sex.”
“Well, it appears you’re taking after our new liege and not noticing that Elissa Norrey has her
own sights set on you, brother,” Daeron snorted.
“She’s the eldest daughter of a Lord, she’ll marry Domeron or someone else, someone
important, not a steward of a new House,” Daemion countered. “Also, she’s a friend, I was
told to make friends in the North, and I have been, she’s a delightful friend.”
“Daemion, you are more than worthy of a firstborn daughter, of a Lord,” Vaemond countered
firmly. “Same as Daeron, we are no longer bound by the conventions of our rank and
decaying House, we will build a new House.”
Vaemond was surprised as Daemion perked up then. Perhaps his son had not sought out a
wife as vigorously as he should have because of the state of their House, Vaemond would see
to solving that and encouraging Daemion to find a match in the North to strengthen their ties
to their new home. He wanted his sons and new House to build ties to their new home, he did
not want a repeat of Westeros if they went North.
Rhaenys looked at Corlys, Daemon, and Rhaenyra as they were left stunned in the wake of
everything they had just learnt. So, the Green Boys knew they were sacrifices,
inconsequential to the grand scheme of whatever plans were going to come of fruition, and
Aemond had accepted his death in war as irrefutable fact. Not only that, but the boy had
come to terms with his own mortality in such a harrowing way, as a child, as Vaemond
revealed, it horrified Rhaenys. That night was always seared into her mind, she remembered
Rhaena and Baela both being so upset and distraught, saying how Aemond threatened
Lucerys with a rock if they didn’t leave him alone, and then the bastard revelation, it was too
much in the course of a night. too much for Rhaenys to fully take in, she had just focused on
the last living memories of her children, and their safety, Aemond had been a threat to that,
and his taking Rhaena’s dragon for himself had always been a point of fury for Rhaenys.
Laena had claimed Vhagar, and Baela and Rhaena should have that same opportunity because
Vhagar was everything to Laena, but alas, that was not the case.
Aemond had stolen a dragon, or at least that’s how she viewed it until this moment.
A child, alone, harassed, bullied, and already accepting of death, Rhaenys was horrified at the
idea the boy had intended to die the night he claimed Vhagar and Vhagar had accepted the
boy instead. An eye a fair price for a dragon? No, it was not a fair price, and not for a child to
pay, and thinking back on that night, it horrified Rhaenys to remember that’s what Aemond
had been, a child. He had been a child who nearly died, who was mortally wounded,
permanently handicapped, and left to comfort his mother and sister and younger brother in
the aftermath of his attack.
“He will never trust us,” Rhaenys whispered as she looked at her husband. “They were raised
as lambs for the slaughter, and how we have treated them has enforced that to them. Prince
Aemond, Prince Daeron, Princess Helaena, her children, they will never trust us, and even if
they should break free of the Green’s hold, they will never come to us.”
“They will,” Daemon countered.
“No, they will not, do not be a fool in this matter,” Rhaenys hissed. “They will never see us
as their family or aid.”
“No,” Daemon agreed. “But they will come to us, it will take more patience though than any
are truy anticipating. We should prepare to be patient, the boy willturn to us, of that I am
certain.”
“Why are you so certain of that?” Rhaenyra asked.
“Because, whether Aemond likes it or not, if my conspiracy is right, his will also be
entangled it and eventually he will need us, and to need us means we will have to win him
over,” Corlys deduced. “Prince Aemond’s conspiracy sounds like the evidence we would
need for our own to be true, and when he should find himself embroiled in this conspiracy,
we will be ready to assist him and his and asst him in saving ours.”
“And he sounds like he has no plan for this investigation, against an enemy hunting us, and
his, and intent on destroying all of us,” Rhaenys said. “He will die before he could ever seek
our aid, and worse, we are permitting it!”
“What would you have us do, Rhaenys?” Daemon snarled. “Follow him around, forcibly
abduct him? Him and the other Greens, whom we should not claim because it will look like
we are taking them hostage!”
“Do something!” Rhaenys hissed.
“We could put Rhaena and Baela in service to Lady Sansa for the time being,” Rhaenyra said
suddenly and Daemon’s head whipped around to her. “They are in need of guidance in
becoming Princess of the Realm and this would serve to give them some extra protection.
Rhaena and Baela have both been growing fond of the Starks, it would appear we are
learning about our new sister as well.”
“I… I would never let my daughters be unchaperoned,” Daemon sputtered.
“I am aware, my dragon, but this would be an excellent time to go on a campaign, show

Prince Aemond the Realm, and attempt to… bond, with him,” Rhaenyra said. Rhaenys
frowned, she did not see that going over particularly well with Aemond. Despite Aemond’s
appearance when he was younger, where he seemed to be trying to mimic Daemon in some
capacity, Aemond seemed to have developed his own tastes and decisions, and it might not
work in their favor.
“It would also serve as time to learn about those conspiracies you and Corlys have created
today.” Rhaenys sighed, she truly thought the conspiracies horrific, but she had a feeling that
this would be the best opportunity to uncover them if they existed at all. Aemond seemed to
have practical evidence, while Corlys and Daemon and she had only come to theories based
off patterns of behaviors and histories, Aemond seemed to have actual records. If the
conspiracies intersected at all, there would be proof, and it was pertinent that that proof be
found. Perhaps in finding the proof they would win over Aemond and his siblings, until then
though, she sensed the Green children were out of their reaches for now.
“What conspiracy?” Rhaenyra asked.
“I will inform you tomorrow, we should all return to bed though,” Daemon sighed. “We will
have to decide what to do about this tomorrow, there have been too many unsettling
revelations in a short span of time, and we should think before we continue.”
Rhaenys snorted at her cousin’s decision, because she did not think Daemon thought anything
through in his life, he was running on every impulse he had, not actual strategy. Getting up,
Rhaenys took Corlys’ arm as they walked for the apartments then. He looked lost in thought,
and she did not know how to reach him when he was like this.
“Did you know Vaemond was so displeased he would seek to break our House?” Corlys
asked when they walked into their rooms.
“I knew your brother did not like… the rumors of Rhaenyra and her sons, nor did he like our
long term intentions, as he felt we were ruining his business,” Rhaenys admitted. “But it is
not as if I anticipated him to break away with intentions of founding his own House.”
“I had thought Vaemond could be reasoned with, but it appears I was wrong,” Colys sighed.
She didn’t respond, Vaemond had been pulling from their sphere of influence so quickly
since two years ago. She genuinely did not know what happened in his household beyond his
son being married and having a child, she did not know Vaemond’s comings and goings, and
none of his staff gossiped about it. She used to know everything happening on Driftmark
because of the servants but now they did not know anything happening in Vaemond’s own
househould. She knew he was not inclined to wait long term to recover their House’s status.
Yes, suffering these past years had been displeasing but once Rhaena and Lucerys had
children, it would course correct the Velaryon name. Rhaenys did agree with Corlys on that
matter, and she had been patient enough to bide her time until she had great grandchildren to
dote upon.
Soon enough she would be comfortable with House Velaryon again, and she was comfortable
waiting until then. And she thought Vaemond had been able to see reason to wait.
Apparently not, and she knew this strife between Corlys and Vaemond greatly upset Corlys
even when he was trying to mend the break with ill formed matches. But the matches which
would elevate Vaemond’s status greatly.

Alicent sat quietly at Aegon’s bedside in the middle of the night, trembling as she watched
him breath, he was so helpless, it was rather like when he’d been a babe. She shivered a little
as she pulled her shall closer to her person and stared at him.
A part of her, which she despised, hoped he die tonight, or soon, given he was such a
monster. She knew, she had known since that first maid had been found, crying, tattered dress
and her swollen breasts covered in bite marks. Alicent knew, she knew because Viserys had
the same inclination for the breast as Aegon displayed. She didn’t know what to do, her boy
had been twelve that first time, and it had not been something he would grow out of. No, it
only got worse, and she never knew what to do.
Another part of her, the part that was his mother, had felt him grow and move within her, had
loved and sheltered him as long as she could had doted upon him, and still loved him more
than her own life, was praying to the Stranger not to take him. She didn’t want to lose her
son, she did love him, and it broke her heart as she sat there uncertain what to do.
If Aegon died now, it would be war, if he died now though, it would all stop, all the terror her
daughter and maids felt, all the fears her grandchildren felt, if Aegon died now, it stopped.
A hand had her jolting where she sat as she turned to look up at Cole then. He gave her a
small smile, and she felt the tears fall as he crouched down beside her.
“It is time to get some rest, Alicent,” he said soft as he moved one of her auburn curls aside.
“I can’t leave him,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be here, but I can’t… I can’t leave him,”
she confessed honestly.
“I have men watching over him, ad the North does to, I will inform you if there are any
changes, but you need rest,” he murmured as he helped her up. She leaned heavily on him,
trembling as he guided her out of these apartments. She was shivering as she walked with
him.
“Will you stay with me?” she rasped as they neared her own apartments.
“That isn’t proper…” he started.
“Please, Cole, I do not wish to be alone,” she pleaded.
“I… I will remain until you are asleep, how is that?” he offered.
“No, all night…” she begged.
“Alicent…” he started.
“I am not her, I do not… I just cannot be alone,” she whispered as she felt sobs about to
choke her. He nodded as they walked into her apartments. When in her room she collapsed
into her chair, he stood awkwardly in his shiny armor.
“Please… remove your armor, we are… we are friends, I want you comfortable,” she
whispered.
He did. Placing it and his white cloak with great care on an ottoman, and she walked over
after he was bare before she hugged his waist, he hesitated a moment before his chin rested
on her head, and his arms wrapped around her. The sob which tore through her had her
sagging completely against him, as he held her tight then. Eventually she found herself curled
up in his lap, sobbing as they sat beside the hearth.
Chapter End Notes
I am defending this chapter being so short because if it's longer I feel it detracts from the
plot, but also it feels like it's own blurb entirely, it did not belong on the end of the
previous chapter, it doesn't go on at the beginning of the next chapter, but it is still
centered around the plot and belongs.
Chapter 14
Chapter Notes
Jon tore through the ranks, the Boltons were outflanked with nowhere to run but into
Winterfell’s walls and the deserters were quick to scatter into the night, as he rode up to the
drawbridges again, the blood soaked field and fires gave an eerie glow, the ill conceived
attack plan was written in the dead bodies. Winterfell stood tall and proud, not moving as
Jon’s men came to him.
“Gather our dead, we’ll collect the Bolton dead, burn them, don’t desecrate their bodies,” Jon
ordered. He stood there seeing the dead on the battlefield and looked up at the gates, where
he saw the Stark banners flying strong and sure, and smiled slowly. There would have to be
retaliations against the Boltons of course, but seeing Winterfell still flying Stark Banners, it…
He wanted to cry from joy at the sight. Ghost loped up to him, the wolf was spattered in
blood, and looked ready to maul another man, but nudged Jon’s hand, and he scratched the
ears as he and Ghost stood there looking at everything.
Dawn was breaking now, and the winds tugged on Jon’s curls.
It wasn’t the Long Night, was all he could really thing, for the first time since the Long
Night, Jon took in the dawn, he wanted to laugh in wild glee bubbling up in his heart at the
success of the night. Never had anything been so victorious in his life. Walking back into
Winterfell, he smiled as the people here cheered.
“We have sent another raven to Cregan and Sansa, but we have also sent ravens to House
Reed and House Manderly for assistance in retaliation because the Boltons will return, the
victory was too simple. Further, we have sealed the entrance of the tunnels again, and smoked
the scents of them out, the hounds won’t find them,” Veron stated.
“Good, also, send word to Cregan that the Boltons will now be at war,” Jon stated.
“You do not have the authority to declare war, Jon,” Veron stated.
“No, I do not, but they have,” Jon reminded the older man. “Where is Rickon?”
“With his wet nurse, secure, and Timber is guarding the boy.”
“Good, I will clean up then attend to my nephew,” he walked off. He didn’t know what else
to do, there would be war with the Boltons now though, but he was surprised that in the span
of a night he had driven them off, it could not be that simple, of that he was certain. There
was a reason for this attack, and it wasn’t something he knew about. Perhaps this was a test,
none of the men the Boltons had sent appeared to be great soldiers, all were rather green, and
new. That unsettled Jon, he didn’t know what more he could do at this time though, not
without information about what the Boltons were intending.
The Boltons hadn’t attacked the Starks in this era, so… the change… it was unknown, and
the why bothered Jon.
There was a small giggle as he dreamt of unfamiliar halls. Turning, he looked around the
halls looking for the source, he thought it was Jaehaerys, Jaehaera or Maelor. Walking
through the halls he looked around warily uncertain where the dream was. He saw a small
shadow, heard a small giggle and followed it, uncertain of what was going on.
“Hel?” he called out as he walked through the corridor. “Jaehaerys?”
Another small giggle.
“Jaehaera?” he rounded the corner and paused staring at a crypt, there were statues lining
it, the torches flickered over the shadowy place, and Aemond felt very small as he stood there
looking around. A small shadow darted around, and he frowned.
“Maelor?” he guessed as he walked after the shadow and rounded the corner, pausing as he
saw a young man in a wheeled chair sitting with a small child on his lap. The grey eyes, dark
hair, awkward, strong features, the young man looked like a Stark. But not. The child sitting
on the young man’s legs grinned, shifting features, but silvery lilac eyes were bright and full
of life. The child’s hair shifted from silver curls to bright red to wild black curls, and the
features were a blur, but there was a mischievous smile on those lips.
“Aemond Targaryen,” the young man spoke.
“Kepa!” the child smiled. “Nyke arghugon nuncle! Ziry istan ruarza rūsīr se morghe se
ojūdan!”
Aemond jolted awake, gasping for air, clinging harder to the weight in his arms as he found
himself staring at the glittering ocean from his bed. Grimacing, he looked around, there was a
head of red hair before him, and looking around he fell back into the pillows, closing his eye
as he took a few calming breaths. As he lay there, there was a small, soft groan and he turned,
seeing Sansa shifting, she still had his arm in a firm grip against her as she turned, peeling
one eye open.
There was a distant roar, and he smiled a bit hearing Vhagar.
“Tubis Vhagar,” he murmured softly as he rubbed a hand over his chest where his heart was
slowing as he caught his breath. He didn’t know what about that dream unsettled him so
greatly, but he didn’t feel… scared about it. Aemond rarely dreamed unless it was about his
own death or flying Vhagar, but there was something about that dream which had pulled at
his heart, it didn’t feel like a dream, it felt… odd. He turned his head again as Sansa released
his arm, rolling over, slinging her leg over his hips as she pulled herself into his chest and
side.
“Warm…” she grumbled unhappily, and he snorted as he closed his eye, bringing his arm
around her waist as he lay there catching his breath from the dream. Frostfyre was sleeping
on the foot of the bed. Finally feeling somewhat normal, he pushed himself upright, Sansa
slid into the pillows with ease and he carefully detangled them as he got up. she burrowed
deeper into the blankets, shivering a little as Frostfyre came up, taking his place in the bed
and he went to go bathe and prepare for the day. It did not take him long, and when he left his
rooms, Sansa was sound asleep again.
Aemond noticed the Northern guard following him, the older man looked a lot like Rody,
which made him think this was one of Rody’s brothers; he just wasn’t certain which one, or
how to ask.
“You can stop looking at me like I’m going to axe you, princeling, Rody did say you were a
suspicious one,” the older man huffed.
“My apologies…” he started.
“Oh, fuck off!” the older man huffed. “Being suspicious is good, dragon boy, I’m Rody’s
elder brother, I’m Royce,” the man stated.
Aemond nodded slowly.
“I don’t bite, princeling, often,” Royce assured.
“I’m not certain why you’re here…” Aemond admitted as he no walked beside the other man.
“You’re a Green Prince,” Royce stated.
“Not anymore,” he muttered.
“In King’s Landing, you’re a Green Princeling, are you not?” Royce demanded. “I’m to
guard the Greens, Robett is protecting your mother, Randar is with your brother Daeron,
Rickard is protecting Aegon, and Rognar is assisting Rody in protecting your sister and her
hatchlings,” Royce stated.
“Thank you,” Aemond whispered.
“Of course, princeling,” Royce huffed. “Stop thanking us,” Royce ordered.
Aemond stared at the other man, uncertain of what more was to be said, but didn’t respond as
they walked. Royce was leading him, and Aemond found Cregan who looked a bit tired.
“My lord,” Royce greeted and Cregan frowned as he squinted at the other man when he
stopped reading whatever he was reading.
“It’s odd when you do that,” Cregan muttered.
“I’m giving you Southron pleasantries,” Royce responded.
“What did you break, why are you being so polite?” Cregan muttered.
“I’m always polite!” Royce defended.
“Bastard pitched me off a horse into the river when he was teaching me to ride,” Cregan
explained to Aemond.
“I taught you how to swim,” Royce grinned maliciously.
“You tried to drown me!” Cregan balked.
“Aye, but you lived, so you’re fine,” Royce shrugged. “I’m going to assist Rody with the
dragonlings now that the princeling is here.”
“That’s good,” Cregan muttered as the other man walked away. “The reports on casualties are
good, about a hundred rapists were caught, seventy smugglers, and over a hundred peddlers,
we also caught and have prepared a trial for thirty different murderers caught, prevented
twenty-three brawls, and caught four flesh traders from Essos preparing to smuggle children
from the city as cargo. The shipping reports from Ser Lannister, Master of Ships has reported
an count of one hundred and twenty-eight boats going out this morning before dawn, a crew
count of eight hundred and ninety-seven men and women were out on the first tides, and are
expected back this evening. There are expected trading ships, seventy-nine in total coming
into port, they cannot remain outside of King’s Landing much longer, low supplies and
cannot dock elsewhere, so they will come in for inspection, given the lockdown he has
agreed not to unload cargo unless it is perishable and inspected thoroughly.
“Karstark’s man has reported nothing unusual, my men are still maping the tunnels nder the
city, and have found no traces of Aegon’s attacker. Thus far we believe the attacker to be
male, given witness reports, but we have not found anything thus far. However, we do believe
we found the knife, it was of Valyrian steel, and Valyrian style, will have in within a few
hours for inspection, but I have a rough sketch from Karstark. Domeron believes the blade
similar to the wound pattern on Aegon’s abdomen.
“Domeron has reported no change in your brother, and is preparing onion soup, it will give us
a better idea now that we have attempted healing to see what else is wrong and if there is
more to be done by mortal men, if the stench is smelt though, we shall pray for a merciful
end,” Cregan explained.
Aemond nodded; he didn’t know what onion soup would do, but he would trust Cregan’s
men.
“Mormont has been managing the City’s Watch, with your uncle’s assistance, and Norrey has
been overseeing the Red Keep. Thusfar, there is nothing more to be done,” Cregan sighed as
he leaned back from his reports.
“And the guests and Great Houses?” Aemond asked softly.
“All well, and secured, no one has been attacked if that were a concern, I would have spoken
of it, but thus far, nothing is out of the ordinary for the families. It is plausible, given the
location of Aegon’s attack it was an isolated incident, but the images of this sketch make me
think not,” Cregan admitted as he handed Aemond the sketch. “Due to this incident though, if
there is not more information in a few days, I will advocate for a swift removal of the Noble
Families and Royal guests and leave the Court in place, the North should return North, and
you begin your campaigns.”
“Any word on Aegon’s attacker?”
“No, Karstark’s sons are following scents connected to that dagger, but nothing thusfar, they
will regroup here in a few hours, by the noon meal if they do not know more they are
returning here to compare maps and notes before resuming a hunt,” Cregan admitted. “Ser
Vaemond has requested he speak with you, myself, and the Winter Council, he has formally
accepted your offer of being one of his vassals and wishes to discuss the matter formally and
what that will entail, which I have agreed to. Minus a few of the Winter’s Council, we will be
able to discuss the matter, and we should have Sansa with us.”
“I would like that,” Aemond admitted.
“Good,” Cregan nodded. “There is nothing new to report though,” Cregan sighed as he
looked at Aemond. He nodded as he sat there uncertain of what was next.
“Is there something more?”
“I need to speak to Lord Beesbury and the Small Council, they had been evading me before
the wedding and there is much work…” he started.
“Aemond, the Small Council will wait, they are secure in their own apartments.”
“Lord Beesbury is assisting me in the investigation,” Aemond muttered warily.
“About that, do you have a plan? Or are you just going there to stab a bear and hope for the
best outcome?” Cregan asked warily.
Aemond snorted as he leaned back. “I do in fact have a plan,” he assured. “Well, part of a
plan, it’s not entirely complete but I do have a part of a plan for what needs to be done, and
how to conduct an investigation of this magnitude but it does require going into the bear’s
den unfortunately despite my desires not to.”
“And do you mind informing me of this plan?”
“At this time, yes, because the walls have ears,” Aemond murmured. Cregan looked around,
raising his brow before he inclined his head in understanding. “When are we to meet Ser
Vaemond?”
“Now? Or around now, he’ll meet us in the gardens, Sansa’s Ladies should have woken her
and prepared her, we’ll head there now,” Cregan said as he stood. Ice rose with his master
and they walked out of the study for the gardens. Aemond looked out at the ocean, which was
glittering brightly for the first time in a fortnight, there was no mist or fog clinging to the sea
this morning. The air was a bit crisp and cool though, as the winds hit the bluffs, and tugged
on his hair. Cregan either did not notice the chill, or simply did not care, Aemond was
uncertain, the Northerners rarely seemed bothered by anything if Aemond was honest. The
rain, snow, hail, muck, mud, none of it seemed to matter to them as they went about life.
They walked out to Aemond’s favorite spot in the gardens, and he was surprised seeing
Vaemond there, with the other Northern Lords, he recognized Lord Mormont, Domeron,
Bryan and Lord Norrey, but the others while familiar were not men he recognized.
“Aemond, this is the Winter’s Council, with exception to Lord Manderly, he remained in the
North given our… discontent at Southron lifestyles at this time, he has taken no offense. This
is Lord Roderick Dustin, Lord Karlon Karstark, Lord Harkon Umber, Lord Hallis Hornwood,
Lord Lucan Norrey, Lord Montrose Mormont, and you know Bryan and Domeron, there’s
others on the Winter Council, but these are the Lords who speak for their respective regions
and their vassals.”
Aemond nodded to the men, he’d seen the entirety of the North’s Winter Council once and it
was when Cregan’s wife was killed, he knew there were ranks and standing in that Council,
given how military oriented the North had been there could only be ranks and order. But now
it was just the generals and top Lords here to speak to him. Slowly Aemond sat down beside
Cregan who was at the head of this table. Sansa appeared then, with Elissa and Orrina beside
her, and Sara surprisingly.
“Sorry, brother,” Sansa huffed as she came around kissing Cregan’s cheek.
“Morning,” Sansa greeted Aemond as he rose to seat her, she kissed him impulsively on the
lips, startling him as he stared at her for a moment, before seating her and then seating Sara
before sitting again.
“Married life is an exhausting endevor,” Lord Umber chuckled.
“And invigorating,” Lord Dustin teased.
“You would know, you had to have twelve sons,” Lord Karstark snorted.
“Winters are cold, and fucking is always fun,” Lord Dustin grinned mischeivious.
“Fucking is invigorating,” Bryan agreed.
“Can we get off the topic and focus on why we’re here before I have to go test the
battlements and speak to Prince Daemon about the City Watch’s enthusiastic, and brutal
attempts at justice, again,” Lord Mormont sighed.
“Very well, about Ser Vaemond becoming a vassal to Lord Drekaúlfur and his lands, to
establish a new House within the returned lands of the New Gift,” Cregan said. “Aemond,
what are your thoughts about the matter?”
“I have no objections, Ser Vaemond Velaryon’s council has been true, and he has been
interested in the North. With Ser Vaemond will come his business, which has assisted the
North, and construction of new ports will assist in distributing resources more broadly over
the North’s lands, as well as offer new economic opportunities for the North, while creating
new trades for the small folk to seek out,” Aemond presented.
“Ser Vaemond, what would you have to offer the North?” Cregan looked at Ser Vaemond
then.
“In moving North I would like to bring other Velaryon families which have suffered under
my brother’s negligence but also, in coming North, given the conscription you already
enforce I would like to assist in building the North a proper nautical force to assist in
transporting trade, but also in defending the North from all enemies,” Vaemond said. “The
North’s military prowess is great, and well regarded, it is known for being indomitable, and
no one could truly take or hold the North, but there are no nautical capabilities, and the Iron
Born have been a thorn in your side, as well as other threats from Esso disrupting trades
between the North and Dorne, and piracy. Other Realms within the Seven Kingdoms hold
formal navies of their own, primarily at behest of the Crown, but do not properly service their
navies, and I would like to offer, not only my expertise in the matter, but assistance in
constructing a proper navy which is serviced by the North and run by the North. If the North
has a superior nautical force, combined with the military might it already possesses, it would
create a true stronghold.”
“The North has no need for a navy,” Lord Mormont huffed.
“The Starks assisted the Mormonts in claiming Bear Island from the Iron Born’s rule, and we
have struggled to hold it, and constant raids from the Iron Born affects Stony Shore, the Rills,
and Barrowlands, and the Iron Born have been more and more audaicious in their assaults as
of late, given winter is coming, the raids are bound to only increase, nautical superiority
would assist in preventing these raids and the theft of precious resources, women, supplies
and livestock,” Lord Dustin spoke then.
“We have held Bear Island against the Iron Born without aid before, and can do it again,”
Lord Mormont declared.
“But that is foolish, if we could have nautical power then it would cease the concern
altogether,” Lord Hornhill stated.
“You are not even along the coast and should not have an opinion in this matter, as it will not
affect you,” Mormont snarled.
“But it does, as it is my men who are summoned to die in assisting the North hold it’s own
shorelines, and islands, if we could gain the upperhand, it would be worth having a navy,”
Hornhill countered.
“And how are we to construct the navy? Skagosi ships are not built for war, neither are our
fisheries, and where are we to get the proper lumber for these ships? The Wolfswood? Are we
to offend the Old Gods and Children of the Forest?” Lord Umber asked.
“Children of the Forest do not reside in our forests anymore, they have long since died out,”
Lord Karstark sighed.
“They live,” Lord Umber countered stubbornly. “And we should not eradicate their homes
because we are foolish to think they are gone! Lord Reed would agree with me.”
“Yes, but Lord Reed is not here at this time,” Domeron countered.
“Fuck it, it would be fucking nice to have help with the fucking seas,” Bryan stated. “And
they’d be my fucking neighbors, minus that swindling sea snake’s tendencies to swindle us
out of money I’m comfortable with them being my neighbors.”
“And if they bring Southron affairs North?” Karstark sneered. “House Manderly is tolerable
because they have adapted to us, but even then, they have those horrid righteous tendencies
and their Seven, it is not always our ways.”
“I would not be a part of your ways,” Vaemond admitted. “I am a child of Valyria and our
ways are dying, I would seek to preserve as much of them as I can, however, with House
Manderly, the North was kind enough to prmit House Manderly to preserve their ways, while
integrating the Northern ways into their House, and I would seek to do something similar, if
that is permitted.”
“So you admit it would not just be you coming to the North?” Karstark demanded as his eyes
narrowed.
“It would be impractical, I would not be able to construct a navy for the North, if that is
permitted without aid, and further, I alone cannot teach all the sailors how to be sailors, or
how to read the seas, and stars and how to navigate the seas, I would need assistance, and
there are many minor Valyrian families who escaped the Doom with my own House which
would also be an asset if I am permitted to bring them with me, it would be a great service for
the North ultimately, and Lord Stark and Lord Drekaúlfur.”
“And how do we ensure the loyalty of those minor families?” Umber demanded. “Southron
folk like games we do not have time for in the North, we do not have time for petty self-
serving ambition, there are more important matters at hand than worrying about trusting your
neighbor or serving yourself.”
“I do not disagree,” Vaemond said calmly. “But these are families of Valyria which have
faithfully, and loyally served my House for centuries, and have suffered in recent times
because of neglect due to self-serving ways, and would probably be pleased to have a home
where that is not tolerated. They are also hard work people, and small folk, not inclined to the
greater games of the Lords and Kings. The small folk pray for rain, healthy children and a
summer than never ends, as impractical as the last one is, they do not care for the games us
Lords seek so long as they are cared for.”
“That is true,” Cregan agreed.
“My people, the ones who seek to follow me, if they seek to follow me and mine, it is
because they tire of my brother’s games, and they hold no fondness for the Faith, as we
practice our Valyrian ways, quietly. The opposition from the Faith has driven many of my
people to practicing in secret, and if we went North, we would just seek to live our lives in
peace and in harmony with the North, but with the opportunity to practice openly and safely,
given the grace you presented House Manderly and their Southron families, I hope such a
courtesy would be extended to us,” Vaemond said.
“I have no problem with it, Lord Manderly has never pursued a crusade, and he is fair, his
people are for the most part not zealous, though philosophical and religious debates are
known to happen, there is no malicious intent on any party’s side,” Lord Norrey shrugged.
“I see no harm,” Bryan admitted.
“Nor do I,” Domeron admitted. “The North is curious about much, and our ways are far older
than the rest of Westeros, and we have much to learn still, so I do not see the harm.”
“There is also the ability, on our part to return some Valyrian heritage,” Lord Umber agreed
reluctantly. “We do have few relics and recollectiosn these Valyrians might appreciate more
than we at this time. And perhaps it would be of use to them.”
“The problem is the fucking dragons,” Bryan said tiredly. “I understand they’ll probably
become… more, over time, and that is a problem.”
“Not necessarily,” Vaemond chuckled. “Only the High Lords claim and ride dragons, it is rare
just any Valyrian could bond with a dragon, and even then most are wary of such bonds.
However, I will not deny the possibility of a few… wild dragons, like Grey Ghost, or
Sheepstealer following my people. Valyrians and Dragons, even when unbonded do share a
connection, and there is a pull of our people to dragons and dragons to us. It is old magic.”
“Truly?” Lord Norrey asked incrudeously.
“Truly,” Aemond confirmed softly as he rubbed his chest. He remembered the painful ache as
a child being a dragonless Targaryen and how painful that was, he did not like the agony of
those memories. It was only in bonding with Vhagar that he felt complete. And while
Velaryons might not feel that pull, the dragons would to a degree want to be close to Valyrian
people, and Valyrians wanted to be close to dragons.
“A dragon named Sheepstealer is problematic,” Norrey grumbled.
“It could be, but if properly bonded, they are unlikely to be menaces on society, other than
one dragon, none have ever cause problems for my small folk,” Vaemond confessed.
“Which one?”
“Cannibal,” Aemond guessed tiredly. The ancient, giant wild dragon was a problem, and his
territory vast.
“Yes, Cannibal is a problem,” Vaemond agreed. “But he is also unlikely to leave his territory,
he has been there since before Aegon’s Conquest and is unlikely to leave the islands. There
are other dragons which might venture with us, but again, they are not likely to be a problem.
Dragons are… shy, they do not like large groups of humans, it is only here that you see them
being around so many humans. And that is primarily because their riders reside here.”
“That is true,” Aemond agreed.

“And in bringing these small folk, how are we to ensure their fealty to Lord Stark, who
would be their liege?” Hornhill asked.
“I believe that given the Stark’s ability to command loyalty without abusing it, my people
would be pleased to swear fealty to your liege, and Prince Aemond as their overlord, it would
be rather simple, as my people have soured against my brother,” Vaemond confessed tiredly.
“This navy, how would you build it?” Cregan asked.
“There is a chain of command which would be practiced, similar to the calvery, or military
you possess, the ranks could be altered to suit the North, but overall, it would be structured
with a chain of command, each ship has it’s own captain, and each ship is a part of a fleet,
and that fleet is commanded by an admiral, there are cues and technics to maintain
communication between the ships, and each ship has a rank, every person from captain to the
cabin boys, has a job and purpose as well as a rank, and it builds,” Vaemond explained.
“And navial warfare… how would it be taught?” Cregan asked.
“I would teach you, Lord Stark, so you might properly know how to deploy ships, and when
to use them, but also, it would ultimately be in your control, I would have this navy be a part
of your standing military as it already stands, merely this would be another extension of it.”
Cregan nodded, and Aemond was impressed.
“And how would this affect trade with Dorne, as we still rely on the sands they are providing
and the aid we are already receiving?” Cregan asked.
“This would not affect trades, the navy would be yours to command and control, Lord Stark,
but the trade business is still my standing business, which is not a part of the navy. The
vessals would be separate, where you would own the navy, I would own the trading ventures
I have already built,” Vaemond said.
“That is not right,” Mormont started.
Cregan held up his hand then, silencing the older man. “Aemond, as this would be your
vassal, what are your thoughts?”
“Private wealth of Houses is not new, as ventures are built and risks are taken, Ser Vaemond’s
trade is Ser Vaemond’s trade and business and builds his own wealth and ventures, but also
assists the North fairly with contracts that are favorable. Basing his business in the North
creates a bigger economy which ultimately assists my New House and helps in bringing
business and tenants and vassals to my lands, I am not opposed to it,” Aemond said.
“I agree,” Domeron said suddenly. “Ser Vaemond has been an honest partner, and has built
his trade and business for his own since before this opportunity arose, we would be cruel to
take it, and it only assists us ultimately.”
“I agree,” Norrey said.
“I too,” Umber reluctantly said.

“There is much to gain,” Karstark said slowly. “And while I see no pitfalls, there are concern
of external sources coming North for these oprotunities to work with House Velaryon’s trade,
and that invites spies and upstarts not accustomed to our ways, and not respectful.”
“Other than the staff I already employ, I would be open to only employing Northern families
and Northern men, it would cut the mistrust down you are feeling. If at a later time I have
earned your trust and proven my fealty as a Northerner I would open my business to hiring
outsiders again to be housed at other, Southron ports I would maintain connections too,”
Vaemond said.
“That would be acceptable to me, but it still arises concerns if you build a navy,” Karstark
said.
“I am not opposed to supplying sailors, the Skagosi people are the only true Northern sailors,
and perhaps this will assist us in building trust,” Bryan said quietly. “But fuck it up, and I’ll
fuck your business up.”
“That is understood,” Vaemond chuckled.
“In being a vassal to Lord Drekaúlfur you do know you are not a Northern family on our
Council, correct?” Mormont demanded.
“I do not seek to be,” Vaemond said. “I wish only to assist in serving Lord Drekaúlfur in
building his House and lands and preserving my culture and people so we might grow and
flourish, I do not seek to influence the North greatly, nor would I want a seat on the Winter
Council, I seek to live in peace and protect me and mine while building a new home.
“I am a second son of a Great House, I do not need a seat on your council, but I do desire a
fair overlord, and fair liege, I have suffered under my current Lord and liege, and seek to
rectify that.”
“In coming North, you will found your own House, if in time it is feasible, we will examine
titles and names, but for matter, we will reserve judgement for a later time,” Cregan said. “If
the Winter Council is in agreement, then I will begin the necessary contracts for the Crown
before we will shelter a new branch of House Velaryon,” Cregan looked at his men.
None of the other men objected.
“Very well, we will inform the Court of your separation from House Velaryon and your move
North formally and draw up the necessary contracts. Lord Drekaúlfur will seal them and then
I shall before we give them to this Crown for filing, we will have a copy for our records and
control, we will discuss the finer matters of territory and boundaries after the New Gift has
been properly surveyed as a location for a port can be accepted. As to the other Valyrian
families that will follow you, I trust you to be wise in your selections, but if any should dare
be upstarts, or spies and caught then it shall be your responsibility to sentence them to death,
and it is expected by Northern law you carry the sentence out as you will be sentencing them.
Or Prince Aemond shall have to carry out the sentence as he will be the overlord of the
region. Further, Lord Norrey will be sending me unbiased reports of the adaptation and
growth of your people, I will be expecting bi-yearly reports on accurate accounts, both these
reports will be given to Lord Drekaúlfur and myself, for the next thirty years, possibly more
if I feel the need,” Cregan explained. “I will make a campaign out to your region at least once
every three years, depending upon the winters, wars, and weather, for inspections and to hear
from the people, as well as campaign through the New Gift to see to it’s recovery; again, this
is contingent upon wars, weather and season; regardless, Lord Drekaúlfur will be expected to
be examining his lands and I will be gathering reports from neighbors about the accounts.
“Take no offense Aemond, but this is to ensure your reception as overlord and to assist you if
there is a need that arises you do not know how to manage,” Cregan warned.
“I am thankful for all the guidance I could receive in establishing this new House.”
“Good, I will also expect a seat on your Council, primarily through Sansa, as we establish
your House, further, Ser Vaemond, do not espect a title of Lord at this time, you are still of
House Velaryon, and will be treated as a lesser House of Velaryon, but that is subject to
change in time, as the North sees fit, should the occasion arise we shall petition the King or
Queen formally for this change to be granted, regardless though, you and yours will be
vassals of Lord Drekaúlfur and his House and swear fealty to his House and mine,” Cregan
said.
“I believe that is more than fair, though I do ask for your deference when you learn naval
warfare Lord Stark,” Vaemond said.
“Of course,” Cregan inclined his head.
“Then it is settled, the North accepts the children of Old Valyria to the North and expect them
to swear fealty to Lord Stark and Lord Drekaúlfur,” Norrey decided.
“Done,” the other Lords agreed in unison.
“Then the matter is concluded and settled, finer details will be discussed at a later date in
time for when the area is properly surveyed and a port can be established, as well as when
Lord Drekaúlfur returns to Lenton to begin his House,” Cregan decided.
Aemond was amazed at the ease of this meeting because normally he was pulling teeth or
banging his head against a wall trying to get the Small Council to conclude or agree upon
anything, and the North just concluded this meeting in less than an hour. Cregan’s gaze lifted
and Aemond turned to see soldiers approaching.
“Aemond, go with Sansa and attend to your family, I will have hourly updates brought to you
and yours over the course of the day,” Cregan rose.
“I still need to attend to the Small Council,” Aemond sighed tiredly.
“Very well,” Cregan said. “I will attend it with you, and summon Prince Daemon for the
meeting,” Cregan ordered as he walked to the soldier. Aemond looked at Sansa who smiled at
him as she took his hand under the table.
“First we should eat, because I don’t think you’ve had the morning meal yet,” she said softly.
“I…” he started.
“Aemond, Starks eat morning meals together,” Sansa said softly.
“We do, they’re pleasant!” Sara piped up with a smile.
“Then… can Hel and her children come, and Daeron?” Aemond asked uncertainly.
“Certainly!” Sara grinned as she was up and running off. Sansa chuckled as she rose with
him, he was thankful when she linked their arms again, he didn’t realize how much he liked
the contact until Sansa seemed interested in taking his arm, or being at his side. No one had
ever wanted to be beside him.
“Aemond, your family is welcome to attend our morning meal,” she said as they walked.
“They are not yours,” Aemond started.
“No, but they are yours,” she said. “And I would never dare to take yours away frm you, as
you will not take mine from me.”
“Thank you,” he murmured softly as they walked.
She squeezed his arm and he honestly didn’t know how to properly convey everything she
was giving him and he was thankful for.
Chapter End Notes
Kapa! Nyke arghugon nuncle! Ziry istan ruarza rūsīr se morghe se ojūdan! - Father! I
hunt uncle! He was hidden with the dead and lost!
Tubis Vhagar. - Morning Vhagar.

Chapter 15
Chapter Notes
A Special Thanks to ProcrastinationIsMyName for your help, it did help to point me in

the right direction! Thank you for your patience and aid! I hope everyone enjoys the
additional snippet, tomorrow there'll be a new chapter and this note will be removed!
Daemon was fuming as he sat in the Small Council chambers, he had walked in to Otto
sitting in his brother’s seat, again, and since Daemon was here for the Commander of the
Watch and not as a Prince of the Realm he could not take the seat from Otto. His blood boiled
at the sight of that smug bastard, and since Corlys’ theory, it took all of Daemon’s will power
not to lunge over the table to tear out the man’s throat. It was when the doors were opened
and a wolf loped in, followed by Lord Stark and Aemond that Daemon was surprised.
“Move, that is the Crown’s seat,” Cregan ordered in a voice that sounded a thousand years
old, the young man was barely twenty and yet he sounded as imposing as a well seasoned
general.
“Lord Stark, these proceedings.”
“Do not make me repeat myself, Lord Hand, move,” Cregan ordered as he reached the empty
seat for the Hand of the King. Otto glared and then Aemond stood there.
“You have no right…”
“But I do,” Aemond cut off. “I would be regent for Jaehaerys, and I stand in for Aegon in
these proceedings, I am a member of the Crown, and Prince of the Realm, now, do as Lord
Stark commanded or he’ll arrest you for High Treason, it is treason to presume the seat of
theCrown when you are not a member of the Crown.”
Otto glared, rising as he moved for his seat, but Cregan swiftly sat there, and Aemond took
the King’s seat then and Daemon smirked as he leaned back. Otto was fuming as he was
forced to walk to the other end of the table, and be seated.
“Lord Stark has informed me of the reports regarding the City Watch, preparations of the city,
battlements, as well as the investigation into Aegon’s stabbing,” Aemond said.
“The accounts are fair, though there are concerns with the funding being diverted into the
smallfolk, as the septs have been converted to hospitals and shelters, the funds are being
pulled from the celebration of the wedding, but there is concerns from the septs about this
conversion, they are demanding a tax for it,” Lord Beesbury started.
“No.”
“That is inappropriate, Prince Aemond,” Ser Otto stated. “As you are not the King you
cannot decide where this money is to be spent.”
“No, I cannot decide for the King, but these are funds from my wedding, donated by my wife
to aiding the smallfolk, they are not to be taxed for providing services the Faith and septs
should already have voluntarily begun before she donated the funds. So, no, the Faith will not
be getting any of those funds, and can seek reimbursement from the Crown formally with a
petition to the Court,” Aemond repeated.
“The septs are sacred grounds being desecrated…” Ser Otto started again.
“And the answer remains, no,” Aemond grounded out.
“Is it not the duty of the Faith to assist their flock?” Daemon asked. “Selflessly and in service
to the… Smith? Or something like that.”
“The septs are holy grounds, sacred to the Seven, and not for… desecration, and servicing
people in this manner is desecrating these holy grounds,” Otto stated lowly.
“No,” Aemond repeated. “The septs are not only the largest buildings in King’s Landing
capable of housing many, but also safe. They are to remain a hospital and shelter until this
crisis is past, and it is by grace of the Mother that this will be. Pray to the Crone, Lord Hand,
may she show you this is the way.”
Daemon bit the inside of his cheek seeing Otto sputtering and fuming.
“As to the trials, those are being arranged swiftly, Lord Mormont has command of the City
Watch and punishments will only be passed by judges,” Daemon stated.
“I will be receiving all those trial transcripts,” Lord Wylde warned.
“Of course,” Daemon purred. “Would you like the transcripts written in blood of the victims
or ink of the defendents?”
“Enough,” Cregan snarled lowly. “Bloody fucking hells, how does anything get done in this
godsforsaken Kingdom!”
“Oh, we have not even begun, Lord Stark, there is much more to be discussed,” Ser Lannister
chuckled. “I have been speaking to the Court about the manner of this donation, and the
Ladies of my House have petitioned to formally form a charity, in Lady Sansa’s honor, to
assist the smallfolk, they believe it will better the relations of the Kingdom, in particular they
want to focus on aiding the orphans.”
“I do not have any charieties on record for that cause,” Lord Beesbury said.
“Does Sansa know you want to do this?” Cregan sputtered.
“It is a gesture on her behalf,” Tyland said.
“Does Sansa know!?” Cregan grounded out.
“Probably not,” Aemond said.
“Aemond has been hoarding his wife away,” Daemon said.
Cregan and Aemond glared at him. “The answer is no, no, nothing is to be done in Sansa’s
name unless Sansa’s the one doing it, what the fuck is wrong with you Southron folk!?”
“It is for a good cause,” Tyland started.
“Then do it in your own fucking name, you don’t get to use my sister’s name just because she
married him!” Cregan snapped.
“Ladies typically take care of the chareties,” Tyland started.
“And you don’t get to use someone who’s name isn’t yours, the answer is no, that is final,”
Cregan stated.
“Actually, Lady Sansa’s husband is the one to have the final say,” Lord Beesbury piped up.
“The answer is no,” Aemond said blandly.
Daemon started laughing then, he couldn’t stop himself if he tried, the faces of the Small
Council was priceless!
22nd Day of the 5th Lunar Cycle, Year 128 AC
“We’ll send a hunting party after the Boltons, I do not believe this to be an isolated event,
that was too easy of a victory,” Jon said as he held Rickon on his hip. He was unsettled at the
Bolton’s fleeing so readily.
“I believe it might be a trap, most of the tracks head towards the eastern mountains, into the
passes between our lands,” Veron stated.
“Then we shall go high, let us see what they were attempting,” Jon suggested. “There is more
here than just drawing us out to test our defenses, the Boltons have attempted to claim
Winterfell and never succeeded on their own.”
“I believe it is a trap,” Ellard huffed.
“We should confirm,” Jon decided.
“By what? Springing it, that is foolish, and the pass is still covered in snow, the only safe
passage around to the top of the mountains is a goat herders’ path, and that will be wrought
with dangers untold,” Veron stated.
“Then I’ll go,” Jon decided. “I’ll take six men, and we can go around on this path, if it is a
trap we’ll have the high ground.”
“I believe this to be a ploy to draw us out,” Ellard sighed. “Those mountains are a kill box, if
properly prepared you’ll never get out of them alive, there’s steep passages, no shelter, and if
they have the high ground, there’s no way to get through them without being seen.”
“But if you use the goat’s path then you can outflank them, again, but it’ll be lethal, one
misstep will kill you,” Veron finished.
Jon frowned, he’d spent so much time with the wildlings that this didn’t seem that daunting
but he did understand the concerns. The Boltons were up to something, but the question was
what, and their little display of an attack was… unusual, and unsettling if Jon was honest. He
couldn’t shake the gut feeling that there was something more going on that he couldn’t see.
“I’ll go, get me six of the best hunters, and we’ll take the goat herders’ route, if we can get to
the high ground then we’ll know what they’re up to, possibly smoke them out of the
mountains if needed.”
“Those mountains are riddled with tunnles, it’s a perfect place for an ambush,” Veron pointed
out.
“I would dismiss this, but Lord Bolton himself attended this attack, there is need to prepare
for either another assault, a true siege, or to hunt them down,” Jon answered.
Sansa’s next four days were exhausting, and her head was throbbing.
Aegon Targaryen was not… any better, but he was not any worse. The investigation into his
stabbing was getting nowhere, though Cregan and she were of the opinion the attack was to
provoke the Blacks, but given the North was now effectively neutral, it thwarted whatever
plots there were in play.
The quiet, swift evacuation of the wedding guests was a headache, which she had assisted in
arranging proper send offs, graciously thanking many families for attending her wedding, and
so on and so forth. She wanted to just have them all leave, but she understood these
pleasantries were important. This action both thwarted plots in play, but also would move the
offenders if they were in the Great Houses, and Sansa had a feeling they were.
The knife used to gut Aegon was he very same knife which had nearly killed her brother, that
Arya had used against the Others on the Long Night. It was the knife meant to kill her brother
too. She hadn’t told Cregan all of that when Karlon had presented the knife to Cregan, she
had told him all that later when she was panickily telling him her history might not aid them.
He had accepted this with a shrug and said it was better not to know, it gave her perspectives
she needed. And that was when she had stopped panicking, and started thinking.
These tactics weren’t new, no, they were tactics from her era, her age, and when she saw that,
it vexed her. She had forgotten the payers of her age had learnt from the players before them,
and that was an arrogant miscalculation on her part. The game wasn’t new, it was old, it was
a game she’d grown up playing, and these players were just as dangerous as the players she’d
grown up with. And seeing their tactics up close, it brought back all the memories of her era
and it had her cursing her stupid, slow mind for not seeing these patterns before.
Despite her slow mind, these patterns vexed Sansa greatly because this reminded her of
Baelish’s plot on her family and her family’s feud with the Lannisters as a result, and it
infuriated her. The tactic was an old, almost classic tactic to tear apart Great Houses and once
she saw the pattern between the Greens and Blacks, she was livid. It had her wanting to tear
apart the Court and stomp out whatever venomous snake, poisonous plant, or mocking bird
had initiated this mess, and then she wanted to knock Alicent and Rhaenyra’s heads together
to get some bloody sense into them! The entirety of the Greens and Blacks reminded Sansa of
Baelish’s tactics, and once she saw it, she couldn’t unsee it, and now it had her looking at
people who would benefit outside of the Targaryens.
Her only reasonable culprits were the Baratheons, Hightowers, and Velaryons, which did not
mean they were the only ones. The outliers were the Lannisters, Tullys, Tarleys, Tyrells, the
Dornish even, there were also members of the Small Council to examine as a whole as a
threat because in her experience the Small Council was ever solely focused on the good of
the Realm. Lord Beesbury was the only one beyond suspicion, she knew the older man and
Aemond were probably as close as Aemond let people who weren’t his actual family get, and
he was assisting Aemond in the investigation, if Beesbury was the man behind the
embezzling or a secret patron of the Citadel, then he would either be connected to Aemond to
prevent Aemond from noticing the embezzling; which hadn’t happened; or he was genuinely
innocent, and assisting Aemond. But it made everyone suspect, and Sansa did not like it.
Of the Small Council, the only one to truly irk Sansa; who was not Ser Otto Hightower; was
Lord Strong, there was something… wrong about the man. The way he watched Sansa and
her Ladies, the way he ran in the women’s circles in Court; even a cripple didn’t typically do
that.
Sansa knew Willas Tyrell, while crippled was an active young man, he was renowned for his
hawks, hounds and horses, he was also dangerously intelligent, and genuine, he was probably
more dangerous than Margaery, and he was akin to Olenna in many ways because no one
paid him mind. Tyrion Lannister was a dwarf and the cleverest man alive that Sansa had ever
met, he was dangerous and intelligent, with a vindictive streak that made lesser men tremble,
he was a lion and not to be trifled with. Varys was a eunuch, and the slipperiest, most
cunning, dangerous man Sansa had ever encountered. And as Sandor and Jaime and Aemond
had proven over and over, injuries did not prevent lethal skills. Also, Sansa remembered
Bran, and despite how odd Bran was when he returned, he had survived, with no legs, beyond
the Wall, and back, and even with assistance from Meera, Jojen, and Hodor and even then,
that was a feat.
Crippled men did not run in ladies’ circles, and that oddity had Sansa paying Lord Strong
attention, not that he was aware. She was a wolf; she had been taught to hunt her prey
without them aware of her intentions until her jaws were around their throat.
Her next suspect for this discourse was the Baratheon Targaryen, Queen Who Never Was,
Rhaenys Targaryen and her paramount Corlys Velaryon. The Baratheon-Targaryen
relationship with the Throne was tumultuous in history, but Sansa had seen the way Corlys
Velaryon coveted it, or his wife. She was not sure which he coveted more, if she was
completely honest, she had listened to the histories of the Court Ladies who still gossiped
now that they were confined, and apparently Corlys had never forgiven the Great Council for
losing him ‘his’ Throne. The fact that Corlys Velaryon wanted the Throne so badly after
having lost it because it was never his to begin with, was unsettling. There were recounts of
how Corlys had pushed for a match between King Viserys and Laena when she was but
twelve; and while such a match was not unusual in Sansa’s experience, no father advocated
for it so seriously. Even Sansa’s own father had protested her match to a degree because she’d
been eleven at the time, no father seriously looked at marrying their daughter off at that age,
and to a man as old as them. At least, it wasn’t common, not from what Sansa recalled of
history. Yes, age gaps were inevitable, matches at their circle were made for influence and not
love, and the smallfolk married later than nobility, but consummation and child bearing was
always for later. It was impractical for a man in his forties to marry a girl of twelve, given
that a girl of twelve could not safely bear a child. It was after accounts of Queen Aemma and
the like which the age restrictions had been seriously looked at.
And also, even if Sansa had married Joffrey, she didn’t think he could’ve gotten an errection,
not with the rumors that circulated around him and his particular perversions.
Her final suspect was too obvious, it unsettled her, because it also led to a larger conspiracy
she wasn’t privy to at this moment, which had her uneasy. Her final suspect was Ser Otto
Hightower himself, it wouldn’t make sense, but it also did, greatly. Sansa knew her history
well enough to remember that the Hightowers had strife with the Targaryens since Aegon the
Conqueror, and then with Maegor. The Targaryens did have queer customs, all the Valyrian
Houses did, and while Sansa would be informing Aemond very firmly their children would
not be marrying one another, she knew it was more than the incest and dragons which upset
the Faith and Hightowers about the Targaryens. For one thing, there was the fact the
Targaryens destroyed Harrenhal, without effort, it took nothing for them to burn Harrenhal to
the mangled ruins it remained in Sansa’s age. Then there was the Field of Fire, which killed
over five thousand and served as a warning to the rest of Westeros as to the might and power
of three dragons, but there’d been a great slight dealt to the Hightowers then, for King Aegon
named Harlen Tyrell Warden of the South and Lord Paramount of the Mander, and Sansa
knew the Hightowers and Gardeners had been rivals in the reach for millenia, at the very
least, and to name the Tyrells, who had never been Kings or rulers Lord Paramount of the
Mander and Wardens of the South was an insult for the Hightowers bent the knee. Then there
was everything to do with Maegor the Cruel, who had offended the Hightowers and fought a
war against their Faith, their precious Faith.
The Hightowers were also the center seat for both the Citadel and the Faith, the Septs and
Citadel greatly overlapped, and they would make sense as a patron for both. It was logical to
think the Hightowers had power and influence over long term historical records, and as
Westeros grew dependent on them, their position was secure in Oldtown. Also, they had
never recovered from the Dance of Dragons, akin to the Velaryons who would never recover,
and the damage to the Targaryens, the Hightowers never got close to the Throne again, they
were never as close as they were now. Right now. And that sent a chill down Sansa’s spine.
Otto Hightower, as illogical as it could be from the stance Westeros held kinslayers, was a
suspect to examine closer for her. Combined with Aemond’s own conspiracy of embezzling,
and record tampering, they were a logical opponent for her to examine. There was much to
gain for them if Aegon Targaryen was assassinate, they could immediately point the finger at
the Blacks and instigate the Dance again, but why was Sansa’s question.
She wracked her brain for Sam’s conspiracy ramblings, and she was not liking the direction
that took her. It made her feel more paranoid than when she’d been a girl in King’s Landing,
but it also made her keenly aware that she’d have to talk to Aemond sooner rather than later
about her own secrets, not that she wanted to. Still, there was no denying there was a real
connection between the conspiracies Sam used to ramble on about and the reality she found
herself embroiled in. The only way she’d be able to help Aemond was by telling him the truth
and praying to all the Gods she could think of that he would understand she was not lying to
him.
In effect, given Aemond was very much a ‘you show me yours, and I’ll maybe show you
mine’ person, she’d have to prove to him she was not lying and that was difficult given she
didn’t know how to do that without sounding mad. With Cregan it was simple, despite how
complicated it had ben, it was simple because they were Starks, and ultimately that was all
that mattered to them. But it was complicated because for those first six moons they knew
each other they were trying to figure the other one out and figure out the deception to be had
before they accepted the reality of their situation fully.
If Sansa ever saw Bran again, she was throttling him for using his powers to send her back in
time without any bloody proof so she might be able to prove her truth! Yes, she had Jon, but
Jon was… dismal proof, she was safer thinking of him as her cousin and concealing his truth
as best as she could, so she didn’t have the whiplash of Jon’s temper when he learnt she told
Aemond. No, best not put her new husband in danger, she actually liked this husband, she
didn’t want him killed by her idiot brother for being… pissed off, hot headed, and having his
Targaryen impulse control; or lack thereof; taking over and him killing Aemond in a rage.
Knowing Jon was half Targaryen made a lot of Jon’s nature make sense, his occasional
stupidity and impulsive drive, there was also his temper, and melancholy nature; yes Starks
were not always cheerful, and were rather stoic by nature, but they weren’t ever as morose as
Jon was. But Rhaegar Targaryen was renowned for his melancholy nature and how he was an
extremely charismatic, charming, and thoughtful soul, but also how he could be so stupid
stealing Lyanna Stark.
Yes, Jon was making more sense now that Sansa had a lot of context for his behaviors and
parentage.
Not getting Aemond killed by Jon was Sansa’s new goal, and also not entirely losing her
husband’s very wary trust in her was her goal. Sansa did not think her secret would be well
received regardless of intentions. Aemond did not trust people, he didn’t like people around
him, and the few he selected to trust were people who worked very hard to earn his trust.
Sansa could attest to it, because she’d had to be consistent with Aemond since long before
they were even in prospects of a marriage. Consistency was needed to win Aemond over, and
this truth of hers would throw that into chaos; because it would leave him thinking she was
either mad, or he’d been duped for another humiliating experience, and worse, because he
trusted her, this would hurt him. And she didn’t want to hurt him.
She was sitting quietly today in the gardens, alone, for the first time as she mulled over this
problem, Frostfyre was hunting in the gardens near her, she could feel the wolf’s presence
and was comfortable sitting here.
She cursed history, conspiracies and worse secrets that couldn’t be explained because this
would hurt Aemond regardless of her intentions, and she hated knowing that the fragile trust
he was placing in her was probably going to shatter when she told him. She actually liked
him!
It was an odd realization for her to know she liked her husband. And worse, it was startling
her how much she liked him. Yes, he was handsome, his appearance appealed to her in a
surprising way she couldn’t fully explain, and she… she wanted him, but that terrified her.
But also, she rather liked his mind, she liked how he treated his family, his sister, his mother,
his brothers, his niece, and nephews, Aemond was… good, he was good, and she adored it
about him. He was a genuine, kind, gentle person, who’s worst qualities were extremes but at
his core, he was… good, he was selfless, thoughtful, dutiful, honorable, cunning, intelligent,
observant, and genuine, who he was at his core was genuine, and she liked him very much.
How much she liked him was terrifying, because she found it so easy to genuinely like him.
Aemond was unlike anyone she had ever met, he reminded her of her father and Jaime
Lannister, oddly enough, and she was surprised at how endearing he was becoming to her.
Aemond was a person whose worst traits though were how he was remembered, and it was
highly probable that he had snapped, emotionally at the end of his life, and let the rage and
fury he kept under control consume him. Aemond was full of rage, hatred, distrust, anger, and
wrath, she could not deny it, he had plenty of reasons to be all of those things, but they
weren’t who he was, and history would never remember the quiet, gentle soul he was, the one
who tried to do his best for a thankless Realm and tried to do right by his family, though it
would ultimately kill him.
Part of her remembered the stories of him being in love with a witch, and those broke her
heart, was he so desperate for affection he would let a witch cast a spell, or had he genuinely
loved that woman? Had Sansa robbed him of a chance to be genuinely happy? She didn’t
know what to think about that, Aemond was… complicated, and his history was now both
broad and scarce, as a forger his hand in history would be far greater than anyone knew, but
as far as anyone knew, he was an incompetent second brother who had nothing but a lost eye
and a war dragon.
There was a sound and Sansa turned, frowning as she saw Prince Daemon, Lord Corlys,
Princess Rhaenys, and Princess Rhaenyra. Rising on courtesy, she gave a low courtesy, and
was finding herself desperately wishing Aemond or Cregan or even Sara would materialize to
safe her from these four at this moment, she didn’t know if she had the patience to deal with
them on this day.
“Princess Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon, Princess Rhaenys, Lord Corlys, it is a pleasure, to what
do I owe this pleasure?” she asked as she rose then and looked at the four of them.
“We wish to speak to you before your campaigns,” Prince Daemon said.
“Then I should get Aemond,” Sansa started.
“I believe this is in requires us to speak to you as he is wary of our intentions,” Lord Corlys
said. She frowned a little as she looked between the adults then.
“And you believe I’m not?” she asked as Daemon assisted in sitting his wife down, and
Sansa was about to seat herself when Daemon was the one to do so for her. She blinked a few
times but settled at her table, she tapped her chin as she sat there looking the four over.
“No, I believe you’re rightfully wary of us,” Daemon chuckled. “But, we do not share history
so you will be more… unbiased.”
“That would be a foolish assumption, I now share my husband’s history,” she countered.
“Yes…” Lord Corlys agreed. “But we seek to mend the rifts between our family, and as you
are not a part of that history physically, therefore might be more… not forgiving, but kind.”
She took a deep breath as she folded her hands over her stomach, her elbows resting on her
seat as she looked at them, all four adults were looking contrite, and unsure, which had her
wary as she looked them over.
“Very well, what is it you wish to discuss?” she asked warily.
“It is about your campaigns,” Rhaenyra said again.
“You’ve stated as much, but what about them?” she asked warily, uncertain of where this
could go.
“We wish to assist,” Rhaenys stated bluntly. “There are concerns given you and Prince
Aemond are newly married, and newly married life is rather consuming and self-involved,
which is to be expected, and the stresses of building a new House, as well as establishing
yourselves in the North as a new Lord and Lady, and learning your vassals and lands, there is
much to learn. And you will have to learn to manage a new House and household which is a
very challenging task. And to believe that there is to be an investigation into your people’s
records, it seems as if you and Prince Aemond could use assistance.”
Sansa looked between the four adults and fought the urge to frown as she took a steadying
breath. “You keep bringing up my newly wed status as reasons for my incompetence…” she
started.
“No, it is not that,” Rhaenyra said softly. “Merely, newly married life is very consuming and
passionate, it is difficult to manage such passions…”
“And then there are the concerns for babes, which are a part of newly wed life, it took me a
mere four moons to catch babes,” Rhaenys said.
“I caught Jace within the first five moons, it is… natural, and taxing, and when you find
yourself carrying the safety of the babe should take priority,” Rhaenyra said with a gentle,
maternal smile.
Sansa frowned openly. “A babe does not mean I am inept at assisting my husband or
protecting myself.”
“Would you be so selfish as to endanger all he’ll hold dear?” Daemon asked softly.
Now Sansa glared at the older man.
“If you two truly arranged this match then the bond is deep and precious, and to endanger
that is selfish and cruel,” Daemon stated it in a soft, near gentle tone. “Targaryens love
deeply, and we love passionately, we are not vain and fickle beings no matter what our
reputation, if we love someone we love them truly and deeply, and if we hate someone we
hate them with every fibre of our being. If he arranged this match, as you claimed, there is a
bond well concealed that probably means a great deal to Aemond. Are you truly intent on
being a liability to him?”
“Aemond and I did arrange this match,” Sansa stated firmly. “Not for any deep emotions, or
passionate love or profound bond, but because we both liked the other as a friend. We
decided on this match because it made sense, because it would be a partnership between us, it
secures my hand to a man who’s temperament I know, and it secured him to a partner he
could trust. Our bond is one of respect and friendship. I am not Aemond’s nearest and
dearest, I am however of value to him and his friend.”
“Do not fool yourself,” Daemon smirked with a look which seemed knowing. “He does
conceal everything very well, but I’ve been watching him, and do not fool yourself, Lady
Sansa, your value is very high to him.”
“Do not presume to understand anything about myself or Aemond, Prince Daemon,” Sansa
shot back. “As to my campaigns, what do you wish to speak about?”
“We wish for you to have… proper assistance, Prince Aemond has turned away your Ladies
and his guard in favor for campaigning on dragon back, which is not… wise, given the
precarious nature of the conspiracies you and he seek to learn about. And given dragon back
is a much swifter form of travel it would only make sense to have a dragon back companion
accompanying you and Prince Aemond,” Lord Corlys said.
“Aemond did not turn away my Ladies,” Sansa countered firmly. “They are of their own
volition returning North, at behest of me, to oversee the construction of my new home,
Lenton, and Aemond has never traveled with a guard in his life, so he is disinclined to change
that.”
“Do not be a fool,” Rhaenys warned sternly, in a near mothering tone which reminded Sansa
of Catlyn then. “You should have a guard of actual aid, he is a Prince of the Crown, and a
target for many who do not like Targaryens.”
“And he is no longer a Targaryen, he is a Drekaúlfur, and a Lord, formally to the North, he is

not a Targaryen Prince,” Sansa countered.
“I would not be so quick to discount the sentiments we have about this matter,” Daemon
warned warily. “Changing his name does not change the fact he is a dragon, still, and a
Targaryen, there are many who would seek his head for the amusement it would bring them,
and yours too now that you have wed him.”
“I am a Stark, I would like to see them try to come for my head,” she smirked. Yes, it was
arrogant of her to feel secure in herself and her security, but Sansa had survived all manner of
things and came out on top, and she was a wolf.
“Such youthful arrogance,” Corlys chuckled. “It would be wise to heed our council, we only
seek to aid.”
“Why?” Sansa asked. “As far as I can tell you could be the ones after Aemond’s head.”
“And why would we do that?” Daemon asked.
“Because you don’t know what he’s up to, and he’s a threat if you don’t know what he’s up
to, or what he intends to do, makes him unpredictable, and unpredictable in our line of work
is always a threat,” she said. “Aemond doesn’t have a reason to trust any of you and I must
follow my husband’s lead in this matter.”
“Then… let us prove it,” Daemon said looking her over. “I will offer you my daughters,
Baela and Rhaena in your service, and myself, as chaperon, if there is truly nothing to worry
about, then there will be no harm in extra dragons and help.”
“And I should trust Baela and Rhaena why?” Sansa asked.
“They hold no malice,” Rhaenyra started.
“Is that so?” Sansa leaned back. “Then understand I have no service for them to attend to.”
“They would serve as ladies in waiting for you, a position you do have,” Rhaenys said.
Now Sansa snorted as she looked at her linked hands and her eyes flicked up to the table
occupants. “In the North I do not have Ladies in Waiting, do you know why we call them
Ladies?”
“No…” Corlys started warily.
“In the North we are all subject to conscription,” she admitted. “Ladies are taught defense,
we are taught to holdfast, to be a defense for our men, we are raised to kill and protect our
homes, entrusting Baela and Rhaena to me is to break them of their ‘gentle’ nature, for it will
not serve them, in my service they will be expected to be Ladies. Not Ladies in Waiting, I
have no use for their service if they are nothing but Ladies in Waiting, I’d get better service
from maids. I only have use for Ladies. Further, the pair of them were present the night my
husband lost his eye, and they have both been linked to Prince Jacaerys and Prince Lucerys
who have tormented and harassed my husband since well before their formidable years, so I
would wager they have assisted in this harassment, why should I invite them near me or
him?”
“Because you can’t do this alone,” Rhaenyra stated calmly.
“We have the backing of the North,” Sansa countered.
“And now the Crown, in full, accept the aid, do not be a fool,” Rhaenyra said softly. “I know
well when pride is concealing the truth, young lady, and you are a proud young woman, but
you and Aemond are both in over your heads, and we could aid each other to mend the rift
between our families. The Starks are Blacks, yes, and you have willingly married a Green, so
let us mend the rift, I would very much like not to lose another brother,” she said softly.
“I think you lost them long ago, Princess,” Sansa said softly.
“Are you so cold to be carved of actual ice?” Rhaenyra demanded.
“No, but I am not to be trifled with, either you are genuine in your intentions and intend to
mend the rift yourself, or you accept you have long since lost your brothers,” Sansa stated. “I
will not be used to mend your own rifts with your family, and I will not manipulate Aemond
on your behalf.”
“Perhaps we weren’t clear Lady Drekaúlfur, you will be accompanied by my daughters, you
will be teaching them to be proper Ladies, and I will be accompanying them on these
campaigns to ensure their safety,” Daemon stated. “That is by decree of the Crown.”
“Well, if it’s by decree of the Crown, I am nothing if not honored to be charged with the
tutelage of your daughters, but I am to be on my honeymoon, I will not need them,” Sansa
countered. “They can go North, to Lenton, where I will meet them after my husband’s
campaigns.”
“They will be accompanying you, Lady Drekaúlfur, that is not negotiable,” Daemon smiled
sharply.
She frowned. “Very well, I am honored. Now if you will excuse me, I will be having time this
afternoon with my husband.”
“Are you certain we should do this?” Rhaenyra whispered to him as she sat there.
“Trust me, after four days of Small Council meetings, Aemond is going to stab whatever bear
is laying in slumber and not be prepared for it,” Daemon sighed tiredly.
At first Aemond’s quiet stoicism was amusing when he attended the Small Council meetings,
but now Daemon could see how it wore on people Aemond rarely spoke, and he rarely
reiterated himself. He spoke firmly and calmly, and he did not give a fuck as to how it was
perceived, which was not entirely bad in Daemon’s opinion, but it was clearly pissing off
factions of the Greens. He could see Otto fuming, and the other Hightower guests were also
glaring at Aemond, then there was one Bethany Hightower who was shooting daggers
whenever she looked in the general direction of Sansa and Aemond. There were other
factions of the Greens glaring after Aemond, so whether Aemond was aware or not, he was
making enemies, many of them.
Initially Daemon wasn’t going to interfere, but the more he watched the Greens, the more
unsettled he was.
Then the fact Aegon was neither better nor worse than when he was initially stabbed, it was a
dangerous game now of patience. Daemon wanted to get the Green children out of reach of
the Greens to prevent House Targaryen from being torn apart, but he also couldn’t. If he did
anything it would be perceived as an act of war, and Otto had long since poisoned Viserys
against Daemon so it wasn’t like Daemon could reason with his brother.
“We will prepare Driftmark for their visit, and we will be prepared to analyze the evidence,”
Corlys said.
“Is there anything we should be looking for?” Daemon asked his goodfather warily. Daemon
hesitated to commit to the conspiracy but even he could not deny there was an eerie validity
to the conspiracy. It unsettled him deeply.
“I believe we should watch after whatever Prince Aemond uncovers,” Rhaenys said. “And
Lady Sansa, we should keep a closer eye on her as well, given she will be a liability for
Aemond now.”
Daemon didn’t disagree, he only felt Rhaenyra grab his hand tightly and he squeezed hers in
turn.
“I will speak with Helaena about moving her children to Dragonstone, though we should
prepare for it to not work,” Rhaenyra whispered softly. Daemon didn’t disagree with his wife,
Ser Cole and Alicent were never far from Princess Helaena or her children. He had noticed
how Alicent seemed particularly attached to Prince Jaehaerys, which sickened him deeply.
He didn’t know what more they could do, and it disturbed him when he saw Otto watching
after his grandchildren, or Otto watching after his great-grandchildren. Daemon had never
thought of Otto Hightower as particularly paternal, but the idea that Otto had groomed his
own family for the slaughter disgusted Daemon.
“It is but a conspiracy, there is no proof,” he muttered softly to himself.
“Yet,” Corlys supplied ominously.
Daeron found his brother in the gardens near the coast reading over his work. He didn’t know
if he was mad at Aemnd for working during his honeymoon, or mad at Aegon for being a
prick and getting stabbed, or mad at his family for letting Aemond continue on as if he did
not just get married. Daeron couldn’t be mad at Lady Sansa about this, he didn’t know how
well she actually knew his brother, they did appear friendly, but he didn’t know if they had a
deep love. He did know Aemond was working himself into an early grave.
Walking up to his elder brother he saw Aemond was reading over the ledgers he’d been
obsessing over for the past year.
“Mother says you’re going to the Reach for the beginning of your campaigns,” Daeron said.
Aemond raised his brow. “The Queen says many things,” Aemond muttered.
“How long are you and mother going to fight, Mon?” Daeron asked.
“You have duties to attend to with Lord Lannister,” Aemond said.
“He gave me the day,” Daeron said. “We’ll be leaving soon, or he will, I’ll leave with
Tessarion in a week’s time.”
“Mmm…” Aemond hummed.
“Why aren’t you attending to your wife?” Daeron asked.
“Our brother was stabbed,” Aemond answered.
“Mon!”
“Hm?”
“Where’s your wife?”
“With her brother and sister, they’re leaving soon,” Aemond answered.
“Why do you do this?” Daeron sighed.
“What would you have me do?” Aemond asked.
“Lady Sansa seems nice,” Daeron offered.
“She is a very kind woman,” Aemond said indifferently.
Daeron groaned as he looked at the sea, he glanced over his shoulder to look at what Aemond
was studying, and was surprised to see the Hightower map, and Oldtown. But it must’ve been
an old map, or odd one, because there were missing parts.
“Missing parts?” Aemond said, startling Daeron out of his musings.
“Um… yes, here,” Daeron said. “There’s supposed to be a passage here, it links Hightower to
the mainland,” Daeron explained. “And from here, it has five passages… two of them go to
the Citadel, two of the other ones link to the Septs, and this one goes to a strange
underground room, it’s kind of like the Small Council room, I think the tunnels go under the
ocean bed. There’s strange marks in the stones on the floor, of this chamber, here, kind of like
House Royce’s coat of arms.”
“Can you draw it?” Aemond asked.
“Yes?” Daeron scratched his head.
“Why do you know all this?” Aemond asked as Daeron sketched out the passages.
“I don’t like uncle, and it was interesting…” he admitted. “It’s like the passages here, I
thought, but it wasn’t.”
“In the Citadel, where does it release you?” Aemond asked.
“What are you doing, Mon?”
“This is important Daeron,” Aemond started.
“Then tell me why you want to know?” Daeron countered.
“I can’t… not here,” Aemond looked at the Red Keep.
“Then I’m not telling you,” Daeron stated as he was about to tear up the map and throw it
into the winds.
"This is serious Daeron, I do not have time for childish games," Aemond countered.
Daeron frowned as he eyed his older brother, Mon wasn’t good at denying him when he
wanted something, but at the same time, Daeron knew his brother worked hard to keep
everyone out of his affairs. “I’ll tell you if you visit me first on your campaigns, at Casterly
Rock."
"I have to go to the Reach, I don't have time for this," Aemond grumbled.
“Why aren’t you spending time with your new wife?” Daeron countered warily. Aemond was
hiding something.
Aemond frowned.
“I’ll tear this up, Mon,” he warned.
“Because we are working on figuring out who’s been embezzling the Crown’s money,”
Aemond said softly. “Lady Sansa was the one to find the records, and I’ve been attempting to
investigate them for a year and a half.”
“I… I thought you married her for love?” Daeron sputtered.
“No…” Aemond raised his brow. “Why… why does everyone think that?”
“Um…” Daeron blinked a few times. “The ballads…”
“I don’t even know where those bloody ballads came from or why they started. No, we are
not in love,” Aemond sputtered. “Sansa and I are investigating the records, we’re going to
Oldtown to investigate this.”
“You married a girl to investigate records?” Daeron said blandly.
“She agreed to it,” Aemond said just as blandly.

Daeron groaned as he rubbed his head; his brother was an idiot! “You’re supposed to be
founding a new House!”
“We are.”
“By investigating records!” Daeron demanded.
Aemond stared balefully at him, and Daeron wanted to hit his brother over the head with one
of his very thick books.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Undoubtably,” Aemond said with a long-suffering sigh.
“Visit me at Casterly Rock, and I’ll give you the detailed map of all the passages of
Hightower!” Daeron bartered. "I have them, I drew them myself, Mon, visit me first on your
campaigns and I'll give them to you!"
“Why do you have a map of all the passages?” Aemond asked in confusion.
“You visit uncle and try to avoid Bethany,” Daeron challenged.
“I concede your point,” Aemond decided.
“Also, it’s fun, more dangerous than the Red Keep passages,” Daeron smiled.
“The Red Keep passages… does Aegon’s room have a passage?”
“No, none of Maegor’s Holdfast is connected to the passages as far as I’ve found,” Daeron
admitted.
Aemond frowned but seemed to be thinking something over. “I need a map of Hightower.”
“If you visit me at Casterly Rock,” Daeron smiled.
“Of course,” Aemond replied.
“I’m your favorite!” Daeron grinned.
“Hel is, she doesn’t annoy me,” Aemond replied. Daeron grinned as Aemond ruffled his hair
and they both looked out at the sea, Daeron started sketching the map as best as he
remembered it.
“Mon?”
“Hm?”
“Do you at least like Sansa?” Daeron asked.
“She is a true friend,” Aemond replied softly. Daeron nodded slowly then as he continued to
sketch, the levity of such a title, it held more value than King or Queen in Daeron’s opinion,
for true friends were rare. “When you are finished squiring, you should come to Lenton,
brother.”
“You’ll… you’d want me to?” Daeron asked.
“Yes,” Aemond answered. “Why would I not want you to?”
He smiled at his brother.
He looked down at the ravens from Winterfell, and the missives and tossed them into the
fires.
Chapter End Notes
I'm doing edits tonight, I feel like something's missing in this chapter, but I can't figure
out what, since the plot is all still there, and everything is moving forward correctly.
Chapter 16
Chapter Notes
Sansa sat quietly, her fingers rubbing Frostfyre’s ear as she watched the dragons flying
overhead. Her heart was slamming painfully in her ribs, but she was breathing slow and
steady, part of her was dreading what was coming but she couldn’t deny this was the best
option. Previous experience in her life said not to take the risk, and even if she’d rather tear
out her own heart, she didn’t want to risk Frostfyre how she had risked Lady. The dull, never-
ending ache of losing Lady would never be tempered, but she wanted Frostfyre safe, and
Frostfyre would be safe in the North, campaigning in the South where there was an
opportunity for a Southron family to attack Frostfyre would kill Sansa. She couldn’t lose
Frostfyre, and knowing she’d reunite with the wolf in the North was a true solace.
The chair scraped and she turned to see Sara sitting down beside her, and Cregan walking
over. He leant over, kissing her head as he took a seat beside her.
“Frostfyre will go North,” she said softly without looking at either of them.
“Contracts…” Cregan started.
“Don’t… I know what I negotiated with Aemond, but… please, protect her, and I… I can’t
lose her, Cregan,” she whispered honestly. “Lady was innocent and that didn’t matter to the
South, they had my father kill her, I’m not… not this time, I’ll reunite with Frostfyre at
Lenton, or Winterfell, but she’s going to be safe.”
“Very well, I’ll protect her,” Cregan assured softly.
She nodded as they sat there looking out at the sea.
“My histories won’t help us for what is next,” she admitted. “Winter comes regardless in 130
AC, and it will be long, and merciless, but… my histories are wrong.”
“Wrong?” Sara asked with a raised brow.
“Wrong,” Sansa confirmed. “I do not know what to trust, and I do not know what could be
trusted.”
“None of it,” Cregan decided. “Sansa, life is always uncertain, even if you knew your
histories, life is uncertain that is the only certainty in life.”
“That is easy to say,” she snapped. “But I’d really like not to have my family die again.”
“Death smiles at us all, Sansa, it’s better to smile back,” Cregan said softly. “We can’t all be
saved, so… we live, that’s what you told me to do after Arra, live. Let go of history, Sansa,
live, we will figure it out.”
“I… I just want to keep us safe,” she whispered softly. “If my histories are wrong then… then
it is all of no point, why am I here? What am I doing? What was Bran thinking? What does
any of this mean!? Melissandre sent Jon back with intent, and I’m… I’m an accident, I’m
supposed to be dead!”
“Supposed to be and are are two different things,” Sara said firmly. “I’m supposed to be a
bastard, but I am a Lady of House Stark. You’re supposed to be dead, but you are alive and
married to a Prince. Arra is supposed to be here, she isn’t. Supposed to be and are are two
different things. You are here, now, so it’s not an accident.”
“What am I going to tell Aemond, oh, I know these conspiracies in a vague sense, because in
my time I listened to the ramblings of Samwell Tarley, and oh, I am from the future?”
“Why do you have to tell him anything?” Sara demanded.
“Because he’s my husband,” Sansa snapped.
“And his entire family is a liability,” Sara huffed.
“But he isn’t,” Cregan said softly. Sara’s mouth snapped shut then and she pouted a little as
she sat there. “Aemond is not a liability, and if you speak to him, I will confirm what you’ve
told him. I do not believe he would endanger your secrets willingly given his barter for
privacy for your wedding night and your marriage; as a whole. If the South had had it it’s
way, then there would have been no way around having witnesses for your bedding, which is
when they would have cried insult and annulled the marriage, so given that fact, guard his
secrets and he’ll guard yours, Sansa.”
“Would… if Arra had come from another time?” Sansa started uncertainly.
“Well, it would have been difficult to comprehend, and it would have hurt knowing she hid
the fact from me, but after the anger and the hurt, I like to think I’d have understood. Some
things are beyond initial understanding and serve as a threat rather than an aid, the concept of
when you are from, it is difficult to conceive, but it also… makes sense, in many ways, so, I,
as a husband, would rather guard that secret than condemn my wife for not sharing it initially.
Marriage is a unique forming of family, Sansa, it is not by blood but by choice and
commitment, and part of that choice and commitment is accepting the other person has their
own secrets and history, to which you might not have been privy to before that union, and
even then, you still might not be privy to those secrets. Some secrets aren’t for sharing, and
no matter what, secrets hurt when shared,” Cregan said.
“I don’t think so,” Sara muttered. “Some secrets aren’t to be shared, ever, and his family is a
liability.”
“Sara, you are young,” Cregan said patiently.
“Just cause you’re an old man in a young man’s body doesn’t mean I’m wrong,” she huffed.
“In this matter, you are. When you should choose a spouse, you will understand.”
“So this is one of those things I’ll only understand when I’m older?” she sneered.
“You’ll comprehend it better when you have to share your life with someone and you want to
make it amicable so you might not throttle each other every day,” Cregan snapped.
“That’s ridiculous,” she rolled her eyes.
Sansa frowned and Cregan looked at her. “I don’t want to hurt him.”
“Sansa, no matter what you do, this is going to hurt him, it is better though to reveal your
secret honestly than have someone like Jon speak to it by accident, that will do more damage
than your honesty ever could,” Cregan said softly. “Yes, Domeron, Bryan, and Rody know
your secret, so do I, and I suspect despite our best attempts, most of the North suspects
something about your heritage, though they won’t speak to it because you are a Stark.”
“Why…?” Sara started.
“You thought Sansa was a bastard I forged as a trueborn, sister, and if you thought it, how
many other Lords have had the passing thought about it? And none would believe you’re my
great-great-great-great-great granddaughter, or my daughter, we are near the same age. But
still, you are a Stark, who appeared from thin air, and deception can go far, especially as you
are a Stark in every way the North cares about, so none of ours would look too closely at my
forgeries. But still, do not tell me that there are none who question your origins,” Cregan
challenged. “None will challenge your legitimacy with the records being such a disaster, but I
doubt Sara is the only suspicious of you, but you are a Stark in undeniable ways so it might
be dismissed as a passing fancy. However, I promise you, others have similar thoughts. Also,
it is better to tell him, Sansa, so he might protect you from slander and from threats you
aren’t seeing. Jon, the North, one of my friends, or the Winter Council, or Citadel records, it’s
better he know from you rather than have one of those sources tell him something and break
his trust in you.”
“The North thought I was a bastard?” Sansa asked.
“Yes, Rickon and Bennard aren’t known for their loyalty to their wives, there’s a reason we
could hide Jon as Bennard’s bastard,” Cregan stated. “Sometimes the wolf’s blood is too
strong. Speak to Aemond, truly and I’ll speak to him if he has more questions,” Cregan
assured.
“It’s a bad idea,” Sara grumbled.
“I’m going to remind you of that when you’re married, sister,” Cregan warned.
Sara glared at Cregan and Sansa took a deep breath. She didn’t think Cregan was wrong, but
she didn’t know how to broach the subject.
Vaemond was looking watching his second son from a distance as the young man was
preparing for his journey with the Northerners, and Vaemond smiled a little. The Winter
Council’s words were encouraging, and he’d been told to travel to White Harbor with his
people, then to go towards Winterfell. It was undecided if he’d move the entirety of his
business directly to White Harbor at this moment, because the North had genuine concerns
for a coming winter, which would hinder any, and all plans for constructing and surveying the
land for a port. Vaemond understood that the North truly did have weather constraints on
their lives, and he was certain he and his could adapt to that, but he wanted all his people to
move to the North in the next year or two, coordinating it with Cregan Stark would be
necessary, and if he had to pay extra tax to conduct his business from White Harbor for a few
years then so be it, but the sooner he was away from Corlys and his poison the better.
And the sooner he could get Daeron, Hazel, and Daenaera away from Corlys the better.
Vaemond was certain that he could also have his nephews moving North too, the prospects,
though uncertain and risky, would be too appealing to turn down.
Today though, today he was going to leave, returning home for Driftmark where he would
announce to his people they could begin preparing moving if they so desired, but he and his
would be starting and establishing a new life in the North where they could practice their
Valyrian ways, truly, and live in peace and build new lives which wouldn’t be tainted by
Corlys’ self-interests. He was certain many would desire the risk to their current suffering.
“Brother,” Vaemond turned to see his brother there.
“I’m going to speak with Daemion,” Daeron decided as he strode off.
“I got the petition for the separation of our House and estate,” Corlys said as he walked over.
“Yes, Lord Corlys, but Lord Stark and his Winter’s Council has agreed for my House to move
North and assist Prince Aemond in establishing his House,” Vaemond said honestly. There
was no point in denying the brutal truth, he would not be here to watch the fallout of this
decision, because he would be moving North where he could safely begin a new life and keep
his business safe, and create a reputation his family would be able to survive on.
“Is this not extreme?” Corlys asked softly.
“I have tried to reason with you! Tried to speak to you even, but you have refused to listen to
reason or the suffering of me and mine in regards to your actions! What else am I supposed to
do at this point, brother!?” Vaemond demanded desperately.
Vaemond had spent many, agonizing, painful years trying to reason with his brother to no
avail, they had already lost Aerymion, and Vaemond knew Corlys had no bond with
Aerymion’s sons, Malentine, Rhogar, Gahaeraenar, Taegarys, and Vaevon all needed
someone to look out for them, but Corlys had long since neglected their family in favor of
trying to maintain a connection to Rhaenyra and her bastards. Bastards which had no right to
the Velaryon wealth and status, the wealth and status their family had fought and struggled to
build up because they could not rise in Valyrian culture. Yes, Vaemond never forgot their
House’s humble beginnings as nothing but free merchants of no great standing. They were
not a part of the Forty Families who were the Freeholders of Valyria and could bond with
dragons. No, of those families only the Targaryens remained.
“So, you seek to follow a Prince with nothing?” Corlys asked.
“Yes.” Vaemond was confident that while Aemond had nothing right now he was determined
enough, willful enough, and strong enough to build something out of nothing and let it
flourish.
“Why? What could you possibly gain?” Corlys demanded.
“My House back,” Vaemond answered. “Prince Aemond is an exceptional young man, surely,
you’ve seen it, and he’s had my interest given how he watched the Northerners save my life.
The life I do not recall you or yours coming to save or caring about at all. If it were not for
the actions of Lord Stark, I would be dead right now. I owe Lord Stark everything, and Prince
Aemond just as much.”
“That is not fair, you threatened my grandchildren,” Corlys started.
“Aemond moved to assist the North when neither Blacks nor Greens would, it was rather
curious Corlys. Until then Prince Aemond had not moved in Court, nor had he openly
supported anyone, we all thought he was nothing but the blunt enforcers of the Greens given
he rides Vhagar. The young man has appeal, because now he’s shown his true nature, and his
independence is… appealing. It is not often free thinkers are in positions of power, or in
professions to make change, and he did both, for the betterment of the Realm. He only sought
to aid the North, which went against the Greens because the North is for the Blacks, but also
it went against the Blacks, because despite the North being staunchly Black, the Blacks
offered no aid, tell me brother, when has anyone in the Court done anything, truly done
anything, for the betterment of the Realm?” Vaemond asked.
“You want him on the Throne,” Corlys accused then. Vaemond fought back every honest
insight he had about why he wanted Aemond on the Throne, those intentions would not bear
fruition yet, and he would not dare to have his new overlord threatened by his brother, or
Vaemond’s own intentions of getting Aemond on the Throne. His vows of fealty were to
Aemond and Cregan Stark now, and Vaemond would be damned if he endangered those two
young men, and their families because of Vaemond’s own private ambitions. Also, Vaemond
was relatively certain that after Aemond left King’s Landing the entire Realm would suffer,
he couldn’t prove it, but he had a feeling the young Prince had a far heavier hand in running
the affairs of the Realm than anyone really knew. And despite what Greens and Blacks alike
thought, the people of the Realm weren’t stupid and would notice such a correlation.
“No,” Vaemond answered levelly. “I want what is best for my House, something which seems
lost on everyone in our House. The Starks have offered me a salvation, and Prince Aemond
has offered me a new home so I might rebuild our House from the shambles.”
“You speak selflessly brother, but I know you, you have ambition,” Corlys stated. “Just like
me, it is a defining trait of ours.”
“I do not deny I have ambitions, brother,” he countered haughtily. “But I seek what’s best for
our future, not your ambitions. Prince Aemond and Lord Stark offer me the best opportunity
for me and mine.”
“And your thoughts on Prince Aemond’s investigation?” Corlys demanded. “He could very
well be killed in this investigation of his, and you will not have a House, brother. Is that
worth the risk?”
“Anything is worth the risk to get away from the poison of your ambitions, brother,”
Vaemond murmured softly as he looked down at his sons who were talking with the
Northerners. “And you did not witness the trial of the maesters who killed Lord Stark’s wife,
nearly killed his son, and all the North, even the ones who practice the Faith and respect the
South, were prepared to gut them. I do not think Prince Aemond a paranoid fool either, he is
a very astute young man. And he has the support of the North, which is a group of
isolationists disinclined to welcome or hold validity to outsider perspectives.”
“This does not answer if you believe Aemond’s conspiracy or not,” Corlys said softly.
“I do,” Vaemond shrugged. “I just believe it is also bigger than Prince Aemond is aware of,
and I would rather offer him my aid, than continuing to suffer supporting a fool. There is
much I do not believe Aemond sees at this time, because he is still learning, but there are
disturbing aspects of his family which have long since been troubling to me. The Hightowers
who were harmed in Maegor’s war against the Faith, and their willingness to engage and
entangle themselves with Targaryens at all is a surprise. Especially give that Targaryens, like
us, have clung to the Valyrian way, and the Hightowers are patrons of the Faith. And while
Queen Alysanne did smooth over many grievances the Hightowers might have felt during her
reign with King Jaehaerys, the wounds left by Maegor’s actions are not something to simply
heal and be forgotten. And it is dangerous now, given how the Hightowers have willingly
entangled themselves with the Targaryens, whether that is for their own nefarious desires of
obtaining the Iron Throne, or just a desire to balance the Targaryens, I cannot say. And for
over twenty years there’s been a festering of tensions between House Targaryen and their
factions, I and at this point war is inevitable. So yes, I believe there is something underfoot
we are not seeing, and Prince Aemond has obtained records that are curious, and come from a
Realm known for being isolationist, reliable, and very much independent despite being in the
Seven Kingdoms, so yes, something is afoot.”
“And now you are backing a Prince with no standing,” Corlys stated.
“Perhaps, perhaps not, perhaps I tire of your idiocy and refuse to subject my family to your
self-serving ambition any further, perhaps it’s not as personal and it’s just good business,”
Vaemond countered.
“You are playing a very dangerous game, brother,” Corlys warned.
“And you’re not?” he sneered. “You permitted your gooddaughter to shame us, and your
daughter to run off, you’ve allowed your gooddaughter to bear not one, or two bastards, but
three, and dare to permit them to hold our name, which has ruined much of House Velaryon’s
credibility with many of our business partners and our standing in Court! You have let her run
rampant and be secluded from Court or in Dragonstone to do as she pleases. You permitted
Prince Daemon to steal your daughter, and bear his children with no repercussions,
weakening our House. You continue to insist the bastards Princess Rhaenyra bore are your
grandsons and arranged the unions between your grandchildren! All whilst disregarding
the damages they have done to our name as you permit me and mine suffer the consequences
of these actions! Daeron married Lady Hart, and our nephews suffer to find matches, while
Daemion will not make a match because of the ruination of our House! These are real
repercussions of your actions, all the while it does not affect you and yours! You deal insult
after insult, and damage after damage with no regards to how it affects our credibility and
standing in the Realm and worse, all because of your blind ambition to have the fucking Iron
Throne, you disgust me; as does your wife! All we have done is crumble, like the stones
beneath the waves as your actions has torn apart House Velaryon and you seem to seek to
destroy us until we have no standing! We escaped the Doom, brother, and you seem
determined to have us join the Valyrian ruins! Do not speak to me about my dangerous
ambitions when your own have nearly ruined our House!”
“Our House is strong!”
“Oh yes, perhaps we should accumulate Harrenhal whilst we are claiming spoils, we have no
rights to while tearing down the Velaryon name and power?”
“Watch your tongue, brother!” Corlys snarled.
“I will not, I am no longer of your House!” Vaemond snapped. “I have suffered unendingly
under your neglect, and you are too blind to care! I hope you get what you desire, but me and
mine, and any who desire to join, will not be there for you to continue to ruin us!”
He stalked off then, leaving his brother behind.
Sansa made it through most of her day, doing the pleasantries and farewells needed. She was
trembling violently that night as she and Aemond met up in his apartments, the North would
be leaving officially in the next few days and she bit her lip as she wrung her hands. Aemond
hadn’t noticed her nerves, yet, she knew he was dedicating all of his off time to the Realm, to
set things up so he could leave for their campaign, she was trembling in fear though because
he was reading over the documents from the Small Council meeting and was absorbed in
them. She and Aemond hadn’t had a traditional marriage, the only night they’d had was their
wedding night, and since then, they were both too exhausted to be friends or married, and
neither dwelled on it. At least, she didn’t think they did, but she was, she was because they
were about to leave on their campaigns, and she had to speak to him, and not as a friend, but
as a wife, and not as a Lady or Princess, or anything else, she had to speak to him as Sansa
Stark, daughter of Catelyn and Ned Stark, sister of Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon, and apprentice
of Littlefinger. She bit her lip, uncertain of how to get Aemond’s attention.
Finally though, she gave up, stepping over to his desk as she touched his hand. He looked up
at her, startled, but then he relaxed seeing her, and she smiled slightly at him.
“Can we speak?” she asked softly.

He raised his brow and she slid her fingers down his arm, to his hand, he set down the quill,
and she curled her fingers in his.
“It’s important Aemond,” she murmured.
He inclined his head and she tugged on his hand, which had him getting up, and she pulled
him to his favorite chair, when he sat, she thought about this carefully. Hiking up her
nightgown she straddled his lap, which had him looking startled and she grabbed his hand.
She remembered as a girl in King’s Landing how she learnt to distinguish liars from the
honest, and there were things to know, to see, to find about liars, but she wanted Aemond to
see the truth. Which is why she pulled his hand to rest atop her heart, and she pressed her
hand over his.
“I don’t know how to discuss this,” she said as she maintained eye contact with him. He had
a very pretty eye, the pale purple was near blue, but still, very pretty.
“Sansa?” he started.
“I… I told you I had secrets,” she whispered. “And you shared some of yours, and mine,
while no less dangerous are a bit… mind boggling, so… I want you to feel the truth of the
madness I tell you, this is the only way I know how to prove what I say,” she confessed.
“My name is Sansa Stark,” she said levelly. He raised his brow, and she pressed his hand
more firmly to her heart. “I am not the daughter of Lord Rickon Stark, nor am I the daughter
of Bennard Stark, and I am not a bastard.”
Aemond frowned as he raised his brow, she caught his free hand, and let him touch her wrist.
“My father’s name was Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, Hand of
the King, Protector of the Realm, Lord Regent, he was affectionately called Ned, Ned Stark,
the quiet wolf. My father was a very serious, quiet, honorable man, but he could laugh and
when he did it was like… it was like nothing you’d ever seen, he was kind, and honorable, he
was good to our people, good to the North, and he was so brave, you could not understand
how brave he was, Aemond, I wish I could tell you. The entire Realm, despite a rebellion,
despite everything my father had lost, everything he did, they all respected him, and they
loved him. He was the second son of Rickard Stark, who was the son of Edwyle Stark, who
was the son of Willam Stark, who was the son of Beron Stark, who was the son of Brandon
Stark, who was the son of Cregan Stark,” she said softly. “I am Cregan Stark’s great-great-
great-great-great-granddaughter, I am not his sister. I was born in 286 AC, during the Long
Summer, I was the second daughter of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully, I had an older brother,
his name was Robb, I had a younger sister, her name was Arya, and I had two younger
brothers, their names were Bran and Rickon. I was born under the reign of King Robert
Baratheon, who fought a rebellion to overthrow King Aryes Targaryen, and his son Prince
Rhaegar Targaryen.”
Sansa flinched a little at the grip Aemond pressed on her wrist and the way he stared at her,
he was seeking the lie, she knew that. So, she kept her gaze level on him, Aemond did not
ask her anything, but the way he looked at her, it was clear he was wary.
“My father, as I said was the second son, he was never meant to be Lord of Winterfell, he
was never meant to be Warden of the North, he was never meant to marry my mother. He had
an elder brother, Brandon, who was… a little bit more than wild, he got a great deal of the
Stark’s wolf blood,” she snorted in amusement, smiling at Aemond as she reached towards
him, touching his cheek. “Targaryens have dragon’s blood, which makes your family famous
for their wild, impulsive, passionate, dangerous, powerful nature. But we Starks, we aren’t
infused with ice like so many believe, despite the title of Kings of Winter, we are not frigid,
we Starks… we have wolf’s blood, Aemond, and we are wild, loyal, dangerous creatures, and
some of us Starks are a bit more wild than the rest. My uncle Brandon was said to be the
wildest; he was called Wild Wolf, granted the title goes to Cregan right now, but Brandon
was wild. My father had a younger sister, her name was Lyanna, she was also wild, she had
the wolf’s blood, she was called the Wolf Maid, Wolf Girl, or the She-Wolf, and she was
every bit as fierce and passionate as a proper Northern lady should be. My father said she
could joust with the best of knights, and out ride every Southron cavalryman worth his salt,
she was also beautiful, the greatest beauty of the North. And then there was my father’s
youngest brother, Benjen, he joined the Night’s Watch, and was a ranger, he too was gifted
with the wolf’s blood, and he was always… gentle, he had a bright smile, and an all knowing
gaze, he was a ranger, if you could believe he, and he would go beyond the Wall, and knew
the Wildlings and Free Folk, and he was… he was my favorite uncle, he saw Giants, they
exist, Aemond, I’ve seen them, but when I was a girl I did not believe them to be real. Not
anymore.
“My father was not to marry my mother, as I said, but, my mother was to marry my uncle,
Uncle Brandon, and my Aunt Lyanna was to marry Lord Robert Baratheon; he was a Lord at
that time, he had not yet become a King, but she did not like the taste of that match. No, my
Aunt was not pleased with Robert, he was a whoremonger, drunkard, and fool. But my father
was best friends with Robert, and the match was arranged because my grandfather had
Southron ambitions, and… and that match ruined the Realm. Gods, they were fools…
“Prince Rhaegar stole my Aunt, though, I don’t think initially she was stolen; if I’m honest.
We Starks are not very compliant, nor are we easy to steal, or kill, we are wily, independent,
stubborn, and determined, we are not… we aren’t easy to steal. But I think the dragon
persuaded her to follow him, and she did, because she hated the stag, and then… and then it
all went wrong, because she was a foolish girl, with foolish dreams, and nothing good ever
comes from a Stark going South, Aemond.
“Word spread, my Uncle was on the way to his wedding, he was to marry my mother, Lady
Catelyn Tully, and instead he rode South, he went to King’s Landing to demand the return of
my aunt. And if the King were someone like you, or even Daemon, or Viserys, I do not think
it would have gone as it did, but it all went terribly, terribly, terribly wrong. My uncle was
imprisoned for treason, I believe he demanded combat with Prince Rhaegar, he was so
furious. But King Aryes was mad, Aemond, he had no dragon, and he had nothing but the
Targaryen name to rule, but he was mad, he burned people alive, he killed them without
remorse, he laughed when people struggled, he brutalized his wife, he was a monster. And I
believe, before his death, before Prince Rhaegar stole my aunt, the intentions were to
eliminate King Aryes and put Prince Rhaegar on the Throne, Prince Rhaegar was beloved by
the people, small folk, the Great Houses, the Courts, they loved him, they loved him so much,
until he stole my Aunt.
“Naturally my grandfather rode South to demand the release of his son, my father remained
North with my Uncle Benjen. In King’s Landing… in King’s Landing, it went from bad to
worse. King Aryes declared my grandfather and uncle traitors and wanted them executed, my
grandfather demanded trial by combat, the King granted the request,” she said. “The witness
told me of this, how my grandfather thought he’d be dueling the Kingsguard or something,
there was one Kingsguard and you remind me of him, in the oddest of ways… and you
remind me of my father, in odd ways too,” she smiled a bit at Aemond. His fingers had a
death grip on her wrist, and his hand was pressed hard against her heart. Sansa again traced
Aemond’s scar, and he turned into her touch a little and she rubbed his cheek below the
eyepatch. “The Kingsgard’s name was Jaime Lannister, and he was the most dangerous man
alive with a sword in hand, even after he lost his hand, he was brutal, and he was… unique. I
think he was a good man, at his core, but he was poisoned by his sister, but that is neither
here nor there, Aemond. My grandfather though, he prepared for battle, in true Northern
fashion, we like to face death head on, no point in hiding from it. But instead King Aryes had
him brought to the Great Hall, the Throne Room, and had him suspended from the rafters,
and pyromancers kindled a blaze beneath him, and King Aryes told him fire was the
champion of House Targaryen. So all my grandfather needed to do to prove himself innocent
of treason was… not to burn,” she shrugged as she jutted her jaw a bit. “My uncle was
bound, and chained, with a Tyroshi device to tighten the leather cord around his neck
whenever he moved, he was given a sword just out of reach, and if he could free himself and
my grandfather, they could live, or my uncle could just stand by and watch my grandfather
burn. He died strangling himself attempting to reach that sword.
“My father rebelled, instantly, no remorse, he did not do it in name of King and bettering the
Realm, no, he didn’t do it how the South probably wanted it done. He wed Catelyn Tully in
place of my uncle, and rode South with Tully banners and the North behind him, and he was
joined by the Vale and Baratheon House, and they went to war to overthrow the House
Targaryen.
“And they won,” she stated firmly. She felt Aemond’s thumb rubbing a circle around her
wrist, and he looked at her, with an expression she couldn’t place. “They won, but my
grandfather, uncle, and aunt did not live. They were returned, to my father, and they were
returned to Winterfell, where they were laid to rest, with the rest of us Starks. We Starks, all
eight thousand years of us, from Bran the Builder to Rickon Stark, and Bennard, and his sons,
we’re all entombed at Winterfell. Every, single, one of us who’s body can be returned, we are
bound to Winterfell, Aemond. We are Kings of Winter, Lords of Winterfell, Wardens of the
North, and we belong in Winterfell. My father returned North, after claiming the Iron Throne
for an ingrate, and he returned to my mother and my brother, Robb, my oldest brother’s name
was Robb.
“Robb had bright auburn curls, clear blue eyes, and he was… he was so handsome. He would
never be thought a Stark, if not for his mind and attitude, he looked so… not Stark, rather like
myself I suppose. I think he and I got all the Tully in the family,” she giggled a bit and rubbed
Aemond’s cheek. “Then I was born, I was named Sansa, for an ancestor of mine not yet born.
And I know it is strange, but… I wish I looked more like a Stark, and less like a Tully,
because… I miss my family, but I look a great deal like Robb did, so I see him a lot in my
mind’s eye. And I had three other siblings, Arya, Bran, and Rickon, and they all looked like a
Stark.
“I called Arya horsefaced once when she dumped a bucket of water on my head shouting my
hair was on fire! Oh I was so mad! It was the only time I did not react as a proper lady, I
lunged for her, tearing at her hair and skirts, our father had to pry us apart. He had us slung
under his arms, on either side, and we were still trying to kill each other, he called us hellion
pups, and set us on opposite sides of the Godswood before talking to us…” she shook her
head at the memory. “Cregan reminds me of father in odd ways, because that solution is very
Cregan.
“I was eleven, I was betrothed, I begged for the betrothal, because I was a stupid, foolish girl
who believed the Southron Ballads, and I wanted, so desperately, I wanted to be a Princess, it
was everything, I did not know everything it would entail, because I just wanted to go South,
live as a Princess, marry a handsome, goldened haired lion Prince and eat cake while giving
him perfect golden babies,” she sneered at the memory. Aemond’s hand pressed harder
against her heart, and she reached up, pushing his hair aside. “Prince Joffrey Baratheon, he
was disappointing, Aemond, golden beauty, and charm, he was everything one thought a
Prince should be, he was very much a Lannister in appearance; his mother had been a
Lannister, and I suppose if rumors are to be believed Prince Joffrey’s father was her twin
brother, his uncle, Jaime Lannister, it could explain his golden beauty through and through.
But he was a monster,” she whispered softly. “And I a fool who did not know better.
“My father was appointed Hand of the King, and King Robert Baratheon arranged my match
to his son, Prince Joffrey. If King Robert had been intelligent he would’ve have betrothed my
brother Robb to his daughter Myrcella, me to Prince Joffrey, it would have truly secured the
North, but Robert was a drunken fool,” she huffed. “He died, in a hunting accident, though I
would not be surprised if Queen Cersei Lannister arranged his death, she killed all of King
Robert’s bastards, which probably prevented the possibility of another Blackfyre Rebellion
from happening, but it was also a dismal move which had the people hating her. King Joffrey,
was a monster, and he… he executed my father…
“I screamed, I begged, I pleaded, I would have exchanged places with my father in an

instant,” she whispered softly as the tears burned. “I was forced to stand on the executioner’s
block, screaming as I was held back, and forced to watch, unable to do anything, as my father
was beheaded. I wanted to kill King Joffrey,” she snarled lowly as she felt the tears burning
hot against her eyes. She pulled her hand away from Aemond’s face to furiously wipe the
tears away, she was startled when his hand touched her cheek, and she felt his thumb moving
over her tears. “I was still betrothed to him. Naturally my brother declared open rebellion,
and the War of Five Kings began, it was announced to the Realm King Joffrey was a bastard
born of the incest of Queen Cersei and Ser Jaime Lannister, and all hell broke loose.
“If you know anything about Starks, know we are brilliant at war, Aemond,” she smiled
weakly as she turned into his touch, his hand was still pressed to her heart then. “We thrive
on war, we are war, we are Starks, we are the North, we fierce, and a force to be reckoned
with, we are Winter, and make no mistake, we will gleefully liter the battlefields with the
dead. My brother was brilliant,” she whispered. “He was the most brilliant commander born
since Cregan Stark, he was… he was unstoppable, he was feared, and he was only fourteen,
younger than Cregan was when Cregan began his campaigns. He was called the Young Wolf,
and they believed…” she giggled a bit tearily. “They believed he could turn into a wolf, and
that he was swifter than the winds…
“King Joffrey said he’d bring me my brother’s head once, and I told him, before his Court
that my brother might bring me back his,” she confessed. She looked at Aemond through the
tears and smiled a bit shy, he was just watching her and she reached over, touching his scar
again, he didn’t flinch or turn away. “My brother was such a threat to them, the Lannisters,
that they couldn’t kill him in battle, Aemond, they broke Guest Rights and killed him at his
wedding, and they killed my mother then too… they sewed Grey Wind’s head to Robb’s body
and paraded it around… and they threw my mother’s naked body in the river… they cheered
for winning an ambush, which violated everything sacred, Aemond, and they cheered, as if it
were a grand victory, and not a slaughtering. I was a hostage for the Lannisters, I was beaten
in this Keep by the Kingsguard, stripped before the Court and beaten, regularly for King
Joffrey’s amusement. I endured it, I learned to take a beating really well, I can still do it, and
I’ll thank them, kindly, and keep my courtesy in place, I never gave that up for him, or
anyone.”
“King Joffrey…? He’s who you pity?” Aemond asked in a tight voice.
“Yes,” she whispered. “He didn’t know better, and with a mother like that, I’m surprised he
wasn’t worse. We’ve had vicious Kings, and we’ve had idiot Kings, but Joffrey was the only
one to successfully be both at the same time, to which I commend him. He married me to his
uncle, a dwarf, Tyrion Lannister, he was a vile, vindictive, clever man, and… he was kind to
me, he was my better husband, before you, and he never touched me against my will, or
desire. The wedding was to humiliate House Stark, and his uncle, King Joffrey was a bit
touched in the head, and perverse, he was a monster. I was there, when died,” she whispered
softly. “And on my most terrible nights, I remember his face, purple, red eyes, weeping tears,
gagging, he couldn’t breathe, his pissed and shite himself, as he fell in mother’s arms, and I
smile at that memory, and I hate myself for enjoying it so greatly.
“I escaped, with aid of a man known as Littlefinger, and I was taken to the Eyrie,” she
whispered. “I masquerade as his bastard, Alayne Stone, and he… he taught me everything,
much to his regret. I am slow to learn, Aemond, it is true, but I do learn,” she assured.
“Originally he intended to wed me to Harry the Heir, and I think I could have made that
work, but then something happened in the North.
“You can only hold the North by having a Stark, Aemond, that is true, you can’t hold it
otherwise, they don’t like anyone,” she giggled. “As much as we can work together, as
you’ve seen with the Winter’s Council, that isn’t the case, we despise everyone equally in the
North, but we will turn our claws and fangs outwards when we are attacked, it’s one thing for
us to feud within the North, it’s another thing for the South to trifle with us. We don’t like it.
But the North likes Starks, we conquered the North, we never tamed it, we ran wild with it,
ten thousand years of history, eight thousand years of ruling, we were never fool enough to
try to tame our people, we lived with our people instead, and we united them by loving them
all equally. Starks marry the Northerners because we love the North, and that is where we
belong, every family in the North is connected to a Stark in some way, somewhere, and
somehow, and we Starks, are all of them too.
“The Boltons had taken the North, by aid of Lord Lannister, and they couldn’t hold it, so they
pretended one of my childhood Ladies was my sister, Arya Stark, because no one knew
where Arya went, no one knew where she was, she was gone. She could have been dead for
all they knew, no one knew her. So the Boltons, in a desperate grab for the North, claimed
one of my Ladies, Jayne Poole, was Lady Arya Stark, and wed her to the bastard Bolton,
Ramsay Snow. And Ramsay, Ramsay was a monster of the worst kind, the kind that makes
your skin crawl, and feel like prey, the kind that has you desperate to escape.
“Before I could wed Harry, Harrold Hardyng, he was to be Lord of the Eyrie, he would’ve
been Harrold Arryn when Robin died, the Young Falcon, he was a loose man, Aemond, he
had two bastards born to him already and I was wary of the match. My father was faithful to
my mother, and I expected a level of either discretion or commitment, and I don’t think he
had it in him to give it to me, or anyone for that matter, but I think I could have persuaded
him to be discreet. I intended to use him, Aemond, before House Targaryen would land on
our shores again, I had intended to use Harry to reclaim the North. I even knew how I was
going to manipulate him into doing it,” she smirked a little. “He was so desperate to make a
name for himself outside of Harry the Heir, I was going to make it so he reclaimed the North
for me, in my name, he would give to me as a wedding gift, I was so close…
“Littlefinger sold me to Ramsay when Ramsay killed Jayne Poole, his ‘wife’ ‘Arya’ died in
labor, she didn’t, Jayne was killed because Ramsay was curious what would happen if he tore
the babe out of her, and it was worse than Arra’s death. I was told by a maid that Jayne
survived for four days after Ramsay cut her, the babe he fed to his hounds. None dared to
speak of it or against the Boltons…
“I was wed to him, and I’ve told you how that went. What I didn’t tell you was that we
reclaimed Winterfell, after his death, I was safe, I was home. I had my family, what survived,
back, Bran had returned from Beyond the Wall, different, but he was back, and I had Arya
back. Rickon had been killed, and I regret that I couldn’t save him, but we had Winterfell
back. I buried Rickon, with our mother, father, and our brother, he wouldn’t have liked it, he
hated being underground, but he would’ve liked being with our family.
“There is more to this tale, but eventually the Long Night came, and the Night King brought
his armies of the dead, there were so many… they put Winterfell under siege, we held strong
for weeks, until Daenerys Targaryen’s dragons burned the South Wall, then Winterfell was
breeched, for the first time it was breeched. The Night King was after Bran, I still don’t know
why, but… that night, that night I died, I ran, I always freeze.
“I’m not a fighter, Aemond, I’ve told you that, I’m not a fighter, I freeze, but that night, that
night I was a wolf, and I ran, I was going to protect my little brother, or die trying,” she
admitted. She moved her night gown aside revealing the scar from the Night King to him, he
looked down at the scar, his ears were pinkening a bit as his eye settled on her bare breast.
But his hand left her face, and traced the dark scar slowly. “I don’t remember what happened
that night, not really, I remember running to Bran, and so much chaos, so much, there were
heavy battles, dead corpses, our dead being reanimated to fight us, we were burning
everything… and I got to the Godswood…
“I remember Theon being killed, he was standing before Bran, and I ran, I rushed the Night
King, and I pushed… Bran aside, he was in a wheeled chair, he lost use of his legs after a
terrible accident and… and he was stuck, the chair wouldn’t move, and I remember this
pain… and then there was nothing, a sweet release of nothing, no more terror, fear, panic, I
was at peace.
“Then Cregan found me, and he’d been praying for another Stark and… poof, there I was,
half dead in a pool of blood in the Godswood of Winterfell, in the year 126 AC, one hundred
and seventy-six years from my own time. I thought I was dead, and I thought Cregan was
there to judge my dismal life and lack of feats in the Stark name… we were both greatly
confused about what was going on,” she gave a small chuckle and looked at Aemond. “That’s
my story, Aemond. I am Lady Sansa Stark, I was born in 286 AC to Ned Stark and Catelyn
Tully, and I had four siblings, Robb, Arya, Bran, and Rickon, and I should not be here by all
accounts, and I don’t know how I am.”
He nodded slowly, his fingers traced the scar and his knuckles brushed the underside of her
breast, which had her shivering a little in surprise. His touch was warm, and she trembled at
the gentleness of his touch. Aemond’s gaze flicked up to hers then and she trembled a bit at
the intensity of his glare, because it was a glare.
“You can speak to Cregan about what I’ve told you,” she whispered softly. “But… I wanted
to tell you, because there are things… things I know, which I can’t tell you unless you
understand I’m not mad, I’m not a greenseer, and I’m… I’m from another time.”
“Like what?”
“The conspiracy you’re investigating,” she whispered. “I have a bad feeling it’s older than
you’re anticipating, and I think it’s the reason dragons don’t exist in my era…”
His fingers stilled, and his hand pressed harder against her chest then, she shivered at the
intensity of his gaze as he glared at her. She yelped when he moved.
Chapter End Notes
I hurt, so bad, it's not even funny. Gods above... I'm going to go lay on the couch and not
move while I do edits.
Chapter 17
Chapter Notes
She gasped as they landed on the bed, where he glared at her eyes were wide and serious, he
frowned. Her heart was still beating, slow and steady, it hadn’t changed during the recounting
of her story, the emotions were genuine too… not even the best actresses could do what
Sansa had just done; he had grown up with the best actresses and liars all around him. He was
focusing on controlling his breathing as he assessed her, she put her hand over his, and her
heart was still steady.
The tale was one of utter madness, he didn’t believe in the magics she spoke of.
Her thumb rubbed over his hand, her heart was still steady, and she was steadying her
breathing. He assessed her more closely, looking for the lie, but her eyes were steady, she was
relaxed, she trusted him…
Laying here, prone, she was trusting him, he noted that because she wasn’t fighting. Despite
her claims of freezing, he knew she’d struggle; it would be instinctive, if she didn’t trust him,
right here and right now, she’d struggle. But she didn’t, instead she turned her head, rolled
her hips a little, pressing down on his hand as she squirmed a little more to get herself
comfortable, he frowned.
“You’re mad,” he snarled.
She gave a bitter laugh as her head fell back. “Oh, I am many things, Aemond, but mad is not
one of them,” she murmured as she looked levelly at him. “Ask me anything, anything at all,
you’ll feel the lie,” she promised.
“What color was your hair when we met?” he asked in a low snarl.
“Silver,” she breathed, he felt the way her heart slammed a bit harder in her chest. “I dyed it
silver.”
“Sansa…” he snarled.
“My name is Alayne Stone,” she whispered, he felt her heart pounding. “Daughter of Petyr
Baelish, and a common whore,” she murmured. Her heart was slamming painfully hard
against his fingers though her face was relaxed and calm. He trembled a little. “Oh, and my
favorite lie… My father was a traitor, my mother and brother are traitors too. I am loyal to
my beloved Joffrey. That one still tastes like ash whenever I say it,” she grounded out in an
even, tempered voice, filled with gentle compassion but her heart was pounding against his
hand. “I learned to conceal the lies, Aemond, but I could never escape how they made my
heart pound, or my blood rush, the fear of being caught, of slipping up, I could conceal so
much, but never that. I would feel my heart pounding so hard whenever I had a lie to speak
of.”
Aemond felt her heart pounding painfully under his hand, slowing again as they stared at one
another for a long time. He waited until her heart was slow again, having felt her lies.
“What color was your hair when we met?” he asked carefully.
“Red, but I dyed it black to look more like a Stark,” she said.
“Are we friends?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered, he stared at her as her thumb rubbed against his hand and her heart was
steady. “We are friends,” she promised.
“When were you born?” he demanded.
“The Long Summer of 286 AC, it was the longest Summer in living memory before the Long
Night came upon us,” Sansa answered.
“Prove you’re from the future,” he growled.
“In the year 129 AC King Viserys will die, the succession crisis would come to a head with
the theft of Aegon’s crown, but the crowning of King Aegon II while he held Blackfyre in his
hand, Queen Rhaenyra would be crowned with Aegon’s crown at Dragonstone by her
husband, Prince Daemon. The Dance of the Dragons would begin with Prince Lucerys
Velaryon’s death,” she said. He trembled feeling no lie from her. “You killed him.”
He stared at her, and she grabbed his hand, pressing it down against her heart before he could
leave.
“You killed him, in 129 AC at Shipbreaker Bay when you both met to petition House
Baratheon, Vhagar killed him, presumably by your order, you killed Lucerys and Arrex,” she
said softly.
“I haven’t killed him…” Aemond snarled.
“I know, but you were going to,” she answered. “I can’t blame you, I’ve met him, he’s a
brat.”
“How’d this Dance end?” Aemond asked.
“With all of you dead, King Aegon III was crowned by Cregan Stark, who returned North
after coming South to end the war, King Aegon hated dragons, and they died out around his
reign,” she said.
He stared levelly at her then. “Why agree to a union if I’m destined to be a kinslayer?” he
snarled.
“Because you’re not how history remembers you, you’re more than that and I rather liked
who I met,” she whispered. “Aemond, I’m here in this time by fluke, I’m supposed to be
dead, since I’m here though I’ve decided to do something about it, I’m alive here, I’ve
already seen the end, been to war, endured death, famine, plague, I’ve been bought, sold, held
hostage, broken, shattered, and I’ve healed myself. When I woke in this time, I honestly
thought I was dead, and to be judged by the greatest Stark there ever was, and be seen
lacking. I died, because I do not believe I could have lived from that blade. The Night King
killed me, I looked into his eyes, he was as close as you are now, and we stared at one
another, I should be dead, Aemond. I should not be alive right now.”
He stared levelly at her; her heart was steady. He knew the scar she spoke of, the one which
should have been her end, he was surprised she wasn’t dead when he had seen it, it pierced
her, from chest to back, it should have killed her. And here she was.
“Marriage is a unique forming of family, Aemond. It’s not by blood, it’s by choice and
commitment, and I’ve picked you,” she murmured. “I’ve been married twice, betrothed
thrice, and trust me, I never considered any of them worthy of being my family. You are. And
we both have secrets, and histories, to which neither of us were privy to before this union.
You with the depth of your hand in managing the Realm and I with my origins.”
“Does Cregan know?” Aemond asked her softly.
“Yes,” she breathed. “So does Sara, Rody, Domeron, Arra, and Bryan,” she explained. “I
tried to save Arra,” she whispered as tears made her eyes shine again. “But it appears, despite
attempts, fate does have a plan, and I’m not able to save everyone, but I’m going to try. I’m
going to try,” she promised.
He stared at again and slowly he lifted his hand from her heart, she gripped his hand though,
tangling their fingers. He met her gaze again, and she gave him a weak smile.
“I’m a Stark, Aemond, I’m always going to be a Stark, but… you needed to know,” she
whispered.
“Either you’re the best actress alive, or mad,” he muttered.
She laughed then, squirming under him as he rested their tangled hands over her head.
“Cregan said the same thing when we were figuring the other out!” she giggled. “He gave me
six months, no one could keep up that façade for that long, it’s madness at it’s finest, so
either I’m mad or telling the truth but either way I’m a Stark and he was going to give me a
chance.”
He frowned at her laughter, and she smiled at him.
“I wish I could prove it to you, beyond a doubt, but I can’t,” she whispered softly. “I am not
mocking or humiliating you, Aemond, and I… I am sorry about this.”
“You… you knew about the conspiracy?” he whispered as he remembered her odd reaction to
everything he told her, from the forgeries to the conspiracy he was investigating. He had not
dwelled upon it, but he remembered how odd it was she reacted… so calm but panicked, and
heartbroken, no one could’ve known what he was doing. But some of what she said… ‘Sam
was right’, ‘you don’t understand, if you forged… what records can be trusted!? Was any of it
actual fact or just…’, ‘if the records are wrong, is m history even correct, can I change
anything? Or are we doomed? Was any of it real, is the Realm real?’, ‘Everything we know, it
could all be wrong, it could…’, ‘No one will know’, ‘I’ve been a short-sighted fool’, ‘I will
not let history repeat, nor forget’. Aemond had initially thought her reaction odd, but he
didn’t really dwell on it because he’d been consumed by the terror of having to speak before
the Court, and then there’d been everything in the past few days, he hadn’t dwelled on her
reaction.
Then there was that dream… a Stark in a strange chair with wheels… her brother? He stared
at her uncertain what more could be said. He felt himself trembling as he stared at her, if she
was from another era, from another time, and here… why was she here? Why would she ever
entangle herself with a House that seemed to have thoroughly ruined her own or marry a man
she knew would become a monster? He thought about the dream again, trembling, the Stark
in the wheeled chair, Sansa’s brother? She had died saving her brother, by her account, she
had pushed her brother out of the way of the blade that killed her.
“Not entirely, and I still don’t know,” she whispered.
He rose slowly, pulling his hand from hers, and she lay there for a long moment. He looked
her over, the gown was still askew, her breast bared, and the scar was a prominent mark on
her milky skin. Slowly she pushed herself up onto her elbows. Her hair was loose and free
around her, he could see the Tully now that she had said it. She still looked a great deal like a
Stark, but… there was a delicate beauty she possessed that Starks didn’t have. She didn’t
look as harsh or dangerous as Starks did, both Cregan and Sara were sharp, angular with
predatory smiles, they looked very like the wolves the Starks were equated too. Sansa had a
gentleness to her, there was a softness to her features, but she still looked very much like a
Stark, especially with her hair loose and around her. Sitting there, she looked like a Stark.
“A Night’s Watchman, his name was Samwell Tarly, Sam, he went South to learn to be a
maester for the Night’s Watch after their maester had passed. I do not know the entirety of
everything he learnt, I was… preparing for war, I should’ve paid him more attention, but we
were about to be invaded. And Winter had fully settled in, and Ramsay had done his damn
best to make certain none could survive Winter, burning wares and stores of food, and I had
an army to feed, refugees to tend to, and Winterfell to fortify, and I had spies to kill, I was
named Lady of Winterfell, later Queen of the North, and Daenerys did not like that,
especially after our King of the North bent the damn knee, again, fucking hells that pissed off
the Winter’s Council. Cregan’s Council is efficient, mine was compiled of the old and
children, people who had suffered and survived the War of the Five King, Sannis Baratheon’s
invasion, and the Bolton’s reign of terror, and it… oh, it pissed us off the man we named
King would dare to bend the damn knee again after everything we did to survive and attempt
to be independent. I understood his reasoning, we needed the dragons, but godsdamn!
“Sam mentioned the conspiracy,” she admitted. “Dragons were extinct in my era, Aemond,
they died out after the Dance of Dragons, somehow Princess Daenerys Targaryen obtained
three, it is believed through magic, there were eggs that were unaccounted for and everything
else, so it was possible, it was possible she had the Targaryen magic to nurture the eggs. But
they were dead, Aemond, for well over a hundred years by then, dragons were dead, and I’ve
seen the skulls, they were… odd. They got smaller, and smaller, until they were no bigger
than dogs’ skulls, King Robert did love his spoils, and… and I admit that was odd. But I paid
it no mind given that it wasn’t mine to pay mind too.
“Sam mentioned the maesters had been… poisoning the dragons, stunting them, eventually
they were too small and malformed to be dragons,” she explained. “There is more to this than
you know, Aemond, because it was there in my era. And I believe it tore your House down to
ruins in my era.”
“Why… why?” he stammered as he stared at her, he couldn’t fully articulate why he wanted
her reasonings, but he wanted to know why. Why she was here, why she had agreed to marry
a man destined to be a monster, why she would marry a House destined to ruin her family,
why she would even let him near her. Why? He doubted she was lying, she was too steady,
but gods above, she was terrifying him. Sansa was up, he flinched as she came closer, her
hand came up, the touch was soft and gentle as she traced his scar.
“Why not?” she countered softly. “Aemond… you’re history in my era, as is Cregan, and
Sara, and everyone I’ve come to love and hold dear, that doesn’t mean you aren’t a person as
well. History is but a memory, and sometimes, that memory, is wrong. You’re more than how
you are remembered, and I’ve seen you, why would I not want to know you? Why would I
not want to be here, help you, and attempt to help your House? We’ve all been pawns in a
game none of us were aware was being played, and that’s terrifying. We’re not pawns, nor are
we sheep to be herded and guided, you’re a dragon and I’m a wolf, I don’t want to play their
games anymore, I want to break their games.”
“My House killed yours,” he whispered.
“Not yet,” she smiled softly. “I think you’ll find Starks aren’t easy to kill, Aemond, we’re
rather resilient,” she promised. “I chose you, and I chose this marriage… if… I think you
should also speak to Cregan about this, he… he can tell you some things I wouldn’t know to
answer, or speak about, and… I’m sorry, I’m sorry for hurting you,” she murmured.
“Why… Why would you agree to this match?” he asked her seriously.
“We’re friends,” she smiled sot and gentle. “I find you very handsome as well, and I like who
you are, Aemond, I like how safe you make me feel, and I like who you are, I watched you,
closely, and I liked what I saw. People lie all the time, with pretty words, but actions never
lie, and I liked what I saw. You are honest, gentle, very dutiful, selfless, patient, and you’re
kind. I know you’re also wrathful, spiteful, and proud, but those are not always bad things. I
knew in history you were devoted to your family, and hot tempered, but again, neither of
those things are bad things. And I watched you, Aemond, I watched you care for your
mother, your sister, your niece and nephews, I watched you care for Cregan and us when we
lost Arra, even when Jon beat you, you were not cruel or harsh, and did not retaliate against
him though you could’ve demanded his head. You protected my family, Aemond, you were
there longer than you had to be to ensure we were safe and looked after, and that was selfless,
and kind.
“You are not bad, or evil,” she whispered.

“You knew I killed kin…” he started.
“You haven’t yet,” she said fiercely. “None of that has happened yet, Aemond. We are not in
the Dance of the Dragons era, and we are not struggling with a succession crisis turned to a
civil war, yet, you are simply Aemond, and I like Aemond, why would I not want to be your
friend or marry a man like you?”
“Because I am a monster…” he hissed.
“You’re not.”
“I…”
“You’re not how history remembers you,” she stated firmly. “And I’m not going to let you
kill Lucerys.”
“You tried to stop Arra’s death and claimed that was fate…” he whispered.
“She died differently,” Sansa stated. “In my history, the first wife of Cregan Stark died during
the famine, the Great Famine, the North never recovered from it. She died after giving birth
to their second child, her body was too weak to have the child, the child died days after the
birth and was entombed with her. Lady Arra Norrey died in 129 AC, shortly before King
Viserys would pass. I thought… I thought if I circumvented the worst of the famine she’d
live, but… I was wrong, and I regret that, very much, she should have never been left alone…
but I didn’t think the maester would be the threat. Maesters are wise, and knowledgeable,
they aren’t self-serving politicians, they’re supposed to guide a House, and heal, and… I was
so wrong,” she whispered as the tears emerged. “And I have a terrible feeling the maesters
aren’t what we think and the conspiracy you found is so much more, even in my era…
“I want to help you Aemond, but to help, I needed you to know where my knowledge comes
from, and my histories cant be trusted now…” she shrugged.
“Why… why not?” he stammered.
“Vaemond Velaryon lives, he was supposed to die, with his sons dying shortly after that when
they came for justice for their father, and… I had Cregan stop that, I knew that was a point
for the Dance of Dragons to… initiate, it was sort of a starting point of it’s own before the
actual Dance begun, and I wanted to stop that. Sara and Jon are legitimate Starks, that’s
different, and important because it changes how House Stark stands. Jace is squiring for
Cregan, they aren’t friends, not how history described, in history apparently, after Arra’s
death is when Cregan met Jace, and they became good friends, it’s rumored Jace married
Sara, which won’t happen in this time. The North and Dorne have trading relationships
forming now, that would’ve happened in my time if my father had not married my mother,
there were rumors he was in love with Lady Ashara Dayne, and if they had wed it would
have opened trade. And… you married me,” she said with a soft smile. “You didn’t marry in
history, so… things are changing, but I don’t know if the Old Gods have set points of Fate in
life which are inevitable, or if I can make a true difference, but things are changing. And the
tampered records makes me wary to trust the histories I knew, because they could be
falsified, the Dance of the Dragons really only has two historians to ever fully study and
write it, there is an unofficial version, but that one isn’t trusted.”
Aemond blinked a few times, she caught his hand, and brought it back to her heart.
“I want to help you, Aemond, I want to stop this conspiracy and save the dragons, and I want
us to live a good life, but I need you to know where some of my knowledge comes from
because it hasn’t happened yet, and it might not come to pass how I know things to happen,”
she said softly. Her heart was slow and steady, and he trembled as he stared at her.
“You’re a Stark,” he whispered.
“Yes,” she answered.
“You’re not mad?” he questioned.
“I wish I were,” she sighed tiredly. He rubbed his thumb over her soft, warm skin.
“I…”
“Do you trust me?” she asked him gently.
Aemond tensed as he stared at her. For two years he had known her, he had found her
enjoyable, intelligent, gentle, and kind, he thought her not perfect, but rather endearing. She
was loyal, fierce, and so kind to him, none had ever been kind to him how she was, and she
had declared them friends. She hadn’t married him for titles or wealth; he had neither to give
her, they were having to build something from the ground up, and she hadn’t balked at the
thought of that when it was introduced. She had welcomed him into her home and family, and
she was… good, she was good, he did not think her a cruel, malicious person. Her nature was
gentle, and fierce, she wasn’t… he didn’t think she was malicious. She clearly had a
vindictive streak she hadn’t hidden from him, telling him how she enjoyed remembering her
enemies deaths, but she had not seemed vindictive towards him and his despite everything
her House appeared to have suffered from his own. If she wasn’t lying with an elaborate lie
that is.
“I… no,” he whispered.
“Very well, I will earn your trust again,” she promised as she reached up, touching his
jawline and forcing him to look at her fully. “I wanted to tell you the truth, I am sorry it hurt
you, and I will earn back your trust.”
He stared at her, feeling her heart under his hand.
“And if you can’t?” he challenged.
“I will,” she countered fiercely. “I am yours, Aemond, I picked you as you picked me, and I
will be earning your trust back. I will help you.”
He was about to jerk his hand away from her heart, but she held it firmly against her.
“If you would like, I can sleep in my old quarters,” she offered. He felt her heart speed up,
and she bit her lip, he looked at her warily.
“No… I... I do not think that is necessary,” he admitted. He’d rather keep her close if she was
a threat to him so he could deal with her swiftly. He also didn’t think her not to be his friend,
but he didn’t know what to think of what she had said. “I… I do not trust you… but… I do
not… I do not want you far.”
“Very well,” she said. “We are friends, Aemond. I’m sorry this hurt you.”
“We’re friends?” he questioned seriously.
“Yes, we’re friends, even if you don’t trust me. I’m always yours, Aemond, I’m your friend,
and I will earn your trust back.”
Aemond stared levelly at her, her heart was steady beneath his hand as they stood there.
Aemond started to pull his hand away then and she let him now.
“Go talk to Cregan,” Sansa encouraged.
“Did Cregan…” he started but he stopped himself.
“Did Cregan what?” she asked.
“Did he trust you? Knowing Arra died…” Aemond whispered.
“Cregan told me to tell him nothing,” she whispered. “I’ve respected that, and he, he was
nearly killed with grief when I told him that she died later bearing his second child. I
admitted I thought I had circumvented her death, aid to assist in a famine that was followed
by a plague which killed millions, I thought I had saved her, but, he never blamed me for her
death. He’s decided this is life, and things will always be different and change. So… the
Dance of the Dragons isn’t going to happen, I’m not going to let you kill Lucerys, and we’re
going to thwart these conspiracies.”
“Why?”
“Because I picked you,” she said firmly. “You picked me. And I will earn your trust back.
I’m going to help you.”
Aemond fled then, he left her behind as he slipped from their quarters and he walked. He
dragged his hands through his hair as he gritted his teeth as he eventually found himself at the
training grounds. Grabbing up a blade, a real blade, he was fast to move against the dummies.
The rhythm of movement had him releasing his rage. He snarled as he spun to cut a dummy
down only for metal to clang, the singing metal was a surprise and he found himself glaring
at Cregan, who was standing there very calm.
“Sansa spoke to you then,” Cregan guessed as Aemond pulled back and Cregan rested Ice
before him. Ice and Frostfyre were flanking him.
“You knew.”
“I did, and I knew your history,” Cregan admitted.
“And yet you permitted the match,” Aemond snarled. “A kinslayer.”
Cregan shrugged. “You’re not one, yet, and your destiny isn’t decided just yet.”
“What’s to prevent me from killing her, if I kill kin in history?” Aemond snarled.
“Nothing,” Cregan answered. “But you won’t. Not willingly at least.”
Aemond flinched at the calm delivery of Cregan’s statement.
“Come on, we should go for a walk,” Cregan said. Aemond frowned. “It’s not a suggestion,
Aemond, come on.”
Aemond was reluctant, though he didn’t drop the sword as he walked with Cregan.
“I found Sansa in the Godswood, before the Weirwood tree. I was praying for a Stark’s aid, I
have no fucking clue what I’m doing, Aemond, and at that point I was the only Stark in
Winterfell, I had Sara but what is an eight year old girl going to do at that time? My uncle
had ruined the finances of my House, the dowery I presented to you is not the wealth of the
North, those are funds House Stark has not liquidated, and there are more, but we preserve
those for when the North is in dire straits, those funds are not common knowledge. My uncle
had destroyed my House’s finances, I had no bride’s price for Arra, and could ask for no
dowery, my uncle had effectively betrayed the North, and my cousins had followed their
father, I was alone, and scared and eighteen. I prayed for another Stark to aid me, and when I
went to the Godswood one day there she was, half dead, dressed in black and battle armor,
and bleeding to death, she was white as snow, and black as night, and her blood was the color
of the weirwood leaves.
“I did not believe her tale either, but… she is too fucking earnest to keep up that lie for this
long. She’s a Stark, through and through, she looks like a Stark, though she won’t see it, she
talks like a Stark, acts like a Stark, she’s a Stark. When we established that, I decided to forge
her as my sister,” Cregan admitted. “You’re not the only forger, though I had aid of dismal
records.”
“Did you have a brother Jonos?” Aemond asked.
“Yes, but he died, and killed my mother, my father shipped me off for fostering abnormally
young my Northern standards, I was raised primarily with Norrey, Dustin, and Mormonts.
Starks are fostered, Aemond, we also campaign regularly through our lands, there are
nomadic mountain clans, cronnogmen, Skagosi, and they follow their own traditions and
ways, and as Starks, they are our vassals so it is of greatest importance we understand our
people and visit them. So, I was not an abnormal Stark, but my youth made this fostering
abnormal, and then my uncle’s claim over my regency, and later his attempt to retain it. I was
forced to imprison him and his sons, and then I was the only Stark.
“I prayed for another Stark, or guidance, I even visited the Stark Crypts and looked at the
deeds of my ancestors, tried to seek guidance from them. I prayed so hard to the Old Gods for
aid, and then one day, there she is, bleeding to death. I had Domeron patch her up, we saved
her, barely, and in her delirium she referenced things only Starks know as fact,” Cregan said
as they paused at the wall.
“In the Age of Heroes, there is a story, for a Stark and though many believe, incorrectly, it’s
about a Bolton. In the Age of Heroes, not long after the Wall was completed by Bran the
Builder; and he was real, I’ll even take you to his bones, we have them at Winterfell, while
serving as the thirteen Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, a Stark, who’s name has long
since been struck from record and memory, but we believe he is Brandon Stark, fourth son of
Bran the Builder, fell in love with an Other woman. The Others are ethereal, beautiful, lethal,
they’re born of the ice, and they are memorizing, she was said to be a beauty unlike any
other. The Stark, in question gave this Other his seed and soul. He brought her back to the
Nightfort, and after that union, declared himself King and her his Queen, and they ruled
together for thirteen years.
“Many call her the Corpse Queen, for we do not know what the Others actually are, other
than they control the dead, and desecrate the bodies of their victims with their magic. Both
the Northerners and the Wildlings fear and despise the Others, and we fear their magic. It was
learnt that the Night’s King was making sacrifices to his wife and the Others, and when the
Children of the Forest told of this abominable magic, that’s when the North rose to fight
back.
“My ancestor, Brandon the Breaker, grandson of Bran the Builder, and the King of Winter,
joined forces with the King Beyond the Wall, Joramun, who woke the Giants from the Earth
with his Horn of Winter, did they attack and bring down the Night’s King. I do not know the
whole recounting, but Brandon the Breaker killed the Night’s King’s Queen, he stole her
bones, and we entombed them throughout the North. In his grief and rage, he forced Children
of the Forest to perform taboo magic for them, and turned him into a monster, he’s not an
Other, but the Others follow him.
“None but Starks have the last of those records or know the truth. Many believe the Night’s
King to be a Bolton, or Magnar of Skagos, or an Umber, Flint, hell, even a Norrey. In our
shame, we Starks destroyed his records and name, we wanted the North to forget that he was
one of us, we wanted them to forget that we too are capable of being evil,” Cregan said.
“Starks, for all we’re known for our honor, our justice, our ability to be beloved, we are also
capable of evil and cruelty, and we wanted to forget our shame. But Starks do not forget.
“The Night King lives, still, and he seeks revenge against House Stark for taking his lady
love, and he seeks to erase us as we erased him, and he will only be satisfied when he
destroys all of us, Aemond. The Long Night, it isn’t a prophecy, it’s a coming event that is as
unavoidable as the Winter’s solstice, the sun rising, Winter coming, it is as inevitable as life.
And Starks are raised knowing this, we prepare, we have never shared this information
though.”
“Is it not madness?” Aemond asked.
“I have the Night King’s wife’s head in my family vault, she is as real as you and I, and I
have her crown.”
Aemond stood there trembling as they looked out at the sea.
“How could you trust her?” Aemond whispered.
“She’s a Stark, many times great granddaughter or not, she’s a Stark,” Cregan shrugged.
“And if Starks could become the Night’s King, what’s to say she is not from her era?” he
asked softly. “The Starks have absorbed many bloodlines and ancient magic, we have the
blood of wargs, skinchangers, crannogmen, wildlings, mountain clans, Skagosi, the First
Men, we have absorbed the blood of Kings into our lines for milleniums. Starks are steeped
in ancient magic, Aemond, we are aware of this even if we do not revell in this fact. If
anyone could travel through eras, it would be a Stark. It just happened to be Sansa Stark.”
“So you believe her?” Aemond asked.
“Yes. As I said, she knows things only Starks know.”
“Why would you agree to the match then?” Aemond snarled.
“I like you, you treat her well, and she picked you,” Cregan shrugged. “Aemond, despite all
the complexities of this situation, she picked you. And I’ve found her judgement is fairly
decent and trustworthy, she picked you knowing your history, knowing what you’re famed
for in her era, and she still picked you.”
That startled Aemond as he stared at Cregan.
“She and I discussed the match in depth, as we’ve discussed your history and the history of
the Dance, we discussed it at length before I agreed to come South for aid for the North in
face of our famine. She wanted to see if we could stall the Dance, she felt that things were too
narrow of timing to prevent it, but she wanted to stall it so the North might actually recover
and survive from this famine, which still affected her era greatly. She laid out the players as
she knew them and wrote down the events as she remembered learning them, she told me of
both sides, and we discussed what to do. I am Black, there was no negotiating that, I made an
oath of fealty to the declared heir, and even if I’m not the one to make the oath, my father did
and I won’t turn us Starks into oath breakers because I’m not interested in Southron politics
and have no Southron ambitions.
“Sansa though was the one who told me to survive this we would need the South, and have to
stall the Dance for a bit longer, to which I agreed. She traced a vital breaking point before the
Dance to being the death of Vaemond Velaryon and challenged me to keep him alive, which I
did. I’ve warned her we will not be breaking our oaths of fealty, and she’s agreed, so the
North is Black. In doing what was asked though, we stalled one point of the Dance from
starting, which was important. But having met your family, the Dance feels inevitable or it
did before now.
“The insults dealt by Greens and Blacks alike did greatly help in manuvering the North to
gaining aid, as both factions started fearing us neutral. But then you aided us, and it was…
curious.”
“You threatened to break the Realm, I had to intercede or you’d break all my work and give
me more work!” Aemond started.
Cregan chuckled. “I’m not sorry about that threat, but it was a surprise when you moved,
independently to aid us. And it was your independence which Sansa noticed first, and that’s
when she started watching you. When you two decided you were friends, that was when
things really changed. Whatever history she knows, it’s handy, Aemond, but history isn’t set
in stone.”
“What if I’m destined to kill Lucerys? Or kill my family? What if I’m destined to fail?”
Aemond asked.
“What if you’re not?” Cregan challenged. “I don’t believe in destiny, or fate, I believe some
events are inevitable, but getting to where you need is free will and the ability to guide your
fate. You decide, you decide what you do, who to trust, how to react, and you guide your fate.
Some things are inevitable though, and all choices lead to those events, but getting there is
yours to guide. And Sansa picked you, Aemond. She’s a very astute woman, she’s had dismal
matches, and great men in her life, she’s seen the best and the worst people have to offer, and
she knows what she wants, when she decided to marry you she picked you. I brought up
every argument and fear you have right now with her, and she countered with everything she
knew about you as she got to know you.
“I know your trust is fractured right now, but… how was she supposed to tell you without
sounding mad? I barely believe it and I saw her just appear from nowhere, I didn’t see it, but
trust me, you’ve seen Winterfell, you don’t just get to the Godswood by accident, and there’s
no passages, hidden routes to it, and with amount of blood she was bleeding, there’d have
been a bloody trail over that white snow! People don’t just appear, Aemond, and she did.”
“Why would she pick me, knowing what she knows?”
“Because she knows? Hell, I don’t know, I still don’t know why Arra picked me, but she did.
Women are vexing mysteries which we aren’t meant to understand, and I’m certain they feel
the same way about us,” Cregan chuckled. “She picked you Aemond, she made an active
choice and selected you as a husband despite or because of what she knows, but she picked
you still. That’s a gift. And yes, be angry with us Starks but realize we all have secrets,
Aemond, and when you marry you’re not always privy to them before the union, and even
after the union, she’s picked you.”
“Are you… disappointed she picked me, knowing I killed kin?” Aemond asked warily.
“No.” Cregan looked levelly back at Aemond. “I killed my uncle, executed him as a traitor,
but I’m certain that if the maesters had been present for that execution I would be recorded as
a kinslayer and not executing a traitor of the Realm. I still struggle with what I did, but there
was a point he ceased being kin beyond blood and turned into my enemy and an enemy of the
Realm. I still struggle knowing my cousins were effectively killed because of my decision to
banish them to the Wall, the Karstarks understand, but that doesn’t make it any less difficult
to live with. There is also more than one kind of kin, Aemond, marriage is such an example,
because if you killed your wife, and history remembered you for that, then I would
vehemently fight Sansa on the match, but you’re not remembered that way. And having met
the Princes, I can’t blame you for killing the little fucker, but at the same time, I know you,
and you do not strike me as a man who would purposely kill your tormentors unless
provoked beyond reason.”
Aemond was startled at that as they stood there quietly.
“I don’t know if trust you, or Sansa,” he whispered honestly.
“We’ll earn back that trust Aemond,” Cregan reassured. “Just… just know we’re sorry this
knowledge hurts.”
Aemond nodded slowly before he left Cregan behind and walked for his quarters. The first
rays of dawn were peeking against the black stars and sky. He shivered at the cold as he
walked up the steps of his quarters. Walking into his room, he dropped the sword on his desk
and saw Sansa there, wrapped up in a blanket, curled up on the bed. Warily, he walked over
and looked down at her, her red hair fanned out against the pillow and she was laying very
still. Impulse had him reaching out, touching her, she was still real, which was shocking as he
slowly sat on the edge of their bed and pulled off his boots. She grumbled a bit as he
stretched out on his side and laid very still looking at her.
She pried an eye open, scrunching up her nose as she squinted through her lashes.
“I’m sorry…” she rasped.
He didn’t respond. He was shocked when he reached over, tracing her cheek and felt the
warmth of her skin. She smiled a bit, turning into his touch.
“I want to trust you,” he confessed softly and now her eyes opened fully, the sleep was still
there, but she seemed alert then. “I have always wanted to trust you.”
“I’ll earn it back,” she promised and he was stunned when she scooted closer to him. “I’ll
earn it back, Aemond, and I’ll help you save your House and the dragons.”
He turned away from her and blew out the candle as he pulled off the eye patch then and
closed his eye again. He felt her come up against his back, sliding her arm around his waist as
he tried to ignore her. She sighed softly.
“I’m sorry, Aemond,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“In history…” he whispered. “Was there any chance for me?” he whispered.
“Chance for what?”
“Life, or love, or a different path?”
“Possibly,” she answered. “I don’t know if it’s fact or fable though,” she whispered sincerely.
“If she’s real, and you want her, I won’t stand in the way, Aemond.”
He didn’t respond to her as he rolled over. “I don’t trust you, right now, Sansa, but I did pick
you.”
In the predawn light he saw her clearly, there was sorrow in her eyes. He just didn’t know
what to do, or think right now, this entire night was exhausting, and soon they’d leave on
campaigns, and he didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know how she could pick a monster
like him to marry when she deserved so much more, and so much better if he was nothing but
a kinslayer.
“I’m…” she started.
“You picked me, I picked you,” he murmured tiredly. “I don’t trust you right now, but we did
pick each other, we’re stuck together.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I am too,” he sighed.
“Why are you sorry?” she asked incredulously.
“You deserve better than a man who became a kinslayer,” he sighed as he felt the exhaustion
seeping into his bones. Everything he did turned to ruin, and no doubt this marriage wouldn’t
change the inevitable.
“I married a thoughtful, selfless, kind man with a generous soul,” she stated firmly. “And if
the maesters are tampering with records, who’s to say they ever accurately recorded history a
day in their miserable existence?” she demanded.
He snorted as he settled for sleep.
“Go to sleep Aemond, we’ll talk about this more when you’re awake,” she whispered quietly.
He felt her fingers carding through his hair and then sleep fully dragged him under.
Chapter End Notes
I might come back and rewrite some of this in a few days, might not, we'll see how I feel
about it when I reread it. Tomorrow is a strictly edits day, starting with Wolves Amongst
Dragons. I'm going to pop on a good film, and just edit, all day, after I run errands, and
then I'll be editing Winter is Coming so yeah, no new chapters for a little bit.
Chapter 18
28th of the 5th Lunar Cycle, Year 128AC
Jon peered down over the ledge, his body trembled from exertion of climbing the goat’s path,
the winds were tugging on his curls and the rise of the sun piercing the valley below. As
Veron predicted it was a kill box, a rather elaborate one too, which had Jon shivering a bit as
he watched the men. Ghost moved stealthily through the snows and forests of the valleys, Jon
could feel the wolf moving. He looked down at the valley, he tried to remember Varamyr’s
teachings as he focused on breathing steadily, opening his mind to Ghost. Tentatively he felt
the primitive, possessive connection he shared with Ghost; it was unlike the dreams he would
have, pushing to join Ghost now. Gasping as it felt like the snow was burning his lungs,
heavy, wide feet carried him swiftly over the snow, the trees were tall, instinct had him
following Ghost’s natural inclination as he watched and listened through Ghost as the wolf
neared the camps.
“Fucking hell, thought this be easy, lure the guard out,” a soldier grumbled.
“It’s the pretty one Lord Bolton wants,” the other grumbled.
“After that dragonling threatened us, this is not a wise move,” the first muttered.
“Lord Bolton is assured that the dragons are not a problem,” the second responded as they
shivered.
Ghost scented the air, the acidic scent of piss had Jon grimacing as he felt their ears twitch.
“Fucking Southron promises,” sneered the first. “What do they know?”
“That the Starks will soon all be dead if we can kill the pretty one,” huffed the second. Ghost
bristled, Jon drew back his lip.
“Oh, aye, but what good does that do us if that dragonling comes North to burn down our
House? We should cut our losses, and plea with Lord Stark, he’s always been more
reasonable,” chattered the first.
“Oi! Get Back To Work, the Stark Party’s Been Sighted Travelling Our Way!” a different
voice shouted.
Jon gasped as he felt the slip from Ghost’s mind as Ghost bolted for safety, knocking him
back into the stones. He was trying to catch his breath, he groaned at the pain of the mind
fitting with Ghost, his dreams never hurt, but it was like the ache of a muscles after hard
labor he was unaccustomed to.
“We… we should take the Dreadfort, ambush them from it,” he grunted as he pushed himself
up. “They… there’s more to this than we know,” he huffed.
“Take the Dreadfort, there’s six of us?” the other hunter shivered.
“Four,” he countered. “Dirron, and Medger, you’re going back down, there’s a Stark party,
find them, keep them from this mountain. Then go to Winterfell, tell Veron to muster forty
good men, take this route, the Boltons aren’t aware of it, send two ravens and a rider South,
there’s something going on for no responses now, we’ll meet them on the western forest of
the Dreadfort, the four of us are going to survey the Dreadfort for weaknesses.”
“Are you mad!?” Dirron sputtered.
“Aye, but it’s the best move, the Boltons have more in this plot than we know,” Jon grunted.
“On me,” he ordered as he started along the path.
Aemond roused in the late morning and was stunned to find his head on Sansa’s lap, and she
was reading as she brushed his hair. She was quiet and still, which had him grimacing a bit as
he tilted his head to look up at her, she wasn’t dressed yet, still in her night gown, her red hair
was loose and free. She glanced down when he moved, and he stared up at her suspiciously.
“Lord Beesbury brought some Small Council documents, I was reading them over in an
attempt to let you sleep,” she said softly.
“I…”
“Need rest,” she replied. “And a flight with Vhagar, and time.”
“You’re very bossy,” he grumbled as he turned away from her, startled at the softness of her
thighs which were his current pillow.
“I’m told that, frequently,” she muttered.
“Mmm,” he hummed. “I’m certain, you seem like a trouble sibling,” he mumbled tiredly as
he shifted a bit, his shoulder was hurting.
“I’ll have you know I was the good daughter, Arya was the hellion,” she huffed indignantly.
“And Bran… and Rickon, and Robb… I was the good child.”
“Why is that?” he asked tiredly. He still didn’t know what to think of her, but her casual
sharing of her life was… interesting.
“My mother was a Tully, and a proper Southron Lady,” Sansa said absently. He nearly
groaned at the gentle scratching of her fingers against his scalp, was it supposed to feel that
good?
“Is that so?”
“Mmhmm, I was a proper lady, I didn’t curse until I met Bryan and Cregan,” she confessed.
“Those two have ruined me,” she muttered.
“Mmm,” he hummed as her fingers continued their magic. He didn’t understand her, he
wanted last night to be some horrid nightmare, but her casual mentions of her heritage and
family, it reaffirmed last night wasn’t a dream. Her fingers continued carding through his
hair, he groaned a bit at the touch.
“Aemond?” she spoke softly.
“Hm?” he hummed tiredly.
“Do you desire to sleep longer?” she asked gently.
“I have work…” he grumbled.
“I can manage it, not the other side, but the reading and briefs,” she explained softly. He
turned to glare at her. “You might not trust me right now, but you can trust my work, I would
never harm you or yours or your work,” she assured firmly.
“In your time,” he started warily as he rolled onto his back, grimacing a little in discomfort,
he was surprised that she didn’t stop dragging her fingers over his scalp, it felt nice… which
unsettled him.
“Yes?” she drawled out.
“You have mentioned no dragons…” he murmured tiredly. “What happened to them?”
“The Targaryen civil war killed most of the dragons according to records, and then the rest
died out under the rule of King Aegon III.”
“Rhaenyra’s brat became King?” he grimaced.
“A dismal line of Kings emerged from her,” Sansa sighed. “Let me see if I remember this
correctly… King Aegon the Dragonbane, the Broken King, he was married twice, I think,
I’m not certain, he was said to be a very dismal man. He had two sons, three daughters. King
Daeron the Young Dragon, he died… during the Dornish Conquests. Then there was King
Baelor the Blessed, also died, devout man, the Faith adored him, he died, his uncle became
King then. King Viserys II, Rhaenyra and Daemon’s second son. He wasn’t a bad King, but
he’s not memorable either. His son Aegon IV was a different matter, he was Aegon the
Unworthy, dismal King and he started the bloody Blackfyre Rebellions by legitimizing all his
bloody bastards! King Daeron II the Good succeed Aegon the Unworthy, he had an
interesting rule, his bastard half-brother, Daemon Blackfyre challenged him for the throne
and started the First Blackfyre Rebellion, that is a separate mess which could be avoided
entirely in my opinion,” she grumbled indignantly.
He resisted the urge to smirk at her indignant expression, because she was a bit amusing now
that she was being enthusiastic about her history.
“Then there was King Aerys the first of his name, he wasn’t mad. He was succeeded by his
brother, King Maekar, he was not the worst King we ever had. He was succeeded by his
fourth son, Aegon V, Aegon the Unlikely, also known affectionately as Egg, by the way,
Aegon is completely not a name any of our children can have, I refuse,” she warned
seriously. “So many bloody Aegon’s it’s difficult to keep track!”
They both froze at her statement, he stared intently at her, and she bit her lip. “I’m sorry, I
know… I know I must earn back your trust but…”
“I did pick you as much as you picked me,” he murmured honestly. They would have to
figure this out, though he didn’t know what to do about it. She just gave him a shy smile as
she continued running her fingers through his hair.
“I’ll earn it back, Aemond,” she promised fiercely. He didn’t respond as he waited for her to
continue. She seemed to be lost in thought then, though her fingers continued stroking his
hair; it felt so good, he wanted to just lay here. still, he didn’t understand her.
“I’m not overly fond of the name either,” he murmured after a while, she seemed absorbed in
her own thoughts, and he didn’t like being left with his own thoughts.
“Hm, oh, good… where was I?” she muttered as she seemed to pull herself from her
thoughts. “Then there was King Jaehaerys II, he was rather sickly. Then came… King Aerys
II, and just so you’re aware, no child of mine will ever be named Aerys,” she warned
seriously. “He was the Mad and final Targaryen King we had, he’s the one who… who killed
my grandfather and uncle. His son, Prince Rhaegar, killed my aunt. King Aerys had another
daughter though, Daenarys Targaryen, she was the one who… somehow, brought dragons
back to this world. And I do not know how she did it, or how it could be done, or where she
got those eggs,” Sansa said softly.
He nodded slowly as he stared at his ceiling. Her fingers felt good in his hair. “I… I don’t
want to know my future,” he said softly. “I always expected to die young, and I can… I can
live with what I could do, but… I don’t want to know a damn thing beyond what you’ve told
me. We… we can discuss events, conspiracies, and your own history, but I don’t… I don’t
want to know anything else, Sansa.”
“Very well,” she said softly. “But you’re going to live a very long life if I have a say in the
matter.”
“Why did you tell me that?” he asked softly.
“Because I wanted you not to do it this time,” she admitted. “I… I knew telling you the worst
thing you did would hurt you, but I don’t want you to be goaded into a fight or worse, not
unless you’re protecting yourself and yours, I will never advocate for you to sacrifice
yourself, Aemond, or for you to not defend and protect yours. But I don’t want you to act
rashly or be goaded into something,” she confessed. “And having met Lucerys I now fully
believe he goaded you and Vhagar that night and the resounding impact was the fall out of
your reputation and his life.
He reached up, resting his fingers on her heart, which was beating slow and even as he
waited.
“Why?”
“Other than the fact you’re my husband,” she stated. “You’re my friend, Aemond, and there’s
more to you than whatever the maesters said. I value you, your companionship, and your life,
and I don’t want you to act rashly or on impulse. Targaryens are famous for being impulsive,”
she sighed.
He waited, but her heart remained slow and steady which had him dropping his hand as he
closed his eye. She continued carding her fingers through his hair as they sat there.
“If we’re to save… save my House and the dragons… we need… we need to move them,” he
stammered.
“Aye, we do,” she agreed. “I’m of the impression they remain close to their riders, so I’m
hoping with the natural dispersing of their riders we’ll have them naturally evacuating King’s
Landing for other hideouts,” she admitted.
“You… you… truly?” he sputtered.
“I’m not going to tell you or your family to boss dragons Aemond!” she hissed. “Have you
seen their teeth, and they breath fire!? Normal people are not fire resistant like Targaryens
appear to be.”
“How do you know that?” he asked.
“Daenerys Targaryen, in her many, many, many titles the Unburnt was one of them, so it is
relatively safe to say she’s fire resistant, and given your family rides dragons, I would wager
there is a level of fire resistance, or at least an adaptation to extreme heat,” she confessed.
“Are Starks resistant to the cold?” he asked curiously. Sansa paused her administration,
which had him opening his eye as she sat there pondering it.
“I… I don’t know,” she confessed. “I haven’t actually thought about it, I mean, I feel the
cold, the extreme colds, but mostly I do not pay it mind, I… I guess we are accustomed to the
cold, and prefer it, but I would not say we are immune to it…” she looked down at him as she
seemed to be thinking this over.
He nodded as he closed his eye again, and she resumed her administrations of combing her
fingers through his hair, he really liked this.
“You did not like this Daenerys,” he muttered softly.
“I did not,” she agreed softly.
“Why?”
“It’s not because she’s a Targaryen,” Sansa warned. “But rather she was extreme,” she
murmured. “Daenerys was someone who clearly desired to be loved, but if she could not be
loved, she would revel in the people fearing her. She was… idealistic, impractical, and
frankly, she did not understand the people she conquered, and she did not have realistic goals
in place for maintaining her conquered lands. Starks are conquerors, Aemond, but we have
always been realistic about how to win over those we conquered, whether it was through
marriages of the surviving daughters, making former Kings family and vassals of ours, or
fostering their young with ours, Starks have always known how to conquer and rule, and she
simply knew how to conquer. And even then, I would say, from what I have observed, she
only knew how to conquer through brute force, which only goes so far.
“She marched on Winterfell with three dragons, an army of Unsullied, and a horde of
Dorthraki, and no logistics, no plan to feed them, no resources, no real strategy for fighting
an army, and when the North did not faun over her arrival; mind you, her father nearly killed
out my father’s family, and the North never forgets, and rarely do we forgive, she was upset.
And I saw her pouting, until people flinched in fear of her dragons, we hadn’t seen dragons in
that age for a few centuries at that point,” Sansa reminded him. “I do not hate Targaryens, but
I am not fond of that woman.”
He nodded slowly. So Sansa didn’t hate Targaryens, but she held disdain for people who
didn’t have plans, or realistic goals, or only wanted attention in any form they could obtain it,
he found that understandable, and he found he could understand her stance on that matter. He
was still curious how different conquering and ruling were, but it appeared Starks had figured
out the delicate balance.
“Why did you agree to this match?” he asked again. She was the one to grab his hand, and he
was startled when she rested it on her heart.
“We’re friends,” she answered. “I like you Aemond, I liked what I saw, and I will earn your
trust back so you believe the sincerity of that statement.”
He pulled his hand away gently and dropped it on his stomach again. “I do not understand
you.”
“I do not understand you, but we are friends, and we picked each other,” Sansa stated.
“Aemond, you are worthy of a life, love, and family, and even if… if you do not find the love
with me, we shall figure this out, and I will earn your trust back, and we are friends.”
He nodded as he felt the exhaustion settling in again and sleep pulling him under as her
fingers continued combing through his hair. He hoped she’d never stop that action; it was
soothing to the throbbing headache he had forming. Aemond snapped awake though when
there was a knock on their door.
“Aemond?” he grimaced hearing his mother’s voice, and rolled away from the voice, hiding
from the voice. He squeezed his eye shut as he tried to will her away, on top of everything
else, Aemond really didn’t want to deal with her.
“I’ll manage this, pretend to sleep,” Sansa murmured. He was startled but didn’t protest, the
door slowly opened and he kept his eye firmly shut.
“My apologies, your grace, Aemond spent most of last night attending to his duties, and got
very little rest, if you would like I will tell him you were here,” Sansa spoke in a soft voice,
Aemond didn’t chance rolling towards his mother and looking at her.
“You dare to presume you can speak for me on my behalf to my son?” his mother demanded.
“No, but I will not permit you to wake him when he has gotten little rest these past days
attending to Court, Crown, and Realm affairs in place of you and yours so you might attend
to Aegon and his and be their mother rather than the Queen,” Sansa’s fingers were gentle
through his hair. For a long moment there was blessed silence, he hoped his mother had left.
“I need to speak to him. It is a matter for our family.”
“As I am a member of that family now, and Aemond’s wife you can speak to me or wait for
when Aemond has time for you,” Sansa replied.
“You have no right to keep my son from me!” Alicent hissed.
“I have every right to prioritize the health and well-being of my husband over the callous
needs and wants of his family, this Realm, and this Court,” Sansa snarled lowly. “Leave,
before you wake him, when he wakes I will tell him to speak to you.”
“I need to speak to him now,” Alicent started again.
“No, leave,” Sansa ordered. There was a low growl and he heard his mother gasp. Then the
door closed and Sansa combed her fingers through his hair still and he cracked his eye open
to look up at her. He frowned as she continued her actions, reading over whatever she had as
they sat there. Aemond frowned, he really did not understand her, but she did not seem
perturbed though as he studied her. “Rest Aemond,” she said softly.
“I do not understand you,” he muttered tiredly.
She snorted. “That would make two of us,” she assured.
“You trust me?” he whispered. She grabbed his hand and he was unsurprised when she rested
it on her heart.
“Yes, Aemond, I trust you,” she said firmly.
“Why?”
“You’re going to have to figure it out,” she said with a smile.
He just dropped his hand as he closed his eye again and let sleep pull him under again.
Cregan stood in the quiet of dawn as he watched the ocean. Rody had come and given him a
head count of the children the North was smuggling as Snows, and it was roughly up to thirty
found children at this point. Many were mere babes. Prince Aegon was no better nor worse
this morning and it made Cregan wary as he stood there. The investigation had primarily
wielded answers that pointed to the Blacks, but Cregan felt that was too obvious. For one
thing, Daemon was far too self-important to hide his actions, and for another thing, Rhaenyra
was not politically savvy enough to do something like this. The other Black candidates for
the execution did not make sense, primarily because a majority of the guests here did not
want to start a fucking war right now. Which had Cregan warily assessing the Greens.
He doubted the Queen had anything to do with this, but her attack dog, Cole, he was one
Cregan generally considered suspect. He did not fault the man for falling in love with his
charge, guarding someone required constant companionship, falling in love was a by product
of proximity sometimes. But what Cregan did fault the man with was his obvious loathing of
the Blacks, Cregan had watched training sessions when Aemond wasn’t present, and without
the Black and Green children around to antagonize Aemond, the dynamics were a bit clearer.
Cole hated the Blacks, all of them, without discrimination, his training sessions were
primarily beatings on the Blacks. The other Kingsguards were primarily loyal to Cole, Cole
was their leader, but there were clear rifts between some of them who interpreted their duties
differently, but that was primarily between the Golds and Whites, which was a different mess
Cregan never wanted to assess.
Cregan figured Cole would be both moral enough to see value in killing Aegon because
Aegon was a threat to who Cole held value in and clever enough to make it look like the
Blacks. Cregan figured out quickly Cole was a pseudo father figure for Helaena, Aemond,
and Daeron, while doting on Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor like he were their grandfather
by blood; he loved those Targaryens immensely, and it was obvious. Col also was more of a
partner to the Queen, whether he was her paramount or not was something Cregan couldn’t
figure out, but their bond was clear. Clear as day, they were an old hand together.
So Cole was a suspect to Cregan, the man was devoted enough to the Greens to do anything
to eliminate a threat, but he was hateful and spiteful enough against the Blacks to want to
frame them, and he was clever enough to do so. Cole was a reasonable suspect for Cregan,
and Cregan couldn’t pin down the man’s exact movements that night, the White Cloaks
would attest to his location guarding the Queen, but the rosters said he was on the Red Keep’s
Walls, while the Gold Cloaks would attest to not seeing him at all.
There was also Larys Strong, the man made Cregan’s skin crawl and want to hide his sisters
from the gaze of that man. It wasn’t predatory in the way that a wolf would feel hunted, but it
was disgusting in a way that had Cregan wanting his sisters and all women far out of Larys’
grasp. There was just something nefarious about that man, and Cregan wanted to break his
other foot. But the man was Master of Whispers, so there was no doubt he knew about
Aegon’s perversions and yet he had never exposed it, why? That unsettled Cregan, because
the whys of Larys Strong did not make sense unless the man was seeking to burn the world
for the sake of it. Those were people Cregan despised the most, because they’d kill their own
benefactor and liege for the hell of it.
Finally, there was Otto Hightower himself, which while Cregan doubted the man would have
the gall, audacity and stomach to kill someone in general, he would be able of ordering it and
consider his hands unsullied. Cregan was beginning to think the Hightowers were up to
something, and given Aemond and Sansa’s overlapping conspiracies centering in the Citadel,
Faith, and Oldtown, it made Cregan what was happening in the old Stark holding. Part of him
was tempted to break into the Stark vaults, track down the plans of Bran the Builder
regarding the construction of Hightower and give it to Sansa and Aemond before they went
to Oldtown, and he cursed himself for not thinking to grab that earlier.
Cregan’s primary suspects were on the Green side, it wasn’t to say the Blacks hadn’t done
this, but he didn’t think they would be stupid enough to do something so blatantly public.
Of course he’d have to speak to Aemond and Sansa about this later today, or tomorrow. He
would speak to them about this tomorrow, he was not certain how much more Aemond could
manage today emotionally, the young man seemed to have been run through a ringer and torn
up emotionally then stomped on. And Cregan did understand it because Sansa’s origins
were… horrifying, and also difficult to understand. The pair would have to figure out how to
repair their relationship, and Cregan knew in time they’d fair this well. Sansa was a Stark,
and Starks were steady, patient, and loyal, Cregan himself knew that winning Aemond’s trust
back would require all three and transparency. They’d have to invite Aemond to family
discussions, and Cregan would need to discuss with Jon about sharing his origins or not. That
was still Jon’s secret to tell ultimately and not their place.
Thinking of Jon, Cregan frowned, it’d been an unusually long time since he’d received word
about Winterfell, and Jon had been writing him regularly as a part of being left in Winterfell.
It was only in the last fortnight that he’d lost contact with Winterfell. That had Cregan
uneasy, he was tempted to ask Aemond to fly him North ahead of his men, and before he and
Sansa went on their campaigns.
Something wasn’t right.
“Cregan,” a voice had him turning as he saw Princess Helaena on Rody’s arm then. The
young woman looked tired, and she had her toddler in her arms. But not the two children.
“Princess Helaena,” he bowed to her, she was looking very agitated and distant right then, she
was clinging to Rody’s arm for dear life, and her hair was a mess. She had wide, bloodshot
eyes, and she was holding her toddler close to her breast, though the child did not seem
harmed, Helaena’s fear and desperation had her holding the child very tightly from what
Cregan observed. “What can I do you for?” he asked as he stood there.
“She needs to come North, Cregan,” Rody sighed tiredly.
“There is a beast stirring, he slumbered when the Red Wolf came… the rivers burn for
dragons, the fire, the blood, rivers needs the fires…” she whispered. “Spiders webs are
entangling as the fractures grow…”
“Oh aye, love, they do,” Rody promised. “She’s been in and out of this sight for days but last
night she started screaming and going into hysterics, whatever she’s seeing she can’t escape
it, the septa tried to take Maelor from her so they could take her to the sept for the septas to
manage and she just about summoned that fiery beasty of hers.”
“They can’t take him, no, no… I do not like cheese… there was so much blood,” she
whispered frantically as she hugged Maelor closer.
“I see, well, there’d be no blood nor cheese in the North,” Rody promised. “I don’t know how
to get her out of it, and Lord Norrey doesn’t either,” he hissed. “If we don’t take her though
they’re going to commit her to the septas to be cared for, and we both know how well that’s
going to go over!”
Cregan walked forward, warily as he looked at Helaena, her wide violet eyes were unseeing.
“I’ve never heard of greensight this bloody strong,” he muttered.
“Neither have I, but she’s been trapped in the sight since yesterday, she cried about out of
time and she did not like cheese and too much blood, she screamed bloody murder, Cregan,
I’m surprised she didn’t wake the entire Red Keep, I thought she was being stabbed,” Rody
said. “I had to send her other younglings off with my brothers because she was sobbing
uncontrollably and apologizing to Jaehaerys so much it scared the lad. She was also hugging
him tightly, and the lad is a lad, he wants to play, so I had to trade him out for his brother, and
she has been sobbing uncontrollably.”
“Could be a response,” Cregan murmured.
“To what?” Rody hissed. Helaena flinched as she turned to Rody, hiding her face in his
shoulder.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I beg to stop! He’s a boy!” she whispered desperately. “It’s not a fair
price! A son for a son! Never! Take me instead…” she pleaded. “I matter not, take me
instead, not him!”
“Helaena and Aemond are close… Aemond’s had… insight into Sansa’s history,” Cregan
touched Maelor’s hair, and the toddler turned to him, big violet eyes and a gummy smile.
Carefully Cregan extracted Maelor from Helaena’s grasp.
“No! He’s mine,” she sobbed.
“Aye, he is,” Cregan agreed as she turned to him. “And we’ll not let a soul touch him,” he
promised her. She was crying again and nearly collapsing in Rody’s arms. “We’ll take her to
Aemond, with Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor, get Daeron to care for them today, I think
they need to be together.”
“And the princeling?” Rody asked tiredly.
“Which one?”
“The monster.”
“We both know that he will not live if he does not wake soon,” Cregan muttered. “If we have
to move her, it’ll have to be sooner rather than later. We can’t take her North, not initially,
Rody, not in this state.”
Helaena was sobbing hard in Rody’s arms as they walked.
“And what would you have us do?” Rody demanded. “The lass cannot stay here, her brother
is her only friend in this bloody court…”
“Take her to Dragonstone,” a new voice said suddenly.
“Are you bloody mad!?” Rody barked. Cregan glared at his friend seeing Prince Daemon
there then.
“It is not a suggestion,” Daemon stated.

“She’s not to be a hostage for your games,” Cregan stated. Helaena was crying still in Rody’s
shoulder, and Daemon frowned.
“She’s a Targaryen. We’ll even take the hairy Northerner if it suits you, and her children, and
when Aemond comes to Dragonstone he can take Helaena and her children North to his
stronghold, but for the time, it would give reprieve for the North. You cannot take her with
you to the North, she has no reason to be there, even in overseeing the construction of
Lenton, it would not be wise to have her there, and it would appear the North is amassing
dragons. It would be better for her, and Dreamfyre, with her children and their dragons, to go
to Dragonstone for the time being, and then travel North with Aemond when he makes it to
Dragonstone, then she will have legitimacy for being in the North,” Daemon said.
“And you care about this, why?” Rody snarled.
“She’s a Targaryen. It is high time we ban together, Rhaenyra would speak to her about
coming to Dragonstone, but she has rightfully been attending to her husband. If her
dragondreams are this dire, she cannot escape them, then perhaps being at Dragonstone, a
Targaryen ancestral stronghold will help calm her enough to escape her mind,” Daemon
stated.
Cregan frowned. “I’ll speak to Aemond before agreeing to anything, she’s his sister, and he is
the head of his family at this time,” Cregan stated.
“Very well, but I was wondering if by chance you’ve seen Prince Aemond, I have business to
discuss with him,” Daemon started.
“He is taking a day to rest, this entire bloody affair has him and my sister rightfully
exhausted, if you bother them, Prince or not, I’ll throw you out of the Red Keep,” Cregan
warned as he walked off with Maelor in his arms.
“Is it wise to give her to Sansa and Aemond?” Rody asked tiredly.
“It’s better than leaving her in this state, perhaps it will aid her, have your brother bring the
children to Aemond’s quarters,” Cregan suggested.
“Very well,” Rody nodded.

Chapter 19
Chapter Notes
Aemond was surprised when he saw the state of Helaena, he immediately ordered chamomile
tea, with some peppermint and lavender to calm her into sleep, he knew there would be no
escaping her visions for her, but if he could get her to rest then she’d have strength to find
reality again. He was up and settling her before he contemplated sleeping more.
The last time Helaena had been this dire was at the beginning of the Year 126 AC, before
Aegon had thrown her down the stairs. Helaena had been babbling about time trembling, red
wolf, and hour of a wolf rising again; he remembered that because it’d been too stressful for
Aemond. That was a rare occasion when his stresses had bubbled over, and he’d needed
release; he still regretted leaving her unattended and he still mourned the loss of Baelor. That
was his own fault for leaving her vulnerable. Jaehaera and Jaehaerys were worried, Daeron
was confused, and Aemond just asked Sansa to attend to them while he managed Helaena
until she settled. He didn’t wait for Sansa’s answer, as he caught Helaena from Rody.
It was hours later when she was sleeping on his bed that he left her to see to his niece and
nephews, as well as his brother. He was surprised at the scene he walked out to, Sansa had
Maelor sitting on her lap as she sat on the ground with Jaehaera, Jaehaerys, and Daeron
playing a game of bloodknuckles, Frostfyre was wrapped around Sansa, Morghul and
Shrykos were nestled beside Frostfyre. Rody was sleeping in a chair in the corner with his
feet kicked up, and Cregan had commandeered Aemond’s desk, no one seemed uneasy about
their placement. Sansa raised her gaze, and smiled softly at him as he quietly shut the doors
behind him so Helaena would rest in peace.
The shutting of the door was when Rody’s eyes snapped open and Aemond was startled at the
speed of the Northman’s rising and moving quietly as he jerked his head for Aemond to
follow. Aemond nodded as he walked over to give Sansa instructions for when Helaena
would wake.
“We will be back,” Cregan assured softly.
“If she wakes before then, give her a new cup of tea, and let her rest, she will need food, she
likes oranges in particular when she’s lost in visions, write down everything she says, it is not
nonsense, she will examine it when she is lucid again,” he murmured. “And… let her see or
know Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor are near and they are safe, it sooths her to know they
are safe.”
“I will,” Sansa promised. He nodded as he rose and left her in charge of his brother, niece and
nephews as he walked after Cregan and Rody then. They walked into the halls and he
carefully shut the doors of his apartment before he looked at them.
“When did they start?” Aemond asked Rody.

“She’d been in and out of them for a few days, but last night she started screaming like she
was stabbed, sobbing and utter hysterics,” he explained. “Normally you just lead her along to
lucidness, but this time, nothing is breaking her of whatever fresh hell she’s witnessing.
Cregan said Sansa told you?”
“All of it,” Aemond muttered. “What does that have to do with Hel?” he asked.
“You two are close,” Cregan stated. “We all see it, so, perhaps, is this a possible… connection
between you two?”
Aemond frowned as he looked between the men. “Despite rumors, I am not the father of my
nephews and niece,” he stated.
“We aren’t questioning that,” Cregan sighed. “Like… the dragon bonds, could you two have
a link?”
Aemond looked between the men and shrugged, he honestly did not know. What might be
normal to him would possibly not be normal to another, and he didn’t know what Cregan was
asking. “How’d you know Sansa was a Stark?” he challenged.
Cregan paused, thought about it and shrugged.
“I don’t know how to answer what you seek because I might not know it is not the normality
for others, but no, I do not think Hel and I shar a linking of minds or something akin to what
you’re describing,” Aemond admitted. “She has always been attuned to the ongoings of this
family even when we are not always aware of her words,” he muttered.
“What do you mean?”
“She told me it’d cost me an eye,” Aemond muttered. “She knew each bonding attempt with
the dragons I had, even if I did not speak of them, and she… she has dragondreams, perhaps
that is the bond you seek?”
“Perhaps,” Cregan agreed.
“The Septas want to commit her to one of their Septs though, and take away her children,”
Rody stated. Aemond tensed then as he looked between the men.
“Absolutely not!” he snarled. Aemond would not let the septas, septons, or the Faith take
away the one aspect of his sister’s life that gave her pure, unrequited joy. Despite Hel’s many
faults, and many abnormalities, she loved being a mother, she had refused wet nurses, and
septas, she changed her children, she fed them from her own breast, she spent every spare
moment she had with them, she loved them more than life itself. There was nothing she
would not do for her children, she’d die for them. They were the only blessing from Aegon,
and Aemond would burn anyone to a crisp who attempted to take her children from her, and
worse, he’d kill anyone who attempted to lock his sister in a sept.
“I like this princeling,” Rody stated again.

“The problem is in this state we can’t say she’s going North to supervise the construction of
Lenton, and when you leave on campaigns, in the next few days, she will be alone in Court.
The other problem is Daemon has suggested she and her children be moved to Dragonstone,”
Cregan explained.
Aemond frowned as he folded his arms and looked at the door trying to think. He would not
have agreed to leaving Helaena here, and he did not want her to go to Dragonstone, the initial
plan was for her to go to the North to oversee the progress on Lenton. But as Cregan pointed
out, that was impractical. Giving her over to Rhaenyra and her brood left a sour taste in his
mouth, but at this moment they might be safer than leaving her here in his mother’s care. He
knew his mother tried to understand, and tried to connect with Helaena, but when Hel was in
this state nothing could reach her until she escaped her visions. And worse, if the septas were
advocating to take Hel’s children from her, and Helaena go to a sept, then they did not think
her of sound mind and once she was in the care of the septs, Aemond would never get her
out. Not even his mother would be able to get Helaena out of the septs if she was in their
care. It would not matter that his sister was not mad.
“Her greensight is too strong,” Rody muttered.
“Greensight?” Aemond raised his brow at the term.
“Aye, it’s folk who see the dead, the possibilities the future holds, see the entanglements of
this world in ways we cannot, they’re steeped in ancient magic. I’ve never encountered one
as strong as your sister, she should be driven mad by now,” Rody explained.
“Arra had strong greensight, but her visions were rare and powerful, her grandmother lost
touch with this reality at the end of her days as she found herself lost in the sight,” Cregan
sighed. “What if… Vaemond Velaryon, he has sworn an oath to you, an oath of fealty, if you
put your sister in custody of your new banner, as a test of trust and fealty, it would keep her
safe, and she’d not be a hostage for Blacks or Greens,” Cregan stated.
Aemond’s eye went wide. “And… she’d be close to Dragonstone…” he muttered. As much
as he loathed it, Dragonstone would have references to the dragondreams his sister was
trapped in and know how to aid her. He knew that Daenys the Dreamer, his ancestor, she had
had powerful dragondreams, it was what had driven his family from Valyria to begin with. If
there were to be records on how to calm and aid his sister, it’d be at Dragonstone. If he could
gain Daemon and Rhaenyra’s aid in this matter, much as he loathed it, it would protect
Helaena from the Faith.
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Rody sneered.
“Starks are steeped in ancient magic,” Aemond looked at Cregan. “Your bloodlines are
magic, you’ve admitted it. Mine are as well, though not nearly as old as the Starks. My
ancestor, Daenys the Dreamer, she had the most prolific dragondreams recorded in our
bloodlines. Helaena is the first dragondreamer since Aegon the Conqueror, it’s a rare gift, and
never that strong, but it is a gift of our bloodlines. King Viserys fancied he had it, but I
promise you, he doesn’t, Hel does,” he explained. “If there is a way to control it, or
understand it, those records would not be anywhere but Dragonstone, there is a reason we
maintain it as our Holding.”
“You don’t…” Rody started.
Cregan nodded then. “Very well, we’ll speak with Daemon Targaryen and Rhaenyra
Targaryen before we move in actions,” he stated. “If we can leverage their protection and
prevent her from being a hostage we should, they are aware of what we hunt, we might as
well use it, keeps the civil war at bay a little longer. If we can move all of the Targaryens
before Aegon’s and Viserys’ respective deaths then we will stave off the civil war a little
longer, because it will force the Greens to need to regather behind an heir, and if we move
Aegon’s line North, they will be out of reach.”
“You… you don’t think Aegon will survive?” Aemond stammered out.
“He hasn’t woken yet, and if he does not wake soon, I would not expect him to wake at all,
best to hope for a peaceful death,” Cregan said sympathetically.
“He was a monster, but he was my brother,” Aemond muttered.
“And now you have a new brother,” Rody declared.
“Rody, whatever we arrange for Princess Helaena, you’re her guard, you and pick three of
your brothers, whatever we need to do, she is not to be unattended, and neither are her
children, we do not let anyone take her children from her and we do not permit her to be put
in a sept.”
“Aye, my lord,” Rody nodded. “I’ll speak with my father and brothers, we’ll arrange the
guard,” he walked off then.
“We should speak with Daemon and Rhaenyra now, rather than later,” Cregan said. “Before
anything else happens.”
“I…” he stammered.
“Aemond, despite if you trust me or not, I will not permit anything to happen to your sister,
I’d kill for mine, so I know what you’ll do for yours,” Cregan stated.
Aemond nodded slowly as they walked for the Black apartments. He was surprised at the
calmness of Cregan as he swept in, and Aemond followed, he saw Rhaenyra, Daemon, their
brats, and Corlys with Rhaenys. It was a picture of a family and domestic bliss, which
surprised and angered Aemond as he looked at his sister and her family, he wanted to snap
and snarl at them, but he was also envious of the sight before him. His family never had
moments like this, he had to actively carve out moments of togetherness for Helaena and her
children as well a his little brother, seeing Rhaenyra being a mother, and Daemon with the
bastards, as well as his own daughters, Aemond wanted to hurt them all. He wouldn’t, but he
wanted to. He glared when Lucerys saw them and the boy flinched, much to Aemond’s
delight.
“My Princess, My Prince, I am here to speak as Warden of the North, and Lord of Winterfell
on behalf of my new bannerman, Lord Drekaúlfur, about the matter regarding the Crown
Family and their current state,” Cregan stated. Aemond watched Daemon and Rhaenrya nod,
then rise, their younger children were herded into a different room in the apartment and then
Lord Corlys prepared a table. Aemond glanced at Cregan, who nodded reassuringly at him as
they walked to the table. Aemond took the end of the table in case he had to leave sooner
rather than later, no doubt Daeron would retrieve him if things were going awry with
Helaena.
It was a surprise to Aemond when Rhaena, Baela, Jacaerys, and Lucerys were also seated at
the table. Corlys sat with Rhaenys on his right, Lucerys on his left, Rhaenyra took her seat at
the head of the table, Daemon on her right, Rhaenys on her left, Baela sat beside Daemon,
and Rhaena beside her twin to Aemond’s right. Jacearys sat on the other side of Cregan
beside Lucerys, though he glared at his little brother at this time. Aemond shot Cregan a way
look, and Cregan gave him a small nod.
“Princess Helaena is suffering from an extreme greensight, or dragondreams, whichever you

desire to call it, and she is under threat from the septons and septas of having her children
removed from her care and sent to a sept,” Cregan stated.
“No,” Corlys snarled low, Rhaenys grabbed her husband’s hand then and Aemond frowned.
That was an odd reaction, he could not remember Corlys ever giving a fuck about Aemond
and his. Then again, things had been odd since the day Aegon had been stabbed, or rather,
Aemond’s wedding. Especially the looks Daemon would be giving Aemond after Small
Council meetings; he did not understand the Blacks.
“Prince Daemon has proposed a solution which… is intolerable, but an understandable

compromise can be made,” Cregan continued.
“Intolerable?” Rhaenys sputtered.
“Do not pretend the Blacks have not been purposely antagonistic to the Greens and the
Greens purposely antagonistic to the Blacks, neither side of this family can get along,”
Cregan cut off. Aemond wisely said nothing. “However, given Princess Helaena does need
assistance of the Targaryen family, I have a compromise. I will send word, with four of my
bannermen to take Princess Helaena to our newest sworn banners, Ser Vaemond Velaryon of
Driftmark, and have him host her and her children until a time Prince Aemond, Lord
Drekaúlfur, can retrieve her and her children and take them to Lenton.”
“It will look like the North is amassing dragons,” Daemon countered firmly.
“But it will not look like we are holding hostages,” Aemond countered softly as he looked at
his uncle. “Do not pretend to care for me and mine, nuncle, if my sister is placed in your care
it will lead to greater neglect and misery as she will be viewed as a hostage and be the very
excuse my grandsire needs to instigate war.”
“We have no desire to hold my sister hostage,” Rhaenrya started.
“My sister, not yours, NEVER yours,” he snarled furiously.
“Aemond,” Cregan warned softly. He leaned back as he glared at Rhaenyra and hers
threateningly. “It is in the best interests of Princess Helaena’s children if they are secured
with their mother, and it will be for the best for Princess Helaena to know they are secured.
However, as Winterfell is my ancestral seat and holds records no outsider would be permitted
to possess to aid us in our times of need, I can presume Dragonstone holds a similar place of
value to House Targaryen, and I will concede to aid Princess Helaena access to Dragonstone
is necessary. Driftmark and Dragonstone are near enough to one another for Princess Helaena
to safely travel on dragon back between the islands, or travel by sea if she is unable to.”
“I will retrieve Helaena and her children after my campaigns,” Aemond stated.
“About that,” Rhaenrya said. “When should Daemon and the girls prepare…”
“They will not be accompanying Sansa and I,” Aemond cut off swiftly. He had not had time
to properly address this matter after Sansa had come to him with it in hand before…
everything from last night. He had been attempting to figure out a way out of Daemon’s
command, but now he was just going to refuse. Part of the ruse he needed to move freely was
that he and Sansa were newlyweds, and doing whatever it was newlyweds did that were
not… this, they needed the ability to move freely and not be entertaining his uncle and his
children. No, Aemond knew he and Sansa had to at least pretend to be interested in starting
their own family and seemingly obsessed with producing an heir of their own; after all they
were just married. It would be the best ruse for them to be left alone to investigate the
records. It would also be a perfect ruse for him if they were caught where they weren’t
supposed to be, a young husband obsessed with his wife, experimenting with their pleasure,
not a new tale to spin if they were caught investigating anything.
“Aemond,” Daemon sighed with this long suffering, fatherly tone that surprised Aemond
enough that he didn’t even think to snap back. “You are making enemies, and travelling
without attendants or a guard is unwise, particularly if you are investigating a conspiracy,”
Daemon stated.
“And the conspiracy might be much larger than you or your lady wife can manage,” Corlys
stated.
“Enough!” Aemond snarled. “I am not young, naïve, blinded by lust, or a lackwit! I have
worked every bloody day of my life since I was eight years old and Aegon decided he would
not be attending to the matters an heir attends to because gods know you,” he pointed at
Rhaenrya. “And you!” he jabbed a finger at his uncle then. “Don’t bloody do a damn thing if
it isn’t of interest to you! Not a single one of you have bothered to be in this bloody Keep for
over ten years, and do not use exile as a reason to stay away when neither of you have ever
given a damn about propriety or duty or reputation or the actual bloody Crown and the Realm
in it’s bloody care!
“I have endured your constant belittling,” he snarled as he glared at Corlys and Rhaenys then.
“And endured your abuses,” he glared at Lucerys and Jacaerys then. “And I have never
complained or bothered to speak on your dismal behaviors! I will now, no, to all of your
attempts to interfere with my affairs! No!
“No, a babe is not a concern,” he turned to Rhaenys. “For that would require I have enough
alone time with my wife to do more than sleep in a bed, I haven’t had time to bathe between
attending to my family at this time and the Small Council! I have had little sleep, and little
food, and whatever makes you think a babe, which is not likely to be conceived with the
amount of work I have been attending to, is even on a list of concerns of mine and Sansa’s,
you are mistaken and the matter is still for Sansa and I to discuss at that time! I will not be
bullied by a bitter old hag about my affairs and if I have children they are not of your
concern! You are not my aunt, my grandmother, my family, we happen to share blood,
nothing more. Also, there are ways to prevent a babe from catching and starting a family will
be discussed between myself and my bloody wife, not you!
“And you, I am not slow, lackwitted, or anything else, I am working my bloody arse off for
this Realm,” Aemond turned on Corlys. “And unlike you, I have thoroughly attended to all
my affairs, to prevent discourse and ill tempered family from breaking my bloody House. I
have been attending to this Realm and Crown since I was but a boy, do not ever presume to
inform me I do not comprehend the duties I have willingly shouldered because I have
shouldered many I never wanted. Do not ever presume a familiarity of address with me, and
do not act like I am one of yours, you would rather see me tortured than cease your
grandson’s offensive behavior which has offended my bride, her brother, and her sister, you
do not interfere with your heir’s poor behavior, so do not ever attempt to lecture mine.
“Further, while I retain the title Prince, I am a member of the Crown, do not ever presume to
give me or my wife an order from the bloody Crown when you have never bothered to attend
to any matter regarding the Crown, sister,” he sneered. “Do not presume familiarity between
us, do not feign concern, and do not ever attempt to bully my wife with your tactics again.
Sansa and I are very well aware of the dangers lurking for what we seek, and we are willing
to hunt this threat down. My wife was selected by me, because she is not a gentle lady but
rather a Northern wolf, and you would do well to remember that. She is not a liability; she is
not blindly following me into danger either. Do not be so presumptuous,” he snapped.
“And you,” he turned his glare on Daemon. “You have never cared about me or mine, and
regardless of whatever enemies I have been making, I’m aware of them. I do not need your
protection; for you are likely to be one of them. Why would I ever trust you when you are
likely to kill me if I pose a threat to your precious wife and her sons? In turn, you pose as
much threat to me and mine, and I’m not inclined to trust you. Having you attend my
campaigns, my honeymoon, is a blatant insult, for it speaks more to your lack of trust or
ability to be alone with a woman, or women in general, and I am not Aegon if any of you
even bothered to look into my history.
“And finally, I do not want them near me or mine, given they have tried to kill me,” he stated
as he glared at Baela and Rhaena. Rhaena flinched under his glare while Baela jutted her jaw
defiantly.
“Aemond, my actions were not meant as insult,” Daemon stated. “But rather you are making
enemies and about to head into an area where you will be surrounded on all sides. Then you
are endangering yourself and your wife, with no regard to you or yours if you die.”
“If I’m surrounded on all sides that means my enemy has nowhere left to run, nuncle, and
they should fear that,” Aemond snarled. “Do not interfere with my affairs again.”
“Aemond,” Rhaenyra started, and Aemond resisted the urge to curl back his lip to snarl at
her. “You cannot go into danger without a guard or plan.”
“I have a plan,” he countered. “I have never had need for a formal guard and will not accept
one to appease you. You have no care for me or mine, and that has not changed just because
of a conspiracy I have found forcing House Targaryen to band together. Helaena will visit Ser
Vaemond, and she will have access to Dragonstone to sooth her mind as needed. And then I
will collect her and take her to Lenton. She and her children will not be your hostages, and
any threat made against them, and I will burn everything you hold dear to the ground. I do
not mind starting this bloody war if you threaten her and her children.”
That was when Aemond stood and strode out before any of them could dare to counter him.
He knew that he had just grossly overstepped Cregan, but he was honestly too tired to care.
Chapter End Notes
Short chapter because edits got put on hold today. They're happening tomorrow when I
get home.
Chapter 20
Cregan frowned but didn’t rebuff Aemond’s threats, knowing that ultimately Aemond was
correct. Even as he watched the Blacks. Aemond wasn’t privy to or emotionally aware
enough to comprehend the shift in the Blacks though, something had changed and the Blacks
were attempting to connect with Aemond and his family. Which was surprising. Aemond
probably hadn’t noticed or was very wary and vicious to this change. Not that Cregan faulted
Aemond, Aemond was a feral animal at times, surly, unpredictable, and dangerous. Unlike
the Blacks though, Aemond didn’t perceive emotion beyond what he was certain was, and the
Blacks were always aggressive to him, so he was just as aggressive back; not the smartest
tactic in Cregan’s mind given Aemond rode Vhagar, and Vhagar was a war dragon
outclassing all of the Black’s dragons in sheer size and skill.
“He is being a fool,” Daemon informed Cregan.
“Then let me be clear, Prince Daemon. I am bound to you by oaths, but I am bound to
Aemond Targaryen by blood, and wolves are always more loyal to their pack than their
masters, so make no mistake, if you should attempt to hold Helaeana Targaryen and her
children hostage, if you should act as threat to my goodbrother, I will bring a wrath upon you
with the likes of which you have never encountered. You fought one war, a skirmish really, I
have been born in war, I lack dragons, but you lack tactics, do not think you can go against
the North,” Cregan warned.
“You dare threaten your liege?” Daemon raised his brow.
“I do not make threats, Prince Daemon, I forewarn outcomes,” Cregan stated simply.
“You would move against us?” Rhaenyra asked.
“As liege lord of the North, yes, because Prince Aemond is my vassal now, and he is under
my protection, I am to protect him and he me, to do that, I will back him. As Warden of the
North, yes, I will back him, it is my duty, for justice and honor are only respected so long as I
maintain my vassals and protect them equally. As his brother, for he is now my family, yes, I
would move with him, because he is a part of the Stark pack now, and wolves are always
more loyal to their own than their masters,” Cregan reminded them. “The North will still
bring Winter if called upon by Princess Rhaenyra, she is our future, but until I am called
upon, my loyalties are solely to the North and the Crown.”
Standing he left them behind as he went to go find some of his Winter’s Council, he would
have to speak to them, see if anyone had received a missive of any sort so far from the North,
he was not liking the silence from Jon. Last time Jon had been silent was to bend the knee for
the North to a Targaryen that the North apparently did not want. And Cregan didn’t think Jon
could be so foolish to hand over his home, but still, Cregan was wary of the silence.
Especially since Jon had been communicating well.
Baela flinched when her father’s gaze turned to her and Rhaena then, Rhaenyra looked just as
displeased. She noted that Jace and Luke were looking at the table, and Rhaenys and Corlys
were even looking slightly ashamed. She didn’t understand the new looks, it was Aemond!
Aemond was a coward, thief, and bully! He stole Rhaena’s dragon! He threatened Luke with
a rock! He was evil!
“There has been enough discourse,” Rhaenyra sighed.
“No,” Daemon countered firmly. “There will be no more fighting!” Daemon glared at her and
then at Jace and Luke. “This feud has gone on too long, and now there is a threat against our
House and divided we will fall! This very civil war is designed to kill yourself, your sisters,
and every one of us with Valyrian blood! We will no longer be divided and you will be
making amends to Aemond, and we will be mending the rift, there is no longer Greens and
Blacks, there is House Targaryen, and you will begin to understand that!”
“I… he stole Rhaena’s dragon!” Baela snapped furiously. She had never seen her father this
angry with her or Rhaena, and the way he was glaring at them was not normal, she did not
like it, and it twisted her stomach into knots.
“He was going to Vhagar to die!” Rhaenys stated firmly.
Baela opened her mouth to object.
“He was ten years old, Baela, but a scant few years older than yourself at that time, and he
was prepared to die, Vhagar had just… just… just killed Laena, and Aemond went to Vhagar
knowing she had killed Laena, he was prepared to die,” Rhaenys explained. “We were all
so… pained, and grieving, but that child was unsupervised long enough to make his way to
Vhagar, and he was prepared to die. Vhagar.”
“Vhagar wasn’t his to claim!” Baela snapped furiously. “She was mother’s dragon! She was
not for Aemond!”
“That is enough!” Rhaena hissed. “I have Morning! I... I will always love Vhagar, but I have
Morning,” Rhaena said as she scratched her small dragon’s head. Baela glared at her sister,
the insult of Aemond stealing their mother’s dragon would not be forgiven!
“Mother would never have wanted him riding Vhagar!”
“But he does,” her father snapped. “There will be no more fighting. When Princess Helaena
is at Driftmark we will be attending to her and her children, we will visit and host her, we
will make certain she is cared for and protected. This is no longer Greens and Blacks, this is
about our House and family, and despite the past twenty years, they are a part of this House
and this family and we will be treating them as such. If I hear one more word about any
antagonism from any of you, I will tan your hides!”
“But…”
“No. This has gone too far, and too long, we face an attack on our House, Baela,” he cut her
off.
“We have dragons.”
“And that will not save us from a mob,” Rhaenyra said softly. “Daemon is right, we have
kept this alive too long, it is time to remember we are one family, one House. When Princess
Helaena is at Driftmark, I expect her to be attended to, and her children treated well, and as
members of this House.”
“Mother…”
“No,” she cut off Luke then. “I want us to be strong, because our enemy is dangerous and
rather intent on our destruction, we will protect our own. Aemond and Helaena and her
children are a part of our own, and so is Prince Daeron. I will be expecting your best behavior
and for you attempt to mend the bonds between our Houses.”
“They are usurpers, they don’t belong in House Targaryen!” Baela protested.
“They are Viserys’ blood, your uncle’s blood, my blood. My grandmother would be ashamed
to see how we have fallen,” Daemon muttered. “We will no longer be playing into the
Green’s hands, but we will be bringing House Targaryen back together, so you can accept
that, or accept the punishments to come for being unable to be civil and proper at the very
least with the Greens. Is that clear?”
“Yes father,” Rhaena whispered.
Baela glared at her father, and he glared levelly back. Part of her wanted to scream ‘no’ but
that would not accomplish anything. Mother had warned her that when father had that look in
his eyes, he was not to be trifled with. But she was not inclined to make this easy for him
either. Aemond was not a Targaryen! He was evil! She would not welcome him or his in her
family. Lady Sansa and the Starks were a different matter, but Aemond and his sister, and
brothers, and those snivelling brats from his sister, they weren’t Targaryens, not to Baela.
“Baela.”
“Very well,” she hissed at her father.
“You will do this, daughter,” Daemon warned.
“I said very well.”
“Baela.”
“Yes, father,” she snarled, then got up as she stormed off. She was not inclined to do this. She
could still remember Aemond being so smug after stealing her mother’s dragon, and then
how he held that rock, taunting her and Rhaena for not claiming Vhagar sooner, she hated
him. She would never forgive him for stealing Vhagar, she didn’t care that Rhaena had
Morning now, she would never forgive Aemond for stealing her mother’s dragon. The
bastard deserved worse than losing his fucking eye, and if she’d had it her way she’d have
killed him. He was a monster, and worse, a thief, and she hated him.
“Baela, let it go,” Rhaena whispered suddenly and she turned on her twin.
“He stole your dragon from you, why should you ever forgive him?” Baela demanded.
“I haven’t, but I have Morning, and Morning was meant for me,” Rhaena said softly. “Vhagar
was meant for him.”
“No she wasn’t.”
“She claimed him.”
“No, she didn’t. He stole her,” Baela huffed. “I will never forgive him.”
Sansa looked up when Aemond stalked in, she had just put Maelor down with Helaena,
Daeron was entertaining the twins, and she saw Aemond’s foul mood. He didn’t pause or stop
as he stalked to the private room she didn’t think she’d ever seen him use. He was gone
though, Daeron looked at her with a bit nervous look and she just shook her head as she
walked after Aemond. Tugging her shawl closer to herself she entered the room quietly and
saw it was a study. Aemond was leaning on a desk. He looked up, and she noted he wasn’t
wearing his eyepatch, the sapphire glittered dangerously as he looked at her.
“You do not trust me,” she stated. “But I trust you,” she informed him bluntly. “What has you
upset?”
He didn’t answer.
“Aemond,” she reached up as she walked to him, touching the scar, which had him turning
into her touch.
“I think I started a war, or threated it, and Cregan will either have to aid me or stand against
me,” he muttered.
“I don’t think you’ve started a war,” she chuckled.
He flinched and his eye flicked to her. “I lost my temper, insulted Rhaenyra, Daemon, Corlys,
and Rhaenys.”
“Ah… family squabble,” she shrugged.
“I called Rhaenys an old hag for always attempting to use pregnancy as a reason to listen to
her,” he mumbled.
“She deserved it.”
“And bitter,” he added.
“She is the Queen Who Never Was,” Sansa pointed out. His lips twitched a little.
“Accused Corlys of neglecting his House,” Aemond muttered.

“It’s not an accusation given Ser Vaemond swore fealty to you without any history or
knowledge of what kind of lord you could be, for all he knows, you could be worse. It
reflects well on you though that you had an eager vassal with trade, prosperity, and plans to
bring to fruition for yourself and our overlord. It does reflect very poorly on Corlys though,
as he is Lord of House Velaryon and his own brother and nephews are splitting, publicly and
loudly to head North, swear allegiance to you and Cregan, not even a day after your wedding
and naming to Lenton as Lord Drekaúlfur…” she chuckled wryly as he looked her over.
“Called Rhaenyra a brat in not as many words,” Aemond grimaced.
“She is.”
“In… in history…” he started, but then looked away.
“Do you desire to know?” she asked.
“Yes…” he whispered.
“She is not remembered fondly. The Realms Delight, Maegor with Teats, Maegor’s Teats…
the Whore of Dragonstone; I believe that one was yours, and Half-Year Queen,” Sansa
answered.
“She is a whore,” he muttered.
“And remembered as such,” Sansa shrugged delicately and his lips twitched.
“And I accused my uncle of being a deceitful, mistrustful adulterer essentially since he

desired to accompany us and give me Aegon’s reputation by chaperoning our honeymoon,”
Aemond grimaced. Sansa didn’t respond to that one, Aemond probably had looked up to
Prince Daemon for a good portion of his life, and he had probably wanted to maintain a
connection to his family on both sides, even as he grew. She would only guess that based off
his previous fashion style and general appearance, he looked up to his uncle; there was
nothing wrong with that. She knew he also looked up to Ser Cole, and he looked up to
Cregan as well, so Aemond hadn’t molded himself solely off of Daemon, and Aemond had
probably looked up to historical figures and tried to be the best he could be at everything.
Though being the best was probably a byproduct of the stakes of his life if he was ever
caught; he had to be the best forger, best diplomat, best swordsman, best brother, best Prince,
best son, best brother, best philosopher, best mathematician, best historian, best everything,
because being even slightly off would result in being caught and if he was caught, he was
dead.
“Daemond is remembered with mixed feelings,” she shrugged as his brow came to rest on
hers.
“Why are you so kind? I do not trust you.” He sounded so confused.
“You don’t trust me, Aemond, that’s fair, I will earn your trust back, but we are friends, and I
trust you,” she said simply. “And as such, I will be myself, my truest self with you,” she
whispered.
He stared intently into her eyes and she waited as he came to whatever conclusion he needed,
she stroked her thumb across his cheek and he closed his eye.
“Don’t be,” she whispered.
“I might have started a war.”
“Oh… I think you’re doubting Northern diplomatic skills of knocking sense into idiots,” she
chuckled.
He frowned. “I do not think Cregan will be pleased.
“Cregan’s made of tougher stuff than you’re giving him credit for,” she murmured. “I think
you need sleep, real sleep, and food, and a bath,” she informed him.
“You’re bossy,” he mumbled.
“I am,” she agreed. “Come on, we’ll get a bath and food first, then we’ll get you settled for a
nap of your own.”
Aemond seemed reluctant, but she won out when he just about sagged against her, it didn’t
take her long to win Aemond over. Though he had hesitated when she sat him down to eat
while she summoned a bath for him. It wasn’t much effort on her part to get him to eat, a real
meal too, which was a victory in her mind. Aemond always seemed to be eating on the run,
or too uncomfortable to eat, cornering him for morning meals was usually a task in and of
itself for Sansa but she was persuading her husband to come around for food. He had a
ravenous appetite, but scarfed everything down like a starving man which was concerning to
her.
She helped Aemond strip for the bath. He fell asleep in the bath, and she had to persuade him
to wake, then she managed to push him to a bed outside of his apartments, in her old quarters,
where they fell asleep together. Helaena and her children were guarded by Rody and his
brothers and that was the only reason Sansa had persuaded Aemond to her old quarters for
sleep. Daeron had even helped Sansa with the promise of being with Helaena and her
children at all times.
That was when Aemond surrendered and Sansa got him to her old bed, where he collapsed in
utter exhaustion.
Alicent sat beside Aegon trembling as she prayed to the Mother and the Stranger. She wanted
Aegon to wake, but she also wanted Aegon to die. It’d been too long for him to be in the
healing sleep, and she could feel him dying. Which had tears burning in her eyes as she sat
alone in the room. Cole had gone out to get her some food, and she just wanted to scream and
cry. This wasn’t supposed to be happening, this wasn’t supposed to be the way of things, she
wanted…
She wanted anything but this.
A sob welled up in her chest and soon she found herself gasping as she sobbed, deep, soul
draining sobs which had her tears drowning her as she gave in and curled up crying like a
babe. She screamed in agony as she wept, this wasn’t fair! This wasn’t supposed to happen!
This wasn’t supposed to be the way of life! She cried and cursed as she rose up, pacing the
room, trying to sooth her sobs. But collapsed as she saw her son’s perverted toys and
screamed as she kicked the table, scattering everything. Collapsing on the floor, that’s where
Cole found her.
“Alicent…” he rushed to her side. She was sobbing hard as she hugged herself.
“He’s a monster, he’s a monster, and he’s my son… and I shouldn’t… I should not pray to the
Stranger, Cole… but oh I want him dead!” she confessed. Arms were wrapped around her as
she sobbed, rocking herself. Lips were pressed firmly to her temple, and for a moment she
wanted it to be Aemond, but it wasn’t. It was Cole, and she wondered, not for the first time, if
they had spoken at that tourney how differently everything might be. He pulled her into his
lap and she sobbed into his shoulder.
“You are permitted to love him, even if he is not who he should be,” Cole whispered. “He
was a child, and innocent once,” he reminded her.
“He used…. He used to have this smile…” she hiccupped as she smiled weakly.
“Remember that boy, because that’s your son, this man is not,” he murmured as he rocked her
gently.
“Why could we not meet sooner?” she whispered. “It would have saved us pain and
suffering…”
3rd Day of the 6th Lunar Cycle, Year 128 AC
Aemond watched as Rody and his brothers walked onto Corlys’ ship with Helaena,
Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor. Shrykos and Morghul flew along with them, and Dreamfyre
flew ahead, circling the sea as she flew off. He trembled a bit, Tessarion flew off then too, the
Blue Queen, glittered, and he released a shuddering breath as he closed his eyes. Syrax,
Meraxes, Arrax, Caraxes, and Vermax flew away then, and Aemond now felt utterly alone as
he watched the dragons fly off. Walking Rody and his brothers through how to care for
Helaena had been a challenge, Aemond had not known the North even knew how to care for
someone like Helaena, and he just… he had never relinquished the responsibility; even when
Hel had married Aegon. A slender hand touched his shoulder and he turned to look at Sansa
as she stepped up to his side and she smiled tightly.
“It’s not unusual to be worried when you let go of a sibling,” she confessed.
“I… I do not understand you,” he muttered honestly.
She just nodded. “Just because I have to earn your trust back, Aemond, it doesn’t mean you
don’t have my trust,” she murmured gently. “And… I know how it feels to be here and to
watch all you love be beyond your reach and care, and worse, having to trust someone else to
care for what you hold most dear…”
He rested his brow on hers, as he just closed his eye. He had not known what more he could
do or say without sounding a fool.
Cregan walked up with Sansa, their dire wolves were spread out then, and Cregan was
looking anxious then.
“What is it?” Sansa asked.
“We haven’t had a missive from Jon or Winterfell in a fortnight, with everything happening I
have not dwelled upon it,” Cregan admitted as he glared at the horizon.
“The North is far,” Aemond pointed out.
“And Jon’s not reliable,” Sara grumbled. Cregan whacked her upside the back of the head,
and she glared at Cregan. Sansa looked worried, openly worried, which Aemond didn’t think
she ever had. Even when faced with Vhagar, she hadn’t looked worried, and she looked
worried now.
“Last time he didn’t speak…” she grimaced.
“This isn’t like last time,” Cregan stated.
Aemond frowned as he looked between the Stark siblings, he didn’t think he’d ever not think
of them as siblings. But there was something about the look the thre were sharing.
“What happened last time?” he asked.
“Jon’s like Sansa,” Cregan answered. “He won’t talk about it, but he’s from Sansa’s era, and
last time he didn’t communicate to Sansa he submitted the North’s hard won freedoms to a
new Queen.”
“We shouldn’t tell him, he’ll tell his family,” Sara hissed.
“Daenerys,” he muttered as he looked at Sansa for confirmation. Sansa nodded slowly. “He
was a King? The King in the North…”
“Yes…” Sansa answered uncertainly.
Aemond nodded.
“Sansa!”
“He’s my husband, you’ll understand when you’re married,” Sansa snapped at Sara. “Jon is
my half-brother,” she stated. “And you will not tell him anything about knowing this, it’s his
story to tell if and when he should ever want to,” she warned with a stern finger pointed at
him.
“Why…” Aemond started. But a hard look from Sansa cut him off, she had shared her tale
with him, but if her abuses were bad, it was likely her brother had suffered his own and they
had to be horrific. Sansa had probably not shared everything, but Aemond had been
reminding himself she accepted his secrets these past few days, she had been writing briefs,
and attending to his council in his place when he was attending to the Realm and his family.
“You fear Jon has done something foolish?” Aemond asked warily.
“Aye, he’s both brilliant and an idiot,” Sansa sighed.
“He’s a Stark,” Cregan shrugged.
Sansa rolled her eyes as she had an exasperated expression on her face, and Sara glared at
Cregan. Aemond was coming to understand Starks were almost akin to the wolves they were
equated too, playful, cunning, dangerous, wild, they were also prone for trouble.
“I see Starks are prone to trouble,” Aemond stated wryly.
“If I ever see Bran again, I’m throttling him for whatever Three Eyed Raven magic he
pulled,” Sansa grumbled. “Jon wouldn’t not send missives, so something is happening to
them,” she muttered.
“But what?” Cregan asked.
“Who gains from us being South?” Sansa asked.
Cregan frowned. “They haven’t caused trouble for two years,” he muttered.
“They’re Boltons,” Sansa hissed. “This is the perfect opportunity to claim the North if they
wanted! Jon and Rickon, marry Rickon to that brat he whelped, Barba or something, and
there he goes, he’s got a bloody Stark!”
Cregan snarled and the wolves growled low with their master.
“My Son Is Not A Bartering Chip For Allegiances!” he snarled.
“You don’t think they would?” Aemond whispered.
“Why not?” Sara demanded. “They’ve always been trouble, Lord Bolton does love to remind
me that he has a collection of Stark pelts whenever I encounter him and his on a hunt, they
would be bold and brazen enough. And the histories back me.”
“I could fly to the North and we could see for ourselves, it’s a few days flight on Vhagar,”
Aemond stated. The Northerners had already put Vhagar’s new saddle on her, which she had
preened and pranced around in for days, she had flown about, showing it off, and purring in
delight, Aemond hadn’t seen her so pleased with herself, but he also hadn’t had a chance to
fly with her on it though she seemed in love with her saddle.
“You and Sansa are to leave on your honeymoon,” Cregan stated.
“This is just as important,” Sansa and Aemond countered firmly. “Cregan you should take
Aemond up on his offer, Vhagar is swifter than horses, and if you hold Winterfell then that is
one less thing to worry about, Sara can lead the envoys back, and I’ll return with Aemond to
Lenton when he retrieves me from King’s Landing.”
“I won’t leave until Aemond returns,” Sara promised.
“I did give my word if they caused trouble, I would return to burn their House to the ground,
and tear out the roots,” Aemond muttered.
“Very well,” Cregan surrendered. “I fucking hate flying,” he muttered.
“It’ll be better this way, we can even use one of the harnesses to secure Ice with you two and
that way you’ll have Ice in the North,” Sansa stated.
“Jon better not be dead again, because I’m killing him if he lost Winterfell!” he snarled.
“If he’s dead again, I’ll kill him,” Sansa snarled with Cregan’s statement. Aemond looked
between the Starks, if he didn’t know she was Cregan’s many-times great granddaughter,
he’d have truly thought them siblings.
“I’ll be back in a fortnight,” he assured Sansa.
“Fly safe,” she ordered.
He nodded as he pressed a kiss to her temple before walking with Cregan.
“I understand Southron folk like the plated armor, but I’ll lend you some mail,” Cregan stated
as they walked.
He nodded as they went to grab up the packs they had packed. Ice loped ahead of them.
Cregan stopped to speak with his Winter’s Council, and Aemond waited a little ways off.
Cregan gestured to Sansa and Sara, the Winter Council nodded and that seemed to be that.
“What’s your plan?” Aemond asked as Cregan walked with him.
“As much as I want to tear the Boltons out root and stem, that will not be feasible, so I want
Barba Bolton in my custody… then I’ll burn their House to the ground,” Cregan decided.
“Why?”
“She is of value,” Cregan stated. “Starks have married the North for generations, Sansa’s is
the first marriage to break that tradition, however, having the Bolton as my hostage, it will
have her lands falling in line, marrying her into my family, raising her in my family, it will
have her loyalty to Starks, and Starks alone, but if her father’s followers rise up, killing her
ends the bloodline.”
“And could you?” Aemond asked.
“Could I what?” Cregan asked.
“Kill her, she is a child,” Aemond stated.
“I am only effective as Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North if I am willing, and able,
to carry out my threats, do not make a threat, do not hold a hostage, unless you are willing to
do what is necessary to carry out that responsibility, because the inability to carry out your
threat makes you harmless,” Cregan stated.
“So you can kill her?”
“If needed, yes, will I enjoy the act, no,” Cregan answered.
Aemond nodded slowly as they both got on the horses and rode to the gate, it didn’t take
them long to spur their horses into a race as they galloped for Vhagar. Making it there,
Cregan was swift to have her ready. Ice was reluctant, but was loaded up and secured, and
Aemond climbed on as they took off. Vhagar rose, Cregan cursed, Aemond smirked as
Vhagar shook herself out, then bounded for the cliffs before leaping off them.
“Sōnia Vhagar!” he shouted over the winds, feeling her massive body twist and turn as she
headed North, he rather liked the saddle!
Veron watched the banners riding for Winterfell, it was House Manderly, which had him a bit
war. Lord Manderly had not been offended about being left to attend to the North, or the fact
the Starks did not ask them South. But rather they had stayed without complaint, which
wasn’t suspicious, but it was worrisome with recent events. Veron was uneasy as he kept
Winterfell sealed; he would not be the man to lose Winterfell.
“Ellard, send a party to greet Lord Manderly, we are not opening Winterfell,” Veron stated
firmly. Winterfell would remained sealed.
“Aye Captain,” Ellard nodded. The old man motioned for a few men with him, but Veron did
not stop his vigil as he watched. He wondered what the hell Jon Stark was doing, the man
was a menace on his own.
Making it through the mountain passes and now they were in Bolton lands as he moved with
his men. The three other men, Beric, Simon, and Lucas, kept pass with him, and now they
were jogging through the snows and forest. Making it to the Dreadfort was the only goal for
Jon, he moved with the ease the Free Folk had taught him, he trembled a bit at the air burning
his lungs. The forests were silent, and thinning out, it was unsettling. He shivered a bit as
they moved.
“What are we to do with Dreadfort if we take it?” Beric asked softly.
“We take his daughter hostage,” Jon stated firmly. He knew that having Bolton’s daughter
and only heir at this time, would be a great advantage. Also, he had a feeling Cregan would
want the girl as a hostage, afterall even his father, Ned, had held Theon hostage against the
Iron Islands. Jon had held the Free Folk’s children as hostages when he’d been getting them
to comply and work with him; it wasn’t a tactic Jon particularly liked, but it was effective.
“You want to take his daughter?” Simon sputtered.
“Aye, he has no wife at this time, so his daughter is his only legal heir, bastards can’t claim
the Dreadfort,” Jon stated.
“And when we have her?”
“Give her to Cregan,” Jon answered. “We take Dreadfort though, having her as our hostage
will either give us the Dreadfort, or give us reason to burn it to the ground, and kill off her
family.”
“We should kill her then,” Lucas stated.
“No. Similar to needing a Stark to hold the North, we need a Bolton to hold the Lonely
Hills,” Jon admitted. The North was akin to the Free Folk, their people were wild,
independent, and noncompliant. Despite the conscription in place, and the military prowess
of the North, it was not to be one people they were many people who ultimately banded
together against a common threat, and banded together under one liege. But they were loyal,
long-lived folk who never forgot anything. To take Bolton lands would require a Bolton
hostage.
Chapter 21
The roar shook the ground, had birds screaming as they took to the skies, the deer bolting and
everyone freezing as they looked up. The massive beast glided effortlessly overhead. Jon’s
heart plummeted until the beast circled the Keep, another thundering roar, but Jon could see
Cregan and Aemond on the beast, small as they were, he just knew. Vhagar was Prince
Aemond’s dragon, and that other dot on the beast had to Cregan Stark, Cregan was foolish
enough to take a ride from a dragon. Jon never would again. He’d rather eat glass. Vhagar
landed and Jon motioned for his men to move then, jogging over the open fields as Cregan
walked towards him. Prince Aemond was with Cregan, and so was Ice.
“Knew you weren’t dead,” Cregan stated as he neared Jon.
“Not for a lack of trying,” Jon sighed as he looked at Cregan. Cregan turned to the Dreadfort
and walked forward, pulling Ice from his back as Ice loped beside him gracefully. Aemond
gave Jon a nod before following Cregan, pulling his own sword. Jon pulled Long Claw and
he saw the other men with him pull their weapons. Vhagar rose above all of them, her jaws
were parted, glowing, Jon could feel the heat of her fires as he passed to follow his ancestor.
“Open the gate,” Cregan ordered sharply. Jon saw the guards on the Dreadfort tremble.
“Aemond,” Cregan gestured to the prince.
“Dracarys,” Aemond said. Vhagar let out a thunderous roar as she reared her head, burning
the skies, birds screamed, animals made a ruckus that could be heard as the skies burned with
Vhagar’s fure. She lowered her jaws, her head snaking over to them, it unsettled Jon as she
kept her jaws parted, the fires glowed, her eye was the size of them, and she seemed to gleam
with anticipation.
“Open the gate or I will have Lord Drekaúlfur burn them open,” Cregan ordered.
The gates were slowly opened and Cregan swept in, Jon followed as Aemond and did. Ice
bristled, looking very large and dangerous. Jon trembled a bit as they walked into the
Dreadfort, everything in him was screaming to get away, he could feel the evil steeped into
this castle.
“What is the meaning of this!?” a steward rushed out.
“Ah, good, I am here for the fostering of Lady Barba Bolton, she is to be relinquished into
my custody, now,” Cregan stated.
“You have no right…” the steward started. The hounds were barking, and Jon tightened his
grip on Long Claw, shivering.
“I am Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and I was informed of an assault on

Winterfell, and the results are such that Lord Bolton will reliniquish his daughter to my
custody or find my wrath permanent, and devastating,” Cregan warned. “Lord Drekaúlfur is
prepared to make good on his threat from previous years and operates as a loyal vassal to me,
so he eagerly awaits for you to comply or discover what a war dragon can do. Harrenhal has
never been the same,” Cregan said.
The servants scrambled then, and Cregan waited. Ice’s lips curled back, the snarl the wolf
gave out had the hounds silencing as Cregan waited.
“I said Lord Bolton’s daughter, this is the babe of a servant, do not attempt deception or you
will all burn,” Cregan warned when the servant appeared in tears with a bundle.
The steward looked furious, but then terrified as Ice snapped his jaws threateningly. It was
obvious when they brought the correct child out, a baby girl, about two or three years of age.
She looked like a Bolton, Jon glared in disgust at the child. Her greasy brown hair was near
black, she had the haggard, hunted look of a Bolton, and worse, her eyes were a reddish-
brown which all Boltons seemed to have. She looked so small and Jon hated her intensely as
he watched Cregan take her from the servant and walk away. Ice snapped his jaws when the
steward tried to follow, and Cregan didn’t slow or call for Ice. Jon followed, as did the rest of
the men, and Ice did too. It was when they were in the safety of Vhagar’s range that Cregan
looked at Aemond.
“I want you to send a message to Lord Bolton, have him come meet us here, at the Dreadfort,
as he holds the mountain pass, that’s a two day ride for him to come back,” Cregan said.
Aemond nodded.
“Jon, you are to keep Barba safe at all costs,” Cregan said as he handed Jon the girl. Jon
didn’t bother protesting, he knew they’d have to follow Cregan’s orders. Vhagar took to the
skies as they walked into the forest. It didn’t take long for them to conceal themselves or
wait.
“What’s your plan my lord?” Beric asked.
“I’m going to kill Lord Bolton, and his bastards, keep his daughter, take his lands, retain them
in my custody, burn the Dreadfort down, and install an effect regent in place of Barba until I
find her a suitable spouse.”
“You’re going to burn the Dreadfort down?” Jon sputtered.
“Aemond is. Which will make him a man of his word, which will cement his position in the
North,” Cregan stated.
“He can’t…” Jon sputtered.
“Why not?” Cregan countered. “I have a Bolton, soon to be the last Bolton, who will be
raised to our standards, I have a Stark to install into these lands, which is my intentions, given
your history you should be flattered,” Cregan gave Jon a pointed look and Jon paled
drastically then as he stared at his ancestor in horror.
“No…” he sputtered.
“Oh yes, you will be commanding these lands, raising his daughter as a Stark, and you will
be Lord of a new cadet branch of House Stark,” he stated firmly.
“Cregan… I can’t…”
“You’re not getting married right now, but you will do this, and you will do your duty,”
Cregan stated firmly.
Jon felt terrified when pinned by Cregan’s ancient gaze, it was the look his father would get
when Ned had decided on a firm course of action and failure was not an option.
Sansa was sitting quietly alone in the garden by the sea. The winds were tugging on her hair
and she just sat there. Sara was off playing with her friends, and Sansa just wanted peace. She
had still been trying to piece together the conspiracy Aemond had found and she had a
horrible feeling it was bigger than Aemond or she were seeing. Given the ramblings she had
started thinking about Samwell Tarly. Sam was ever reliable, ever faithful, ever true, and he
had never faltered in what he did or said. So if he found a conspiracy or conspiracies; if his
ramblings were to be believed, then there was something very sinister happening indeed.
Sansa didn’t know what to make of that.
Facts she knew.
1. Sam had claimed the Citadel and Maesters had poisoned the dragons. That would take
decades of planning, she knew that, because it would take decades of studying.
The dragons were long lived, and akin to other reptiles, they never really stopped growing,
their massive sizes were not truly sustainable though, they did die of old age. But old age for
a dragon was when they were crushed beneath their own weight. Balerion the Black Dread
had been born in Valyria, well before the Doom, and lived to 94 AC. Sansa had even double
checked those facts to be certain. He’d been well over three hundred years old when he had
died. Vhagar was almost two hundred, and she was not showing signs of slowing down for
death.
Now the dragons were smaller, weaker; and it could be argued that it was from a lack of
resources or a lack of competition, but then the theory would insinuate that Vhagar would not
still be growing, and according to Aemond she was. Which made Sansa think that something
had happened to the dragons, she’d have to double check breed programs in the North but she
remembered reading once about the stunted growth of chickens who were receiving a lack of
bugs and crushed eggshells in their diets and thus not inclined to lay eggs. Sansa knew food
affected animals, it’s why harvests mattered so greatly, why they took care with their
livestock, so the same principle could and should be applied to dragons. The largest of the
Targaryen dragons, born after the Conquest were Meleys, Dreamfyre, Sunfyre, Vermithor,
Silverwing, and Caraxes, they were all hatched after the Conquest. Something though, had
happened between them and the more recent dragons hatched; Morning was tiny, Shrykos,
Morghul, and Arrax, Vermax, Tyraxes, Tessarion were all also small. Syrax seemed to be
small too, but she was still large and growing swiftly from what Sansa had witnessed. Sansa
would admit she was not very knowledgeable about dragons, but something wasn’t right.
Daenerys’ dragons, Viserys, Rhaegal, and Drogon had all outgrown and outclassed the
dragons hatched recently, and those three had not even been a decade old before becoming
massive beasts.
So that meant there was a conspiracy stunting the dragons, but how and why?
The most obvious answer was the food source, or the diet, but Sansa didn’t think that would
do it alone. Dragons had proven they would improvise their own diet if not satisfied with
being fed in captivity, they weren’t afraid to either. So diet, while obvious, and an obvious
way to poison a dragon was not a sufficient or long term method.
Sansa had a feeling she’d have to research more into reptiles like snake and the like as well as
look at the birds. Dragons like their reptilian and bird counterparts laid eggs, and if their
young was like the other two, they were vulnerable in the egg, so Sansa wondered if
incubation, or temperatures played a role in the development of young baby dragons. She
would again, admit, she was not very knowledgeable in this area. She would have killed to
have Sam around to speak to him. But, if humans were afflicted with defects that
handicapped growth and development later in life from the womb, why could a dragon not
suffer such an affliction from the egg?
Gods… she’d really kill to have Samwell Tarly here!
2. House Targaryen had an unusual amount of death and suffering in it for all their births.
But if this conspiracy was connected to the eradication of the Dragons, it was also plausible it
was connected to the eradication of House Targaryen. History would not back Sansa’s claim,
but she was certain something was killing Targaryens in history. She did not have to look
further than King Jaehaerys and Queen Alyssane! They had thirteen children and still
suffered a succession crisis which would lead to the Dance of the Dragons. And most of this
was inspired from Sansa scouring the library the past few days and finding accounts from
King Jaehaeyrs about his and Alysanne’s love and life.
Queen Alysanne had lost her first babe in 52 AC, after an open assassination attempt at
Jonquil’s Pool in Maidenpool. And though Sansa knew the Good Queen had purposely and
willfully broken sacred tradition by bathing in those pools; which was an insult to many of
those who practiced the Faith, the open attempt from the septas had cost Queen Alysanne her
first child. The connection to the Faith though was curious. Yes, Sansa was certain that after
the reign of Maegor the relations between the Targaryens and the Faith would never be fixed,
but both the blatant insult from Queen Alysanne and then the open assassination attempt from
the Faith were curious to Sansa’s eye. It was curious, very curious, because it was the last
open attempt on Queen Alysanne and King Jaehaerys. King Robert had fended off assassins
in his early reign left and right, and other Targaryens had had a similar issue, but this was the
last open attempt in King Jaehaerys’ reign on him and his wife; which was curious. King
Viserys had also not suffered from assassinations, and that made Sansa wary.
Princess Daenerys was the second child to die in 60 AC, in the Shivers epidemic which had
killed many. Sansa wondered if this was the first, quiet death the Faith did. The maesters
would be attending to the child, and she’d be at their mercies, the Targaryens would honestly
not know the differences between the medicines and poisons, because King Jaehaerys’ own
accounts said he and his wife were afflicted with the Shivers too. Princess Daenerys’ though
died, barely six namedays old.
Prince Gaemon was next, he died at three months old in 74 AC, premature birth, it was said
his labor had maesters concerned for Queen Alysanne’s health, she was becoming old and
bearing children at her age was always risky at that point. Prince Gaemon died quietly in the
night, a wet nurse found him in the morning when he was blue, which Sansa thought was
rather odd. Yes, babies died of all manner of things, she and Cregan had been and still were
terrified Rickon would die in the middle of the night, they were constantly checking his
breathing and sounds, keeping a close eye on the babe. Sansa had spoken to other mothers
who said that babes could just die suddenly, they’d be a healthy pink, then pale as ice, and
gone from this world, but they were never… blue. The account was odd in Sansa’s mind.
Blue meant someone cut off the ability to breath, she knew that from how frequently Ramsey
took delight in strangling Theon or her.
Prince Valerion was the next dead child in 78 AC, and yes, there were records of him being
sickly and weak, but more interesting was the fact that again, this was a troubled labor for
Queen Alysanne. Queen Alysanne was bedridden for well over half a year, and nearly died
herself. Two poor labors in a row was odd to Sansa; though that could just be because she’d
never had a labor to endure and did not know the strain of it on the body, but still, two in a
row nearly killing Queen Alysanne? It was not sounding normal.
Princess Daella died next of childbed fever in 82 AC, and Sansa would admit there was risks,
but she had scoured the records here at the Red Keep, and nothing indicated that Princess
Daella should’ve died. Yes, the woman had been of a petite stature, but that didn’t constitute
immediate death in the childbed. The matter of her labor was also suspicious, Daella had
been having an easy pregnancy, but reported being afraid; which was why Queen Alysanne
flew out to the Vale, the record said Daella had gone a bit mad in pregnancy, and grew very
paranoid, screaming the maesters were attempting to harm her and her babe. After what had
happened to Arra, Sansa was willing to dismiss the records she had found as Daella going
mad, but rather something spooking the young princess.
Princess Alyssa died next in 84 AC, again, from complications of childbirth. Princess Alyssa
had had two healthy sons, King Viserys and Prince Daemon, and by Jaehaerys’ account, her
third pregnancy was going smoothly. The labor though was long and difficult, it was
advocated that Prince Baelor consent to giving her the cut, he did not, she gave birth to a
breech son who tore her open. Alyssa lived for about a year after at that, and died because of
the complications from the birth. Her son, Prince Aegon followed her soon after. Again, the
death was odd to Sansa, that was too many times she’d heard of a woman dying in child
labor. Yes, there was risk, but Sansa did not think it was this fatal; her own mother bore five
healthy children, her aunt suffered many labors through her miscarriages, Queen Cersei had
given birth to four healthy children; though her first born died of the Shivers before his first
nameday. There was always a mortality rate in the childbed, but Sansa did not think it was so
great.
Princess Viserra; one of Arya’s heroes, had died at sixteen, in 87 AC, she died in a horse race.
Sansa found that suspicious, though Viserra’s death could be viewed as a genuine accident of
a foolhardy, wild lass, it did not make sense, this many dead Targaryens was suspicious in
Sansa’s mind. By all accounts Princess Viserra was a fair horse woman; dying by a horse race
wasn’t implausible, but given the rapid succession of deaths in this family, spanning less than
a decade, it was odd to Sansa.
Prince Aemon was killed in 92 AC, he had married a Baratheon, having Rhaenys Targaryen.
Prince Aemon’s death was a fluke and genuine casualty of war. Myrish pirates weren’t to be
trifled with, even in Sansa’s era. But if it was reframed in the mind’s eye, Sansa could see it
being an assassination, which was claimed for Lord Cameron and accidentally struck Aemon
down; instead, what if Aemon had been the target all along? What if it wasn’t Myrish pirates?
That was a reach, but still, it would need to be examined later. Sansa knew that Valyrian
Freeholds and Westeros had complicated histories, especially with Targaryens still possessing
dragons, and no slaves, and Westersos general disdain for slavery; it created tensions. So it
was plausible his death might not have been a death orchestrated by the conspiracy Aemond
had possibly uncovered, but it could open the door to another conspiracy across the sea if
closely investigated.
Septa Maegelle’s death in 96 AC didn’t look overtly or covertly suspicious, but if someone
was killing off Targaryens, regardless of if this one joined the Faith or not, it was plausible to
have orchestrated her death. Given the extreme contagiousness of Grey Scale, purposeful
exposure to the disease could hide the assassination, and the disease would be natural. Still,
Sansa knew diseases could be weaponized, there was a famous instance of that happening at
the Wall, one which had been a dark stain on the Brothers of the Night’s Watch and the North
when the Starks had heard what one Lord Commander had willfully done. The Lord
Commander had passed out blankets from those infected with Grey Scale out to the
Wildlings, and the resulting pandemic had been one of the times Sansa’s ancestors had to go
beyond the Wall to put a merciful end to the suferings inflicted by people. It was not a good
moment for the Starks, or Boltons, because it was one of the rare times they worked together.
But the point stood, purposeful exposure was possible, and it would hide an assassination.
Princess Gael committed suicide in 99 AC, reading the records, Sansa saw it was shortly after
a stillbirth of her son. It was surprising how many of the Targaryens were dying in the
childbed when Sansa actually started examining it, and it was unsettling how many of their
babes were dying in the cradle. Yes, great families had children they lost, but they did not
lose them like this, or at this rate. Sansa’s own parents had been scared they almost lost
Rickon, but all five of her mother’s children had lived. Rody’s family had only lost two
children before they were five. Losing children, though horrifying and heartbreaking, did not
happen how this was happening. Princess Gael’s tragedy was hidden though, and Sansa only
found it by fluke of looking through the library and finding an old diary of King Jaehaerys
which she had been reading for insight.
Prince Baelor died in 101 AC of a burst belly, by all accounts it was similar to how King
Robert from Sansa’s own era had died. A bad stitch in his side on a hunting trip, crippling
pain which had him bedridden, then death. Sansa would have put that one down as a fluke,
but Prince Baelor’s death left the Realm in yet another succession crisis after the death of his
elder brother, and former heir, Prince Aemon. Was it poison? Sansa knew the Dornish had
many poisons which could mimic natural deaths, she remembered overhearing a few
conversations from Prince Oberyn about poisons so innocuous the maesters would never
know to look for them. Unless… they did, but utilized it to kill.
Maester Vaegon’s ‘death’ was around 101 AC as best as she could guess; the man just
disappeared from Jaehaerys’ records! There were no notes about how he died; if he had even
died, just that he had disappeared from the records, barely thirty-nine years of age. Sansa
wondered if Vaegon had learnt something and was about to speak up or speak out and was
silenced; but that was sinister even by her standards. She wondered if Maester Vaegon had
left his own records in the Citadel, if they might give insight into his family, and if it might
provide information for the fate of House Targaryen, she would speak to Aemond about
seeking out his great uncle’s notes and works. Vaegon had been an archmaester by the age of
twenty-seven, so he had to have had a remarkable mind, the fact he was an obscurity was odd
to Sansa. Vaegon Targaryen, the Prince to become a Maester and disappear. It was also
entirely possible he wasn’t dead at all, merely hiding; which she could believe. Jaehaerys’
writing did not sound certain of Vaegon’s death as a fact or work of fiction.
Princess Saera had run off to Lys, and was rumored to have had multiple bastard sons. But
her death was unrecorded, which made Sansa curious about if the woman was or was not still
alive and if she might be able to provide insight into her family and the oddities of the
Targaryens.
Then there were the most recent generation of Targaryens which all seemed to suffer
dismally.
Queen Aemma, daughter of Princess Daella, had suffered two late stage pregnancies, two still
births, and one babe in the cradle, Prince Baelon had only lived a day after his birth. That’s
six more dead baby Targaryens.
Princess Rhaenys had only bore her twins and never had another set of children again, the
record about her birth was… horrifying. Sansa was surprised the woman would even bring up
pregnancy as she had, but reading that account, it was clear that Rhaenys held valid, if
misplaced, concerns.
Lady Laena had given birth to twins her first time, Baela and Rhaena, but her second
pregnancy… the accounts said Prince Daemon was ordered to cut his wife to save his son,
and he did not, Lady Laena died by dragon fire, Vhagar killed her.
Princess Helaena’s own pregnancies were not simple, but her miscarriage could be attributed
to the abuse she suffered from her brother. But overall, until she’d been thrown down the
stairs, her pregnancies seemed to be relatively smooth. The labors had Aemond standing over
her, and he was probably enough of a threat deterrent to not mess with or harm Princess
Helaena or her babes.
And as Aegon was proving, the Targaryen men had no problems impregnating women.
Prince Daemon was rumored to have had his own slew of bastards in history, even now in
Court. His emotional fidelity to his wife was clear as day, but his physical infidelity was well
known. And Viserys had impregnated Queen Aemma and Queen Alicent with relative ease
given the amount of children he had sired.
The amount of women dead in the childbed was suspicious, concerning and terrifying to
Sansa, but it made her curious how long House Targaryen had been under attack. Four
women dead from the childbed, and all of the Targaryen women of the previous generation
seemed to have suffered some affliction or another regarding their births; not their
pregnancies. The only Targaryen who seemed to fly through pregnancy with ease was
Princess Rhaenyra, which Sansa figured could be attributed to a few other factors.
First, Princess Rhaenyra’s affair with Harwin Strong was a well known secret, leaving her to
openly birth bastards proved their illegitimacy with their mere appearance.
Second, her second husband kept her out of reach of the Faith and Maesters, or he kept her
closer to him and safe, so there was also that.
Fact 2 which was not a part of the conspiracy:
3. Funds were disappearing somewhere between tax collection and the capital.
4. Someone was instigating war.
With all that in her mind, Sansa was just sitting quietly trying to think about how to bring up
Jaehaerys’ journals to Aemond. And better yet, how was she to find out what happened to
Vaegon Targaryen, the man, if he wasn’t dead was probably in his sixties by now. Something
was going on, and someone was casting a very large and dangerous net. Whoever was doing
this was patient, generations patient, and that meant it was a Great House, Sansa knew only
the Great Houses were this patient, for they were ancient, other Noble Houses rose and fell
but the Great Houses had stood for millenia and they weren’t crumbling. Even when cripled,
they weren’t going to just collapse in on themselves. It would take generations of planning to
do something like a conspiracy to take out the House of the Dragon or orchestrate the House
of the Dragon tearing itself apart.
She looked up when she heard someone approaching and saw it to be Queen Alicent. Sansa
rose, hiding the journal that had been in her lap.
“My Queen,” she curtsied lowly and waited a moment to rise.
“Lady Sansa,” Alicent said softly.
“How is Prince Aegon?” Sansa asked as they sat again. Sansa sat on the journal to hide it. As
Queen Cersei had proven to Sansa, just because one was married into the ruling faction did
not mean they changed loyalties from their families to their married family. Cersei was
forever a proud Lannister and would kill anyone who dared to say she and her children were
Baratheons despite needing the Baratheon name at that time. Alicent was a Hightower. She
wore Green as a call to war, which is what they did at Hightower.
“He has not woken, yet,” Alicent whispered tightly. Sansa saw Ser Cole standing a little ways
off and she looked at Queen Alicent then.
“I am sorry, I will continue to pray to the Gods for his return to you,” Sansa said
diplomatically. Frostfyre nudged Sansa’s hand with her snout and Sansa rubbed her friend’s
ear absently as she waited.
“I… I am concerned for my son, Aemond,” Alicent said.
Sansa nodded.
“I do not wish to lose him,” Alicent informed Sansa firmly.
“You are free to come visit Lenton whenever you please, my Queen, we would be honored to
host you and Aemond would be happy to see you. I know how he values his family,” Sansa
said.
“And… and you, you intend to be a good, and honorable wife?” Alicent asked hesitantly and
Sansa raised her brows.
“Yes, I believe I will be a good, and honorable wife for your son. I will not any harm befall
him,” Sansa assured gently. “What is your concern, my Queen?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“My son has never had… entanglements, treat his heart with care,” Alicent said softly. “He is
good, and kind, and he will not always be thoughtful, patient, or careful, but be careful with
him. For all his bravado of stoicism and indifference, there is a very fragile young man in him
who needs to be loved. I will no longer be the one to love him, so I must… I plead of you, to
try to love him. For to gain you, he loses me, and I will always love him, but I can no longer
care for him.”
Sansa stared at the woman. “Are you… are you denouncing him?” Sansa sputtered.
“He has chosen you, and that path, and I cannot, in good faith watch my son fall to a heretic’s
ways, and worse, succumb to lust for a pretty woman who is of unknown character,” Alicent
said softly.
“You are denouncing him.”
“I can no longer protect his immortal soul,” Alicent countered. “But I do love him, and he is
my son, so I beg of you, I beg, please, treat him with care. Even if this union is not one of
love, loyalty, and fair ness, treat his heart with care.”
“You… My Queen, I have endured much in my short life, but are you so intolerant in your
Faith and views not to see how you hurt your son by this action? And for what reason?
Because I am a Stark and follow the Old Gods, the Gods of my people and my ways, and
because Aemond is a Targaryen who follows his Gods and the Gods of his people and their
ways? Are you so intolerant of your son’s agony? Because I am aware of how he has tried to
appease you in this union. If your concern is that I am vain and fickle, worry not, for I am a
wolf, and if nothing else I am faithful to my partner. If your concern is for his eternal soul,
perhaps you should focus on your own, for it is your son you are denouncing. If you think me
cruel and malicious, worry not, for Aemond is one of mine now and I shall endeavor never to
leave him feeling he is without support or affection, for my affections and support are not
contingent upon his faith and beliefs!”
Alicent said nothing more as she sat with Sansa for a long time. It was after a long moment
the woman stood and walked away. Sansa scowled after her and sighed. While her own
mother was never particularly fond of the Old Gods, and raised Sansa and her siblings
steeped in the Seven, her love was never contingent upon what religion they followed. Robb,
Arya, Bran, and Jon all followed the Old Gods; even Rickon found them more interesting.
But Sansa had followed the Seven. And yet her mother had never treated them differently for
their beliefs.
Cregan was sitting at a camp, with Barba on his knee, eating some rabbits that Beric had
killed when Lord Bolton rode up. Aemond raised his brow as he lounged against a tree, Jon
and Beric were both sharpening their blades, while Simon and Lucas were cooking. Lord
Bolton came to a hault, and Aemond took a perverse delight in watching the pale man pale
even more as Ice rose to come around Cregan baring his fangs near the little girl’s head. It
was clear to Aemond, Cregan was holding Lord Bolton’s greatest weakness right then.
Cregan finished his bit, handed Barba a leg of a rabbit and looked up at Lord Bolton.
“So kind of you to join us Lord Bolton,” Cregan said as he bounced the toddler on his knee.
Aemond watched the man swing down from his horse, looking intent on murder, but Beric
had an arrow notched, Jon had his sword ready and Aemond had his own sword out then. “I
wouldn’t do that,” Cregan said. “You’re thinking it’s twenty on six, you can take us, but it
will kill your daughter…” Cregan said as he toyed with his hunting knife, the girl was
nibbling on her rabbit leg unaware.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Bolton snarled.
“Test me,” Cregan challenged icily. “I’m a Stark, we’ve done this song and dance before,
Bolton, and we know the resolve of a Stark. Do you honestly think I wouldn’t? You would if
you had Rickon in your hands right now.”
“You have my attention, my lord,” Bolton ground out then.
“Mmm, don’t feign pleasantries,” Cregan ordered. “It’s so… Southron.”
“You rat bastard!” Bolton snapped.
“Oh, aye,” Cregan smiled wolfishly. “But you broke fealty. You attacked Winterfell, which…
wise, because I was not home, but doing it, that breaks your oaths, Bolton, as you are my
vassal, attempting an uprising. That’s punishable by death. I killed my uncle, and he was kin,
what makes you believe you’ll have a better fate?”
Bolton was paling so dramatically, and Bolton’s men shifted nervously. Aemond was
impressed as Cregan smiled at Barba before he rose up, and bounced her on his hip.
“Don’t worry, Lord Bolton, I am merciful, the girl is innocent, and your only legitimate heir,
I’ll raise her well, she’ll be well cared for.” Aemond accepted the child as Cregan handed her
to him. “As for you though, well, this is your last day, I do hope your affairs are in order.”
“You cannot do this, you will never hold the Lonely Hills!”
“You’re right, I won’t, but in a few years, after my cousin is established, and has his own
family, and is managing these lands, your daughter will marry his son, and the Lonely Hills
will no longer fear the reign of Boltons, but still comply, for your daughter, who is your last,
and only legitimate heir married a Stark.”
“You… you planned this…!?” Bolton sputtered.
“I am Warden of the North,” Cregan stated. “Now, take one last look at your daughter, I want
you to see the last and only truly good thing you did in this world, and if you love her, you
won’t fight the hand fate’s dealt you.”
Bolton huffed a sour breath as he scoffed and shook his head. “Fucking fool I was believing a
Southron ponce could kill a fucking wolf!”
“Which Southron ponce?” Aemond asked as he handed Barba to Jon then.
“You should know,” Bolton smirked. “It’s your grandsire’s brother who’s contacted me. And
he’s got others here in the North, to do his bidding. Do you really think your safe, Stark?”
“No,” Cregan answered. “But I’m about to be safer. Prince Aemond, Lord of Drekaúlfur, now
is a time to make good upon your word, I believe you owe that much to Lord Bolton, given
he has tempted fate.”
“Vhagar! Māzīs Naejot!” Aemond shouted. He was unsurprised as she shook the ground as
the trees trembled and groaned under the force of her weight as she rose from where she was
slumbering in the sun. Lord Bolton’s eyes grew huge and wide, he shat himself, the stench
was horrid as Vhagar’s head slithered down over them, the heat of her fires was like the
summer’s sun but more as she opened her jaws slightly. Aemond could feel her anticipation
and glee at this hunt, though he knew she was disappointed at the lack of battle now.
“I did warn you if you made any more troubles for Lord Stark and the North, I would return
to burn your House down, and eradicate it’s roots,” Aemond stated icily.
“No! Cregan, you can’t!” Lord Bolton started. “They’re my people, but they follow me!”
“Which is a shame and something you should have thought about before tempting fate,”
Aemond countered as he looked at the man.
“Cregan Please!” Bolton flung himself on his knees as he all but kissed Cregan’s boots.
“Boltons have always broken word and oath, and continuously hunted and killed me and
mine, you should have thought about mercy before my goodbrother became my vassal,
before you endangered your daughter, your House, and your history. There will never be,
another Bolton.”
“CREGAN PLEASE! Lord Hightower! He…” Bolton started.
“Aemond,” Cregan said. “Your investigation…”
“My Great Uncle is already my primary suspect, House Hightower is well steeped in both the
Citadel and Faith, holding both in their control. I am unsurprised at my uncle’s lack of
imagination when dealing with the North, he never has bothered to learn about the regions
beyond the Reach,” Aemond stated. “You provide nothing new in information, Lord Bolton.
You confirm what I have suspected.”
“Cregan! Please! I beg mercy!” Bolton started weeping.
“Aemond,” Cregan looked at him.
“Vhagar, Dracarys Dreadfort,” he said firmly. She rose, taking to the air in a mighty bound,
and Bolton turned.
“Jon, take Barba away,” Cregan ordered. The dragon rose higher and higher, there was a roar,
and Aemond watched as Vhagar hovered threateningly. Then she opened her jaws wide and
he felt the heat searing through the North’s airs as her fires crashed into the Dreadfort. Bolton
screamed, the keep imploded beneath the force of Vhagar’s fires, she circled it, never ceasing
her fires before she took off high into the skies, roaring in victorious glee. Bolton turned, his
men were already turning to flee, Vhagar swooped down from the skies as the men rode fast
away from Cregan and them. She released another billow of fires, which shattered the
grounds, shaking the earth, the trees, birds screamed, horses screamed, men screamed, and
then there were silence as she landed in the ashes, her large jaws were open and Bolton had
tears streaming down his face. Aemond looked at Cregan.
“Consider this the last mercy I gave you, your daughter did not witness this,” Cregan said.
Aemond was fast slashing the sword through Lord Bolton’s neck before the man could rise to
his feet. He sat there, wide, startled eyes, blood pooled from his lips as his head lolled back
and fell behind him, the body slumped to the side. Cregan looked at Aemond who was
looking at his first kill. Aemond didn’t know what he was expecting from killing someone, he
never had, but he was surprised at feeling nothing, he had said he would do this, so he had,
and now he looked at Cregan.
“We should return to Winterfell, Lord Manderly is there, we saw his banners when we flew
over it,” Cregan reminded Aemond.
Aemond nodded. He cleaned off the sword before sheathing it. Vhagar flew overhead,
coming towards them, slowly landing, she looked so pleased with herself. Aemond was
surprised at the sight of Jon holding Barba still, the man looked uncomfortable.
“Cregan, I’m not…”
“You’re going to be a fine lord, you did think to evacuate the women and children, and you
did think to steal the wares of food these past days, constructing a new keep is a small price
to pay, but that one is dismal, we’ll have the lands in order soon enough, and we’ll discuss
your Lordship further when the Winter Council has returned,” Cregan cut off. “For now,
we’re fucking flying, and going home,” Cregan sighed.
Aemond watched the pair as they walked away. He had started picking out all the similarities
he could spot between Sansa and Jon, and was surprised at how many there were. Yes, they
were both unusually pretty for Starks, but they were still obviously Starks. Walking to
Vhagar, Aemond climbed up with ease. He grabbed Barba before Jon could try to ride a
dragon and carry a toddler, Aemond had flown many time with Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, he
would rather not lose the hostage Cregan so painstakingly collected. Once the other men were
on Vhagar, she effortlessly took to the air, Aemond didn’t ever say anything about the
screams and squeals he heard behind him. They flew for Winterfell, which was less than an
hour in the air for Vhagar, she bound down to the ground, preening with delight as she neared
the volcanos she was so fond of. Before she bounded off though, she stopped in a field for
them to dismount her.
The walk to Winterfell was a solemn walk. Aemond saw Winter Town was all but empty,
Winterfell had armed guards on the ready and it looked prepared for a siege, even if it was a
bit understaffed at this time.
There was a green banner, with a green merman on it, holding a black trident, with it was six,
robust men who all sat in plated armor, but looked very Northern despite the plated armor.
Aemond watched as the gates opened for Cregan and them, and a robust young man swung
down from his horse.
“Lord Stark, I beseech you and beg mercy and forgiveness, for House Manderly has
committed no fault, but we find ourselves in a situation to which we might be perceived as
traitors, and seek your forgiveness. My father did not expect your return or he’d have come
himself,” the man said.
“Medrick,” Cregan acknowledged. “You and Torrhen have come a long way if you have done
nothing wrong.”
“The perception is we might not be loyal to our Northern liege,” Medrick whispered. “I know
it is believed we are not Northmen, my lord, but before the Old Gods and the New, I am here
to continue the promises we made in the Wolf’s Den for friendship and protection. House
Manderly might not be Northern, but we are no longer the Great Lords of Mander, and we,
like our adopted brethren, remember. We remember it was the Wolf King, the King of Winter
who took us in, who permitted us to keep our gods and traditions, who gave us land, sheltered
and nurtured us, protected us against our enemies. We serve but one liege, and know one true
liege, we do not dare to serve another, we’ve built our city upon your land, and we’ve sworn
we would always be yours, and yours alone,” Medrick spoke soft and desperate.
“I am aware.” Cregan looked confused.
“Our old Kings have come a calling, my lord, our old lands seek our feilty for your pelt, and
we do not… we will not,” Medrick stumbled before he fell to his knee, drawing his sword
before him.
“I, Medrick Manderly, son of Lord Desmond Manderly, Lord of White Harbor, Warden of the
White Knife, Defender of the Dispossessed, renew House Manderly’s oath of fealty to Lord
Stark and House Stark, and to the North. I pledge fealty to them, and shall defend them
against all enemies, in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the Old Gods, and… I
renounce the New Gods, may you have mercy and understanding, my lord, we are
Northmen.”
Aemond blinked a few times as he looked at Cregan who was staring rather dumbly at
Medrick.
Chapter 22
“Renouncing… no,” Cregan sputtered shaking his head. “No, no, absolutely not, not without
an actual explanation as to what the fuck this is about. Veron, take Lady Bolton, I’ll deal
with that in a moment! Get her bathed, warmed, and fed, we’ll talk in a moment. What is this
about, Medrick?” Cregan turned to address Medrick fully as his captain grabbed his hostage
then.
“We’re… we’re willing to renounce the Faith of the Seven.”
“No!” Cregan sputtered. “One, it is an insult to your gods and mine to believe them so vain
and fickle. Two, I have no qualms with your Faith, though we may have differing opinions on
certain matters that is to be expected as we believe in different gods. Three, you and yours
have never posed a threat to me and mine and thus have no reason to be treated as a hostile.
Four, though you are not of the First Men, you have broken bread with us, wed our people,
lived with our people and suffered with our people, you are for all intents and purposes our
people. I will not demand you to surrender your Faith and your Gods to appease me and mine
when I have no qualms with yours!”
“But…”
“Name your own High Septon or something, if needed but my qualms are not with your
Gods.”
“Truly, my lord?” Medrick sputtered in disbelief.
“Aye!” Cregan shouted. “Gods be merciful and give me patience, Medrick, I have no qualms
with the Faith itself! Now what the bloody fuck is this about?”
“Oh… father and I did not… we didn’t wish to offend,” Medrick said.
“Offend how!? You’ve practiced the Faith for a thousand years or more here, why the fuck
would I of all Wardens feel the need to change that!?”
“You did banish the Faith…” Medrick pointed out meekly.
“Aye, I did, but I respected you and yours enough to leave it in White Harbor, and your lands,
with the understanding I did not want any more missionaries through the North. I accept you
and yours, because the Faith is a part of you and yours, I am not so cruel as to force you to
abandon it. I just no longer wish it’s free spread over the North. Especially given Maester
Garrett was zealous enough to murder my wife and disguise her death as nothing but medical
necessity, he hid his hatred of her behind his Faith, behind his knowledge, I would not want
that spreading throughout the North! In time that might change, but right now, no,” Cregan
shook his head. He still was agonizing Arra’s death and he didn’t want to risk other women in
the North, other families, he didn’t want them to be at risk, or in danger.
“Truly?” Medrick sputtered.
“Yes, for now, I do not want it in the North, but it is a part of you and yours and I would
never deprive you of that,” Cregan sighed. “Why the fuck would you attempt to renounce
your Gods?”
“I… I believe it will be best to just show you the missives,” Medrick said softly.
“I do appreciate the oaths of fealty, Medrick, but I do not demand you to renounce your
Gods,” Cregan reiterated.
“My father will be pleased to know that,” Medrick sighed.
Cregan nodded as they walked into Winterfell.
“DADA!” Cregan grinned as he knelt down, sweeping up his son, holding the boy tightly, the
black wolf, Timber greeted Ice with a playful nip, then the wolves hared off with glee.
Cregan kissed Rickon’s curly hair.
“You got so big,” he informed his giggling toddler.
“Where Sans Sara?” Rickon looked arouned.
“Sansa and Sara are South, but Sara will be back soon,” he informed the boy. “Rickon, this is
your uncle, Uncle Aemond.”
Aemond peered at the baby who hid in Cregan’s throat then. “You can call me Mon, my
nephews and niece do,” he said softly.
Rickon grinned shyly. And Cregan held his son a little tighter, content at this moment. He
didn’t want to dwell upon what he had just done; he knew there’d be repercussions from what
was done, but he didn’t want to dwell on it right now. Right now, he wanted to hold his son,
and relish in the love his son radiated. He kissed his son’s head again and just grinned in
absolute delight having the babe in his arms.
They made it to the Great Hall, Cregan set Rickon down as he pulled off Ice and propped it
up before falling into his chair as he gabbed up Rickon.
“What missives?” Cregan asked as he held out his hand to Medrick. Medrick and his men
spread out to the other seats. They sat as Cregan gestured for them to sit and he accepted the
letters. Cregan looked at them.
“We have been offered our ancestral seats of Mander,” Medrick said as he looked down at the
table. Cregan bounced his son on his knee as he opened the letters and read over the missive.
He looked over to Aemond, and Jon, both were wary, and he held out the missives to them.
Aemond accepted the missive, reading it over before Jon took it.
“Thank you, Medrick,” Cregan said.
“I…”
“This is a matter already being managed,” Cregan stated stiffly. “I thank you though for the
transperiency and I request a septon be sent to Winterfell, one of moderate, reasonable views,
I will hear him out and speak to him for an understanding of your Faith.”
“I… I do not understand,” Medrick said.
“I wish to learn, Medrick, it appears my enemies are numerous, I would like to know them so
I might understand them, to do that, I must learn,” Cregan said. “I hold no qualms with the
Faith, but the institution is something I do need to understand.”
“Very well, my lord,” Medrick said.
“Further, Ser Vaemond Valeryon is coming North, he will be utilizing White Harbor until
such a time we can survey the New Gift for an appropriate port after this coming Winter,”
Cregan said.
“I shall tell my father,” Medrick said with a small smile.
“Ser Vaemond is to be a vassal of my good brother, Lord Drekaúlfur,” Cregan stated. “There
will be more ports constructed in the North, and we will see what more there to done at a
later time. I will come to White Harbor after the Winter Council has returned and speak
directly with Lord Manderly myself. Inform him though that there is no need to renounce
your Faith.”
“I will speak to my father.”
“Do not turn down the invitation or offer from the South, I will speak to Lord Manderly when
I go to White Harbor about the matter,” Cregan said.
“Very well,” Medrick nodded.
“Do not inform anyone of your renewed fealty,” Cregan said. “And do not banish the Seven, I
have no qualms with your Faith, but this matter will be discussed further after I have had time
to consult the Winter Council.”
“Very well, my lord, and thank you,” Medrick said with a smile. “I did not wish to betray
you, Lord Stark.”
“Your fealty is noted, Medrick, and House Manderly is a part of the North,” Cregan stated.
“Though you have strange customs, I am certain the same could be said about us, but we
have all long since been brethren and do view you and yours as members of the North. For
now, rest, you are welcomed at Winterfell. Rest, when you are able, you will ride to White
Harbor to speak to your father about what I have relayed.”
“Of course, and thank you, Lord Stark,” Medrick smiled. Cregan nodded and waved his hand
in dismissal of the men as he leaned back in his seat and looked at Rickon who grinned at
him, he smiled in return.
“That is rather audacious of the Hightowers,” Jon muttered as he sat down and Aemond
hesitated before taking his own seat across from Jon.
“It is,” Cregan agreed.
“House Manderly of all Houses? And Bolton?” Jon sighed. “Boltons are, were, were always
eager for a fight, but this? Did they truly believe it to work.
“It would not surprise me,” Cregan sighed. “When we agreed to contracts with House
Valeryon we acknowledged the North is very isolationist in nature and would need to teach
outsiders to deal with ours. But to an outsider, it would be too enticing. House Bolton also
enjoyed surprise attacks when we were weaker or unprepared. But this does raise concerns
for Sara’s envoy’s return North, there is a possibility for ambushes to be laid out and
assassinations to be tested out.”
“You don’t think they’d actually be so foolish?”
“They want a war,” Cregan shrugged. “Aemond, now would be a very good time to tell me
your investigation plan,” Cregan gave Aemond a pointed look.
Aemond looked at him and then at the table. “Oldtown is comprised of numerous tunnels
interconnecting the Citadels and Septs, as well as Hightower, I intend to utilize them to move
through the city. With Sansa’s aid, I intend to have access to the records, both for the Faith
and the Citadel, the intent is to be educating Sansa from the Old Gods to the Seven, for the
High Septon is eager for our visit. I will first go to Casterly Rock to retrieve maps from my
brother, but when in Old Town, Sansa and I have been invited to numerous lectures and
sermons, as well as being prestegeous Royal guests. The last Royal visit to Old Town,
officially, was my great-grandmother, Queen Alysanne, I believe the Hightowers are eager to
convert Sansa as well as gain my favor.
“Lord Beesbury has already informed me of where the Realm’s records are housed, I intend
to utilize the time and my interest in economy and establishing a new House as reason to be
there. I am anticipating little resistance but if there is, the establishing of a New House is
reason enough to be interested in examining the records. If Sansa and I are caught in any…
unsavory areas of the Citadel or Septs, there is the excuse of newly wed.
“After the Citadel and Oldtown, I will be going to Honeyholt to confer with Lord Beesbury
with whatever evidence I have found, before I will continue the campaigns to the Stormlands,
Crownlands, and so forth, and we will return North. Lack of a personal guard is a risk, but
given I have never tolerated one I will not alter that behavior as it will permit us to move
more freely. Vhagar’s size and possessiveness of her riders will act as an appropriate
deterrent, knowledge of passages, as well as Sansa’s lack of gentle nature, will aid if we are
faced with an adversary,” Aemond finished.
“You’re walking into the bear’s den!” Jon balked.
“Yes, as it is the only way to know what the bloody hell is going on with this fucking
Realm!” Aemond huffed sourly. “I have a few contacts in the Citadel and Oldtown, primarily
old acquaintances, Lord Beesbury has put me in contact with a few maesters who are
trustworthy as well as given me the name of local merchants to be trusted if they are called
upon.”
“And this Lord Beesbury, you trust him?” Cregan asked.
“I am trusting him with my life and the life of my wife, so yes, I trust him,” Aemond
admitted reluctantly to Cregan.
“This is insanity!” Jon sputtered.
“You don’t get an opinion, I’m very well aware of your antics North of the Wall,” Cregan
warned Jon.
Jon shut his mouth and scowled.
“Very well, I expect missives from Casterly Rock, as well as the Stormlands, I have to visit
the vaults, so do not leave before I return, there are some things which we Starks possess
which might assist you in Hightower and Oldtown.”
Aemond looked startled. “I… How? Starks aren’t known to visit South of the Neck
frequently!”
“We built Hightower,” Cregan answered. “I doubt it would have changed much, though
maintenance, and some time passing, I think they might have altered it, if they are smart, but
akin to Winterfell it’s ancient.”
“How do you know this?” Aemond asked curiously.
“House Stark is many things, but it would do the Hightowers some good to remember we are
older than they and we gifted them with their holdings once. Rest, Aemond I’ll have the
information ready in a day or two. Jon, you and I will be speaking tonight about the Lonely
Hills. That is all, I will see you both for the evening meal,” Cregan said as he grabbed up
Rickon and walked out of the room.
Cregan smiled at Rickon as he walked. “And what have you been doing?” he asked his son
softly. Timber and Ice were on his sides as he walked.
Rickon giggled as he hugged Cregan’s neck and Cregan rubbed his son’s back as he hugged
Rickon tightly.
Aemond got up and walked towards the room he had previously occupied. He wasn’t
tempting fate today by speaking to Jon Stark, not after the last five days of planning for this
day. Now he was just tired, worry and dread had left him now, and he just felt exhausted. He
and Cregan had flown straight North, stopping only at Moat Cailin, which was when
Cregan’s worry grew to anger and wrath, the news of Winterfell being under siege infuriated
Cregan. Aemond knew the wolves could be angered, but the sight of Cregan’s cold, chilling
wrath, it was startling. It was akin to the wrath he’d used against the maester who had killed
Arra, but to see it again, it was clear to Aemond it only surfaced when Cregan’s family was
threatened.
“My Prince, where are you going?” a servant asked, rousing Aemond from his tired walking
as he turned to look at the servant. He couldn’t remember the young woman’s name, despite
her familiar appearance.
“To my quarters?” he answered uncertain.
“You have married Lady Sansa, we have been instructed you are now of the family, you are
housed in the family wing of Winterfell, this way, my Prince,” she said softly.
He blinked a few times and slowly started following the woman. When he came to the Stark
family wing he was surprised to be walked into a massive suite.
“I can summon a bath or you can go to the hot springs with the rest,” she said.
“I… a bath please, thank you,” he said softly as she nodded and left. He looked around the
room, it was clearly newly furnished. There was a massive bed, encircled by heavy drapes, as
well as a ceiling of it’s own; it was rather reminiscent of a box, Aemond’s previous bed in the
North had been an odd bed almost like a box built into the wall, but he had learnt it was to
maintain warmth. This seemed to be of the same sentiments. He had thought Northern beds
odd, but remembering the chill of a Summer’s Winter, he was wary of a not having the
warmth of this bed. The bed had heavy quilts and blankets on it, he recognized Sansa’s
handiwork, and figured she had been the one to fashion the room.
It didn’t take long for a bath to be prepared for him. Alone he washed himself of the grime
from riding continuously then he was out of the tub, dressing in something to sleep. When the
servants had taken the bath away, he collapsed in the bed, letting his head fall back as he
closed his eye. The sapphire and eyepatch were resting on the stand beside the bed, and he
just sighed as he rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes.
He was so bloody tired, and yet his mind was whirling with the missive he had read. It was
one thing to suspect his uncle’s movements, but another thing to read the missive offering
House Manderly their ancestral seat at Mander if they succeeded in obtaining custody of
young Lord Rickon. Aemond was a bit furious reading that, but then he remembered what
Cregan had just done to obtain Lord Bolton’s daughter. Nothing in the missive was overtly
instructive, nor was it overtly obvious that his uncle was ordering a match between Rickon
Stark and Jeyne Manderly, merely encouraging the young Lord be shown the true way, for
the Hightowers always showed the way.
Aemond was unsettled, because it was clear the Manderlys were the only ones to practice the
Faith up in the North.
The connection of the Hightowers, the Faith, and the Citadel, it was so entwined it was nearly
one, and he dreaded what he might find. Releasing a heavy breath, he lay on the bed that was
meant for himself and Sansa and let sleep elude him.
His brain was still whirling from today, and he opened his eye, staring up at the canopy of the
bed he was startled at the painting above him which had him propping himself on his elbows.
It was Vhagar, but the flourishing, delicate pattern around her was so vibrant and lively, it
was like the forest looking up at the night skies. He was amazed as he stared at the small
detail. He fell back on the pillow as he stared at the image above him, partially in awe but a
small smile tugged at his lips.
He’d been agonizing about Sansa and the facts she was from a different era, the agony she
had inflicted in his life. But this, this was Sansa, and he was startled seeing it above him. He
had thought everything she’d been doing had been because she was here to change fates and
history, he had felt he’d lost a person who was interested in him for himself. But seeing this,
it was startling, and kind, and he just was startled at how hard it hit him then, she still liked
him. Gods help him, he’d have much to make up to her.
Jon was unsurprised when Prince Aemond didn’t join him and Cregan, Aemond had looked
ready to collapse. Jon didn’t know if the Prince ran off of infinite energy or sheer will power,
but the young man was clearly accustomed to pushing his own limits. Jon walked into the
family wing, and saw Cregan sitting there, partially asleep, but Cregan’s eyes snapped open,
startling Jon as he walked in.
“Sit,” Cregan yawned as he ran a hand through his wild curls. Jon slowly took his seat and
Cregan looked at him balefully as he waited.
“I’m not meant to be a Lord or a King or anything else, just let me take the Black…” Jon
started.
“No.”
“Cregan, I will not marry again!” Jon snapped.
“Oh for Gods’ sakes!” Cregan bristled.
“If it was you, would you! After what happened to Arra!” Jon spat out furiously. He could
still see Arya dying in his mind, he would not, ever, in good faith, endanger a woman in that
manner again!
“Yes! And I will have to!” Cregan snapped furiously. “It does not replace Arra, it does not
less the agony of being here without her, Jon, but the reality is life moves in one direction and
that is forward. She would not want me to cling to her memory and use it as a reason not to
live, and I will forever miss her, but in time, whether I like it or not, I will have to marry
again, and I will have to produce a few more children, and I will have to find some joy or
comfort in this future.”
“I am not meant to be a lord!” Jon snarled furiously.
“You were born to be a Prince,” Cregan countered.
Jon faltered and Cregan leaned back in his seat. “You are the son of Ned Stark, not in blood,
but in spirit, but the reality of your era, if your mother had lived, and your father had won the
rebellion is that you would be a Prince, even as a bastard, you would be a Prince. You were
raised to be a lord, you have admitted to attending all of your brother’s lessons with him, and
Robb Stark while a King would have likely named you a Lord if you had followed him. So
why are you so determined to live a life of a bastard? You have been a Lord Commander, a
King, and a Lord. Taking The Black Is Not An Option!”
“I… I failed,” Jon whispered softly. “I tried to do the honorable thing and it got me
murdered,” he said. “I tried to do my duty and it killed the last person to love me. I failed at
being Lord Commander, I failed at being King of the North, I failed at being a Lord, at being
a commander, at many things, I fail, Cregan, I am not meant for anything more than failure.”
Cregan nodded slowly.
“I cannot do what you want, I can serve with your men, and be a loyal vassal but I cannot be
a Lord, and I cannot marry again.”
“Fuck off,” Cregan stated.
Jon blinked a few times, baffled.
“You run at every adverse obstacle in your life,” Cregan stated.
“I do not.”
“You fancy yourself a bastard, so you take the Black, run to the Wall, for what? Brotherhood?
An excuse not to have bastards? It’s not like people join the Night’s Watch for fame, glory,
and an eternity to be remembered; you live a tough life and will die a forgetful death and be
nothing but a name if you’re at the Wall. When you’re a Night’s Watchman, you run off to
the Wildlings, I’ve heard your tale, but you still ran for them, lived with them, ruled them,
and when that got hard, you ran back to the Wall. You’re married, and your wife pregnant,
and rather than stay, you run, you explore the North. Your child is born, and your wife killed,
and you run. You run, you’ll stay as long as it’s safe, but the moment there’s chaos, you run.
You don’t get to run this time.”
“That is not a fair judgement.”
“I am not fair,” Cregan informed Jon firmly. Jon blinked a few times. “You are a Stark. By
blood, by fate, by claim, get over yourself. You will do this, and you will have a bride, by the
year’s end, and you will have a family.”
“I will not…” Jon started.
“You will,” Cregan cut off firmly. “And you will do it for no other reason than this is your
duty, this is expected of you, and perhaps, in time, it will bring you solace and you will cease
this belief you are a curse, or meant for a life of torment and solitude. You are a Stark. Act
it.”
“I’m also a Targaryen,” Jon reminded Cregan with a low snarl.
“You’re about as much of a dragon as I am a woman,” Cregan cut off.
“I… Cregan, I can’t,” Jon started.

“You will, and you will rise to this occasion,” Cregan informed him firmly.
“Why?”
“Because you were Lord Commander in your era, you were Lord of Winterfell, King of the
North, and united Wildlings, you are a leader, Jon, but you do not commit to leading because
it is difficult, and this is not a matter you can leave. And if you do, I will hunt you down, and
drag you back.”
“And for this bride, I presume you have someone in mind already.
“You have a pick,” Cregan said. “Brian has a sister of the right age, and more akin to a
Wildling than a lady, Mira.”
“The other red head,” Jon muttered.
“Yes, she would be an appropriate, hardy woman to be your bride, there is also Domeron’s
cousin, Gwyn,” Cregan pointed out.
“You’re examining Sansa’s Ladies as my bride prospects.”
“Partially, but also the relation of their Houses with ours and the Boltons. I won’t advocate
you marry Torrha Reed, or the Norrey sisters; they come from families with deep strifes
against the Boltons. I do believe you and Mira are a fair match, she’s independent, hardy, and
willful, she’s also fair, and raised on Skagos, she’s a fair archer, a good tracker, and she’s well
versed in both Stark and Bolton history, as House Stane has had relationships with both of us,
and been both adversary and ally to both Houses. But Gwyn is Domeron’s cousin, and he is a
dear friend of mine, and the relationship between the Houses are rather neutral at that point.”
Jon nodded as he looked at his hands.
“And your own union?” Jon muttered as he looked up at Cregan.
“I will have to have another wife, Jon, but at this time, I am not seeking out a woman,”
Cregan stated simply.
“I’m not either,” Jon grumbled.
“But you will have to, Mira or Gwyn would be a fair partner for you,” Cregan said.
“I have until the year’s end to decide on this?” Jon whispered.
“Yes,” Cregan admitted. “I would prefer not to have to make the selection, Jon, I do wish you
happiness and joy in your life, but you have actively denied it. Arya would not want you to
punish yourself for all your life, and for Little Robb, you should live, live a full, and long,
happy life, Jon,” Cregan said.
“I live… they don’t, how is that fair?”
“It isn’t, but the dead do not want our miseries,” Cregan murmured softly.
“And for Arra…”
“Arra will always be my first love, but she’d beat me over the head with a frying pan if she
thought I closed my life off and ceased loving any ever again just to commit to her memory.
She’d be offended if anything, especially if I fancied her the perfect woman,” Cregan snorted.
“Arya would be the same way,” Jon muttered in amusement. He also knew that Ygritte and
Val would be offended, he looked up at Cregan and frowned a little. “Why don’t you marry,
take the lands?”
“I am Lord of Winterfell, I married the first time for love, the second time will be for the
benefit of the North,” Cregan sighed. “I will find a tolerable partner, and I will have a partner,
Jon, I’m not foisting the responsibilities of being Lady of Winterfell on some poor
unsuspecting woman. If I were you, I would examine Gwyn and Mira very seriously.”
“Just them?”
“Mormonts hate the Boltons, as do the Karstarks, and most of the North, but the Stanes, and
Cerwyns have not the fondest views of them, but also the most neutral history between Starks
and Boltons, they’re safer allies to have in Bolton territories.”
“You’ve thought about this.”
“I am Lod of Winterfell, Jon, I think about a lot of things, and I’m not as ignorant about the
fairer sex as they believe. With Arra things were simple and pleasing, if I pursue another
woman, it will be different.”
“I’ve… I’ve only been with strong, willful women,” Jon chuckled wryly. “There was a Free
Folk, I believe she was akin to my first wife… by Free Folk standards we were wed, her
name was Ygritte, she was… she was kissed by fire, and very fiery, she was piss and vinegar,
and she… she was many things. Arya would have liked her, Sansa and Ygritte might’ve
killed each other, they’re both kissed by fire.”
“It’s the red hair,” Cregan chuckled. “Never met an even tempered redhead.”
“It’s gotta be the hair,” Jon agreed in amusement. “I had a redheaded friend and he also… it’s
gotta be the hair,” Jon mused shaking his head in amusement as he remembered Tormund. “I
might have also accidentally married a different Free Folk, once, never got to examine that
union though. She was killed when the Wall was under siege,” he murmured as he thought
about Val. She had always been interesting, and Jon was tormented by her death when he
remembered her; Tormund had treated Val’s death with the same reverence as Ygritte’s when
Jon and he would occasionally discuss the matter.
“And this is why I will be staying South of the Wall, how the hell do you accidentally marry
a woman!?” Cregan chuckled.
“You steal them,” Jon answered. “I stole Ygritte, and didn’t know, I’m certain I stole Val, and
didn’t know it…”
“Skagos folk have a similar tradition,” Cregan murmured. “But it ends in the Godswood.”
Jon snorted. He dreaded memories of Daenerys, because he could still remember how she felt
and tasted, and he hated that he’d ever been with her. It disgusted him immensely. Arya broke
him, Daenerys disgusted him, Ygritte had been everything to him, and Val was an unknown
to him.
“Jon, this is a good opportunity, and you could be content, happiness is not a crime.”
“And you, are you… happy?” Jon sneered at the idea of happiness, he’d never been happy a
day in his life. He’d had moments of happiness, but happiness was fleeting.
“I am… content,” Cregan stated. “I have two of my descendants here, despite logistics, and
they’re both relatively well off, and respectable, one even just got married. I have a healthy
son, fair crop, fair trade, new vassals, a new Lord, and a new brother, there is much to which
I am learning and displeased of, but there is much I am pleased with and pleased about.
Happy though, I am happy, at times, with my son, with my family, I miss my wife, but I am
alive, and here.”
“I miss Little Robb,” Jon whispered honestly. He had never expected that.
“I know, and future children will not replace Little Robb, but you should live, you are
amongst the living, the dead are not yet here,” Cregan said softly.
“They are coming,” Jon informed Cregan.
“I’m aware, I’m trying to formulate a plan so my idiot descendants don’t do what they did,
and the bloody Wall doesn’t get torn down.”
“And we should save the Free Folk,” Jon whispered.
“I… I will have to think on that matter and discuss it later, for now, we will manage one
problem at a time,” Cregan stated.
Aemond woke feeling less exhausted, it’d been the first rest he’d gotten since Aegon’s
stabbing, and peering around the closed bed, he curled into the pillow and groaned in
exhaustion. He wanted to sleep for the next twenty years! Gods, this bed was divine, he never
wanted to leave it, he was so bloody tired. Carefully he sat up as he looked around the bed.
Dragging his hands through his hair he rested his elbow on his knee as he looked around the
bed. Carefully he got out of the bed, and shivered at the chilled air. It didn’t take him long to
get ready as he walked out into the halls of Winterfell.
Aemond saw Jon as he walked into the Great Hall, Jon was reading something. It was odd to
thin this man was his wife’s half brother and from her era, he’d probably witnessed the same
atrocities Sansa had and yet they were so different. Not that Aemond was going to examine
that too closely.
“You married Sansa.” Jon’s voice was harsh and firm, and Aemond looked at Jon as he
grabbed up a slice of toast and put honey and butter on it.
“I did,” Aemond answered softly. He snagged a few of the sausages served, and eyed the
bacon.
“You’re really dragging her through the South?” Jon asked tiredly.
“We have to campaign through the lands, it is the duty of the Crown to make an effort to
know their people,” Aemond answered reflexively. He rather liked the bread, it was a little
tart, but sweet with the honey and butter, very good. He knew it was simple, but this was the
first uninterrupted meal he’d had in a year, and he was savoring it as he looked at the spread
of food. He was very aware that the North was on rations, given they were still amidst a
famine crisis, but he spotted the traded goods from Velaryon; Dornish oranges, grapefruit,
grapes, melons, it was all very appealing and he was salavatating at the sight. He sort of
wished Sansa was here, given he had noticed her enjoyment of lemons; though he didn’t
understand why, she would probably be stealing the lemon cakes being placed out; or tarts;
he wasn’t sure what the desert was.
“She will not like that,” Jon grumbled.
“She will be safe, if that is the concern, she has informed me of past experiences in the South
to an extent, and I will not be letting harm befall her,” Aemond said. Jon’s expression shifted
for a moment as the man seemed to snarl at that statement. For a startling moment, Aemond
was reminded of his uncle Daemon, and wanted to retreat from Jon. He remembered the pain
of the blows Jon could deliver. Aemond could fight just as hard and dirty, but he did not think
Sansa or Cregan would appreciate the ensuing fight. Looking at the toast he was surprised
he'd gotten down to the last few bites, he mourned the meal, but looked at the other foods.
“She told you?” Jon asked sharply.
“Yes, I presume given you are Cregan’s cousin you are aware of her life,” Aemond said as he
looked at Jon. Jon relaxed slowly then; it was unsettling to Aemond to identify so many
Targaryen mannerisms from Jon that reminded him of his uncle, or worse, his sister.
Particularly that kicked puppy look, the big, soulful eyes, and confused look. Jon was also
reminding Aemond of Jacaerys, which he just did not like, it was unsettling.
“I am, so if you endanger her, or believe her mad, I’ll gut you,” Jon warned.
Aemond said nothing more on the subject as he finished the sausages before him, they were
pleasantly filling and he grabbed up an orange before he walked away. He always liked
oranges, they were convenient, and easy enough to eat; they had those natural slices, and had
that tangy sweetness. Aemond would understand Sansa better if she had an affinity for
oranges, but the fact she liked lemons of all things was baffling.
He paused and frowned, why the bloody hell was he thinking about Sansa?
Shaking his head of the thoughts and worries he walked out onto one of the outer walkways
of Winterfell. Vhagar gave her morning roard.
“Tubis Vhagar!” he called back as he started peeling the orange apart. He would admit, he
hadn’t gotten to truly appreciate Winterfell the last time he’d been here, and he was surprised
looking out at the Keep in the full light of summer and it was breathtakingly beautiful, and
vibrant, and nearly it’s own city! He was stunned as he stared out at the Keep. It was unlike
the Red Keep in every aspect as people bustled about, the bridge was open, the gates had
people moving in and out of Winterfell, and he could only barely see that from where he was
on an open walkway.
Winterfell was unlike anything he’d ever seen, the fortress, was so… beautiful. He could see
why the Starks would fight so vigorously for this Keep, nothing compared. He could see the
ages of different builds, different infusions from different eras but the resilience of the Keep
was breathtaking.
Vhagar soared overhead, and he looked up, smiling as she seemed delighted to show off her
armor and fly for the mountains, letting out another roar.
“MON!” a small voice shouted, and Aemond turned to see Rickon trotting along with his
wolf.
“He’s been looking for you,” Cregan said as he walked out onto the walkway.
Aemond raised his brow in surprise at the statement.
“To be fair, I have been looking for you as well, but Rickon is learning Winterfell better than
any of us could,” Cregan stated as he picked up his son.
Aemond nodded as he looked out at Winterfell. It was like a small city of it’s own, he could
see the life here, he had seen it when they were all inside because of the winter storms, but
seeing it in the summer, it was startling. As different as night and day.
“Your contacts in the South?” Cregan started.
“They’re friends of Lyman Beesbury, who is probably the only, truly trustworthy member of
the Small Council besides Ser Cole,” Aemond admitted. He didn’t let on how much it hurt
him to know that he had lost Cole or felt the loss of the Kingsguard who’d been more akin to
a father to Aemond than anyone else. He looked down at his orange as he peeled it. “I do
trust his contacts, and I am expecting my uncle to welcome me.”
“Are you certain of that?”
“Yes,” Aemond murmured. “Whatever is happening, I am still believed to be a Green, I have

not swayed in that, despite the events that transpired.”
“I see,” Cregan muttered.
Aemond offered Rickon a slice of the orange which the toddler scarfed down with gusto.
“How dangerous do you anticipate this to be?” Cregan asked.

“Life and death, I do, roughly know where the records are located. Daeron has a more
detailed map than I anticipated, I will be going to Casterly Rock, Daeron’s relayed this to
Lord Lannister who is still attempting to get back into my good graces.”
“Whatever for!?” Cregan sputtered.
Aemond smirked a little. “Oh, the offense was minor but I was in a hurry and made it a more
pertinent problem than it actually was. I was attempting to secure trade between the Reach
and North, Ocean Road is one of the most secure roads in Westeros given the natural trade
between the Reach and Westerlands but I intended to ensure the secure route all the way up
the River Road and from there up Kingsroad. The lack of infrastructure to move supplies in
the North is… troubling,” Aemond informed Cregan.
Cregan smiled wolfishly then. “Oh, Southron boy, you’ll learn us Northerners have routes we
utilize, we don’t share them with the South. Logistics are vital to any war, and we excel at
war.”
“So I have witnessed,” Aemond mused quietly. “I intend to have a safe haven in Honeyholt,
and from there be able to move freely through the Reach to the Stormlands.”
“Very well,” Cregan sighed. “Here, I’m not sure how accurate it is, given it’s a few millennia
old, but it should be… illuminating.”
Aemond blinked as he accepted the parchments. His eye widened as he stared at the accurate,
detailed map of Hightower.
“You… Starks…”
“We got around… once,” Cregan chuckled. “Once House Stark and House Hightower were
cousins even, and allies.”
“Really?” Aemond asked warily.
“Yes, we have the records in the True Tongue, Old Tongue, the recounts are ancient , Garth
Greenhand had many, many women, and founded the greatest Houses in Westeros. House
Gardener, which is no more, House Hightower, House Lannister, House Tarly, and a few
other’s I’m not remembering, but among the Houses founded in the Age of Heroes was the
Starks and Hightowers.”
“I thought it legend.”
“It might very well be, or the entirety of the amount of children Garth Greenhand sired, but
the fact remains that Brandon of Bloody Blade and Uthor of the High Tower were in fact
brothers, and they, respectively had heirs who founded these Houses. For us it was Bran the
Builder, who’s bones are interned here, at Winterfell and for the Hightowers it was Urrigon or
something. As a gift of alliance and familial ties, House Stark assisted House Hightower in
constructing Hightower. Bran the Builder had already constructed the Wall, and started
construction on Winterfell, or, the First Keep,” Cregan pointed to the massive, round drum
building that reminded Aemond a little of Hightower’s base. “From there Bran’s descendants
built, expanded, and brought to life his engineering feats and ideas, as well as incorporated
their own over the ages.”
“Impressive,” Aemond murmured.
“Lenton will have many of these… feats, without the flaws or damages in them,” he
chuckled.
“Ah,” Aemond nodded.
“I hope those help, House Stark has tried to preserve these as best as we can, we have
archivists come through and copy the old records when they are fading or worse.”
“Thank you,” Aemond nodded as he looked at the plans.
“Aemond, if you feel at all threatened, get Sansa out of Oldtown, whatever the cost,” Cregan
murmured.
“I will,” he promised. “I… I do care about her, even if at this time it is difficult to trust her,”
he assured.
Cregan nodded as they looked out at the trees and forests. “You should leave today, speak to
Lucan and Montrose, they’ll be more prepared for an ambush that way.”
“I will,” Aemond murmured.
“And when you are back in the North, we will celebrate the safe return of you and yours, and
welcome Lord and Lady Drekaúlfur of Lenton formally, I do look forward to having you
amongst our ranks, Aemond.”
“I… I have never run a House…” Aemond admitted.
Cregan snorted and smiled warily. “You’ve been single handedly running the Realm, a House
is a simple affair compared to that. And Sansa will aid you.”
“Thank you,” Aemond said softly.
“Of course, you’re my brother now,” Cregan stated. “We’ll not always like each other, but
you are my family, Aemond, you’re a part of this pack.”
Aemond snorted as he looked out at Winterfell. He was envious of the Starks now, because
he could feel it, the good feeling of the North. This was a place meant to flourish, it had it’s
own secrets and troubles, but there was nothing about this home, for Winterfell felt like a
home, which felt like it was going to hurt anyone. It felt safe, he could see why the Starks
were content and did not feel the need to have a guard, despite Arra’s murder, Winterfell felt
safe, and like a home.
“What are you intending to do with House Manderly?” Aemond asked.

“I must know my enemy, and even a thousand years removed from the South, House
Manderly is very knowledgeable about the South. Westeros does not change quickly
Aemond,” Cregan chuckled. “And I will remind the South what happens when you hunt
wolves. There is a reason the North was never conquered by an outsider.”
“King Aegon did conquer the North.”
“No he did not,” Cregan said softly. Aemond did a double take of Cregan. “Not a single blade
upon the Iron Throne is a Northern blade. Not a single battle was waged in the North. And
our spirit was never broken. We submitted because my ancestor knew the price if we didn’t.
Yes, the North would have burned, it would burn itself to the ground though before ever
being conquered. You cannot conquer the North. Even with three war dragons, it cannot be
done.
“You sound so certain of that.”
“I am,” Cregan said softly. “Do you know why Sansa could leverage a threat to the Realm?”
Aemond looked at Cregan warily.
“It is because we cannot be conquered. We have chosen to be a part of this Realm, Aemond,
make no mistake about that, we have chosen to be a part of the Seven Kingdoms and all that
entails, we accepted that. The insult is not acknowledging that, and the insult is daring to
think we can’t break away from the Seven Kingdoms and survive. My ancestor bent the knee
to prevent bloodshed, aye, that is true, but it does not mean your ancestor conquered us,”
Cregan said. “None of the other Realms would dare to leverage the threat against you and
yours to break the Realm, but the North can, and it will, because we were not conquered, we
chose to submit.”
Aemond mulled that over in his mind as he looked out at Winterfell. The threat the North had
leveled had been unique because no one had ever dared to threaten breaking the Realm. Of
that he was certain. But thinking about Cregan’s points, he couldn’t disagree, he didn’t think
any of the other Realms could leverage such a threat and succeed in breaking away. He
wanted to understand this better though and would have to learn more about the North later.
For now, he would have to keep his focus South.
“I will leave with Vhagar at high sun, she is rather enjoying the space,” Aemond commented.
There was a throaty roar which sounded like Vhagar laughing.
“I will never get used to that,” Cregan decided as he looked over at where they both could see
Vhagar bounding over everything with a massive tree in her mouth.
Chapter 23
Hazel Harte was sitting on the swing in her gardens, the simple wooden plank and the ropes
tying it up to the tree, she was spinning on it as she thought about everything her goodfather
had just revealed.
Her goodfather, goodbrother and husband had all returned from the Royal wedding rather
excited and she was curious. Then her husband’s cousins, Malentine, Rhogar, Gahaeraenar,
Taegarys, and Vaevon had all come to their home, and she was more nervous. There were
whispers, amongst the servants and other Valyrian families of a move North, with Ser
Vaemond leading this. The Valyrian families had sent representatives, not that Driftmark was
large enough to house them, but the village was filling with them over the past fortnight.
Hazel was worried, she was worried about what all this meant. She was certain her
goodfather was scheming something, as was her husband and goodbrother. They had been
rather unusual over the last few years, but she had not paid it mind. Daenaera was her
primary concern, but something about this change was unsettling.
Then she heard it, at last, an excited whisper and her world had just about shattered in shock.
She had nearly dropped Daenaera.
Vaemond Velaryon and his sons had sworn fealty to Lord Stark and the new, Lord and Lady
Drekaúlfur and they would be moving North with those interested in living in the North.
Hazel had been too shocked, handing Daenaera off to a wet nurse before she fled to the
gardens, to the swing Daeron had built her. And that’s where she was now.
Daeron was leaning on the tree when she twisted around, and she smiled reflexively at the
sight of her husband.
There were times she could never believe she had married Daeron Velaryon, a sharp,
handsome man, and he was so suave and sophisticated, in ways she could never be. She was
Lady Harte of a Stormland’s House far lesser than any of the Great Houses. Her family had
never aspired for a match for her beyond the Stormlands, and prayed she’d marry a knight or
someone of equal value. Someone to give her a simple life. Never someone like Daeron
Velaryon, who was of a Great Family and wealthy merchant family.
“What troubles you, my love?” he asked as he looked at her.
“Your father has… the North…” she started and rose as she started pacing. “They are
barbaric, Daeron, and they’re famed for being brutal, and harsh… and their lands are wild.”
“Lord Stark is fair,” Daeron said stilling her pacing and she stared at her husband.
“How can you be certain of that!? He beheaded a man without remorse!”

“Where’d you hear that?” he asked.
“Daemion…” she whispered. “They are barbaric, wild people, they are like Wildlings! And
your business, it will… in the North, Daeron, how are we to live?”
“Lord Stark is a fair overlord, the Starks have ruled the North for millennia, my love.”
“I know!” she huffed.
“Then why would you presume them to be cruel?” he countered. “They have ruled, surely,
for over eight millennia, they maintain the love and affection of an entire Realm. Lord
Baratheon cannot even claim affections of most his lesser Houses, Lord Lannister is unable to
claim the loyalties of his lands, but can assure he’s bought their services, Lord Tyrell has
competing powers that be for his Realm, and cannot even claim the affections of either Great
House; the Tarlys or Hightowers, and the Tullys might reign over the Riverlands, but it is not
simple, or peaceful, and the Aryns lord over the Vale with an indifference which has
disconnected them from the very people they rule over. None can claim the affections of their
Realms, or their people, but the Starks can. The Northerners are strong people, yes they are
wild, unusual, peculiar, and very… different, but they are not barbaric.”
“How can you say that?”
“Lord Stark’s people do not arrange marriages before a child’s fifth nameday, and yet, Lord
Stark has agreed, without truly knowing you or I, to betroth Daenaera to his son to protect
Daenaera! He lost his wife in a brutal murder, and avenged her death with a cold,
dispassionate justice, he has not waged a wrath upon the South for daring to take his wife, no,
he simply expelled a threat from his people’s lands. He still agreed to protect us, and we were
not yet his vassals, and he’s gone against his people’s customs to aid in protecting us,” he
said.
“Daenaera…” she whispered in horror.
“My uncle desired to arrange her marriage with one of the Princes,” he stated.
“No, Lord Corlys cannot…” Hazel stepped back.
“He can, as head of our House, and Lord of the Tides, Master of Driftmark, and Lord
Admiral, he can, Hazel, he can arrange a future of Daenaera without ever consulting you or I.
My father has been fighting, but my father will not live forever, and we must make moves to
protect Daenaera and any other children we have. My uncle seeks power, and he has harmed
this House to achieve it, he has wanted power since the Great Council, and before, he married
Rhaenys Targaryen with the prospects of achieving the throne through Prince Aemon’s line
of succession. So, yes, my uncle is a threat to Daenaera, and we cannot protect her alone,”
Daeron reminded her. “It is only through the grace of Lord Stark for accepting my father’s lie
to my uncle that our daughter is safe, she will have a chance at a future. Lord Stark is perhaps
the only man in the Realm capable of standing against my uncle and not bowing, he’s proven
dangerous enough to go against dragons, the Faith, the Hightowers, and he’s still young, and
powerful, and reigns over his Realm with the grace and benevolence of a true King and he is
good.”
“I…” she sputtered. “You uncle…” she started.
“My love, my uncle is a vain, proud, and selfish man, and my House is crumbling under his
rule, a new start with a fair overlord and liege, it is more than we have now. If we do not go
now, I fear my uncle will arrange Daenaera to truly wed Aegon or Viserys, which will offend
the North enough to instigate a true war. But also, Aemond, and Cregan, they are fair, they’re
young, tested, and sure of their rule, and this… this move is a wise one, and it offers us a
security in the insecurity it’s going to start with.”
“Are you certain?” she whispered. “If this fails, we are dead, in a frozen harsh land, and I,
Daenaera, we must think of her!”
“Which is why we must go,” Daeron countered. “If we stay, and she stays, she will be in
danger, Hazel. Rhaenyra and Daemon raise tyrants, and bullies, and her prospects if House
Velaryon follows my uncle’s ambitions will lead to her in destitute, where she can make no
reasonable match. At least, with her promised to Lord Stark, she is promised to a good man
who is raising a good son, and she has a chance for her House to recover enough to be worthy
of such a match. A match to a Great House, a truly Great House, and not the Throne, not a
pawn, or having to be hidden into the ranks of the septas to protect her. No, this opportunity
gives her a chance for a truly great life. Remaining here will have her as nothing but a
hostage. Daenaera is the most beautiful young woman born to this House, and she will be a
prize, I want her safe, and cherished, Hazel.”
“And the North would cherish her?” she sneered at the thought. She knew what a wild people
they were, there were legends of their wildness, they never came South unless it was for war,
and they excelled at war. To summon the North was to summon war.
“Yes,” he whispered softly. “Cregan Stark deeply grieves his wife, he values his sisters above
all but his own child, the North places value on their women, Hazel. Lady Sansa has long
since been acknowledged as a voice for the North, and to dare impede her is to be met with
her brother’s bannermen and their wrath. Lady Arra Stark was a renown general, and
respected by Northerners before her passing. Lady Sara Stark is a famed huntress, and
respected for her skills, she commands hunting parties, and has done so since she was but a
small child. Daenaera will grow in a place where women are respected and protected, and
cherished, and she will have opportunities; Lady Sansa has said Northern ladies do not have
Ladies in Waiting but rather Ladies, who are trained to defend their holdfasts and command.
Daenaera could be more accomplished in the North than just a beauty of the South. I want her
to have these opportunities.”
There was a roar of a dragon, and Daeron turned, she flinched seeing Corlys’ sails on the
horizon as the dragons flew towards them. Daeron pulled her close, she gripped his chest as
she stared at the sails.
“We’ll go North,” she whispered, fear filling her at the sight of the Targaryen sigil. She did
not want her daughter to be a hostage.
“I’ll never let anything happen to you or Daenaera,” Daeron promised.
“I know,” she whispered as she looked up at him. “I trust you.”

“We will go High Tide,” Corlys stated. He was hoping to sway the stubborn Northerners. The
four, burly, tall, massive men, all turned to glare at him.
“Our Lord commanded us to go find shelter with Ser Vaemond, he is Lord Drekaúlfur’s
vassal,” the eldest Northerner stated. Corlys was certain that one was Reince Dustin.
“It will not have enough space for all of you,” Corlys started.
“We did not ask for your opinion, we are to do as our Lord commanded,” the other Dustin
brother cut off. Corlys was certain that one was Rolan Dustin. Honestly he didn’t know, all
the Dustin men had brown hair, dark eyes, and thick brown beards. The men were all fast to
laughter, and playful antics, which belied their power and strength, Corlys knew that Prince
Jaehaerys and Prince Maelor were taken with the Northerners who let them climb all over
their persons. Princess Jaehaera was also nearest to the Northman named Rody.
“Take us to Ser Vaemond’s holding,” the other Dustin ordered; Corlys thought that one to be
Rogun, he always had Maelor or Jaehaerys on his shoulders.
“I…” Corlys started.
“If you dare to endanger Lord Drekaúlfur’s sister, or attempt to force us to disobey Lord
Stark, there will be mutiny,” the largest Dustin snarled threateningly. Corlys glared at the
man. These Northerners were so bloody determined to be unreasonable! Lord Stark said go to
Ser Vaemond, and the Northerners would not be reasoned or negotiated into seeing the
different comforts for Princess Helaena and her children. The Northerners had a
singlemindedness which rival common sense because Lord Stark commanded it, so it would
be done as Lord Stark declared.
“Driftmark is not large enough for your party.”
“We ain’t fucking party guests!” snapped a different Dustin. “We’re here as a guard, Princess
Helaena is the guest, now don’t fuck up or we’ll bring your head to Lord Stark!”
Corlys snarled at the implications. Lord Stark was not a King, and yet these Northerners
acted as if their liege lord was their King. He saw Driftmark come into view as Dreamfyre
flew overhead, and he sighed. His brother was so determined to live with these people,
perhaps having to deal with them for an extended period of time would make his brother see
sense! Corlyse scowled as a Dustin bared a weapon with a raised brow threateningly. Despite
the child riding the Northerner’s shoulder, the threatening display did not lessen, no, this bear
of a man looked ready to tear Corlys’ ship apart if Corlys tried to reason with him again.
Daemion was walking with Malentine and Rhogar.
“You want me to give up everything, turn in my commission and go North for what?”
Malentine asked as they walked.
“It’s a new oprotuntinity!” Daemion smiled mischieveously. He knew his cousins were
interested, but hesitant.
“I can’t just give up everything on a whim, Daemion,” Rhogar stated. “And what are we to
do in the North? It’s not like they have anything of value for us.”
“Ah, but that’s the value, cousin!” Daemion grinned. “The North lacks a navy and merchant
trade, yes they have sailors, the Skagos, but that’s located on the farthest Northern island, and
they don’t have a navy! We are going to build them one!”
“A navy?” Malentine raised his brow in disbelief.
“Yes, in exchange, we’ll be free to build ports, establish a Valyrian free hold city in the lands
of Lord Drekaúlfur, as well as have the opportunity to rise within the Northern ranks. The
North already has conscription and military requirements for men and women as well as a
tolerance for diversity of religions the South is lacking. Lord Stark is overlord of the North,
and holds Winterfell, and I can assure you, he’s the fairest of overlords we could ever ask for.
The North follows Starks, they have ruled for millennia! And best yet, he is willing to defer
to us in building him a navy, while also permitting us the opportunity to continue to conduct
business!” Daemion smiled.
“That’s sounding too good to be true, cousin,” Rhogar said skeptically.
“It sounds too good because it is,” Malentine grumbled.
“No, it’s not, other than we will have to acclimate ourselves to the Northerners and their
ways, while they adjust to us, but this is a fair opportunity with rich prospects,” Daemion
reasoned. “The only true pitfalls are the dangerous weathers, local sports, and local populace,
we might have to learn to farm as well. And Lord Drekaúlfur, while cunning, is new to the
lands and will be establishing his House and I’m to be his steward; it’s Aemond, we’re going
to be Prince Aemond’s vassals… oh, and Northern law, which is very simple, and direct, we
would be expected to comply. But I mean, it isn’t so bad, they are a good people!”
“So essentially you want us to give up our lives here, on an island we know is safe, for a land
of danger for an unestablished Lord, under a Northern overlord with conscription in place?”
Rhogar sighed.
“It’s not like we have much to live for here!” Daemion snapped angrily. “You can’t form
good matches, you hesitate to propose to your match because you lack the ability to support
her on your current wages in Uncle’s business, and the constrains on House Velaryon’s funds
are beginning to get to us as we cannot maintain our own. And we have begun to hemorrhage
business because Uncle continues to permit his gooddaughter free reign in doing whatever
she should please! If we do not do something soon, House Velaryon will be in destitute. My
father has struggled to maintain our connections in the Free Cities, as well as the other
Realms, and our standing as a House is losing hold rapidly. At least going to the North we
will have a new beginning with brutal, but honest people, and the opportunities are honest!
We can rebuild to have standing, the North and Dorne are now having diplomatic relations
thanks to us, and that has never happened before! The North is so isolationist in their
economy and trade, they have never openly traded with the Realms, and they have rarely
welcomed a new Lord amongst their midst!
“The last Lord they welcomed was Lord Manderly’s survivors, and they permitted them to
establish White Harbor and permitted them to keep their Faith! Lord Stark has offered us the
same opportunity under Lord Drekaúlfur’s protection! We could practice our ways, our
customs, our religion openly! Without fear of the Faith persecuting us! We would no longer
have to fear being deemed queer or peculiar, and we could live!” Daemion stated desperately.
“And how do you know Lord Stark won’t change his mind? He did just banish the Faith from
the North,” Malentine stated.
“Yes and no,” Daemion admitted. “He banished the Faith out of Northern lands yes, but he
permitted it within the confines of the Manderly lands, even in his grief and agony, he
respected his vassals enough to permit them to retain their heritage and culture. But also,
these Manderlys, they are of the Faith, and they looked ready to gut the maester for killing
Lady Arra Stark, and they looked ready to avenge her, despite sharing the same beliefs as the
maester who killed Lord Stark’s wife. They love Lord Stark and his family more than they do
their own religion, that’s loyalty, cousin, and the Starks command that loyalty with grace and
tolerance, and they have the trust of their people to never abuse it. I would follow a Stark
over our Uncle, even without knowing them directly!”
“That is a bold claim,” Rhogar said.
“Yes, but they are everything leaders are supposed to be!” Daemion insisted.
“And if we do go North, what guarantees do we have that this will not be worse than things
are now, at least here the lands are forgiving enough for our survival,” Malentine stated.
“None, but, the North has a great respect for their military, you’d have opportunities to rise to
admirals, and be of service and true value, as well as work in our trade, and be merchants,
and we’d be free,” Daemion explained.
“We’ll speak more to Uncle Vaemond about it,” Malentine stated.
There was a roar, and he turned to see Dreamfyre flying towards them, they walked to the
edge of the garden walls, and he saw Corlys’ ship.
“Uncle Corlys is back…” Malentine muttered sourly.
“Why is Dreamfyre here?” Daemion muttered.
Vaemond was sitting with Daenaera, he knew his sons were persuading their cousins and
families to see the truth of the matter, but he knew this would be easier to sway them if his
nephews could see the loyalty of the Northerners and the kindness of Lord Sark. Daenaera
smiled as he bounced her in his arms, her wild silver curls and violet eyes were a beautiful
contrast to her coffee colored complexion, she had her mother’s eyes, and cheekbones, her
mother’s mouth too, but that nose, and those brows, they were all Daeron’s! she was a
classic, delicate Valyrian beauty!
There was a roar, and Vaemond paused his talks with his granddaughter as he walked over to
the window, looking out he was surprised to see Dreamfyre; the silvery blue of the dragon
was recognizable anywhere.
Walking outside with his granddaughter on his hip, he looked around for Dreamfyre’s rider,
but Princess Helaena was not to be found. He frowned in concern, and looked for answers.
Coming to the docks he saw his sons and nephews there.
“Oh bloody fucking hell,” Vaemond snarled as he handed Daenaera to Hazel and walked
down to his brother’s ship. He paused as he neared seeing the big, burly men disembarking.
Two men had Prince Jaehaerys and Prince Maelor on their shoulders. A third appeared
holding Princess Jaehaera. Then Rody appeared, cradling Princess Helaena.
“Ser Vaemond Velaryon,” the largest man, walked forward. He was a massive man, with a
thick brown beard like Rody’s. He knew this was one of the Dustin brothers, he’d seen them
around the Red Keep guarding the Royal Families. “Lord Stark sends us, with commands
from Lord Drekaúlfur, we are apologetic for our intrusion, but Lord Drekaúlfur is entrusting
the care and safety of his sister and her children to you as his vassal. We are here to guard
Princess Helaena and her children.”
“Of course,” Vaemond looked at the princess who was muttering against Rody’s throat.
“Come along, we’ll get her and her children and you settled,” Vaemond said.
“Thank you,” the biggest man said.
“I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced,” Vaemond said to the Northerners.
“Our apologies, I’m Reince, that’s Rogun, and that’s Rolan, we’re Lord Dustin’s sons, and
you know Rody,” Reince said.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Vaemond said.
“Heard you’ve decided to become our neighbors,” Rogun chuckled as he swung Prince
Maelor down onto his hip. The dragons appeared then, flying over the children.
“Yes, we are very excited for the opportunities of the North,” Vaemond smiled.
“We are glad, and forever thankful for your aid, the North never forgets,” Rolan said. “Oi,
knock it off! Rody will drop your mother,” Rolan snapped at the Prince Jaehaerys when the
boy looked ready to jump at Rody.
“Is Muñny going to die?” Jaehaerys asked.
“No,” Rody stated. It was now that Vaemond noticed the worried looks on the Northerners’
faces.
“While we settle Princess Helaena, if it would please the young Princes and Princess, they
might play with Daenaera in the gardens,” Vaemond said as they approached his family.
“I think that is wise,” Rody huffed as he shifted Helaena in his arms.
“We’ll come find you brother,” Reince said.
Rody nodded and Vaemond smiled as Daemion and Daeron walked up to greet the other
Northerners. Vaemond saw Corlys following him and scowled as he lead Rody into his home.
Guest rights would wait, first he’d get the Northerners settled. Princess Helaena looked
terrible, and ill, she was whispering against the Northerner’s throat he noticed and Rody
would occasionally respond to her.
“Might I ask what ails the Princess?”
“She’s not mad!” Rody snapped.
“I would never presume that,” he assured.
“She’s suffering greensight or dragon dreams, septas have declared her mad and attempted to
remove her children from her, Lord Stark decided to move her, you’re a neutral vassal until
she’s well. We’ll be seeking answers to aid her at Dragonstone, but Driftmark is a safe
holding as of now,” Rody muttered as they walked into a room. Vaemond opened it, and
watched the Northerner lay Princess Helaena out on the bed. She cried out, and Rody said
something soft to the Princess before standing and walking to Vaemond.
“I am honored to be of assistance,” Vaemond said seriously.
“Thank you,” Rody nodded. “We do apologize for the lack of notice.”
“It is well, we will discuss the matter more later, I will offer guest rights to your brothers and
you as well as the children and Princess Helaena when you are able. For now, rest, she is safe
here, no septas or septons ever come to Driftmark,” he said.
“Thank you,” Rody sighed again as he took a seat and let his head fall back tiredly. Vaemond
noted that the Northerner had all his weapons ready and looked to be asleep but alert.
Leaving the man to rest, Vaemond walked out to see the other Northerners scattered in his
gardens, they all seemed to share Rody’s inclination of keeping their weapons on their
persons but were kindly letting the children explore.
“Brother, we should speak,” Corlys said. Vaemond frowned, firmly shutting the doors of his
home behind him.
“About what, Lord Corlys?” Vaemond asked levelly.
“We should speak inside,” Corlys started.
“No.”
“Brother, this is serious.”

“It’s been serious for twenty years Lord Corlys, and you have had no desire to speak until it
is convenient for you!” Vaemond snapped.
“Can we please discuss the matter in your home, it is not for all ears, brother,” Corlys started.
“While I hold Driftmark you will not set foot in it, and when I am gone you can instate
whomever you like, but it is my holding you are not welcome in it! Now state your business
and your purpose!” Vaemond demanded.
“I command you we discuss the matter inside!”
“You do not command me or mine, Lord Corlys, we are in service and have sworn fealty to
Lord Stark and Lord Drekaúlfur, I follow their command and will, and have the right to
refuse your command!”
“Vaemond, please! This is not about our House anymore!” Corlys snapped.
“Then speak, here, now, before your House as you damn them to ruination!” Vaemond
gestured to where his nephews and sons were, his gooddaughter, his granddaughter. “This is
the House you have not tended to, so speak, Lord Corlys, we have tried speaking to you for
over twenty years to no avail!”
“That is not true, brother,” Corlys started. “And this meeting is not for the open, but rather
between us, as a war council.”
“Then you should speak to Malentine and Rhogar, I have turned in my commission Lord
Corlys, I am no more an admiral in the Velaryon navy and have no further matters to discuss
with you.”
“You have truly forsaken me?” Corlys sputtered.
“You have long since forsaken me and mine, so I will serve Lord Stark and Lord Drekaúlfur,
they have already proven to be better overlords, now excuse me, I have to attend to my
guests,” he dismissed as he walked towards Reince and Rogun who looked at him warily.
“I have only ever done what is best for our House and our standing! Everything I have done
is for this House!”
“It is fo the Iron Throne!” Vaemond snarled. “Do not deny it brother, you care little for your
House, you have always been ambitious and sought the Iron Throne at whatever the cost! I
will not be paying that price any longer, I serve Lord Stark and Lord Drekaúlfur who place
value in servicing their people and their Houses and put aside their personal ambitions for the
good of their people!”
“I have only cared for this House!” Corlys snapped.
Vaemond did not respond as he glared at his brother. He knew that Daeron had married well
below his station and paid a high bride’s price for his union for a small dowery in return. He
knew his nephews suffered under Corlys’ neglect, and he knew his own son held such low
value in himself that he would not think to wed a woman he was of good standing wish. The
damages were dealt, and being dealt, they did not cease just to appease Corlys’ ambitions.
Vaemond looked at his sons and nephews and sighed.
“I am tired fighting you, brother, I have made my choice, me and those who wish to follow
me, are going North, we are no longer in your service. I have tried to reason with you, tried to
speak with you, tried to be your brother, but alas, nothing works, so I will go to serve a Lord
who actually cares about the welfare of his people enough to humble himself to ask for aid,
and the offer opportunities to teach outsiders about his people because he is humble enough
to know the difference between his pride and vanity. I will serve a Lord who cares more
about his people rather than his pride.”
“Then it sounds like my uncle has found a good overlord and liege, worthy of the loyalty and
devotion he’s inspired. While I have you here, Lord Corlys, I would also like to discuss
resigning my commission,” Malentine spoke.
“I as well,” Rhogar said. “Uncle Vaemond, the North’s navy, will we be able to retain our
rank?”
“Yes, Lord Stark has agreed to defer to us while he learns naval warfare,” Vaemond said.
“It’d be an honor to teach Lord Stark,” Malentine decided.
“Then I too believe I shall endeavor North,” Gahaeraenar offered.
“I think I shall too,” Vaevon said. “Are Northern girl’s pretty?”
“Stunning,” Daemion answered.
“Then I believe my brothers and I should remain together,” Taegarys said. “I will resign my
commission, Lord Corlys.”
“You… You can’t,” Corlys started.
“I will file the appropriate paperwork, and ensure my brothers do as well, there are
opportunities to be had in the North which sound very appealing,” Malentine decided.
Vaemond nodded as he looked at his brother. “Then I believe we have nothing further to
discuss. I will attend to my guests, and speak to them as they are my liege’s men.”
Vaemond turned from Corlys and walked over to his sons, and the Stark men, he looked the
young children over.
“Why don’t we get everyone settled, some baths, and food, and we will discuss matters
further,” he promised as he walked over the children.
“Is Muñny going to die?” Jaehaerys whispered.
“No, dragonling, we’ll even visit your mother when Rody’s got her settled,” Reince
promised. Vaemond looked over the elder Dustin men.
“I do wish for us to discuss the matters that have brought you here, but it can wait for the
young Princes and Princess to be settled,” Vaemond promised.
“Thank you,” Reince said. “We are aware of this situation being rather untoward and we do
apologize for that. The short notice, and we do not mean to impose, but we were desperate,
Blacks wanted to take the wee dragonlings with them to Dragonstone.”
“I see, well, you are more than welcome to remain here, they can share the nursery with
Daenaera, and we will have to make different accommodations for you and your brothers,
Princess Helaena will have the quarters I showed her to,” Vaemond said.
“Don’t worry about housing us, Ser Vaemond, we’ll make do,” Rogun stated as he walked
around them. “We’ll sleep around, we’re here to guard Princess Helaena, we are not here as
guests.”
“I would prefer formal accommodations either way, we are to be neighbors after all,”
Vaemond said.
“Very well, do what you feel you must, but we’ll be here to guard.”
“I understand,” Vaemond nodded.
“Good. Oi! Wee dragonling, if you don’t put that down I will tan your hide!” Reince warned
with a snarl. Vaemond turned around to see Prince Maelor holding a battle axe. “Mmm, put it
down! Rogun, stop letting the brats hold weapons!”
“I gave Robard his first axe at that age!”
“And Rognar, Ryon, Rickard, and Rody have the scars, no more axes for toddlers! They’re
menacing enough with bloody dragons!” Reince stated as he grabbed the axe.
Aemond arrived in the middle of the night, and he swept into the Red Keep without an
announcement as he walked up to his quarters. The exhaustion was seeping into his bones
again, and tomorrow he’d have to speak to Lord Norrey and Lord Mormont about the North
leaving. Aemond had thought about it a lot on the flight back to King’s Landing. He made it
to the rooms and paused when he silently slid into the room. Sansa was sleeping with a
sewing hoop in her lap. Frostfyre’s eyes opened and Aemond gave the wolf a scratch on the
ear as he walked over to Sansa. Taking the hoop from her he put it in the sewing basket. He
put his bag on his desk, carefully pulling off the riding jerkin, and draping it over his chair as
he sat across from her. Pulling off his eyepatch he released a heavy sigh before pulling out
the sapphire.
Looking at Sansa he studied her carefully, it couldn’t be comfortable to be sleeping in that

chair, her head was at an awkward angle. But she was still sleeping very soundly, he looked
at the wolf who was watching him warily and smirked, it was the wolf. Of that he was
certain, she slept like this because she felt safe.
Reaching over he touched her knee.
Sansa’s eyes snapped open as she yelped, jumping in her chair, and he snorted as she glared
at him.
“Stop Doing That! I’m Going To Sew Bells Into Your Clothes!” Sansa hissed as she rubbed
her heart and scowled. Aemond smirked a little as he leaned back. Tilting her head back she
sighed as she sat there.
“I’m back,” he stated.
“And damn near killed me,” she muttered as she closed her eyes. “You’re home,” she smiled
as she seemed to calm down and he nodded in agreement as she rubbed her eyes.
“No…” he muttered softly. This wasn’t his home, he wasn’t going to claim it as such either.
“But I am back.”
“Mmm…” she hummed. “How is Jon?”
“Alive,” he answered honestly.
“What happened?” Sansa asked him as she rested her cheek on her fist.
“Boltons attacked Winterfell, laid a trap in hopes of killing your brother, Jon, didn’t work,
they didn’t take Winterfell. So we took Dreadfort, the Boltons are no more, except for the
baby girl,” Aemond said softly.
He saw Sansa’s eyes go wide then.
“The Boltons…” she whispered.
“They are no more, they will not be around to harm any further lines of you or yours,” he
murmured the promise calmly.
She sat up a little straighter.
“I had Vhagar burn the Dreadfort down… it was a vile, evil place,” he muttered. “And I
thought the Red Keep was horrid.”
“You… you turned it into Harrenhal!?” she asked. He paused at the vicious glee lighting her
eyes, and the sharp smile curling her lips. She looked very Stark then, Cregan and Jon both
had that wolfish smile, and viciousness there.
“I… I do not think Lord Stark will be bequeathing the fort to another, but yes, I did,”
Aemond admitted as he examined that vicious smile on her lips. Sansa came over to him,
throwing her arms around him, he was startled as she filled his lap with a large smacking kiss
then.
“They’re dead!” she giggled in delight as she hugged him, vibrating with her delights and
smile. “They’re dead and gone! No one’s going to hunt Stark pelts now!”
Aemond’s arm slid behind Sansa to keep her balanced as she was swaying with her delight.
She pulled away and he saw that same wolfish smile on her lips as she sat astride his lap.
“This is the best news! Better than Joffrey’s and Ramsey’s deaths!” she giggled out gleefully
as she stared at him.
“I am glad you are pleased,” he said as she sat there smiling with a bright smile.
“You have just saved my family from a very dangerous, annoying enemy,” she said as she
kissed him again. “Oh, thank you!”
He was startled as she hugged his shoulders. Aemond just held her tightly.
“I’m sorry, I know you don’t like your personal space invaded, but thank you!” Sansa
whispered as she hugged him.
“I… I am sorry,” he muttered as she held him tightly. Aemond did not know what else he
could say, but he still didn’t trust her, he accepted he might’ve been an ass. She sat up a little.
“I do… we are friends,” he murmured.
“We’re friends,” she said. “Thank you Aemond, you… this is a precious gift, thank you,” she
rested her brow on his as she smiled. “Thank you!”
He nodded as they sat there.
“Cregan is safe, he has Winterfell, Lady Barba Bolton, he’s made Jon a Lord of the North,
Rickon is… fast, very fast, why are they so fast at that age? They’re tiny, short legs, and
they’re fast! Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor are all fast, Rickon too!”
Sansa laughed a bit. “I’m glad they’re safe,” she whispered. “I got word from Rody’s
brothers, they’re in Driftmark, and Helaena is safe, so are her children. They’re going to go to
Dragonstone soon,” Sansa murmured.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“Of course,” she nodded. “Thank you, Aemond, thank you for everything!” she smiled.
He nodded as they both sat there.
“We should go to bed,” Aemond said softly as she cupped his scarred cheek. She nodded in
agreement as she got up. He rose after her and watched as she undid her hair. “How have
things been here?”
“We have been quiet, Sara is return North, as is the Winter Council, the Small Council has
been working hard, and Aegon’s in no better or worse, yet, but I fear that he will not survive
longer,” she murmured.
“I know,” he sighed. “We are leaving tomorrow. I have to speak with the Winter Council, I
will tell you more about it out of these halls, but…” he said as he took off his belt. Sansa was
in her nightgown when she came out from behind the divider. Her red hair was tangled in her
fingers as she was braiding it.
“I understand,” she yawned. He nodded as she sat down on the bed. “I have things to tell you
outside of these halls as well,” she assured.
“Mmm…” he nodded as she stopped him from falling onto the pillow, he was startled at the
ease she plaited his hair then, and he raised his brow as they sat there. Once she was pleased
with his hair, he found himself free to lay down.
They both laid down and Aemond looked at her carefully.
“We’re safe,” she giggled softly, looking very sleepy then.
“We are never safe,” he sighed tiredly.
“No, Aemond… you don’t understand, you’ve killed the greatest threat to my family, both
now and in the future. The Boltons… Ramsey Bolton killed my brother, Rickon, he nearly
killed Jon, he nearly killed off the Stark line, and we… we are safe!” she whispered giddily.
“We’re safe, thank you,” she murmured as she reached over tracing his jawline, pausing at
his lips. He looked at her again.
“I’m glad you are pleased,” he sighed. He still didn’t know how to feel about his actions,
killing Lord Bolton as he pleaded for mercy, it hadn’t felt wrong, but Aemond hadn’t felt
anything about the act of killing Lord Bolton. The action was necessary, and burning the
Dreadfort had cut off any Bolton from regrowing. Yes, he was aware Cregan intended to graft
Barba Bolton into his family lines, but the Starks had already admitted to having many
connections to their defeated Kings, grafting those lines into the Stark’s line.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I know it is not something that deserves thanks, but… thank
you,” she repeated softly. “The Red Kings are no more.”
He nodded as he closed his eye. Sansa hummed a bit and he sighed as he let sleep tug on his
mind. He’d have to leave sooner rather than later, Aegon’s death was looming, and he’d have
to leave if he had any hopes for escaping a royal funeral. If he wanted to go on his
campaigns, they’d have to leave sooner rather than later. Sansa scooted closer to him, he
hummed as he pulled her closer, draping his arm around her. He was rather comfortable right
here.
Lord Desmond Manderly was sitting in his hall in New Castle. He looked at his son in shock
after having read Lord Stark’s missive and assurance of visiting White Harbor after the return
of the Winter’s Council. He was relieved though as he sagged in his seat reading the
assurances of the Lord of Winterfell that their fealty was appreciated, and they would not
need to renounce their the Faith. The fact they did not have to surrender their Gods for Lord
Stark, or the North, Cregan was a most kind and generous Lord, and this would put a stop the
turmoil his people had felt.
Though none of their neighbors had been openly hostile, many of the Manderly’s own people
were starting to feel an anger towards their most Southron brethren and the new Southron
septons and septas. The old Northern septas and septons were also feeling the anger towards
the young Southron septons and septas. Sending the most recent crop of Southron septons
and septas South had been to appease Desmond’s own Northern septons and septas from full
wrath. After sending the Southron septas and septons South though, well, that had then arisen
a question of if they exiled the Northern septas and septons, and that was the strife. The fear
Desmond’s people had was valid.
And he hadn’t wanted to exile the Northern septons and septas, but he didn’t want to keep
them if the Northerners were anger for holding their Faith, but he also didn’t want to release
the Faith. The Faith was all his people had known, to read Cregan Stark’s reassurances that
the Faith was safe here, it was the earthly institutes he had issues with. And Desmond
understood that, man was corrupt, the Gods pure, and there was a separation of that in
Northern understanding.
This was probably due to the fact the Northerners did not have earthly representatives for
their Gods to preach on their behalf. Instead the Northerners believed their Gods to be
amongst them, to guide them, to be flawed and imperfect with the men they were worshipped
by.
Manderlys had struggled with that concept as a whole, but the Starks had struggled with the
need for septons and septas. Eventually though, the Northerners and the Manderlys had
become good neighbors. The Old Gods and New Gods coexisting without strife and conflict.
“We will forever thank Cregan Stark for his kindness,” Desmond smiled at his son then.
“He is a merciful lord,” Medrick smiled in return. “Whatever he plans, we will follow him.”
Desmond didn’t know what Cregan was intending or why he’d want to know the Faith, but if
the wolves wanted information, House Manderly would be giving it to the Starks. Standing
he smiled, whatever the Starks wanted, he’d give it to them.
Cole looked at Aegon who was struggling to breath, part of him wished the man would die.
Another part mourned the babe Aegon had been.
He’d loved this young man when he’d been a babe, he’d gotten close to Queen Alicent and
her children after Rhaenyra’s wedding. He had never been as close to Aegon as he was with
Helaena, Aemond, and Daeron, but he had loved this boy. Closing his eyes he let his head fall
back, rubbing his hand over his heart.
Gods give him strength, he didn’t know what to do, if it’d be a mercy to kill Aegon, or a
mercy to let the Prince slip into death naturally. He just wanted to give Alicent a reprieve
from the agony Aegon made her endure though.
Cole didn’t know what to do.

Chapter 24
Chapter Notes
The Winter Council was looking at him as Sansa and Sara just stared, with twinned
dumbfounded expressions. The news of the Boltons being exterminated, and the Dreadfort
turned into another Harrenhal was surprisingly well received; not fantastic, but well received.
Aemond could’ve sworn he saw Lord Dustin about to do some weird Northern dance of glee,
while Mormont, Umber, Norrey, and Karstark looked like they were attempting, and
miserably failing, to hide their glee about this. Other lords looked a bit mixed about this, but
not too terribly upset. The part that had everyone looking dumbfounded, slack jawed,
flabbergasted, and dumbfounded was the second half of what Aemond had to share.
The Hightowers had orchestrated this.
The mere concept to the Northerners that Lord Bolton dared to even do business, let alone
work with, a Southron Lord was something of a challenge for them to grasp. Even Sansa and
Sara were looking dumbfounded. And Aemond then annoyed them when Aemond warned
Sara and the entire Winter’s Council, to be wary of the journey home, because someone was
paid to hunt Starks, and they wanted the Starks dead. Sara looked annoyed and offended,
Sansa just looked exasperated, the Winter’s Council looked vexed, and Aemond just wanted
to smirk when all of that morphed into offense and outrage.
“They want to hunt us, then let them,” Lucan snarled.
“I… Lucan,” Sansa started.
“No, they killed my daughter, my grandson’s mother, my liege’s wife! I’ll kill every last
Southron fool who comes after my family!” Lucan snarled. Aemond blinked a few times as
he looked at Lucan Norrey. The older warrior looked to be the embodiment of grim rage, but
he also looked so sorrowful that his agony was clear. Aemond knew Cregan still grieved Arra
deeply, and her family did too, but he had not expected the fury of Lucan Norrey to be openly
displayed in a grim rage. Lucan looked at the Winter Council then with a snarl on his lips.
“They want to hunt wolves, we’ll remind them why that’s a bad idea. We’re going home, I’ll
get the Little Wolf back to Cregan safe, she’s one of mine, so we’ll get her home. Aemond,
you keep the Red Wolf alive and safe, no matter the cost,” Lucan pointed at him. “We’re not
giving them any opportunities to claim a Stark pelt.”
“I will return her in good health,” Aemond muttered.
“Good, we’ll see you two in the air, and we’ll ride North after that,” Lucan decided.
“Very well,” Aemond nodded as he looked at Sansa and Sara, the girls were nodding in
agreement. He saw the way the pair hugged each other and Sansa pulled away, smiling at
Sara.
“Ég mun sjá þig aftur, litli úlfur, þú veiðir skelfingarnar sem veiða okkur,” Sansa whispered
to Sara.
“Þú og dreki vertu öruggur, Rauði úlfur, við veiðum saman,” Sara replied.
Sansa kissed Sara’s brow then as she stepped away from Sara and walked to him. “Stay
Frostfyre,” Sansa murmured as she took Aemond’s arm. She smiled again over her shoulder
as they walked together.
Aemond helped Sansa up onto the horse and he swung up behind her. He nudged the horse
into a trot as they went for Vhagar. It was when they reached the ridge that he turned to look
back at the Northern envoy, the
“You can still say goodbye to your mother,” Sansa said after a while, turning to look at as
they moved across the field.
“She and I have nothing more to say,” Aemond murmured softly as they came over the ridge.
“Do you wish to discuss the matter?”
“No, but I expect my uncle to be persistent in trying to convert me,” Aemond said as the
horse walked now.
“Why?” Sansa’s head fell back, and he raised his brow as he frowned a bit at he examined
her.
“You are a Stark.”
“I’m very well aware,” she chuckled.
“Starks worship the Old Gods, and I have shattered one of the illusions and comforts I gave
my mother to marry you in a ceremony which would not offend the North, or my House,”
Aemond pointed out.
Now Sansa looked sad. “Did you truly never believe in the Seven?”
“I did not,” he whispered honestly. “I might have, once, but… the night Lucerys took my eye,
the septons and septas told me it was the price of my vanity and pride, I was a child, and they
condemned me. I thought about it, and… if the Seven were the true Gods then I wanted no
part of Gods that could be so cruel and heartless. I decided to learn about Valyria and the
Valyrian Gods, and in learning them I found my own solace. I gave my mother the illusion
though that I believed as she did, it brought her comfort.”
“I believed in the Seven, once, when I was a girl,” she whispered and had him blinking as she
leaned back, her head falling back so she could look at him. “My mother was a Tully, I told
you that,” she said. “My father, they weren’t to marry, but, he wanted their union to be…
good, and so he built her a sept in Winterfell. I can even pace it out, exactly where it stood.
And my father gave patronage to a septon and a few septas for my mother’s comforts. She
raised us in the Faith.”
“Mmm, and when did you stop believing in the Seven?”
“The moment Joffrey killed my father, the Freys killed my brother and mother, and mutilated
their corpses, the moment I married a Lannister, and again and again when I remained in that
godless Red Keep. I found solace in the Old Gods after my brother and mother were killed,
the Godswood, it always felt safe, godless, but safe. The Old Gods walk amongst us,
Aemond, they are flawed and imperfect, but they brought me a solace the Faith never could,”
she admitted.
He nodded in agreement. The Faith had never brought him anything but pain.
“What’s the plan?” Sansa asked.
“Permit my uncle to mend the rift between myself and the Faith, and we… we might have to
wed before the Seven to appease them,” Aemond muttered honestly.
“Well… I guess I will have to remember Septa Mordane’s lessons. I was rather contrite to
her, at the end, and for that I will always be regretful, but she taught me much,” Sansa said as
she looked up at Aemond. “Might the Maiden guide me for a suitable match with my
husband, and the Mother bless me so I might give my husband many children, and the
Warrior grant my husband strength to protect me, also the Father so he might guide my
husband to be true and just, and the Smith to forge a lasting union between us, might the
Crone give her wisdom in harsh times, and the Stranger wait, for I want a long, prosperous
life with my husband. I think that’s how that goes, I was a girl when I married in the eyes of
the Seven, and dismally distraught through the affair, so I’m not certain if the prayers are
correct…”
He blinked a few times.
“You… you accept this?” he sputtered.
“Hm?”
“The… another… a ceremony we won’t have control over…” he started uncertainly.
“Aemond, I’m already married to you in the ways which matter to both of us, so, a
performance for House Hightower if needed… so be it, information, and deceptions are
always needed. And it is not like you and I will be required to do anything we have not
already done,” Sansa shrugged.
“Even the bedding; again?” he challenged. Aemond had no doubt that if they were to do this
farse, his uncle would want to have a proper witnessing of the bedding, and it was a
horrifying thought.
“It’s all a game, my prince, we’ll play our parts in this hunt, and when it is over we’ll be at
Lenton, at home,” she promised. “Admittedly, we’ll probably stay at Winterfell for the
Winter.”
“The Winter?”
“Aye, that’s to be declared in two years’ time, it’s a long one if I remember correctly, four, or
five years long,” she explained.
“How do you just remember this?” he asked.
“Because I’m a stupid girl who was good at memorizing things, I was slow to learn, Aemond,
that is true, but my lessons, once I was taught, I never forgot,” she smiled at him. “I never
forget anything, learning it, now that’s always been my challenge.”
“You are certain of when Winter happens?” he asked.
“Aye…” she smiled.
He thought this over as she just scooted forward. “When did the Dance start; exactly?”
“Hm?”
“Sansa, this is very serious, when did the Dance start, exactly. You’ve told me how it’s
started, but when?” Aemond eyed her carefully as she tilted her head back.
“The year 129 AC. King Viserys will die on the third day of the third moon in the year 129
AC, the Dance of the Dragons would begin a few moons after that. Prince Aegon and
Princess Rhaenyra would both be crowned as Viserys’ successors, and it would start the
Dance. The Dance began though, around the fifth or sixth moon when Lucerys and you met
at Storm’s End.”
“So… we have a year, or less on the investigation,” Aemond said as he started thinking this
over carefully. If he could be in the North before the year 129 AC, then he could prevent
himself whatever disaster undid everything he did in his lifetime.
“We do have less than a year,” Sansa agreed. “If Aegon dies… Rhaenyra is Queen, and that
circumvents the Dance entirely,” she said softly.
He nodded. “But it also leaves the Realm in turmoil either way,” Aemond muttered sourly.
“Aegon dying does not prevent the war, which is what you were after,” Aemond admitted.
“No. I was never after stopping the war, Aemond,” she whispered. “I couldn’t prevent the
war, even if I wanted to, I accepted that when we were first coming South. There’s too much
I would not know about, to many players, to many games already in motion. Even if I broke
the game up temporarily, it would not undo everything already building for decades. Stall it,
or change it, yes, but prevent it, no, I do not think I could ever stop a war.”
“And yet you threatened to break all my work,” Aemond growled as he tugged a strand of her
hair.
“I didn’t know it was yours! History never said you were a forger!” she huffed.
He rolled his eye.
“Semantics in this matter are important, Aemond,” Sansa informed him with a rueful smile.
“Mmm,” he hummed nonchalantly as they approached Vhagar. Vhagar was basking in the
sun and he felt Sansa tense. He swung down as they neared Vhagar’s head. He helped Sansa
down and she was tense as they walked near Vhagar.
“How… how do you say thank you, in Valyrian?” Sansa stammered out nervously as they
walked to Vhagar.
“Kirimvose,” he answered reflexively. “How do you say it in Old Tongue?”
“Þakka þér fyrir,” she answered with a smug smile. “I will admit, until I lived with Cregan,
my Old Tongue was atrocious, Jon and Robb were always the best at it, spoke it fluently, and
then there was Bran, he could speak it, very well,” Sansa explained. “Arya and I could not,
we used basic sentences to speak when we were planning against Baelish. No one outside of
the North uses it. Kerimvuse?” she tested out.
“Kirimvose,” he said with practiced ease.
“Kirimvose…” she muttered it several times to herself as they walked to Vhagar’s head.
Vhagar’s eye snapped open, the lid sliding back as her eye looked at Sansa. Sansa tensed,
gripping his arm painfully tight as they neared her.
“Rytsas, Vhagar,” Aemond murmured as he reached out for her. “īlon sōvegon rūsīr mele
zokla naejot se qrinuntys. Rhaenagon naejot arghugon.”
“Um… Kirimvose, Vhagar…” Sansa stammered out. “Kirimvose.”
Aemond was quick to grab Sansa’s hand and place it below Vhagar’s eye.
“Kirimvose,” Sansa repeated. Vhagar gave a low rumble, and Aemond nodded as he released
his wife’s hand. She kept a light rub on Vhagar’s snout, withdrawing her hand after a bit of
time. Aemond gave Vhagar a pat before walking Sansa to the ladder of the saddle. He helped
her get started with climbing it and followed swiftly. Atop the saddle, he thought about how
to ride with Sansa. With Cregan and the other Northerners they held on behind but Aemond
wanted Sansa secured where she’d feel safe. In the end, Sansa ended up behind him, hugging
his waist as he spurred Vhagar into action. Sansa gripped him with strength that would’ve
suffocated him, if he weasn’t so amused as she gave a small scream of terror. He held her
linked hands to reassure her as they took to the air.
She was a strong woman, he noted. Vhagar gave an amused, throaty chuckle, and Aemond
agreed with her amusement; the brave Starks quivered in fear on dragons, but still faced this
fear; it was amusing.

Aliandra had returned to Sunspear and now sat quietly in her father’s council room in Old
Palace. She had been thinking over the prospects, the North was their allies, and they were
very powerful, she had been most impressed by their spirit and command, and as she
informed her father of everything about the wedding and the failed assassination of Prince
Aegon, he sat back. She finished her recounting with how Lord Stark and she had formed a
friendship, and that the trade between their lands was good and honorable. She wanted to
take plans for their water gardens North, and show them to Lord Stark, perhaps with a bit of
Rhoynar and Dornish ingenuity and Northern engineering, they would create something
which could also aid Dorne. Natural water sources were vital to the survival of the Dornish,
but also, they lacked the engineering to sustain the water. The North was famous for its
engineering feats, and if they could figure out a way to combine the engineering of both the
Dornish and the North, then something powerful could be formed.
“And what did you think of Lord Stark?” her father asked warily.
She paused in her accounting as she leaned back. “He is a good man, very sure, and calm, he
is very… thoughtful, he loves his family, he’s very serious, but not sour or full of himself. He
is good, he was… interesting,” she giggled a bit. Throwing daggers at Cregan Stark, and
attempting to get the Northerner to flinch or blink was amusing, he had known she wouldn’t
intentionally harm him, but he was so calm with her antics. Yes, her temper might have
caused an international incident if he didn’t have such fortitude.
“And what amuses you, daughter?” her father asked with a wry smile.
“The man is utterly unflappable,” she mused as she leaned back. “I admit, I permitted my
temper to get the better of me, but he had dared to call me a brat! I had thought him amusing
initially but he dared to call me a brat! And I took offense and sought to rectify it, given the
Northerners seemed so warrior like, I thought to impress him with skill, but alas, it did not,
and he instead said I missed on all my near misses; which were intentional, he never seemed
phased. Given the good humor he took my antics, he is rather graceful in accepting cultural
differences, and he later apologized when I told him why I was so offended. I think him a
good man father.”
“And for a husband?” Qoren asked.
Now she sat up a little straighter, frowning a bit. Aliandra knew she would have to marry, but
at this time, there were no prospects she was examining seriously.
“What is this about?” she asked warily.
“There are mounting tensions in Westeros, the tensions are originating in the Reach and
spreading over the country. My informants are predicting a war to happen, if that happens,
there is a threat of it spilling over into Dorne, and given the holy nature of Westerosi wars…”
“What is your concern?” Aliandra asked.
“This unrest happens in history, from time to time, but given our people’s history with such
conflicts, I would prefer us to have strong allies, even Westerosi allies. But I have heard the
North is near independent, and short of naming a King of the North to rise again, it is a strong
ally.”
“That is true, the North seemed to pride itself on it’s military might, and they are surviving a
famine,” she admitted. The Dornish had been pleased to have a trading partner giving them
quality iron, as well as precious metals like copper and tin, all while asking for sand and food
in return, the trades were disproportionate at this time, but Dorn was seeking ways to even
the trade out. The North did not care or understand the value of the metals they were giving
Dorne, the opportunity to exchange engineering ideas was also a rich one for the Dornish.
But House Martell liked even trades, when dealing with fair partners, her father was thinking
to enrich the North with trades of silk and precious gems, but at this time it was not received
because he was seeking to know more about the North in turn.
“If there is a war in Westeros, it would do us well to have a powerful ally.”
“Yes,” she agreed.
“I know you have many prospects but given the aggressions of the Free Cities as of late, and
the turmoil Westeros is facing, I believe we should seek stable allies at this time,” her father
explained.
“I do understand, father,” she assured. At this time, her greatest prospect was Drazenko
Rogare from the House Rogare in Lys, and she did not particularly like the man. He was not
particularly clever or enjoyable, he wasn’t a disagreeable man, and as a husband, he would be
manageable, but he was so much older than she was. “I never liked the business we
conducted with the Triarchy,” she admitted.
“I have not either, but these contracts from Ser Vaemond Velaryon have been proving
profitable, and the North is proving to be a strong trading ally, it is something to explore,” her
father shrugged. “Lys is growing powerful, and strong, but Tyrosh and Myr are becoming
more aggressive, and since the War of the Stepstones, the aggressions are mounting. Yes, we
funded them last time, but that did not reap a profit, our dealings with the North have. I
would prefer to examine our prospects.”
“Lys has always been a powerful ally though,” she pointed out.
“A greedy one too,” he admitted wryly.
“When has that ever affected our dealings?” she asked.
“When they proposed to buy Dornish orphans for their pleasure houses. We do not sell the
flesh, Aliandra, the flesh is to be enjoyed, pleasured, but every person is their own free
person, and we do not dare to sell them,” Qoren turned to her. “We are Rhoynar, my dear, we
are the very resistance of Old Valyria, we withstood them, and will continue to do so. I have
not forgotten that our people were subjugated and abused when the Valyrians conquered us,
Queen Nymeria might have found us a sanctuary, but we fought still. We are not for slavery,
and I refuse to entertain the Free Cities if they seek to make the price our people,” he
explained.
“I understand, father, I will examine my prospects with care.”
“Good, write the North, you will go there before a true Winter sets in, I would prefer for you
to have a greater understanding of them before a decision has to be made.”
“Of course, but… if I go, they do kneel to House Targaryen,” she said softly.
“Yes,” he sighed. “But the only surviving Dragon Lords do not practice the Valyrian custom
of slavery, I do not like them, but they do not enslave the people. There is much here to
examine, and examine it carefully, daughter. Drazenko Rogare is a very wealthy man, and his
brother, Lysandro is very powerful. I want you to be careful in your decision.”
“Of course, father,” Aliandra nodded. “Ultimately though, father, just so you are aware, I do
not think I could ever control Lord Stark,” she warned as she stood.
“Not everything, my dear, is about control,” he informed her as she turned to leave. She
turned, raising her brow at him. “I want a good match, daughter, I have heirs for Dorne, and
we will strike up good matches, but I want you to have a husband whom you can respect.”
She nodded slowly as she walked out of the room then. Cregan Stark interested her, truly, but
she also knew he still loved his wife, and did not seek another just yet. Still, it was of interest
what her father was seeking. The North and Dorn had similarities, she supposed, both were a
warrior people, both lived life in extremes, both were very unsettling to the pompous people
of Westeros, both were isolationist by nature, and both were fierce, loyal, and determined.
Where they differed though as the games they played, and she did not know if the North
would ever accept their overlord marrying her. Then again, Dorne and the North were
forming a tentative relationship, and this could strengthen it, it would also seal a trade
alliance between he nations beyond the contracts of House Velaryon.
She also liked Cregan Stark, he was… interesting. Very handsome, in a dangerous way, and
the way he hid his intelligence by presenting the brutal warrior front was interesting. The
wolf was more cunning than the people of Westeros had been giving him credit for. Then
again, the Northern men had had the Southron ladies swooning, and they hadn’t seemed to
care. Oh, she’d heard of some of their exploits, but that was to be expected. Cregan Stark
though was a quiet man, for as wild, and sure of himself as he was, he was a quiet man, he
had not welcomed company, and not sought company, he had focused on his sisters, his
bannermen, and his new goodbrother, then he’d been an imposing commander when he had
taken over the South with a sureness of a man accustomed to war. She respected his ability to
command, he was swift, sure, and intelligent, he was also dangerous, and brutal, and she
respected that.
Also, he was very handsome, in a harsh, unusual way. He did not have any of the beauty of
her people, but the man was beautiful in a very unusual way. His smile was what had drawn
her eye, when he truly smiled with happiness, or vicious delight, he was very mesmerizing.
Drazenko was very handsome in that Valyrian way, that delicate beauty with violet blue eyes,
silver hair, and pale skin. He was just so… fragile. The Targaryens at least looked imposing
and handsome, but Drazenko looked so damn delicate, it wasn’t appealing to Aliandra. She
didn’t like the prospect of being able to break her husband, or lover. Cregan Stark at least was
formidable.
The only drawback she foresaw was Cregan would demand fidelity from her, and she didn’t
know about that prospect. Aliandra was always aware she’d have to marry for duty, but the
pleasures of life were something she still wanted to explore. However, given how passionate
Cregan Stark seemed to be, the kind of lover he could be, might be enough to have her
interested.
It was a prospect to be examined, and seriously examined. She was aware the Free Cities
were getting aggressive. Which was not a good prospect in her opinion. Dorne was being
enclosed by threats and enemies; there was unrest in Westeros, discourse between her people
and the Westerosi, and unrest in the east, as Esso became more aggressive. Allies needed to
be forged, either by accepting their enemy as an ally or forming a new ally.
They landed to make camp for the night. Aemond was unsurprised at Sansa’s survival skills
as she compiled a fire pit, he caught them a rabbit, and Vhagar had started their fires for
them. Once that was settled, Sansa and he were sitting quietly. She had stretched out after
they had eaten their meal and was looking up at the stars.
“Aemond?” her voice pulled him out of his exhaustion as he leaned back against Vhagar.
“Hm?”
“Your… great-great uncle, Vaegon… do you know what happened to him?” Sansa asked.
“Vaegon?” he frowned as he blinked a few times, and thought about it. “No… why?” he
asked.
“I’ve found something rather… peculiar,” Sansa admitted as she seemed to walk over to her
pack, and rummaged through it. “While you and Cregan were dealing with the Boltons, I
thought to utilize the time to do research, so we might have a better idea of what we were
hunting for, and I will admit I found something odd.”
He was unsurprised she had kept up the investigation while he was gone, but he waited. She
produced a small booklet, and walked over to him. Sitting, she arranged her skirts, and he
watched as she fingered through the booklet before handing it to him. He accepted it and
looked down at the list.
It was a list of names, dates, and then causes of deaths.
He recognized the names, Targaryen names, his grandfather’s family. King Jaehaerys’
family… he looked at Sansa.
“This isn’t peculiar Sansa,” he said.
“I think we’ll have to disagree there,” she informed him sincerely. “History said that Maegor
and the Faith went to war, and Maegor produced no known heir, the Faith and he were at a
war. For decades, Aemond. When King Jaehaerys came into power, he was but a boy, and his
mother thought to disperse the Faith’s wrath by attempting to arrange his marriage to
someone else, but he and Queen Alysanne were in love and eloped. This comes on the heels
of an open Holy War between House Targaryen and the Faith of the Seven,” she reminded
him.
“I am aware,” he said.
“Queen Alysanne is largely credited with smoothing relations between House Targaryen and
the Faith over, so they might be… amicable.”
“Yes…”
“So why did almost all of her children die before her?” Sansa asked.
Now he frowned, he wanted to object, but looked at the dates.
“The House Hightower, after the Holy War against Maegor should want absolutely nothing to
do with House Targaryen, so why is Ser Otto Hightower Hand of the King, and your mother,
a daughter of a second son, Queen?”
He raised his brow at Sansa then.
“Take no offense to that, Aemond, but… Kings don’t marry daughters of second sons. They
don’t. It’s typically an insult to even consider such a match unless the first son has no
daughters.”
“Why is it an insult?” Aemond asked.
“One, it implies the main branch of the family is unworthy of the King’s attentions, and are
unsuitable to be Head of their House and family. Two, it implies there is unrest and instability
in the House. You’ve seen this with House Velaryon, they are amidst a split, and it is going to
be a rather dangerous one, but Daeron and Daemion who would be prospective matches to a
Great House, are not to be considered at this time in fear of insulting Lord Corlys, because
House Velaryon is in known discourse,” she explained. “Third, Kings don’t marry lesser
vassals. To marry, for a King, the House must be of near equal standing in prestige, breeding,
and wealth, there must also be a profit. Marriages at our level are typically business like in
nature, and they are for the benefit of the people, daughters of second sons are utilized to
secure minor alliances the main House might need, second son’s daughters typically marry
vassals of their lands, not Kings.”
“You discredit love matches,” he mused.
She rolled her eyes. “Do you believe in love matches for Kings and Queens?” she asked.
“No,” he admitted softly with a smile.
“We are fortunate, we are friends,” Sansa said. “But a love match at our level is very rare,
Cregan and Arra are an anomaly in our circles.”
“Yes, that is true,” he agreed.

“So why is a second son’s daughter Queen of the Realm after the brutalization of her House
not one generation ago?” she challenged.
He frowned. Aemond would admit he wasn’t close to his Hightower relatives; Bethany was
intolerable, and he had always found his uncles and cousins a bore, they were always so
purist it was just boring. “Where are you going with this?”
“I don’t know, but… Queen Alysanne had thirteen children and yet, we still suffered a
succession crisis. Also, only mere years after Maegor’s reign there’s only one open
assassination attempt on Queen Alysanne’s person which resulted in her miscarriage; and that
assassination attempt was by zealous septas of the Faith after she dealt a persistent insult.
And yes, I will say her actions are a willful insult, given even I know Jonquil’s Pool is for
healing in the eyes of the Seven, the willful incestuous union and conception of a child
between Jaehaerys and Alysanne was forbidden because of the incestuous relationship and
yet she still persisted on bathing there, to spite the Faith, that is an insult. It’s the only
recorded, open attack and assassination attempt on her life.”
“Yes, but she also had Jonquil Darke as a sworn shield after that,” Aemond countered.
“Yes, but given the timing of that attack, it’s the only open attack, Aemond, that’s unusual.
And it’s mere years after Maegor, and tensions would’ve still be very high, given her willful
insult to the Faith, it’s not a surprise that the attack happened, it’s a surprise it’s the only
attack,” Sansa said.
He frowned as he thought that over. He couldn’t disagree with her, Aegon, Visenya, and
Rhaenys had all endured assassination attempts. The attempts on Maegor were infamous;
primarily because they failed so spectacularly. Aenys had also endured assassination attempts
as well. But his grandfather and his father hadn’t really suffered the assassination attempts of
Aemond’s great-great grandparents or his great-grandparents.
“Also, Alysanne supposedly had smooth pregnancies, even in her older years, she did not
suffer complications of the pregnancies, but she suffered three brutal labors later in her life
which I find odd, given the pattern I think I found. I will admit, I do not know much about
childbearing or labor, but… I do know a little.”
“What do you know?” he asked warily.
“It’s a messy affair, long, and painful, dangerous even, but… the rate of deaths I found, I
just… it’s odd, Aemond. And yes, infants die, but… again, I just… I find this odd. I’m not
saying it is something, but I have found it odd. Great Houses have the best healers, best
medicines, they do not take pleasure in death to their children or their women, it is partially
about the breeding, but also, it’s about the House relationship with the bride’s House. Most
unions between the Great Houses are not always amicable, and losing the mother dissolves
the relationship entirely,” Sansa explained. “House Targaryen does not present an opportunity
for the dissolving of a relationship given they are primarily insular. Which makes what I
found… odd. I don’t think it’s the incest, because it is my understanding, at least with
livestock, inbreeding affects fertility, and leads to fertility issues. But given the fact your
family has an abundance of children, and no problems conceiving and carrying children, I
don’t think it’s a fertility issue. Also, I don’t think it’s children being weak, children die,
Aemond, the North is always fearful until a child reaches five namedays, and even then, a
child might still pass away.”
He looked at her notes. Reading over the neat script he frowned as he started seeing the
pattern emerging. He looked at Sansa as she sat there biting her lip, wringing her hands as she
waited. He looked back at the notes, and then at the skies.
Sansa had dived the death into four categories which he found interesting.
Birth – Daella, Alyssa, Gael, Aemma, and Laena
Child – Gaemon, Valerion, Daenerys, Gael’s baby, Aemma’s sons, Laena’s son
Uncertain – Margelle, Baelor
Assassination – Aemon
Aemond looked at Sansa as he trembled. The dates were what drew his eye, and now he
could see the suspicions she had had. He lowered her notes as he stared at her uncertain what
to say or do now because he could admit it was an odd pattern emerging and she sat there
waiting.
“I don’t know what this means, but, we should find Vaegon’s works while we’re in Oldtown,
it will help,” she said.
He nodded. “We should sleep, we’ll be in Oldtown sooner rather than later,” he murmured as
he held her notes out to her. She accepted it and repacked it before walking back over to him.
“We’re still going to Casterly Rock first, right?” Sansa asked with a yawn.
“Yes,” he admitted.
“I’ve never been there, I’ve heard so much about it, but I’ve never been there,” she admitted
as she leaned against him.
“It’s… it’s the second prettiest Keep I’ve ever been too,” he murmured tiredly.
“Is that so?”
“Yes, having seen Winterfell in the summer and all it’s finery, that one is the prettiest Keep,”
he informed her seriously. She snorted.
“Obviously, Winterfell is the prettiest Keep ever built, and the finest ever built,” she
mumbled as she rested against him. “Lenton will be just as beautiful as Winterfell,” she
informed him.
He smirked a bit.
“Where have you been in the Realm?” she asked sleepily.

“All over,” he admitted. “I don’t go around the Realm often.”
“Mmm… I only ever been to King’s Landing, the Eyrie, and Riverrun,” she mumbled.
“I didn’t like Riverrun,” he admitted.
“It’s rather dank,” she mused tiredly.
“So dank, beautiful, but… my socks were always wet!” he muttered.
She snorted. “I visited it a few times when I was a girl, I swear wool skirts and water were
meant to drown me,” she chuckled.
“You… you look like a Tully, very Stark, but you do look like a Tully,” he murmured. “I
couldn’t figure out why they looked so similar when I first met them.”
“Robb… Robb looked like a proper, handsome Tully with his auburn hair, and blue eyes,”
Sansa murmured. “I wish I looked more like a Stark though,” she admitted.
“You’d still end up the prettiest Stark,” he predicted.
She snorted and he felt his lips twitch as he let his head fall back against Vhagar.
“I think that title has long since been claimed by a different Stark.”
“Jon?” he ventured.
“Aye,” she snorted. He could feel her giggling against his shoulder.
“I know it is not your story to tell,” he spoke softly as he kept his eye closed. “But… who
was Jon’s mother?”
“Why?” Sansa asked warily.
“He’s… familiar,” Aemond confessed.
“No one knows, father never shared it,” Sansa answered softly. He peeled his eye open to
look down at her, he knew she was hiding something, she looked contrite and wary, even as
she looked ready to sleep. “And even if I do know, Aemond, I can’t… Jon is my brother.”
“I won’t pry further,” he murmured softly.
“Thank you,” sighed.
“We’re friends,” he muttered. He was surprised when her hand found his and pulled it around
to her heart.
“We’re friends,” she whispered the assurance as she pressed his hand to her heart.
It’d been too long. Aegon still breathed, but tonight was his last night, holding the pillow
tightly, walking to the bed, they peered at the Prince. Aegon was a gaunt, greasy thing,
perverse deviant though could not even die according to plan. Now he’d spent his use.
Leaning over, they pressed the pillow over the Prince’s face.
Daeron heard Vhagar and looked up excitedly as he saw his brother flying towards Casterly
Rock. Lord Lannister looked surprised, but then delighted as he started barking orders to
prepare for the Royal guests.
Daeron laughed in glee as he went to get ready to greet Aemond.
Chapter End Notes
Sorry, I went to bed without copying and pasting these, so sorry!
Ég mun sjá þig aftur, litli úlfur, þú veiðir skelfingarnar sem veiða okkur.- I will see you
again, Little Wolf, you hunt the terrors that hunt us.
Þú og dreki vertu öruggur, Rauði úlfur, við veiðum saman - You and dragon stay safe,
Red Wolf, we'll hunt together
Þakka þér fyrir - Thank you
Kirimvose. Rytsas vhagar. īlon sōvegon rūsīr mele zokla naejot se qrinuntys. Rhaenagon
naejot arghugon. - Thank you. Hello Vhagar. We fly with Red Wolf to the enemy. Start
to hunt.
Chapter 25
Chapter Notes
Alicent sat there numbly in her quarters, staring at nothing as she tried to process this.
“It appears, Prince Aegon slipped away in his sleep,” Lord Larys Strong said. He’d been the
one to bring her the news this morning that Aegon was dead. She trembled as she stared at
her lap. Cole was near her; she could feel his sorrow as he reached out touching her shoulder.
“Is there something more?” she whispered looking up at Lord Strong then.
“No, your father has already summoned the Silent Sisters to prepare the body,” he admitted.
“Thank you, Lord Strong, for informing me,” she said.
He bowed as he limped off and she waited for her and Cole to be alone before she felt the
tears escaping her and she closed her eyes.
“I will summon Princess Helaena and her children to be returned to the Red Keep for their
protection, and I will summon Prince Daeron and Aemond back to King’s Landing,” he
started.
“No,” she shook her head as she looked out the window.
“No?” he sputtered.
“No.”
“Alicent…” he started.
“No,” she repeated. She didn’t want them here, she didn’t want her children here when she
buried her son. She did not want them here to pretend to grieve their brother while she
mourned the child she had carried in her, and birthed, and given life too. No, she would not
be surrounded by a farse of grief from her other children, not at this time.
“Alicent…” Cole started.
“They would not want to be here, Cole,” she whispered as she looked over at him. she
couldn’t bear to look up at him and stared pointedly at his boots. “They wouldn’t appreciate
being dragged back here for the funeral. And I… I fear if I force them to come, they will
resent me more. I have just lost Aegon, I do not desire to lose them all even more.”
Aemond had delayed and stalled his honeymoon because of Aegon, Daeron hated Aegon,
Helaena was terrified of Aegon, none of them would appreciate losing Aegon. She wanted to
cry, but she couldn’t, she felt nothing. She should feel something; should she not? She had
just been informed her son was dead. She trembled at the confusion. She hated this inability
to feel anything… but she felt as if she had already grieved her son’s death.
“Alicent, if this is about your disagreement with Aemond,” Cole started.
“No, it’s not,” she whispered. “I fear… I fear any further actions I take with Aemond and his
bride will drive him farther away, but he is beyond my reach,” she confessed.
“He’s not,” Cole said softly and then he knelt down into her view. “He’s not beyond your
reach, Alicent, he’s…”
“I fear it is too late, Cole,” she admitted. “I just pray his wife will give him some solace
now…”
“He’s not beyond your reach,” Cole promised her.
She gave a bitter smile as she closed her eyes so she didn’t start crying again. She’d been
crying so much as of late, when she was going to sleep, she did not have the energy now to
shed the tears. “Have the maesters send the ravens, send ravens for Aemond and Daeron they
are not required to return to King’s Landing, I’ll give Aegon a proper burial.”
Cole didn’t say anything as he hesitated for a long moment, then she felt his hand against her
cheek. She turned into the touch, and bit her lip as she squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t
want to cry, she didn’t want to be weak anymore. Her son had already taken everything from
her.
Cole was gone before when she opened her eyes again.
She sat in her chambers staring out at the rains. Everything was changing, she could feel it,
and it unsettled her. Previously, she’d have been pleased securing the line of her dragon and
his fire to her, but now she couldn’t feel him. Every time she looked upon him, she was
greeted by the glare of a blue-eyed red wolf baring their teeth. Part of her thought she could
sway him from the wolf, but it appeared the wolf held greater sway on him.
Still, there was time, she could feel the call of him in her blood, even as it dimmed. Soon,
soon her dragon and she would meet.
Sansa felt Aemond’s hands grab her waist as she carefully came down from Vhagar, Aemond
was careful as he set her on the ground again. She huffed a bit as she looked around the
Westerlands. It was so so… beautiful… Gods, they were blessed, the rolling hills of green
danced with delights in the late summer’s sun, she couldn’t stop staring at the abundance they
had. The rich white stones were a contrast to the greenery, and it was like staring upon fields
of endless wealth. She now understood the arrogance of the Lannisters, to have this as their
domain, to rule this, it was beautiful beyond compare.
Sansa would argue the North to be more beautiful, but the North was harsh and wild, it’s
people just as harsh and wild; but that was wherein lie the beauty of the North, it could not be
tamed. When one dealt with the Flints they were dealing with nomadic tribes, when one dealt
with the Umbers and Hornwoods they dealt with the traditional clans, when one saw the
Stanes they knew the Skagosi were the closest to Wildlings in the North. Granted, the
conscription made it so many of the Northerners were alike, but they were all different. Sansa
could not remember when the conscription ended, but it had to be shortly after Cregan’s
reign. As a girl, Sansa could never understand the North’s casual display of military prowess,
given the North was not like House Lannister, or Tyrell, and able to fund their men with the
finest armor and weapons. But Robb could call up an easy twenty thousand men, with over
thirty thousand left behind, her father had summoned the North when his sister was stolen
and that was well over eighty thousand men according to historical records. Cregan’s might
was greater than both Robb and her father. And Cregan’s men were better trained too, the
conscription ensured that if Cregan lacked numbers, he dominated them in skill.
The Lannisters must’ve taken a page out of Cregan’s book in her era, because the Lannisters
did not always hold the numbers, but they did own the finest army in the Seven Kingdoms.
And even now, only after the North, did the Lannisters command the finest military of
Westeros. But she could see why, this rich, fertile land, this beautiful land, this was worth
more than the gold it produced in abundance. She was in awe, she could understand the regal
arrogance now, this land was just beautiful, and rich. They had a life of abundance, not of
ease, but of abundance, and she could respect that more seeing it. The air was pure, clean, the
tang of the ocean’s salt, and wild flowers, as well as the greenery… it was so beautiful. And
she was certain she could smell the sun now, she was unaccustomed to this, and it was breath
taking.
Sansa twisted around, trying to take it all in, Aemond slipped an arm around her and kept her
close as they walked.
Vhagar gave a low chortle before taking off gracefully to disappear over the white cliffs near
the sea. She smiled as she looked at Aemond.
“I’ve never been here,” she informed him.
Aemond raised a brow as he looked at her.
“I am of the North, Aemond, coming South is to usually to come to die,” she informed him.
He shrugged as they walked. She heard the horses and was surprised at the party coming
towards them, the Lannister red and gold. She tightened her grip on Aemond’s arm as they
both watched. Aemond set down the riding bags and she bit her lip anxiously. Seeing the
Lannister golden lion was enough to have her bristling. She could still remember all of
Cersei’s lessons, and could only thank the Gods that mad woman was indeed not born a man.
Sansa knew Cersei was terrible as a Queen, but the idea of Cersei as a man, with true power
in her hands, it was a terrifying idea. Tywin Lannister had cast a long shadow thanks to the
Rains of Castamere and the Red Wedding, but in Sansa’s humble opinion that was rather
shortsighted of Tywin. For while no one would move against him in his life, his death would
have the Lannister’s suffering as their enemies emerged in droves. And unlike the
Targaryens, the Lannisters did not have dragons, and while they had infinite funds, they
weren’t immortal, and they weren’t liked in Sansa’s era. If Cersei had been a man, she’d have
been worse than Tywin.
Clever, but not intelligent, that’s how Sansa remembered the Lannisters being described to
her by Littlefinger, and she did not think the assessment incorrect. But it grossly
underestimated the Lannisters, and it egregiously did them a mighty injustice. They weren’t
the honorable, just Starks, no, they were Lannisters, and Lannisters were fierce, proud,
cunning, dangerous, and ambitious. Every Great House was ambitious, except perhaps the
Starks… Starks were already at the top, where else was there to go but the Iron Throne? And
that Throne would serve no Stark so they had no interest in it.
Lord Lannister was there as Aemond patted her hands, which were probably bruising his arm.
“Prince Aemond, my squire informed me of your intentions to visit, I am pleased to see you,
though I expected you days ago,” Lord Lannister’s voice drawled out lazily. “Though with a
bride as beautiful as her, I cannot blame you for your delays,” he smiled like a feline.
Lord Lannister looked like the lion his emblem was, Sansa thought. Golden mane of hair,
green eyes; he reminded her fiercely of Jaime, which was startling. Jaime was a bit sharper,
and finer, but this man possessed that air about him; a bit more pompous than Jaime, but the
arrogance, and cavalier attitude reminded Sansa of Jaime. He was dangerous, of that she was
certain. Jaime might’ve been a prodigy of the sword and a fierce warrior; he was probably the
best swordsman ever born, but that talent was probably a byproduct of breeding; just as
Stark’s military brilliance was bred, and then nurtured. Lannister lines must’ve had similar
goals for their children and line; sword fighting, numbers, and so forth, something made the
Lannisters so clever.
“There was trouble, and my new liege commanded my aid,” Aemond stated. “My bride and I
have had little time to ourselves given everything that has transpired.”
“Of course. Lord Stark is a commanding overlord from what I have heard, no doubt it was
serious if you were summoned away from your bride,” Lord Lannister sobered up then. “And
how fairs Prince Aegon?”
“Alive last I heard,” Aemond answered.
“Then I shall pray to the Mother,” he said.
“I offer you guest rights, as a welcome to my home for this time being, your brother will be
pleased to see you,” Lord Lannister declared. Sansa was surprised when there was bread and
salt presented to her.
“Thank you, Lord Lannister, this is most kind,” Sansa said. She smiled as she graciously took
a bite then handed it to Aemond as she chewed it quickly and swallowed. This seemed to
please Lord Lannister and a horse was presented to her and Aemond. Sansa was surprised
when Aemond helped her mount a horse, before pulling himself up behind her. His hand
dropped around her middle and she leaned back against him. Riding into Lannisport, she
watched the life which erupted into the small village, it was so like Winter Town, and not, she
smiled as she watched the people. People peered curiously up at her and Aemond, and she
just smiled as she turned and looked around.
Lannisport was made with those white stones, it looked so warm, inviting, glittering in a sea
of red, white and gold. The people bustled about, looking happy, and content, a life of ease
was here, and Sansa was happy for these people. The happiness, and beauty shone through
everything, especially with the sea glittering as a backdrop beyond the cliffs. But that drew
her eye to the Lannister’s ancestral home.
Casterly Rock… now that was a sight which had Sansa’s eyes widening in shock and awe.
Casterly Rock seemed to be carved of the very marble it stood upon, it was the embodiment
of everything the Southron songs had boasted of… it was surreal.
Winterfell was beautiful in its imposing wildness, its inability to be conquered, but Winterfell
was hardly regal. It was made of stone, it was made imperfect and ancient, and expanded
upon with every Stark generation adding their own touches. Winterfell was beautiful because
it was perfectly imperfect and full of life, it was not regal or elegant though.
Casterly Rock was regal, strong, imposing, and impressively beautiful. The white, red and
glittering golds… it was a casual display of the wealth of the region, as well as the powress
of the people here. Sansa had never thought the Westerlands as impressive, given their
allegiance was bought and paid for by the Lannisters, but this… this was not a people who
were bought and paid for, no, they were innovative, creative, and different. It was awe
inspiring. This was what Sansa had never seen from the Lannisters or their followers, the
brilliance they boasted of.
Sansa was wary as they rode across the single bridge connecting Lannisport and Casterly
Rock. She glanced behind Aemond and felt his hand press against her stomach as she was
secured against him. Peeking up at her husband, she saw he was looking impassive, but
holding her still against him, she sensed he had concerns at this moment. Leaning back
against him, she smiled as she forced herself to relax. She was a Northern wolf, she would
keep Aemond safe, and they would be fine. They entered a massive courtyard, which was a
massive, beautiful garden, she spotted the beautiful women. The five golden lionesses, all
with long golden hair, and green eyes, Sansa was unsurprised. They were Lannisters, like
Targaryens they were always beautiful. Sansa hadn’t seen them at her wedding, which had
her guessing that with mounting tensions that the Great Houses didn’t want to risk their
daughters being risked as hostages.
Aemond was again helping Sansa down, she gripped his shoulders as he helped her off the
horse. Impulse had Sansa kissing Aemond hard as he set her down, she pulled away, smiled,
and he looked a bit confused for a moment before he relaxed.
“Young love,” the mother of the five girls mused. “Prince Aemond, it is an honor to host you,
again, and your wife,” the older woman said.
“Lady Johanna, this is my wife, Lady Sansa of Winterfell,” he said formally as he presented
her. Sansa gave Lady Lannister a low curtsy.
“Lady Johanna, it is an honor to be here, even in the North we have heard of the beauty and
power of Casterly Rock, and it is so much more than I anticipated,” she said as she rose.
“Thank you,” Johanna smiled.
“These are my daughters, Ladies Cerelle, Tyshara, Myranda, Rosamund, and Jocelyn,” Lord
Lannister said as he gestured to the women. “For now we will get you two settled in your
quarters, Prince Daeron will be with us for the evening meal.”
Sansa was surprised as they were led through Casterly Rock to private apartments and they
were left alone as a single bath was summoned. Sansa watched Aemond as he set down their
packs, and started sorting through them. She was unsurprised as there was a silver blur a
shout, Aemond went crashing into the ground, and she turned to blink a few times at the
sight.
“You’re here!”
“And this is why Helaena is my favorite sibling!” Aemond groused as he pushed his brother
off him.
“I didn’t think you were coming!” Daeron chuckled.
“I said I’d come!” Aemond snapped. Sansa chuckled and the brothers turned on her.
“Lady Sansa,” Daeron immediately turned into a regal little prince as he looked at her. “It is a
pleasure to see you again, goodsister.”
“Prince Daeron,” she gave him a curtsy. “Apologies in Aemond and I’s delay, my brother had
to steal my husband away for a bit of Northern business.”
Daeron nodded.
“Let us show Prince Aemond and his lady wife to their apartments to freshen up, I’m certain
this evening everyone will be free to attend an evening meal,” Lady Lannister said. Aemond
nodded before he offered Sansa his arm again, she accepted it as they followed their hosts
again.
Cregan was holding Rickon on his hip as he read over the reports of the crops. The blights
were troubling, but the construction of Glass Gardens was improving things drastically, it
wouldn’t be enough to recover, but at this time, it wasn’t dwindling. He was a bit relieved
reading that over, no change was good in this matter. No improvement was discouraging, but
at the same time, the fact things were not getting worse was encouraging. The reports of the
Norreys resettling Queenscrown; with the request to formally rename it after the insults of
Queen Alysanne were set aside for Aemond to manage. Same with the request from the
Flints; who were nomadic but had wandering habits into the mountains of the New Gift
before the Queen had taken it, and wanted to formally return to the lands. There were other
petitions and requests, some would have to wait for the Winter Council, others were matters
he could address.
Cregan was reading over a report on the progress of Lenton, he was rather surprised at the
speed of the construction, but he also wasn’t.
There would be cause, after Winter, to scout the Lonely Hills, and survey a new holding for
Jon’s own castle. It’d have to be near enough to the remains of the Dreadfort to have access
to the Bolton Ancestors, but it’d have to be far enough away not to be tainted by that evil.
Creagan was unsurprised at how swiftly word travelled through the North about the
eradication of the Boltons. As a result though, Cregan was also quick to have the knowledge
spread that Jon was the one to evacuate the women and children, as well as extract the stores.
Prince Aemond’s threat was well known, so the fact that he had upheld it did have many
giving the new Lord in the North begrudging respect though many were also wary about this.
Aemond did have a bloody dragon!
There was a knock on his door and he looked up as Jon walked in.
“I’ve just read the reports from Osric Snow, and Wildling assaults on the Wall have been
increasing,” Cregan stated as he leafed through the reports, then held it out for Jon. Jon
accepted, looking it over. “Other than the Wildlings being a pipeline of dead for the Others,
why should I save them?”
Jon looked over the reports, and his dark eyes flicked to Cregan. Cregan raised a challenging
brow as he sat down, setting Rickon with Timber and Ice as he gestured for Jon to join him.
“It’s the right thing to do,” Jon stated firmly.
“Is it now?” Cregan challenged. “The North and the Wildlings have been at war for
millennia, they’ve killed each other without a reprieve in sight, the Wildlings are known for
their perverse ways such as the consumption of human flesh, and desecration of bodies, as
well as their services for the Others. Why should we even offer them sanctuary in the North?
They could raid our lands, kill our people, burn our crops, consume our people, rape our
people, the North is already harsh and unforgiving, why should we invite dangers?”
“They’re no different than us!” Jon stated.
“But they’re not us, and my service is to the North. If you want me to be inclined to save
them, I need reasons which will justify my actions to the North. They are our sworn enemy.”
“And they were once our friends,” Jon snapped. “Giants helped construct that blasted Wall!
King Joramun and King Bran joined forces to fight against the Night King, and whether our
people believe in the Night King or not, he’s real, as you, Sansa and I all well know, and he is
coming. The war for the living is not to far off! And while we’re down here, the Free Folk are
helping the Night King amass his army, whether they want to help or not, it does not matter,
because they are!”
“Giants killed my great uncle, Walton Stark, there isn’t much of him in the crypt,” Cregan
countered.
“The Faith killed Walton Stark, in no small part because of King Jaehaerys and Queen
Alysanne,” Jon sneered. “It was a grievous price, but a consequence of their actions.”
Cregan smirked; Jon was learning, good. “And inviting the Giants into the North, with the
Wildlings will not warm our relationships.”
“No, but it might save the North!” he snapped. “Giants are great warriors, they are enormous,
with massive reaches, while also being fair hunters, they are also shy, and typically peaceful.
I met a few, and I’d rather have them for a friend than enemy, but also, if we save them now,
they do not die out. The world is dying in my era, Cregan, or it was, before the Wall fell and
unleashed horrors the world forgot about. And if we can save the Giants, we’ll also save the
Children of the Forest, they have amicable relationships with the Giants after all.”
“The Children of the Forest will always have a home in the North, if they should choose to
return,” Cregan countered.
“After what we’ve done to them, I don’t think they’d see it that way unless we help the Free
Folk and Giants out,” Jon sneered.
“And there inlies the problem,” Cregan state wryly. “Why should we save the Wildlings?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Jon sighed tiredly. “Neither side is perfect Cregan, and
it’s not as simple as it once was. But there is a right thing to do, and wrong thing, and I
already survived the era where we did the wrong thing. The North has already proven capable
and willing to be tolerant of a variety of lifestyles; from the Manderlys who built a great city,
to the roaming Flint Clans, to the Skagosi who are akin to the Free Folk, we have a wide
array of cultures and people who already live in the North! We also have agreed to a fucking
Targaryen being a Northern Lord, and he’s bringing with him Valyrian culture, and Valyrian
families, so the North is already proven somewhat tolerant after adapting! We had the
Children of the Forest coexisting with us peacefully for millennia, and we have tolerated
multiple religions and beliefs, fairly; you do not favor those who follow the Old Gods or the
New Gods, though you’ve rightfully expelled zealots and the threat of them here. So having
the Free Folk assimilate to us is possible!”
“Just because something is the right thing to do doesn’t mean I can do it,” Cregan stated.
“Fuck you,” Jon huffed irritably. “The Free Folk and the North should be allies, united in
their differences but against a common enemy. And you’re the one always making us do the
right thing, so don’t tell me you give a fuck about if it’s easy or not, you’ve been pushing to
do the right thing for the two years I’ve known you!”
Cregan snorted. “I might not be able to accomplish what you’re after, Jon.” Jon opened his
mouth to protest, and Cregan held up his hand to stop Jon. “It might take a couple of
generations, and even then, we might not be able to accomplish it. The Wildlings and North
have a long, bloody history, filled with strife and conflict.
“There is also the matter of the growing tensions in the South. Regardless of what history
you’ve known, things are about to get very bloody and dangerous, because war will break
out. Of that I have no doubt. Upon Aegon’s death, it won’t, but King Viserys’ death will have
the Seven Kingdoms plunged into a war unlike any other. How it will play out, I do not know,
but it is inevitable. Princess Rhaenyra does not know how to run the Kingdoms or rule,
Prince Daemon is impulsive and aggressive, Lord Corlys covets the Iron Throne, Queen
Alicent and her family, the Hightowers have been pressing Andal traditions, and even with
Prince Aegon dead will likely push for Prince Jaehaerys or Prince Aemond, or even Prince
Daeron to become the next King. This will spark the civil war and tear the South asunder.
There is also the direct threat the Reach has been proving against the North, and if there is a
war in the South, the North will be summoned South. How long this war proceeds will vary,
even in the depths of Winter, the South is liable to attempt to sustain a long war.
“There is also the matter of you establishing a new cadet branch for this House, and Sansa
settling with Aemond into Lenton, as well as the shifting politics of the North. Yes, these are
times of peace in the South, but upon King Viserys death there will be war.
“There is also the matter of the constructing of a new navy, which will take years, learning
naval warfare, and the intricacies of trade, and our recovery from this famine. So, while
saving the Wildlings is the right thing to do; and I will not argue with you on that point
because I concur that fact, there are other worries. What you are seeking will be a multi-
generational push to mend the rift. Also, as it stands now, the Night’s Watch, the North and
the Wildlings have no amicable relations, and even bringing Wildlings south of the Wall will
have the North in an uproar unless it is done correctly. So, if you give me a realistic way to
move them to the North, and ensure they are not going to be menaces to our people, or
aggressors, I will work with you on this matter,” Cregan said.
“Truly?”
“Yes, but in turn, you have to actually work at being Lord of the Lonely Hills, and pick a
wife, and have heirs,” Cregan countered.
Jon frowned. “You’d hinge the survival of an entire people on my being a Lord, married with
children?” he sneered.
“Yes, because if I persuade Wildlings to the North, you’re going to be in charge of them, and
if this works, then you’re going to need lands and heirs to sustain the Wildlings, and to foster
healthy relationships between them and the North. You raise children in your image Jon, yes,
they are their own people, but instilling values, morals, ethics, that’s how the North thrives,
that’s how we can maintain a variety of people and cultures, and sustain our ways, Starks are
raised to value this. You want the Wildlings to be valued, you’re going to need heirs that
value your legacy and can carry your message long after you’re dead, so when the Long
Night comes, we’ll have the Wildlings safe and out of the Night King’s reach,” Cregan
reasoned. “But realize, you and I will be dead, so if you want this to work, you need to marry,
manage your lands, and have children.”
“You… you believe this?” Jon muttered.
“I do,” Cregan said softly. “I can say this from knowing you and Sansa, and knowing you’re
my descendants, not my siblings, but legacy matters, you both hold the values of the North,
and the ethics of good Northermen, and you’re Northerners, despite everything, you both
sustain my beliefs, my knowledge, my ways, so… I do believe in legacy, and I believe that if
you want to do this, you have to accept it to be your legacy and work for it.”
Sansa was quietly unpacking her saddle bag, which held a few of her dresses, and jerkins, she
had only brought two pairs of shoes, her riding boots which she was wearing and her slippers,
along with a few ribbons and a comb, overall, she had packed lightly. More Northern packing
than that of a fine Lady. She turned when she finished her bag, and then picked up Aemond’s
opening it she started pulling out his clothes with care. She was quick unpacking everything
for him. Aemond had been pulled away momentarily by Lord Lannister to discuss things,
which Sansa found amusing, Aemond looked openly annoyed.
She heard him enter their quarters again, and heard him walking through the apartment. She
folded the shirts neatly when he walked in. He looked surprised seeing her folding clothes,
and blinked a few times as he seemed to look between her and the clothes.
“What did Lord Lannister want?”
“To discuss the transport of grains along River Road along with his daughter’s fostering, to
Lord Tully,” Aemond answered.
“Mmm,” she hummed. “I don’t think a Tully’s ever married a Lannister before,” she muttered
as she looked through Aemond’s bag to make sure she got all his socks. Why did the man not
bundle his socks together? It was beyond her, she’d have to pack next time so he didn’t just
shove his socks in randomly.
“You don’t have to do that,” Aemond muttered. “Servants can unpack for us.”
“Yes, they can, but I prefer doing it,” she stated.
“Why?”
“Because I am not the spoiled brat I was,” she answered. “I was an atrocious child, Aemond,
and I will never forget that, I intend to never behave that way again, towards anyone or for
any reason. So, I will unpack my belongings, and my husbands, and I will take care of them.
Servants can assist in keeping the space clean and cared for, but I intend to never be that brat
I was,” she stated. “Why do you not bundle up your bloody socks!? I swear, you have more
loose socks than Cregan, Jon, and Winterfell combined!”
“I can never find them!” he defended.
She glared balefully at him.
“I used to think trolls stole them,” he muttered as his ears turned a bit red.
“Trolls exist!” she informed him seriously. “And they do steal socks!”
He snorted as he sat down. For the time it was peaceful between them, and she enjoyed it as
she finished unpacking and walked through the apartments. The finery in Casterly Rock
dwarfed anything the Red Keep could display, the rich carpets, the fine drapes, the leather
bound books, the quality of the furniture, and displays of casual wealth, it was overwhelming.
Sansa didn’t want to sit anywhere or do anything, she was afraid of tarnishing it; which was
silly. Winterfell was filled with finery, as was the Red Keep, but this was intimidating. Which
was probably the point, Sansa knew Winterfell displayed it’s trophies of conquered foes, and
weapons from fallen warriors, it was both a reminder of their history and a threat of their
might. The Lannisters probably were doing the same thing about their wealth.
“Sansa?” she turned to see Aemond sitting there watching her.
“What is it?” she asked as she walked over to him, he had not removed his eyepatch, so she
carefully slid it off. He winced a little but blinked, she wasn’t unsettled by the sapphire eye.
“We… we should discuss…” he stammered and bit his lip. She waited as she watched him
carefully. “I don’t trust you. We are friends. We are married. We should discuss the
marriage,” he muttered.
“Yes… we should,” she agreed.
“We are friends?” he asked as he assessed her.
She smiled softly. “Yes Aemond, we are friends,” she assured.
He nodded and let his head fall back. “I… I do not know how we are to keep up the ruse of
being newly married.”
“Mmm…” she hummed.
“You have… displayed affection,” he started.
“If you are not comfortable with what I’m doing I’ll stop,” she assured swiftly.
“No,” he shook his head then looked out the window. “I… I do not mind, if it’s you.”
“Aemond, if you don’t like anything I do, say so,” she said firmly.
“You are my wife, Sansa,” he countered. “I might not trust you, but we have established we
are friends, and… and we are partners in this investigation, and we are expected to have
some… intimacy, and I do not mind your affections. I just…” he trailed off and sighed. “I do
not know what you expect from me.”
She blinked a few times as she stared at him. Aemond stared back without blinking, he
looked tense and unsure but also indifferent about the matter.
“I… I suppose it’s what you’re comfortable with,” she admitted. “If you do something I do
not like I will tell you, and we will figure this out.”
“You sound so certain,” he muttered. She reached over to take his hand.
“My… parents were strangers when they wed, they… they developed a very deep, profound
relationship with love and friendship, and they learned to be affectionate with one another,
we are already friends, and now must learn affection. That is better than most, Aemond.”
He stared at their hands and slowly his fingers curled around hers as they sat there for a long
time.
“That is better than most,” he said softly after a long time and she smiled as she looked up at
him.
“We are going to learn, Aemond, but I am going to earn your trust back,” she promised.
He nodded slowly as they thye both just sat there.
“There’s a bed,” he muttered.
“Aye, there is.”
“We haven’t had uninterrupted sleep in ages,” he muttered.
“No, we haven’t,” she agreed. He looked at her then the bed and back.
Helaena roused a bit and stared out at the glittering sea under the moon’s light. She took
steadying breaths as she looked around the unfamiliar room. It was small, but homely. Slowly
she sat up, tears still burned her eyes, and she saw Rody, sleeping soundly in the corner, an
axe propped against his shoulder as he slept. Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor were safe, she
was safe, of that she was certain, Rody was always reliable. She stifled a groan, and Rody’s
eyes snapped open as they stared at each other.
“Are you back?” he asked softly.
“Rody…” she whispered. He rose and she stared up at him as he came over to her. He moved
slow and deliberate as he tilted her chin back examining her, tears burned in her eyes and he
smiled a little as she stared at him.
“Welcome back, princess,” he said.
A choked sob escaped her as she felt the tears slip her guard. “I never left,” she mumbled.
“You went where none could follow, princess, but you’re back,” he breathed as his brow
rested against hers. She bit her lip as she stared at him.
“Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, Maelor…” she started.
“Safe, they’re safe, they’re in the nursery, it’s the wolf’s hour, princess,” he said with a slight
smile.
“It was awful,” she murmured. “They killed… they killed them all, and I… I could do
nothing, I would rather die,” she whispered.
“The wee dragonlings are safe, no one will harm you,” he promised. “We’ll go to
Dragonstone on the marrow, and we’ll see if we can learn how to walk you through that
greensight.”
She nodded as she hugged Rody’s shoulders, pulling herself closer to him. She couldn’t
escape the nightmarish sights she’d witnessed; she never wanted to see that again! A sob tore
through her then as she hid against his shoulder.
“You’re safe, princess, you’re safe, the wee dragonlings are safe,” he promised.
Chapter End Notes
HAPPY 4TH OF JULY!
I'm going to do a few days of requests fulfillment because of the holiday! I'm also
excited for the BBQ I have going, and am so excited to try out the recipes I have!
Everyone have a wonderful holiday, drive safe, be safe, and enjoy! =)
Chapter 26
Chapter Notes
Sansa woke with a groan, Aemond’s hand rested on her stomach, his breath was skittering
along the back of her neck, his long body curled along hers, and she had her feet tucked
between his shins, and under his calves. Aemond’s other arm was her pillow, and she was
gripping it firmly when she woke. She was firmly against Aemond, and felt completely
content. The sleep had been deep and good, she groaned a bit as she shifted a bit, squirming
against Aemond as she stretched, the strain felt good, she sighed as she sagged again, curling
against him again. Aemond grumbled a bit as he shifted, pulling her closer as he slept
soundly. Sansa smiled a bit, warm, and content.
Sansa looked over her shoulder at Aemond, he was sleeping soundly.
Softening a bit, she pulled his other arm to curl around her, as she tangled her fingers with
his.
There was a knock on the door. Aemond’s eye snapped open, her breath hitched at the
intensity of his gaze; it was like a dragon’s eye snapping open. Aemond pulled her closer as
he turned a bit, she felt his hand fisting against her stomach as he held the dress fabric tighter.
She felt him physically pull her closer to him, as he seemed to be waking up rapidly.
“Mon, come on!” a young voice called out. Aemond groaned as he fell against the pillows
relaxing completely.
“I’m going to kill him,” Aemond groaned.
She snorted as she snuggled back into the bed, Aemond pulled an arm away as he rubbed his
eyes.
“MON!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Aemond groaned as he sat up. Sansa landed against the pillows
then, and she laughed a bit.
“Come in, Daeron,” she called out.
“Ew, no,” Daeron’s voice said.
“Get your fucking arse in here, you fucking menace!” Aemond snarled as he sat up, glaring at
the door. She snorted as she saw Daeron walk in a hand plastered over his eyes.
“I’m not looking!”

“We’re dressed,” Aemond snapped.
Daeron dropped his hand, looked between her and Aemond and frowned. “You two are
supposed to be…”
“Don’t finish that, or I’ll cut your tongue out,” Aemond warned.
Sansa looked at Daeron who rolled his eyes. “Mon, she’s pretty, why can’t you be normal for
once!?”
Aemond glared at his brother, and Sansa bit back her laughter. “Younger siblings are all the
same,” Sansa chuckled.
“Is Sara this annoying?” Aemond challenged.
“Worse,” Sansa assured. He looked exasperated as he rose, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“I’m not that bad!” Daeron huffed.
Sansa snorted as she stretched again and sat up. Aemond grabbed a vest, and his boots. Sansa
picked up her slippers and then grabbed up a simple vest to pull over her dress. She stopped
Aemond, braiding his hair, and tying a ribbon into his hair. Aemond raised his brow at her,
but she pocketed his sapphire before handing him his eyepatch.
“Lord Lannister wants you two for dinner, and Mon, can we go riding!?” Daeron asked
excitedly.
“Tomorrow morning, yes, if Lord Lannister agrees to it,” Aemond said as he turned Daeron
so they could leave the room. Sansa chuckled as she slipped on the pearl earrings she had
started favoring, then braided her hair with a ribbon before tying the ribbon atop her head in
Northern fashion. It would be prettier if she had flowers to decorate it, but at least the red
mass was up, and contained. She walked after Aemond, who was listening to Daeron, as
Daeron was very animatedly telling Aemond about something. Aemond looked up as she
walked in, straightening her skirts.
Aemond held his hand out for her, and she accepted his hand as he tucked her into his elbow
and they walked with Daeron.
“How is your squiring going, here in Lannisport?” Sansa asked Daeron as she followed him.
“It has been very fun, and educational!” Daeron smiled. He was an enthusiastic as he started
telling her about all his duties, he inquired about the Northern squiring styles, and she just
told him what she knew from Cregan’s mentoring.
They made it to a massive dining room, which was decorated in marble, rich woods, a long
tabled, red cushioned chairs carved in many fineries. There were golden accents through the
room were a casual display of the Lannister wealth. Aemond looked around, and she saw him
looking around, then at her. She saw the Lannister daughters, Lady Lannister, and Lord Jason
Lannister. There were servants awaiting them.
“It is so kind of you to join us, Prince Aemond, and you, Princess Sansa,” Lord Lannister
said. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a Stark Wolf, must be very interesting being so far South.”
Sansa chuckled as Aemond seated. “I believe the North sums up our reactions coming South
very well,” she chuckled in a knowing way.
“And what is that?” the eldest daughter of Lord Lannister asked.
“Nothing good comes from a Stark going South,” Sansa replied wryly.
“Surely you disagree with that, you have obtained a marriage to Prince Aemond, a very
elusive bachelor until you came along,” the other Lannister girl said with a sweet smile.
Aemond was glaring then, and Sansa chuckled as she touched Aemond’s hand then, stalling
whatever waspish retort he was formulating.
“It is an unusual match for the North, but I think it is a very favorable one as I find Aemond a
delight,” Sansa chuckled.
The Lannisters and Aemond looked surprised at Sansa’s declaration, and she preened a bit;
she’d never been able to surprise a Lannister in her entire life. She might’ve mastered lying,
and learned to conceal her true nature from Lannisters, for she was a wolf, and they were
lions, but she could never seem to surprise them.
Aemond on the other hand was looking at her like he hadn’t seen her before.
“What is the North like?” the youngest Lannister asked.
“Wild,” Aemond answered softly.
“It is very wild,” Sansa chuckled in agreement. “But it is very beautiful, and unique. Rather
like the Westerlands, but drastically colder and sparser.”
Osric walked through the halls of Castle Black, he was disturbed by the latest reports from
Beyond the Wall. The Wildlings were acting strange these past few years, and he didn’t know
what to make of it, he honestly didn’t. Sending reports to Cregan was vital, but Cregan had
been focusing; rightfully so, on the preparations for the North’s coming Winter, and preparing
their people to be safe and cared for. Osric respected that because that was what the Lord of
Winterfell, Warden of the North was supposed to do, but this latest report from the Rangers, it
was too disturbing for Osric to confine his worries any longer.
The Wildlings were gathering, but there was nothing concrete about who they were gathering
to until now. Now there was a name of a self-proclaimed King, King Beyond the Wall.
It was troubling, the fact there was a name though was something to be wary of. And it was
something to tell Cregan about. When the Wildlings organized behind a King Beyond the
Wall, there was trouble for a time, a war trouble, the Wildlings would attempt to take the
Wall. Or their raids into the North would be more organized and frequent, it would be a
trouble either way. And this was something to tell the Starks.
He looked out at the North, and frowned. Things were brewing, dangerous things, and the
North’s latest recruits were promising. Since the repeal of King Jaehaerys and Queen
Alysanne’s rule of law to send murderers and rapists and criminals to the Night’s Watch, the
North had slowly decided to send the third and fourth sons that needed prospects, had the
discipline needed to be leaders, the knowledge to train the other recruits.
Cregan would need to know.
Walking to the rookery he saw the master of ravens there.
“Ah, I was just coming to find you, Lord Commander,” the young man spoke, Alaric was
holding something in his hand. “A missive from Lord Stark, it appears Lord Bolton mounted
an attack against Winterfell while Lord Stark was attending his sister’s wedding. It’s cost
him. Prince Aemond upheld his word, Lord Bolton and House Bolton are no more, and
Bolton loyalist will be sent to the Wall. Ser Jon Stark is now named Lord of the Lonely
Hills,” the master said.
Osric reached out, accepting the missive. He frowned, Lord Bolton was always bound to do
something foolish one day, and hounds should remember why hunting wolves was always
dangerous. However, this meant there’d be two cadet branches of House Stark being
established.
“I need to go to Winterfell, the Winter’s Council should be there by the time I arrive, there’s
disturbing reports from Beyond the Wall. Call in the rangers, seal the Wall,” Osric ordered as
he turned to leave.
“I’ll send a raven to forewarn him of your arrival,” Alaric stated.
“Good,” Osric nodded.
Rhaenyra groaned in discomfort; this child was heavier than her last five combined. She sat
in her bed, rubbing the swell of her child, who was kicking her ribs something fierce.
Daemon came over, kissing the juncture of her throat and shoulder as she turned to him,
softening a bit.
“You’re as big as Laena,” he mused, his hands slipping between her thighs and heavy belly.
“This one is very large,” she murmured.
“Jace is returning North,” Daemon informed her as he kissed her pulse then.
“So soon?” she asked as she looked at her husband.
“Yes, it’s for the best, it is important he finish his squiring,” he said. “Lord Stark has not
inquired about retrieving Jace, but given he has had many tasks, I believe it important to just
send Jace to finish his responsibilities.”
“That is… fair,” she sighed miserably.

“I have spoken to him, he and Baela will be wed after his eighteenth nameday, it gives them a
few years to grow accustomed to the fact, as well as write and get to know each other. I
believe I will arrange a time with Lord Stark for Baela to be fostered at Winterfell so she and
Jace might court one another,” he murmured.
“That will be pleasing, a joyous occasion too,” she chuckled.
“Indeed,” he mused. “Not to worry, Nyra, I’ll keep you fat with child, you’ll never have an
empty house,” he promised.
She giggled as he nipped her ear.
“Corlys and Rhaenys are here, by the way, they came with Meleys,” he said.
“Why?”
“Luke will begin his squiring with them, but Corlys has come with other concerns,” Daemon
stated. “He wishes to speak with us.”
“It must be urgent,” she muttered.
“It’ll wait until morning,” he promised as he rubbed his hands over the swell of their child.
She smiled a bit, sighing at his touch. She loved being pregnant, despite the discomfort, she
loved having a child growing in her. It also had Daemon and Harwin insatiable over her, and
she loved that.
“What else?”
“You’re the most beautiful woman alive,” he said with a wry smirk.
She chuckled as she closed her eyes, then winced as it felt like a strong kick hit her spine.
Daemon laghed as she leaned against him. “Rowdy little son in there.”
“Daughter,” she sighed. “I want a daughter this time,” she murmured.
“Is that so?”
“Yes, I even have a name,” she smiled smugly.
“And do I get to know this name?” he asked.
“Visenya,” she replied. She wanted to name her daughter after the greatest Targaryen there
ever was, and ever would be. Also, the name was beautiful!
“I like that,” he murmured as he kissed her neck again. “And if there’s a second one in there,
what shall her name be?”
“There’s only one, Daemon,” she sighed.
“My love, Nyra, you are as big as Laena was with Baela and Rhaena,” he countered.
“I am not,” she assured.
“You are,” he chuckled.
“If we have a boy… Aenar,” she said.
“Yes, but if we have two, what shall we name them both.”
“I’m not that big, Daemon.”
“Just in case, I like to be prepared!” he chuckled as he kissed her temple. She rolled her eyes,
but sighed as he rubbed his hands over the swell of her child.
“I’m not…”
“Just in case, Nyra,” he teased.
“Is it that important to you?” she moaned in discomfort as the child kicked up a storm again.
“Very.”
“Fine, second names…” she sighed. “Aemma, for my mother.”
“And if it’s a second son?”
“Jaehaenor,” she proposed tiredly.
“Those are fine names,” he mused.
“I’m not having two.”
“You’re very fat.”
“I am not having two!” she snapped.
Daemon kissed her and hugged her tight before releasing her. She shook her head as she rose
to walk again.
Sansa chuckled as she leaned back in her seat, the night’s gardens were lovely, illuminated by
torch light, as everyone relaxed for the evening. Aemond had even settled beside her as they
sat there listening to their hosts playfully bicker about the events of a disputed hunt.
“It was not, Papa,” Cerelle chuckled. “It wasn’t a white doe, it was a boar, and it was white as
snow, and I remember because Tyshara wanted to name it Snow White.”
“Right you are,” Jason chuckled.
“So, Lady Sansa, now that my husband has bored you with all the regales of his hunting
exploits, can you tell us about the North?” Lady Johanna said with a smile. “I have never
been North, but there are wild tales about the land.”
“They’re true,” Sansa mused as she looked at her goblet of wine. “What is there of interest
about the North?”
“Are you really Wildlings?” Lady Jocelyn blurted out. “I read that there’s nomadic people in
the North who live in now house or hut, and are as wild as the Wildings!”
“Well, we don’t have Wildlings,” Sansa chuckled. “The Skagosi are closest to the Wildlings
in culture and customs, and even then, they are not Wildlings. As to nomadic people, yes,
some of the Northern families roam, the land is not fertile for farming, but the woods are
heavy for hunts, and these families move with the game, they also tend to the mass herd
animals; like sheep and goats, as well as tend to other matters. They have huts, and homes,
but they can build them and disassemble them for mobility.”
“Truly? That sounds barbaric,” Lady Rosamund said with distaste.
“I suppose that is a matter of perspective, because they would find all this, distasteful and
wasteful. The families who are nomadic believe in living amongst the Gods, to build keeps
such as this where they are is frowned upon. They believe it severs one from the Gods and
our ways.”
“And yet the North is home to many spectacular Keeps if we are to believe what we are told,”
Lord Jason said.
“Yes, but Winterfell has it’s own forest, and Godswood, it’s very… connected to the
environment it resides in,” Aemond countered.
“Yes, and the same could be said for other Keeps of the North,” Sansa agreed.
“I heard there’s giants in the North,” Lady Myranda said.
“North of the Wall,” Sansa stated swiftly. “Walton Stark was killed by them, but he killed two
of them before they killed him.”
“Giants are real!?”
“Aye, they are, and they’re very shy, but dangerous, and powerful, they aren’t Wildlings,
though they do have relations with Wildlings,” Sansa replied honestly.
“Such fanciful tales, your children will forever be entertained,” Lady Johanna chuckled.
Aemond tensed beside her.
“Oh, they are young, and newly married, you’ll find out, by the year’s end no doubt you’ll be
awaiting a new member to your House,” Lord Jason smiled rather like a lioness then.
“We will see what we are blessed with, for the time, I believe my husband will enjoy getting
to know each other,” she said with a careful smile.
“The Realm could use some good news, the last good news was your wedding and even that
affair was turned into something dismal,” Lord Jason pressed.
“Yes, well, Princess Rhaenyra will be announcing her own child’s birth soon, no doubt,”
Sansa offered. She couldn’t remember if the Lannisters were Greens or Blacks, but she knew
they’d aim for the side that turned them a profit ultimately. Tywin Lannister had famously
joined Robert’s Rebellion when it was all but assured Robert would win! Sansa figured Jason
Lannister to share a similar habit.
“Provided the child’s parentage is true, yes, it is a joyous announcement,” Lady Johanna
snorted. “Have you given thoughts about what is to happen after Aegon, if he does not
recover that is?”
“No,” Aemond answered.
“But another babe amongst the Royal ranks will be a joyous occasion, and with you and your
bride being so young, a handsome pair and in good health, you’ll have many fine and
beautiful children,” Lord Jason chuckled.
Aemond was now gripping her hand in a death grip, or she was gripping his hand in a death
grip; she wasn’t certain which.
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up for us to have beautiful children, Starks are notoriously ugly
until our formative years,” Sansa said tightly.
“You’re very beautiful though, Lady Sansa,” Lady Jocelyn said.
“Thank you, but I assure you, it was not always so,” Sansa replied with a smile. Aemond
stifled a yawn, and Sansa bit back her own yawn.
“The hour of the wolf is upon us, my dear, we should let our guests turn in for the night,”
Lady Johanna said as they all noted the time.
“Of course, of course, we’ll have much business to discuss later, but… tomorrow, I will give
Daeron the day for you, my Prince, if your bride should find this acceptable,” Lord Lannister
said.
“I believe my husband would love a day with his brother, and I could use a day of rest,”
Sansa gave Aemond a bright smile, and just nodded.
“Then it is settled, I hope you shall enjoy your time here at Casterly Rock,” Lord Jason
chuckled. Sansa rose, accepting Aemond’s arm as they started walking then. They were quiet
for a long time as Aemond lead her to their rooms. It was in their rooms that Sansa released
Aemond as she looked at him.
“Thank you, Daeron and I have many matters to discuss,” Aemond murmured.
“Of course,” Sansa said softly.
“Sansa…” he said her name softly and she turned as she untied her ribbon. The braids fell
loose and she watched him as she waited. Aemond didn’t always know how to say whatever
was on his mind, and it took patience, it had taken patience two years ago, and now would be
no difference. But she was comfortable waiting for him to speak. She dragged her fingers
through her hair, loosening it from her braids. She was surprised when Aemond was there, in
her space, he’d been wary about invading her space, though when he slept he liked grabbing
her, when he was awake, he didn’t really invade her space when they were in private.
“Yes?” she looked him over carefully.
“Nevermind,” he shook his head as he walked away.
“You can tell me, Aemond,” she touched his shoulder and he turned to study her. “When
you’re ready.”
“I’ll never be ready,” he muttered as he seemed to take a deep breath and then he leaned back
against the wall, rubbing his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose. “We do need to
discuss the matter of children,” he muttered. “We haven’t, not truly, and we do need to
discuss it as it will be brought up again and by others. So we should at least have some matter
of understanding between us about this topic.”
“Having children also requires us to have intimate relations,” she pointed out.
“Which is why we should discuss this matter before other people start sticking their noses in
it, Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys were the first, but they won’t be the last,” Aemond
sighed tiredly.
“That is true, but we do not have to discuss the topic at this moment if it makes you
uncomfortable,” Sansa pointed out.
He glared balefully at her.
“Or we can discuss it now,” she said.
He nodded as he frowned.
“What do you want in this relationship, Aemond?” she asked.
He blinked a few times. “I don’t know, but in the matter of children… with everything we are
to do, I am aware of the expectation, and you and I are not inclined for passions at this
time…” he started.
“We can go slow,” she proposed. “We did the wedding night, Aemond, so… we can go slow,
and figure out what we enjoy about passion and don’t. And while we figure this out, we
can… we can go slow. I’ll earn your trust back, and you have my trust. But… we can go
slow, and there are ways to prevent me from catching a babe, I can speak to a woodwitch so I
do not become damaged as my aunt was damaged. I do want children, Aemond, but we do
have bigger worries at this moment. Winter is Coming and we have to prepare for that.
Winters are not kind or peaceful in the North.”
“Are you certain?” Aemond asked.
“Aye, I am,” she assured.

“And how do we… start…” Aemond asked.
“Well… it’s the small intimacies,” she pointed out as she looked at him. “Small affections,
we can figure out where to go from there. Like… the small affections, or… holding hands, or
small things… We figure this out. And when we are comfortable with each other, we’ll have
a talk about children when we are more comfortable. Until then, we can just say we are
enjoying getting to know each other.”
“How many children do you want?” Aemond asked warily.
“I came from a large family, Aemond,” Sansa pointed out. “How many would you like?”
“I do not know,” Aemond murmured quietly. “My family is not a good one, Sansa. I do not
know…” Aemond said.
“That is fine,” she promised. “We have much to learn, and it’s not all an investigation, or
conspiracies, we’ll learn together. And in that time I’ll earn your trust back.”
“I… I am trying, Sansa,” he admitted.
“I know,” Sansa assured. “I do not expect this to be easy, Aemond, but, we are friends, and I
am patient.”
He didn’t reply then and she reached over, tracing his arm with her fingers before she caught
his hand. He caught her fingers as they stood there. “You are surprisingly patient with me, I
do not understand why.”
“I am a Stark, Aemond, I’m very patient by nature,” she assured softly. “But, I am loyal as
well, and you have me, even as I earn your trust back.” He pressed his brow to hers, and she
smiled a little as she stood there with him just leaning against her. She could be patient.
“Besides, Targaryens are notoriously impatient, one of us has to have patience,” she decided.
He gave a soft chuckle and she smirked as she reached up, tracing his scar.
“We’re going to be fine, Aemond, it’s going to take patience,” she said softly.
“I do not understand you,” he muttered again.
“Let’s go to bed, sleep, and you can try to figure me out at a later time, I’m not complicated,
Aemond,” she whispered.
“You’re the most complicated person I’ve met, other than your brothers,” he muttered.
“Jon is very complicated, but I feel Cregan is very straightforward, he does what he says, and
means what he does,” Sansa chuckled.
“Bloody Starks,” he grumbled. She giggled a little as she carefully pulled off his eye patch
again.
“I think you Targaryens are far more complicated,” she decided as she pulled Aemond
towards their bed again. Aemond went with her and she pulled off her vest, Aemond
undressed as well as they fell on the bed.
“They seem to be a comfortable pair,” Johanna said as she and Jason retired to their
chambers.
“He has been most enamored with his bride,” Jason agreed mournfully. Aemond was besotted
with Sansa, though the man did not show much of anything to the world. Jason had initially
been vexed at the match, a Black marrying a Green Prince, it was an insult of the highest
order in Jason’s humble opinion. He had petitioned for years with King Viserys to arrange a
match between Aemond and one of Jason’s daughters. Cerelle, Tyshara, or even Myranda,
but that had not happened. And Aemond marrying the Blackest of Blacks, the House
everyone knew the Blacks were relying on as a linchpin to their dominance of the Realm, it
was an insult. Until the entire Realm watched Aemond and his bride.
Prince Aemond Targaryen and Lady Sansa Stark were something the entire Realm was
falling in love with. A Black and a Green, it was unexpected given Aemond’s general
indifference to everyone.
“It is a shame, I had had hopes of annulling the union, but it appears that will not be
possible,” Johanna sighed as she leaned back.
“An unexpected turn of events for everyone.”
“If Aegon dies, who is the rightful heir to the throne?” she asked warily.
“Prince Aegon has three issues, Prince Jaehaerys is the heir upon Prince Aegon’s death,”
Jason answered. “But there is a case to be had if Prince Aemond is Lord Regent for his
nephew.”
“You believe Ser Otto would ever dare relinquish his hold on the Throne?” Johanna asked
distastefully. Jason knew that Johanna had never liked Otto Hightower, and Jason hadn’t
either. Everything he knew from his brother made Otto Hightower distasteful, Aemond was
also a surprise to them all.
“We will learn,” Jason stated. So long as that bitch Rhaenyra did not sit the Throne, a Throne
which was not hers, he did not care. It was not right for a woman to hold power like that, and
it wasn’t her place. If it was Prince Daemon as heir, Jason would not be so opposed, but it
wasn’t. It was that bitch, and that bitch had snubbed him as inferior and unworthy of her
attentions, he despised her. Young Prince Aegon had been a hope once.
“And who do we support if Prince Aegon dies? Prince Aemond or Prince Jaehaerys?”
“Prince Jaehaerys would be the rightful heir,” Jason pointed out. “But perhaps Prince
Aemond as Regent would be preferred, regardless though, Prince Jaehaerys would be the
rightful heir.”
Johanna did not disagree as they separated to go to their separate rooms. Their apartments
were massive, and separate rooms of sleep with alternative halls for them to come and go as
they pleased without ever seeing one another. It was a fair arrangement, given how boring
purist his wife was. So unimaginative.
Alone in his rooms, he pulled off his vests and clothes, discarding his overvest. He would
have to send his regards to Queen Alicent, but he’d have to wait to make his fealty known.
Corlys was sitting by the fires in Dragonstone, Rhaenys having gone to bed a few hours ago,
he trembled in barely contained rage as he watched the fire. House Velaryon was finally
crumbling, under his brother’s selfish, shortsighted stupidity! Gods, Vaemond was a fool, and
Corly wanted to scream at his brother, they could weather this storm, they could weather this
problem, and it would be righted!
The unions of Prince Jacaerys and Lady Baela would secure his legacy to the Throne, and the
marriage of Prince Lucerys and Lady Rhaena would secure the reign of House Velaryon!
Their children would wed with Vaemond’s grandchildren, or each other, and Houses Velaryon
and Targaryen would be forever linked; they’d be more powerful than any of the Dragon
Lords of Valyria! But Vaemond was so short sighted, complaining of the slights to his branch
of the House that he was about to chop the tree down to spite them!
And worse, worse was in the past few days Vaemond had secured other Valyrian families to
follow; the Ragaenor, Taendaerys, Valiar, Qartalos, Daenareon, Caltigar, and Baeleneos had
all sworn fealty to Vaemond and his new overlords, and so many commissions were returned
to Corlys. Without crews to man his ships, and without the Velaryon navy, the Blacks were
crippled. He was losing hold on his trade agreements in Essos and worse, he did not have
crews for his ships. Without his ships, he lost his trade, and his trades were needed.
The Fact Vaemond Was Not Seeing This As Vital Was Infuriating!
He was hoping to make Vaemond see reason, he needed…
Closing his eyes he sighed, he needed his brother to be sound Council again, he needed
Vaemond’s expertise. Vaemond’s betrayal was a crippling blow to their cause, and worse, it
appeared that the only solace of this betrayal was that it still strengthened the Blacks.
Vaemond had sworn fealty to Lord Stark and the North, and the North would be on
Rhaenyra’s side of this matter, and that brought Corlys cold satisfaction. Despite what his
brother wanted, he would in fact have to serve Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon
ultimately. That brought a grim satisfaction to Corlys. But it wasn’t enough.
He let his head fall back as he rubbed his hands over his face.
Corlys was furious though, and worse, he could not get Vaemond to be reasoned with.
Especially not with those emphatic Northmen with him. It was like trying to reason with
fanatics, impossible, and worse, Lord Stark was nothing but a Lord, and he commanded a
loyalty akin to a King, it was an insult. Perhaps the Northerners would drive his brother mad!
Sighing he tried to calm himself. He needed to speak to Daemon and Rhaenyra about this
loss though, he knew they would need a navy. And Vaemond building a navy for the North
wouldn’t give them what was needed in time…
Corlys needed a way to bring Vaemond back into the fold.
Chapter End Notes
Next few chapters are long, so it's going to take some time to post, I'll probably space it
out, but otherwise other stories will get update:
-Rody & the Princess, since it's snippets and short scenes that'll have a few updates
throughout the week.
-Requests for A Dance of Ice and Fire are open, so those will be filled over the week.
-Find Me Under My Pillow, I'm fulfilling those requests too, so that'll be updated over
the week.
-Something Just Like This will also have requests being fulfilled.
-Always & Forever too.
Just know, you can drop a request, it's going to take time to get to it but in time I'll get
there. I'm also toying with updating some ongoing fics. We'll see, but this story will have
a long way to go and because the long chapters for the next bit, I'll be slow. Also, I'm
going to plot out the next story in this series, so again, I'll be slow for the next few
weeks.
Chapter 27
Lyman Beesbury looked at his posting carefully, he had served faithfully and without
faultering for these past twenty-five years. It was simply time, he decided. Twenty-five years
of this, and he had not been a young man when it began either. No, he was quite old now, and
it was time for him to step back before this game truly did kill him. King Viserys, Princess
Rhaenyra, Prince Aegon, it was ultimately the same, and he didn’t care for the routes that
would go. Instead, he would watch Prince Aemond, guide the young man as well.
He waited until he saw Ser Otto Hightower, as Lord Hand, Lyman was certain he would
accept Lyman’s resignation. Otto already almost ran the kingdom.
“Lord Beesbury,” Otto said warily when he walked into the Small Council chambers then.
“Ser Otto,” he replied.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Otto asked.
“I have come to resign from my posting. I am old, Otto, and I am not getting younger, what
time I have left, I wish to spend with my grandchildren and sons,” he stated as he handed the
posting back to Otto. “I have a granddaughter being married; can you believe it? And another
is expecting her first, I’d like to see that before I am too old.”
“I… I cannot,” Otto started.
“But you will,” Lyman said. “I have already had my things packed; I leave at first light. I
have left a list of recommended replacements for my posting even,” he said. “Goodbye, Ser
Otto, it was an honor serving on this Council,” Lyman bowed slightly before he left.
It was the laughter he followed, feeling pulled after it, and as he walked through the snowy
landscape, he tried to keep up. occasionally there’s be a glimpse, a trick of the light, then
there was a low howl which erupted into more as he stepped out on a frozen expanse. He
looked around the barren forest, the snows were thick and heavy, the winds chilled him to the
bone. There appeared to be an expanse of ice beneath his feet, which shifted and groaned
with low whines which could be heard over the howls of the winds. The winds tugged his hair,
and he turned.
He could see Ice, Timber, White Fang, Frostfyre, and Ghost, but there were wolves he didn’t
recognize there. A massive black direwolf with green eyes and a menacing smile, baring all
his fangs as his hackles rose, flanking Timber. Another brown direwolf with amber eyes and
heavy brown fur, that one had smaller wolves following it. There was a massive stoney grey
direwolf who stood regal, over a very delicate, pale, crème brown direwolf, both shared
amber eyes and wore a blue ribbon. The next direwolf seemed so warm, a pale brown with
crème coloring and dark red eyes. He saw the way Frostfyre came near the other direwolf
wearing a ribbon and bristled.
Aemond turned, feeling no threat from the direwolves, and he paused seeing four people he
didn’t recognize.
A young boy, wild Stark black curls and grey eyes, the boy was a Stark, but looked so much
more wild than any Stark Aemond had seen thus far. The girl had wild dark hair, grey eyes,
she looked like a Stark, very beautiful, but very dangerous. The third figure was a young man,
a Stark looking young man with dark hair, distant grey eyes as he looked at Aemond, sitting
in a strange, wheeled chair. The fourth young man was the one who drew Aemond’s eye, the
young man was tall, thick, a warrior, and atop his head was a crown, playful, bright blue
eyes and auburn curls, but a Stark face.
Aemond’s heart started beating a little harder as he recognized Robb Stark, the man looked
similar to Sansa.
There was a laugh, and Aemond turned, a shifting figure ran out onto the ice with Aemond.
“Don’t!” he started.
“Relax Dragon Prince, it’s just a bit of Winter,” Robb’s voice had a thick brogue and playful
lilt. The child laughed, shifting silver hair, black curls, and auburn waves, the silvery-violet
eyes were bright though.
There were three figures standing on the other side of the ice, Aemond recognized Sansa
immediately, she was laughing as the child ran to her, grabbing her hand, pulling at her
eagerly. The second figure was Jon, standing there with a grim resolution which seemed to
soften a little as the child laughed. The third figure was an unknown figure to Aemond, but
there was a rowdy laughter from the figure. There was a musical series of chirping from the
forest.
“They come in threes, Dragon Prince, be wary of the shadows,” Robb’s voice rasped.
Aemond turned to respond only to be startled by who was there. The entire scene shifted,
everything disappeared into black and Aemond turned to find himself face to face with a
hash, gnarled face, glowing blue eyes, and a being that seemed to be carved of ice itself. But
the face was one of a Stark, Aemond could see that. An ethereal face, but Stark all the same.
The creature reached for the shifting child, Aemond snatched the child back, all the ice
melted into fires raging, which had the ethereal creature jerking back, then lunging for
Aemond.
Aemond jerked upright from his sleep, his heart pounding painfully in his chest as he tried to
catch his breath. Sansa grumbled as she shifted beside him, turning over on her back. He
groaned as he rubbed hands over his face before falling back into the pillows. Sighing, he
closed his eye as he tried to calm his heart. Sansa pulled herself against him, grumbling as
she hooked her thigh over his hips again and draped her arm around his shoulders. He turned
to see her nuzzling into his shoulder and he sighed.
Carefully extracting himself Sansa again; the woman was very cuddly in her sleep, he got
dressed and braided his hair. He checked in on her again, she was sleeping soundly on his
side of the bed now, hugging a pillow, he pulled the quilt up over her now. It was clear, here
on the coast of the Westerlands, that it was autumn, the bite in the air was rather prominent.
He heard her give a soft mewling sound as she burrowed into the covers, which had him
snorting in amusement as he shook his head. When she was awake, like the other Starks, she
was so formidable, in her sleep, she was always cuddly.
Dressed, Aemond left Sansa to rest, and walked through Casterly Rock. It didn’t take him
long to find the main gardens, where he saw the ocean churning carefully. Spotting
something akin to a morning meal, Aemond snagged a piece of toast, spreading butter and
honey on it as he bit into it.
“Mon!” he turned to see Daeron running towards him and he continued eating the toast. It
was now that Aemond noted his little brother had a satchel over his shoulder and was
prepared for their riding this morning.
“Lord Lannister has given you the day?”
“Yes,” Daeron answered with a smile.
He nodded as he continued eating his toast.
“How do you like your wife?” Daeron asked.
“Dareon, that is not your place,” Aemond warned firmly. He didn’t want to discuss this
matter with Daeron now or ever.
Daeron rolled his eyes as they both looked out at the seas.
“How long are you here for?”
“A week at most,” Aemond answered honestly. He knew that with the delays in the
campaigns there was no formal schedule, but Aemond was keenly aware that he had to get to
the Reach sooner rather than later. Primarily because he needed to move swiftly. While
Aegon was still alive, his grandfather and mother were distracted, and if Aegon died,
Aemond needed to be on the move, primarily so he couldn’t be dragged back to King’s
Landing for mourning. Also, he wanted to get to Helaena and the children before they could
be summoned back to King’s Landing for mourning.
There were a few moves his mother could employ when Aegon died, and Aemond didn’t like
the possibilities, but also, he didn’t know what his grandfather would advocate for. Knowing
there would already be a succession crisis, and now this… Aemond didn’t know what to do.
He didn’t. Before he’d have trusted his grandfather to have their interest at heart, but Aemond
was becoming wary.
Sansa had brought up good points and when she had separated the Crown from House
Targaryen, referring to the Houses as their own entities, Aemond was a bit startled and
mortified.
Sansa spoke of House relations like small nations, and Aemond had been greatly surprised,
but the context of how she spoke of the Houses brought to light something Aemond was
really aware of. Yes, he wanted to learn to rule, learn the kinds of rulers these people had
been before Aegon had set out to conquer Westeros, but he hadn’t thought about what that
entailed.
House Targaryen had a long history, starting in Old Valyria, they were Dragon Lords, yes, but
they weren’t the highest ranked Dragon Lords. They were merchants, traders, landholders,
and one of the Forty Dragon Lord Families. They had experience ruling and managing vast
holdings; his ancestors, in an unprecedented move though, had sold their slaves, moved to
Westeros, bringing dragons with them, and settled at Dragonstone. Other Dragon Lords had
mocked House Targaryen for such a move, but it was an effort to evade the Doom which
destroyed Valyria and fractured a continent. House Targaryen had also drastically reduced
their standing in Old Valyria by selling and releasing their slaves; Old Valyria had been more
akin to the Free Cities of Essos, than Westeros.
Yes, Aemond had grasped that there was a hierarchy in Westeros, but he had always been
taught House Targaryen was on top. Examining the North had him reassessing that hierarchy.
House Targaryen was atop the hierarchy, yes, that was of no doubt, but it was not like a
pyramids of Meereen. House Targaryen sat atop the pillars of the other Great Houses of
Westeros, those Great Houses also had Houses beneath them that were their vassals, those
Houses had Stewards, and those Stewards managed the lands, tenants and farms. The ‘game’
as Aemond was learning it to be referred to, the cycle of life, had different levels for the
Houses that played. He had contextually grasped that even before Sansa, given he was
shouldering many of Aegon’s duties and tasks, he had understood the entire Kingdom was
always playing a game of politics, Aemond just hadn’t been interested in it though he learned
to play it well enough to get what he wanted accomplished, accomplished.
The Great Houses dealt in the matters of war, training of the vassals, food management,
trade, land development, income, maintaining traditions, as well as providing protection. The
Names of the Great Houses was their credit, their trade, their reputation; the names were what
gave the Great Houses the ability to be Great. Sansa referred to Starks as a collective, and she
referred to her House with their general traits, their reputation accumulated through history,
and what values they held in their family lines. Yes, an individual of that line could hold a
powerful reputation; Sansa and Cregan were both examples of that, they were quickly
developing reputations that would carry them through history. But the Great Houses were
treated as a collective, children were born with those reputations, raised in those reputations,
steeped in those traditions, those Names held as much of an individual’s identity, as it did the
historical accumulation of the family.
The Houses beneath the Great Houses also held similar traits, though their histories might not
be as long, their powers might not be as old, but they were just as important, they supported
the Great Houses. They were vital to the Great Houses’ standings. But that did not mean they
could not seek to rival the Great Houses, as the Boltons had against the Starks. There was a
shifting power structure beneath the Great House which had it’s own natural cycles; Aemond
guessed it was similar to how the Great Houses waxed and waned in the power cycle of
Westeros.
Below the Houses were the Stewards, Merchants, and other Families of some moderate
power, they managed affairs, they could rise and fall between the Houses, but they were
predominantly playing a smaller game than the Great Houses. The Great Houses played at
war and empires, the Houses played at battles and internal structures, the Stewards and other
families played the game in their lands, but would not have the means to fund a war or
conflict outside of their boundaries and sought favor of their Houses.
Then there were the small folk who did not play the game but were vital to the game because
they built the foundation for the Great Houses to stand upon. The Great Houses ultimately
served their small folk; they provided protection, standing, guardianship, and foods, the small
folk relied on the Great Houses for survival against rivals, and against criminals, injustice,
and the Great Houses relied on their small folk to assist in providing numbers, workers, land
managers, and so forth.
The structures of the hierarchy were intricate, and interchanging, but they all relied upon one
another or else it all crumbled, the delicate balance was gentle, and it was akin to a house of
cards, one wrong gust of wind and it’d all come falling down. But it was like a fortress too, in
it’s strength, resolution, and resilience, it held power.
The Westerosi hierarchy held its power and ancient resolve through the Great Houses',
Houses' older than the Free Cities and Valyria ever had been. And this difference was why
Westeros still stood with its traditions and power, while the Free Cities were ever shifting and
changing in their power structures.
House Stark, House Lannister, Baratheon, Tyrell, Hightower, Tarley, Velaryon, Tully, Arynn,
Royce, Greyjoy, and so forth, they were all ancient powers, and to forget that they were as
powerful as dragons was foolish. The Dragons put House Targaryen on top, put his family
upon the Iron Throne, but these Great Houses had been playing games with each other since
the Age of Heroes and were masters at war, espionage, subterfuge, and diplomacy. They
didn’t have dragons, but they had thousands of years of traditions, tactics, and skills that they
were skilled at employing them.
“You have that face,” Daeron pulled Aemond out of his thoughts as he turned, looking at his
brother. “The serious thinking face.”
“Let’s go,” he said as he nudged his brother’s shoulder. They walked through Casterly Rock,
Daeron pointed out spots as they walked, and smiled as he greeted a few servants. Aemond
was unsurprised Daeron had made friends, Daeron was likeable; annoying, but likeable, a
trait Aemond envied. They reached the courtyard, where there were horses waiting for them.
Aemond didn’t slow as he swung up, Daeron did too. He nodded to his brother who grinned
manically before spurring the horse out, Aemond chased after his brother, being certain to
keep behind brother so Daeron felt he was winning. They made it to where the dragons were
resting, and Daeron whooped in victory. Vhagar raised her head, grumbling and Aemond
smirked a little at Daeron’s antics. Swinging off his horse he walked over to Vhagar who was
humming lowly, her hums vibrated through the dragon pit she was resting in.
“You let me win!” Daeron stated in a huff.

“No, you’re improving,” Aemond lied.
“Liar.”
“I’m not lying,” Aemond replied.
Daeron glared him, but Aemond revealed nothing though as he carefully started climbing up
the saddle of Vhagar. She rose, shaking out, and Daeron scrambled up Tessarion who rapidly
rose into the air, flying off. Vhagar grumbled as she lumbered after Tessarion, then leapt into
the air with ease, giving a roar as she circled Casterly Rock before chasing Tessarion.
Sansa woke to the thundering roars of the dragons, scrambled out of her bed, to the balcony
of the room in time to see Aemond flying off with Daeron. She chuckled seeing the brothers
fly off and she wrapped her arms around herself as she watched the pair disappear from her
sight before turning back into the room to change. She brushed her hair, then started dressing.
Pulling on the over dress, then the vest, she picked up a heavy belt to wrap around her waist.
Utilizing a ribbon again, she braided her hair then tied it in place after wrapping it up. Once it
was secure, Sansa slipped on the pearl earrings before walking out of her room. Slipping her
hands in her pockets of her dress.
The finery was unlike anything Sansa had ever seen, she could admit it, this was unexpected.
It wasn’t like the Red Keep in Cersei’s control, which was very… gawdy. Cersei’s tastes were
what Sansa thought the Lannisters to be accustomed to, gawdy display of wealth and power.
The over abundance of display of power and control, it was tasteless.
This, this was beautiful, the elegance was something Sansa found herself in awe of, and bit
envious. This effortless, ancient elegance, it was stunning. There were oiled portraits on the
walls, she paused to examine them. Occasionally a Lannister didn’t look like a golden lion,
she noted, but their features were primarily delicate, refined, the pinnacle of Andal beauty,
Sansa supposed. The long golden tresses, green eyes, delicate, fine, elegant features, yes,
Sansa was a bit envious of the Lannisters of now. In her era she hated them all. Passionately
hated them all, she couldn’t see their beauty or skills or even their abilities. She hated the
lions in her era, Cersei was evil, Tyrion was clever but malicious, and Jaime, Jaime was…
dangerous.
“Good morning,” a voice had Sansa turning to see Lady Lannister there.
“Restful night?” she asked wryly.
Sansa blushed a little as she bit her lip. “It was,” she agreed. “But we received so little rest in
King’s Landing, it’s been wonderful to relax, and rest,” Sansa chuckled.
“I do suppose it was rather chaotic at the capitol,” she mused. “Oh, but you mustbe famished,
come, my daughters and I were about to have a spot of morning meal in the eastern gardens,
the colors of autumn compliment Casterly Rock, and flourish beautifully in the eastern
gardens.”
“Winter compliments Winterfell in a similar manner, though I’ll admit a biased towards
spring at Winterfell being most beautiful,” Sansa said.
“I am certain of it, my son wrote of the exploits, it seems your brother is very efficient,”
Johanna said.
“Yes… Cregan is a military man first and foremost, he’ll attack a threat head on,” Sansa
answered carefully.
“Amory says it was a most impressive display of power and unity, he calls it the Hours of the
Wolves,” she chuckled. “My goodbrother commended your command of the Small Council
when acting as Prince Aemond’s proxy. But he was curious where one, such as yourself,
developed such a skill.”
“Where is your son, I do not believe I have seen him since King’s Landing?” Sansa inquired.
“He went to the Vale, he is friends with young Wallace Royce,” Johanna chuckled. “They are
enjoying hunting and falconry.”
Sansa nodded as they walked. She thought her answer over carefully as they walked, she
could feel Johanna assessing her for weaknesses and information. So, Sansa settled close to
the truth and the lie she and Cregan had long since established. “I’m certain it’s well known
now that I have had a most unusual upbringing, by the standards of the North. My father sent
me for fostering when I was not yet weened, and I spent time South, in the Vale, as well as
being moved through the North during Cregan’s campaigns. Southron standards and Northern
standards for what is expected of one are very different. In the North we are all subjected to
conscription.”
“Even the women?” Johanna asked in disbelief.
“Aye, even the women, and Ladies, I was taught command by my brother, I was taught
politics by the South, I was taught war by the North, and I was taught diplomacy by the
South. Cregan ensured I could command the home front if ever a time of war came when the
men were called away, there’s a reason you can’t conquer the North, Lady Lannister,” Sansa
stated.
“That is most barbaric.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not, but I doubt it will matter when you’re facing a siege and all the men
are off fighting a war, then it is a matter of defending your home, else what are the men
fighting for?” Sansa inquired.
“Westeros is not at war,” Johanna pointed out.
“Aye, you’re not, at this time, at a true war, but the North, we’re always prepared, Winter is
Coming after all, and we are always prepared,” Sansa shrugged.
“Rather unrealistic to always prepare for a war that hasn’t come,” Johanna pointed out.
“Who says it hasn’t?” Sansa challenged. “The North is not Westeros, Lady Lannister, and we
tend to our own affairs.”
“The North is one of the Seven Kingdoms.”
“Aye, we are, but we are not Westerosi, and we are not Westeros, we are the First Men, and
the Children of the Forest, the Giants, we are the North,” Sansa countered.
“Interesting perspective to possess,” Johanna chuckled.
Sansa inclined her head as they walked. “Despite the Seven Kingdoms coming under one
King, it would be foolish to say we are all the same people, we are many people, with many
traditions, and memories, we are a collection of history and cultures, to say we are all the
same does us a disservice. There are Seven Kingdoms after all, and thus, all Seven of us are
different, with different values, beliefs, customs, and traditions. It just makes us unique and
different ultimately.”
“I suppose that is true, but we do serve one monarch.”
“Aye, we do,” Sansa agreed. “And that monarch is also, a different culture from our own, and
yet they permitted us to maintain it despite conquering us.”
“Most kind of them,” Johanna mused.
“It is, given they have dragons and could’ve burned us down and built a new Valyria, a
Valyria second coming and reinstated practices those of us residing in the Seven Kingdoms
had long since banished. Like slavery, and flesh peddling,” Sansa pointed out.
“You have given this thought?”
“My husband and I have enjoyed debates about cultural differences with vigor,” Sansa
mused.
“And here I was told it was a match formed by Princess Rhaenyra,” Johanna said sagely.
“It was, the Princess visited Winterfell when Aemond was there informing Cregan of the
contracts he had assisted securing on behalf of the Crown, she thought the match to be a fair
one,” Sansa replied.
“Mmm,” Johanna hummed. “Prince Aemond has been a most elusive young bachelor, a
match for him was unexpected.”
“It was unexpected I’d be receiving such a highly praised match as well,” Sansa said swiftly.
“Why is that?”
“Starks don’t come South frequently. As Cregan was still settling into his Lordship we had
not discussed my prospects, but if we had followed Stark tradition then I would’ve likely
been wed to an Umber, or Reed, or Karstark, perhaps even a Dustin, a match with a
Targaryen was far more ambitious than I sought, or Cregan sought for that matter, but it is a
pleasing match all the same,” Sansa smiled a bit.
“That is good,” Johanna chuckled. “Rest now, for when you are recovered, there will no
doubt be a vigorous dragon awaiting you,” she predicted.
Sansa didn’t get to respond verbally but did give Johanna a smile as they walked into the
eastern gardens, and Sansa saw the other Lannister ladies sitting around the table. She looked
around the gardens in awe though as she was startled at the beauty, the dying greens were
vibrant reds, oranges, yellows, it looked like fire, but so gentle and beautiful. Yes, the North
had a beautiful autumn, but autumn was the last flare of beauty before the death of winter
settled in, because come an eleventh lunar cycle, regardless of if it was a Summer’s Winter,
or a True Winter, everything died. Winter came by the end of the eleventh cycle regardless.
“Does Winterfell come with such vibrant autumns?” Cerelle asked.
“Yes, but not like this,” Sansa admitted. “Our autumns are quick and die in a spectacular
swiftness,” she explained.
“It must be nice then, to be in a place which will enjoy such beautiful autumns,” Tyshara
mused.
“It is different.”
So, tell us Sansa, about yourself and family,” Cerelle smiled.
“I have an older brother, a younger sister, nephew, and cousin who is more akin to a brother,”
she explained.
“Yes, the young Lord of Winterfell, a tragedy what happened to his wife,” Johanna said.
“Arra was very dear to all of us,” Sansa murmured honestly.
“And the babe survives?” Tyshara asked.
“Yes, Rickon, he’s to be three next year,” Sansa smiled brightly. “He’s a lovely child, full of
mischief and laughter, I don’t think we would’ve survived losing Arra if not for him. He’s a
lot like Cregan, but he’s got Arra’s mischief and Sara’s penchant for trouble!”
“It’s such a tragedy,” Johanna murmured. “But he is young, it is possible he will find a
suitable match again…?” Johanna ventured.
“Cregan is very private about his affairs of the heart, so if he is to pursue the matter he will
only speak to Sara and I when he has a suitable candidate, he will marry whomever is best for
both himself and the North,” Sansa answered carefully. She didn’t want to have the South
turning it’s eye on the North when the North was recovering from the famine, Cregan didn’t
need a wife, and there was about to be an influx of immigrants to the North because of hers’
and Aemond’s new House, and Vaemond Velaryon being their first sworn banner.
They landed on the cliffs, and Aemond looked around from where he was perched, the winds
tugging on his stray hairs, he turned to see Daeron grinning manically as he sat Tessarion.
Aemond scratched Vhagar’s neck as he carefully pulled himself off Vhagar and to the
grounds. Landing in the tall grasses, he caught Daeron as his brother ran over to him.
Catching his brother he pulled Daeron back from the cliff edges, Vhagar and Tessarion dove
over the cliffs to fly off hunting.
“If you fall off the cliffs, mother will have my head,” Aemond stated as he pulled Daeron
away from the cliffs.
“Mother would have to stop fretting over Aegon to remember I exist,” Daeron sighed.
Aemond frowned, about to retort that mother loved Daeron more than any of them.
“Mon, I know you say you do not love Lady Sansa, I know she is your friend, but… are you
happy? With the match, I mean, I know Nyra formed it.”
“I… I am pleased with the match,” Aemond said as he sat. “Friendships are rare and one
from Sansa is true, it is a good match.”
“So you’re happy?” Daeron pressed.
“Content,” he countered. Aemond didn’t know if he’d ever be happy, but he could admit to
finding some solace in their relationship, even with it being strained right now.
“Did you want a wife?” Daeron asked.
“Want a wife, no, but I did want a friend, and Sansa was my friend.”
“So you wanted Sansa?”
“Yes,” he answered reluctantly. He did want her, wanting her had torn him up when he
figured out he wanted more from her than just her friendship. Remembering that was
startling, he could remember the agony he had felt in Winterfell accepting he couldn’t have
the one thing he found he wanted; Sansa, because she deserved better. And yet, they had
decided to marry, he remembered that conversation for as unpleasant as it was, it was
important. They had decided on this union, and he had wanted her. He wanted her as a
person, he wanted her spirit, her laughter, her essence in his life, he wanted her because she
had not been interested in his titles. The realization of that want was what had pushed him to
seek out Sansa as his match.
“So… you’re happy,” Daeron decided.
Aemond just shrugged as he let his brother have that illusion. Sansa was someone he had
selected, and they did have a foundation of honesty. He remembered that she was honest with
him. She had laid out the sides of their match before he had played his hand in forming it.
She was always frank, and honest, she did not toy with him, or play games with him. He
supposed she could she was a cunning woman who had forced his hand. He enjoyed her
cleverness, her frankness, her honesty, he knew that she was different. He knew that when
she ‘played’ her game, and laid out the sides of the game he didn’t see she was formidable,
and he enjoyed seeing her mind work. Aemond was probably more pleased with the match
that he wanted to admit, even if he was struggling to understand her now.
“I brought the maps,” Daeron stated as he pulled the bag forward, to his lap. Aemond raised a
brow as he sat in the grasses as well. “I want answers though,” Daeron stated.
“About what?” Aemond asked.
“What are you and Sansa actually investigating?” Daeron asked.
“There’s been a mass amount of funds being funneled from the Realms into unknown
sources. The Crown is hemorrhaging money, but the Realms are paying a surplus of tax.
Sansa and I are seeking to find where the money is going, and unless it’s being funneled to
Braavos or Lys, I’m wagering it’s a bit closer to home.”
“Why?”
“Timing,” Aemond answered. “The Iron Bank and House Rhogar are both recently developed
compared to Westeros, and if there’s someone funneling money out of the Realm it’ll be
someone within the Realm.”
“You think it’s the grandfather’s House?” Daeron asked.
“No, but I do think all signs are pointing towards something happening, and most of it is
pointed towards Oldtown as at the very least a stopping point in this matter. Also there’s the
matter of the North being the one to uncover it, which is concerning because they are near
isolationists, so their records would be the most independent.”
“Why aren’t you collecting records from Westerlands then? See if this is happening over all
Seven Kingdoms?” Daeron asked.
“Whoever said I wasn’t?” Aemond asked. “I am establishing a New House, there are a great
many things I must learn,” he smiled sharply.
“Don’t do the scary smile!” Daeron grimaced. “Why do you want to have access to the
tunnels of Oldtown?”
“Because I need access to records, if there is a way around the problematic eyes, then I intend
to utilize it,” Aemond admitted. There was no shame in admitting that, he and Daeron had
freely utilized the passages within the Red Keep for years, though Daeron was more adept at
using them. Daeron always tried to stay invisible, and he was good at utilizing the passages to
do so.
“Then… yes, this is a good plan,” Daeron nodded. “These are the maps!” he pulled out his
journal. “So, there’s multiple tunnels that go under the ocean bed, they’re dry tunnels, they’re
the deepest tunnels too. They have funny markings,” Daeron said.
Aemond looked at the detailed sketches as they sat there. he looked at how his brother
sketched out the entries, then there were the markers, the runes, he recognized them from in
Winterfell. The Starks had littered their keep with all sorts of markers and indicators about
things. They didn’t write anything in the Common Tongue, but rather the runes. The only
things in Common Tongue for the Northerners was the Maester Records, and whenever they
sent missives South. It was interesting. Aemond also recognized the runes as something from
House Royce.
The Old Tongue. So Cregan wasn’t wrong, his ancestor had built this, structured it at least.
Aemond knew that this mean there would be ancient engineering.
“These, are more modern, I think, they’re written in older Andal script, but they aren’t… they
aren’t as clean as the ones with the funny scripts,” Daeron explained.
“That’s Old Tongue, it’s Runes,” Aemond informed his brother.
“Huh?”
“It’s the tongue of the First Men, Children of the Forest, Starks, the North utilizes it
primarily,” Aemond explained.
“So… Sansa could read them?”
“Yes,” Aemond answered. “So could any Northerner, that’s their primary tongue,” he
explained.
“Huh,” Daeron nodded as he looked at it. “I always wondered if it was strange scratchings or
actual writing. I didn’t know there were other languages older than Andal’s and Common
Tongue and Valyrian.”
“There are,” he assured. “Where do the Andal tunnels go?” Aemond asked.
“These four, spit out in Oldtown,” Daeron pointed. “These two are caved in, they don’t go
anywhere, this one spits out at the sea, into the sea actually, it’s good for a boat, these cliffs
here, far from the docks; I think smugglers use it because there’s signs of people but no signs
of constant people,” he explained. “This one takes you into the harbor walls, at the mouth of
the harbor. And these go nowhere but around Hightower, this one leads to a convergence of
multiple tunnels though. Those tunnels branch between Hightower, the Citadel, and Sept.”
“Where?” Aemond asked.
“Um… this one goes to the Starry Sept, and this to…I think the library, it’s odd, because I
can’t find it anywhere above, I haven’t seen a room like it in the Citadel.”
“Why are you in the Citadel?” Aemond asked warily.
“Uncle has been pushing I explore the path of Maester, I am uninterested, but the maps all
lead me here, so I’ve spent much time looking for where I could be escaping the tunnels
from,” Daeron admitted.
Aemond nodded as he looked at his brother’s maps.

“What is the traffic like in these tunnels?”
“This one gets the most people, but it’s not well known,” Daeron pointed at the maps he had.
Aemond nodded as he looked over the maps. The winds ruffled the pages, and Aemond held
the book more firmly.
“What Do You Mean Vaemond Is Taking Our Fleet!” Rhaenyra snapped furiously. Daemon
was beside her bristling and snarling. Corlys scowled at the table.
“Vaemond has secured a good portion of my family’s employees, he is intending to sail North
within the next six months, he has already sworn fealty to Lord Cregan Stark, and Prince
Aemond’s new House. Many following him have turned in their commissions for the
Velaryon navy, and my merchant business as well, without the sailors, the ships are useless,
and Vaemond has proposed buying me out!” Corlys snarled. “Without the ability to fund my
merchants, and my business, we do not have the ability to sail my ships, it’s a fatal blow to
any strategy we possess!”
“I am aware, how could you let this happen!” Daemon snapped.
“Me!?” Corlys growled. “I have tried to reason with Vaemond for years, and he has not been
reasonable, if we are to maintain a hold in the Crowlands, as well as have superiority of the
seas against the Hightowers factions, we are to need a way to have sailors.”
“We have dragons,” Rhaenys pointed out. “With the evacuation of King’s Landing… many of
the dragons have come to Dragonstone, we could perhaps… summon more dragonriders?”
she proposed.
“Let us not yet go there,” Rhaenyra said flatly. The last thing she wanted was to have an
exposure of bastards taking what was not theirs, and she refused to entertain the idea of
losing any further hold on her Throne because of bastards! “We shall fund your business,
Lord Corlys, hire the needed sailors, go wherever you need to, find the finest sailors,” she
ordered.
“Yes, of course,” Corly nodded. “And Vaemond?”
“At this time, Aemond is one of ours, Vaemond moving North ensures he will be under Lord
Stark’s control, and Lord Stark is one of ours,” Daemon said. “But this is still most
displeasing,” he sneered.
She agreed as they sat there.
“We should still attempted to find dragon seeds, it will aid us, in case we should need more
dragon riders. No doubt there are plans against us regardless,” Rhaenys sighed.
Rhaenyra did not agree or disagree as she leaned back, rubbing a hand over her heavy belly.
Since Daemon, Corlys, and Rhaenys had brought the conspiracy to her about the Hightowers,
she had wanted nothing more than to snatch her family out of Alicent’s grasp and secure
them here. But Aemond had proven adverse to any actions from her and Daemon. She did not
know what to do at this point, it seemed that every action she could take was the wrong
action to be taken. Closing her eyes she let her head fall back as she tried to think of a
solution.
For the rest of the day, Daeron walked Aemond through the various passages, how they were
hidden, he informed Aemond of the routes from those passages and through Oldtown.
Overall, Aemond was giddy, he had an actual plan now! It was a relief to know this entire
thing wouldn’t be just improvised; it would of course be improvised, but with escape routes
and route out of Oldtown, he didn’t feel he was walking into a bear’s den without any other
options for escape. Daeron had even given Aemond the journal of maps, which Aemond had
stored on Vhagar’s saddle so none would know what a gift his little brother had given him.
But as the sun set, after he and Daeron had cooked a rabbit, they had caught, they returned to
Casterly Rock. Daeron had immediately turned in, he’d have much work to do in the
morning. Aemond had stopped a servant, inquiring to the whereabouts of his wife, and was
pleased to know she was still awake.
Aemond walked into the southern gardens, spotted Sansa, her head tilted back as she
laughed, her sewing in hand. She looked like fiery ice here, her blue dress a stark contrast to
all the reds and golds. He didn’t know what possessed him then, watching her laugh, and
smile, it wasn’t a new sight, but he wanted her. Walking over, he leaned over, kissing her
brow on impulse, and her eyes snapped open as she smiled at him.
“You’re back!” she giggled.
He nodded, he was a bit shocked when she came up, kissing him slightly as she sat back and
smiled.
“Lady Cerelle was just telling me of a time Lady Jocelyn and she were jumping from the
cliffs of Casterly Rock, and Jocelyn was caught by the winds, she gave a yelp as she was
pulled from the rock to the ocean,” Sansa said.
“Luckily, Jocelyn wasn’t smashed into the rocks, but father was crossed because she had a
broken arm,” Cerelle said.
“Younger siblings always find trouble,” Aemond sighed tiredly.
Sansa giggled a bit and he looked at what she was sewing, spotting it was a new flower. “I’m
sewing it for Sara, so she might know some of the Southron flowers,” Sansa said.
“If you’d like, Lady Sansa, I’ve heard of the North’s Glass Gardens, which preserves the
plants of Valyria, perhaps we could send you home with some seeds of Casterly Rock’s
flowers, no doubt they’d make a beautiful addition to your Glass Gardens!” Tyshara
chuckled.
“Oh, I’d love that!” Sansa grinned.
Aemond kissed her head again as he patted her shoulder before he went to summon a bath,
he’d leave her to make friends while he would discuss their trip to Oldtown later. It didn’t
taken him long to have a bath ready, the steaming hot waters felt good on his sore body,
leaning back, he closed his eye.
Daeron had given Aemond much to think about, and dwell on. The maps would help, but
there were things he hadn’t pointed out to Daeron which were odd about the maps. He
wanted to see if they were as odd in person as they appeared to be on the maps. Yes, Aemond
supposed a hidden chamber, or hidden council meeting place were plausible, securing great
figures of Hightower, the Citadel, and High Septon were probably of the greatest importance
since Maegor had attempted an open war against them. So he wouldn’t say it was abnormal,
but he wanted to see it for himself before he passed further judgement.
There was a door opening, and he felt fingers trace his arm before lips pressed to his, and he
looked at Sansa then. She came down to lean on the tub.
“You and Daeron had a good flight?” she guessed.
“Informative,” he said. “We’ll have much to plan for,” he smiled a bit at the fact. Now there
was a definitive plan, which he could utilize, and this pleased him greatly. He hadn’t liked
admitting to Cregan his plan was initially flimsy, and uncertain. He wasn’t inclined to admit
that defeat, but he wasn’t pleased either. Especially when Cregan and Jon both seemed to be
masters at tactics. It unsettled Aemond not being able to truly plan for anything.
“That’s good,” she decided.
“Yes, so… tomorrow, you and I will fly out on Vhagar,” he decided.
“Mmm,” she hummed. He was startled when she kissed him again and she slid back, resting
against the lip of the tub, smiling as she bit her lip. “You just look very happy, which you
never do, but you do now,” she informed him.
“I am pleased to have a plan,” he informed her seriously.
“Good,” she nodded as she rose up. He swiftly pulled himself out of the tub, grabbing p a
towel to wrap around his waist. Sansa was in the private rooms, undoing her hair.
“Did… did I displease you?” he asked warily. She turned, blinking a bit in surprise.
“Displease me?” she sputtered.
“Earlier.”
“No,” she smiled softly. “I was surprised, but I did like the affections,” she promised.
“Then what is on your mind, you’re frowning,” he said as he grabbed a pair of pants.
“I fear the Lannisters are setting their sights on my brother, Cregan,” she sighed. “More than
once one of the Lannisters would ask about him, his temperament, and inquire about the
health of Rickon,” she muttered.
“Is that bad?” he asked.

“No, but I do not want them to attempt to sink their claws into Cregan when he is still
mourning Arra.”
Aemond nodded in understanding.
“’Tis foolish worries,” Sansa decided as she slipped her earrings free as he finished lacing his
briches.
“Not terribly foolish, I worry about Daeron and Helaena in a similar but different manner,” he
muttered.
“Truly?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Does not matter, though,” she decided with a wry smile. “Cregan would find a Southron girl
intolerable, and boring, so I think I worry for not,” she chuckled.
He did agree with that assessment as he wrung out his hair. Sansa came over, and pushed him
on a seat.
“Before you create a mangled mess of your hair,” she muttered as she grabbed a brush. He
raised his brow at her as she stepped behind him. “Why do you keep it so long?” she asked.
“Valyrian custom,” he admitted. It wasn’t a unique style, all the Velaryons had long hair, his
House, with exception to Aegon and for a period, Daemon, had long hair.
“Yes, but why do you, many say it’s because you were imitating Daemon,” Sansa said as she
started combing out the snarls in his hair. He winced a little at that statement though it wasn’t
truly wrong.
“It never stays down when it’s short,” he admitted as he glanced over at Sansa. “It’s
unmanageable short, at least when it’s long, the weight keeps it out of my way if I tie it back.
But when it’s short, even tied back, it’s escaping and in my face, I do not like it.”
“Ah,” she nodded. “I like your hair, it’s so pretty, like platinum or silver,” she mused.
He nodded as she continued working. He groaned a bit as her fingers raked over his scalp
gently. She continued the action, even as he leaned back against her. She started pulling his
hair back in a loose braid for sleep. When she finished, he rose, and looked at her, he was
examining her closely as they both stood there.
She was the one to catch his hand then as she squeezed his fingers.
“We… we do need, yes, we will go slow, but tomorrow, I, you must understand, even for
display,” he started uncertainly.
“I do enjoy kissing you,” she murmured. “It’s as good of place to start as any.”
“You’ve said that,” he replied softly.

“And I meant it,” she chuckled as she tilted her head back and smiled. “I’ve kissed a few
boys, Aemond, Joffrey’s lips were like worms,” she wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Tyrion’s
kiss was… disgusting, he was drunk,” she grimaced then. “Sweetrobin was sour and foul in
every aspect. Harry’s kisses weren’t particularly good, he was more concerned with himself,”
she frowned. “But I like our kisses,” she murmured honestly, and with a small, shy smile.
“You can tell me everything else tomorrow,” Sansa promised.
“I do not know how to do this,” he muttered.
“Neither do I, Aemond,” she confessed.
“I want you,” he murmured barely above a whisper. He examined her eyes, seeing the flacks
of silver in her blue eyes as they widened. “I wanted you since Wnterfell,” he admitted.
“You wanted me?” she whispered.
He nodded slowly as he watched her. “I want you, I want to trust you, I wanted to marry
you,” he said softly. “I did not want Lady Sansa Stark, I wanted you,” he admitted. She stood
there, blinking wide eyed and then a smile bloomed on her lips, the smile she gave him was
stunning in the autumn’s night.
“I want you too,” she whispered shyly.
He smiled a little.
“I had many suitors, Aemond, some handsome, some ugly, but I wanted none until you,” she
murmured. He reached up, catching the back of her head then, tangling his fingers in her hair
as they stood there. Their breaths mingles, she scented of mint and something else, she was
so soft right there, rather like the night in Winterfell, there was a bit of a flush on her pale
cheeks. She was smiling even as she bit her full lip, looking at him with a bit of mirth in her
eyes.
He wanted her, he would not deny it, he wanted her.
She gave a soft sound, somewhere between a gasp and giggle, as she turned a bit, he couldn’t
stop himself, he didn’t want her to look away or turn away from him. He caught her in a hard
kiss, she gasped, her lips parting beneath his, he slanted his mouth over hers, and she surged
up kissing him as hard. She tasted of mint, and honey, she was soft, he groaned when she
reached up, her fingers tangling in his hair, he slid his arm around her to pull her closer. She
was soft and flush against him, she moaned low as she seemed to be dueling him for will. He
pulled away, nipping her flush, fat lip as he stared at her. She smiled as she dropped her arm
around him.
“I am trying, Sansa,” he murmured. “And I do want you,” he whispered.
“We should go to bed, Aemond, to go early in the morning,” she said.
He kissed her again as he rested his brow on hers, they just remained like that for a long
moment, he felt her taking deep, steadying breaths. She was so soft against him, he rather
enjoyed the feeling, feeling her heart against his own chest.
Sansa was slow to pull away, and even then, they didn’t make it far before Aemond pulled
her back, kissing her brow. She wrapped her arms around his waist as they remained like that
for a long moment.
“I do want you,” he murmured again.
“I want you as well,” she promised. “But we’ll go slow, I’ll earn back your trust,” she said
softly.
He nodded as they fell onto the bed. He felt exhausted at this moment as he looked at her.
“This does not disappoint you?” he asked.
“No,” she admitted. “I never wanted any of the men in my life who wanted me, but I want
you as well,” she promised him softly as she reached over, tracing his scar. Aemond nodded
as he pulled the covers over them, he pulled her close.
Alicent sat quietly, the funeral had finished for Aegon, his body prepared, his dragon
mournful, but gone, the dragon pit masters had reported all but two dragons had left King’s
Landing. Vermithor and Silverwing; the mated pair of dragons, had refused to leave King’s
Landing. Sunfyre had left almost immediately after burning Aegon’s pyre at one of the
dragon master’s commands, the golden dragon had given a mournful cry as he took to the
skies, fleeing the funeral. King Viserys was so addled, he was weeping for Aemma and
Baelon, believing to be at their funeral rather than Aegon’s.
Now she sat, defeated, exhausted, uncertain of her life now. Cole had left to get her some
food, she was so tired, and he was fretting over her.
“Alicent,” her father’s voice had her turning to look at him.
“Lord Hand,” she rasped as she forced herself upright.
“I have come to make certain you are faring well,” he said.
“Faring well?” she sighed. “Faring well?” she demanded as she surged to her feet. “I am not
faring well! I just burned my son to Valyrian traditions! I cannot even properly bury him to
the Faith! I had to marry another son to a Northern whore! I have a daughter gone, with my
grandchildren with Northern Heathens, and another son in the Westerlands with those…
those… those heretics!” she snarled furiously. “At every turn in the last two years I have
watched as my family was torn apart, and ripped from my grasp! My husband is senile, his
slut daughter threatening to tear the Realm apart, and his brother threatening the existence of
my children! And you dare to come how I am fairing!? Have I not done enough, father, given
enough? I am fairing as a mother who lost her first-born son, and he may have grown into a
monster, but that was your doing!”
“I did not command him to be a monster!”
“You Weren’t Here!” she roared. “You Weren’t Here! You Were So Intent On Casting
Daemon As Your Enemy You Permitted His Poison To Cast You Out! You Left My Son To
Be Nothing But A Wild, Unruly Targaryen Menace None Could Control Because You
Commanded How He Be Raised! You Commanded You’d Mentor Him!”
“I am not responsible for what happened to Aegon!”
“You Are!” she screamed. “I needed you; I trusted you, and because you were so intent on
sullying that slut, rather than letting her damn herself on her own accord, you left us!”
“That is not true!”
“It is!” she screamed. “You sicken me, get out,” she ordered.
“Alicent!”
“By command of the Queen, I order you to leave, Ser Otto Hightower,” she snapped. “I have
nothing more to tell you,” she hissed as she walked back to her seat. Slumping down in her
seat she leaned on her hand, rubbing her eyes as she fought the tears back. Everything should
not have been this way. There was not a further sound. But rather a gentle hand touched her
shoulder, and she turned, Cole was there, looking at her with a soft expression.
She burst into sobs then as he came down, gathering her close. His lips were pressed to the
crown of her head as she sobbed, clinging to him as she desperately wished everything
could’ve been different.
She sat scowling at the table.
“You did not see the way he looked at her,” she sneered. “He just watches her, just her, it
does not matter if her attention is on him or not! It’s like he cannot dare to look away from
her!”
“It is quite romantic,” Lady Margaery Bulwer giggled.
“She’s a heathen!” Bethany snapped furiously.
“Not to worry. Heathen magics cannot compare to true Faith, Aemond will see the truth, the
Crone will aid him,” Lady Viola Mullendore said.
“And yet, he does not seem to stray from her!” Bethany sneered.
“Perhaps he just needs a taste of the wildness before coming to the warm honey milk that so
many prefer,” Lady Delena Cuy giggled. “I’ve heard men are very simple minded, but when
the lust of wildness wears off, they come to what is known comfort. Aemond and you know
each other, at the important level, the soul. He will return to you.”
“Perhaps we should show Lady Stark a Reach Welcome, the hogs are particularly ravenous.
And wild creatures aren’t good at being true,” Lady Janna Costayne proposed.
Bethany leaned back in her seat. She hated that Northern bitch.
“When the wolf is gone, Prince Aemond will turn to you for comfort, and you will be there
for him and his… passions, in ways that matter, your father would approve of the match,
especially if there’s a dragon planted in your belly,” Viola chuckled. “I heard that’s very
effective. Honorable men, like Prince Aemond, will preserve a proper Lady’s honor.”
“That is true, and as my father pointed out, it’s not unusual for a babe to be premature after a
swift betrothal,” Delena mused.
Chapter 28
Sara rode ahead, trying to keep White Fang and Frostfyre in her sights, the wolves were
lazily loping ahead of her. A near week of ceaseless travelling and it was unsettling how
nothing had happened. Byt they were approaching the high canyon walls of the Vale and
Riverlands, where many rivers converged, and the forest was thick. If Sara was to plan an
ambush, she would seek to set it up here, or about here. The high ground advantage would be
excellent for archers, the forest would be good cover, the rivers provided swift escapes and
the ability for hounds to lose scents, and the terrain was treacherous enough that it would
look like an accident if someone was thrown from their horse.
She looked up at the ridges, and paused when the wolves started bristling, they didn’t growl,
but the hounds behind her had also started bristling. She felt Lucan pull up beside her, and he
had his sword drawn, Orrina and Elissa had bows and arrows drawn, and others looked just
as war.
The hounds were released, she saw it, the way the hounds and wolves started fanning out,
going into the brush. Karstark rode up beside wher. Bryan pulled his knife as he and Mira, as
well as a few other Skagosi dismounted their horses.
“It’s quiet,” Sara muttered.
“Too quiet, where are all the birds?” Taria asked as she caught up.
“I don’t like it,” Orrina muttered.
“Men, fan out,” Lucan said softly. It was the Skagosi who disappeared into the foliage then.
The Karstarks encircled her, she shifted warily on her horse as they pressed forward. Behind
her, the Dustins were protecting the Targaryen bastards, and the rest of the envoy protected
Sansa’s dowery, which was being moved to Lenton after Winter. Sara looked up at the trees,
she wanted a shield, she knew an attack from above was preferred.
“Keep close, Sara, we’re taking you home no matter what,” Lucan said. She didn’t argue as
she saw he was looking at her with that same grim determined look Cregan would get at
times when you were to follow his orders and not argue the matter. She felt the hairs on the
back of her neck standing up and slowly pulled her quiver to be more accessible, as she
pulled her bow from her shoulder.
The winds tugged on her black hair as they rode forward again.
Sansa gasped as she landed in the hills of Westerlands, Vhagar gave a low chortle as Aemond
dropped a bag to Sansa and then he climbed down before Vhagar flew off. They had left this
morning under the premise of Sansa wanting to explore the Realm, because she was from the
North, and hadn’t seen the other Realms. It was a good excuse so she and Aemond could
have a day or two of being alone and explore. Lady Johanna had given Sansa a sly smile, and
Lord Jason had given Aemond a wink and clap on the shoulder before she and Aemond raced
out of Casterly Rock.
Aemond landed beside her and Vhagar rose, flying off, and Aemond sat down, falling into
the tall grasses, Sansa snorted at his antics as she sat beside him.
“Are you going to take yet, another, nap?” she teased as she looked down at him.
“It’s comfortable,” he mumbled, and she bit back the giggle as she looked out at the rolling
hills. They were a dying green, but still lush and beautiful, she smiled at the cool warmth of
the sun as she sat beside him. Aemond propped himself up on his elbows as they sat there
looking out at the sea. “Also, this is the most rest I’ve had in two years,” he admitted.
“The forging and weddings were that stressful?” she mused.
He nodded as he sat up fully.
“How’d you become a forger?” Sansa asked softly as she set the bag before her feet.
“Aegon wouldn’t do his work, Rhaenyra wouldn’t do her work, and someone had to do the
work, because you’ve met my father. Even before he was that far gone, he was never an
attentive King, and the Small Council was running the Realm as best as they could, but it was
going to lead us to ruin. The lavished hunts, tourneys, balls, and everything my father
enjoyed, and worse. Even before you brought the embezzling to my attention, the Realm was
on the brink, and it was unlikely without intervension we would’ve been plunged into
financial ruin a decade ago. I was always good with numbers, so I just had to sit and pay
attention. Then I just started paying more and more attention, Aegon was slacking off more
and more, and no one paid me any attention so I assumed Aegon’s roles,” he explained as he
picked at a piece of grass. “How’d you get here?”
“I flew on Vhagar’s back with my husband,” she teased.
“How’d you fall through time, Sansa?” he asked solemnly.
She sighed as she looked at him, biting her lip she thought about how to answer this,
carefully she undid her vest, letting it come apart and she picked up his hand to rest on her
heart. His touch was always warm, but against that expanse of exposed skin, it felt like a fire
igniting in her blood.
“There was a battle at Winterfell, I’ve told you about Daenerys, I’ve told you about the Night
King. The war, it’s called the Long Night, Winterfell can, typically, withstand a traditional
siege for a decade. If one should manage to get over the first wall, the plummet into a moat,
the freezing temperatures, and spikes will kill the intruders. And once you’re over the first
wall, trapped in a moat, getting over the second wall is damn near impossible, especially clad
in armor. But our enemy was the dead. We prepared for a siege attack with troops outside of
Winterfell, which was probably foolish. The dragons blasted the Walls around the Godswood,
and that’s where Bran was secluded, and secured. And the Night King was going to kill Bran,
he was there to kill Bran, and when Winterfell was breched, well, not even the crypts were
safe. I barely escaped.
“Until Cregan, I had no military knowledge, command knowledge, or fighting skill, I was a
Southron Lady through and through, though I had wit, and observations, I was not who I am
now. Somewhere, probably with my grandfather, the North lost the conscription and women
ceased being taught to fight, probably sometime around those damn Blackfyre rebellions, but
I don’t know, I was raised as a Tully Lady, proper, and true, and I couldn’t fight, so when I
escaped, I ran, I felt a pull to the Godswood, and I ran, I ran there.
“I arrived in time to see Theon die, he didn’t deserve all that happened, he did redeem
himself, at least to me, for everything he did before I saw him again. I saw him die, die
saving Bran, Bran was lame, he lost use of his legs when he was pushed from First Tower
and broke his spine, he grew, but his legs couldn’t be used. So he had a wheeled chair we
used to push him around,” she smiled a bit. “There were a few times Arya and I thought
about racing him through the halls because he was so bloody serious now, and not… Bran, he
was very not Bran. Bran used to be full of spirit, playful spirit, and whoever he came back as,
it wasn’t Bran, or the Bran we knew. Still, regardless of who he was, he was my brother, and
I was going to save him. I ran, I ran fast, I managed to push him aside, and… well, you’ve
seen the scar, Aemond,” she grimaced a bit.
“I don’t remember much, I don’t, I wish I did but I don’t. I was in agony, but I was at peace
with the death I was receiving. I felt very cold, it was Winter, I was exhausted, and I was
content, I think I saved Bran. I remember hands grabbing me, and more pain, but then
something stopped. It all stopped, and woke in Winterfell, in Cregan’s care,” she explained.
“I don’t know how I got here, Aemond, it appears I cannot even die correctly, I fell into this
era thinking I was dead, about to be judged by my greatest ancestor and he’d find me very
lacking. So it was a surprise to me, when I was alive. I found that I could apply my skills and
knowledge to aid my people, and that’s how we’ve gotten here.”
He nodded as he dropped his hand and they sat there.
She was startled when he kissed her hard. His hand caught the back of her neck, holding her
close, she caught his arm before she could fall back into the grass. She gasped, he deepened
the kiss, and she pushed forward against him, kissing him back just as eagerly. He groaned a
bit as he pulled away, his brow resting on hers.
“I’ll be thankful to all the Gods known then you’re here and not dead,” he murmured.
She smiled a little. “I like being here too, Aemond,” she confessed softly. “I was so terribly
alone in my era, Arya and I never got along, Bran was no longer Bran, Jon… you’ve met Jon,
and I had never had true friends. I had been so alone for so long, and then I fell into this era,”
she whispered.
He didn’t reply for a long moment before he sat beside her and they stared out at the sea. “I
am trying, Sansa,” he murmured. “But I am very glad you are here.”
She smiled a bit as she leaned on his shoulder then.

“I… for a part of this… investigation, we will have to appear… affectionate,” he murmured.
“Passionately in love?” she proposed.
“It will aid us… if we appear to be, it will excuse some of our… behaviors,” he stammered
out.
“The man who taught me the game, Aemond, he ran a brothel, I doubt you will shock me
with anything you propose for subterfuge,” she chuckled with a smile.
He frowned. “I avoid brothels,” he muttered. “Too many spies,” he informed her.
“You’re smarter than most then to realize this,” she chuckled. “And if you want the
reputation of an exploring couple, we will have to be comfortable enough with risk,” Sansa
informed him.
“Everything’s always a risk,” he sighed tiredly. “But we do need to know how to appear…
passionate, and interested in one another,” he explained.
“Yes, I suppose we do,” she agreed. “That will take practice, and learning to trust one another
again.”
“Do you trust me?”.
“Yes. But, I’m aware you’re going to learn to trust me again,” she said softly. “When you
trust me again, truly trust me again, tell me, until then, we will learn together.”
He nodded as he moved to grab the bag. She was bewildered as he shoved a journal in her
hands.
“Your brother gave me the known plans of Hightower, which were stored in the Stark vault,
as well as Daeron’s own journals,” Aemond said. “And now we will have a plan,” he smiled
sharply.
She started flipping through the pages then, looking at the detailed drawings. “Daeron did
these?”
“Yes, he’s always had a talent for cartography, he’s very good at it,” Aemond said.
“That is a very good natural gift to have,” she said softly.
Jon was thinking over his options, he was wary to brand his own House with a new name; he
wasn’t particularly creative, and Cregan had told him he would be building a new House
from the roots up. Sitting there, he looked at the vaulted ceilings of Winterfell, in his
chambers, he was wary of naming things. Karstarks, Greystark, Drekaúlfur, they were all
extensions of House Stark, and Jon knew that. The idea that he would have to add to that
extension was daunting. he didn’t know how to name a House, but he would want to keep a
Stark connection obvious in whatever name he went with.
“Whitestark?” Jon asked as he looked at Cregan who was watching Rickon and Barba then.
“No,” he said firmly.
“Snowstark?”
“No.”
“I’m not creative Cregan!” Jon groused.
“You’ll think of something,” Cregan said as he looked at Rickon.
“You’re not helping!” Jon hissed.
“I’m not going to help,” Cregan said. “I’m going to say no to everything until you find one
you actually fight for, I’m not going to help you find that name!”
“You’re no fucking help.”
“I try,” Cregan decided. Jon glared at his ancestor, uncertain of what more to say, he was
never going to win against Cregan, the man’s sheer stubbornness was not a part of his legend,
but it should be. Gods knew the man seemed more stubborn than should be possible. Where
did Cregan get that stubbornness!?
“Norstark,” Jon said after a while.
“No.”
“Cregan! Either help me or I’ll just go with Stark of Lonely Hills, and if we mimic the Flints
they’ll be both vexed and flattered.”
“I’m not helping, and the Flints would be more flattered,” Cregan said as he grabbed up
Rickon.
“Cregan, help!” Jon pleaded. “I’m not Sansa, I’m not creative,” Jon sighed.
“You’ve said.”
“Cregan… please,” he sighed.
“Norstark is the best selection of the proposed names,” Cregan shrugged.
“Then Norstark, that’ll be the House name, we’ll use a white wolf on black, with red eyes,”
he stated.
“Good, at least you have a coat of arms,” Cregan decided. “Take care of Barba, I’m taking
Rickon riding,” Cregan said.
Jon sighed as he looked at the babe sitting there. he wasn’t fond of that babe but he couldn’t
disagree, the babe was innocent, he knew that. Still, he didn’t like her. Sighing, he picked her
up as he looked at the reports on the bridal prospects Cregan had secured for him. Gwyn
Cerwyn or Mira Stane, he wasn’t sure which was a better prospect. He wouldn’t deny he was
more attracted to Mira, he rather liked redheads, but he had to examine these prospects with
more care. Closing his eyes he sighed as he picked up Barba. There were times he hated this
babe for reminding him how much he had loved Little Robb, but he didn’t hate the girl.
It was a walk through Lannisport with her arm slipped in his that they examined the people.
“In order for us to portray beloved newlyweds, we must figure out what we do and do permit
from one another. I know we have enjoyed kissing, which will aid our ruse very much, but
there will be more than that expected of us,” Sansa pointed out as they walked through the
streets. She paused at the baker who had put out lemon cakes, she smiled a bit as she
purchase herself one of the small cakes, and then a sweet roll for him. He accepted it as she
got the baker blushing as they walked away.
“And what do you expect?” he asked warily as he pulled apart the roll to eat it quietly.
“Well, to start, we will have to get comfortable being close,” she said.
“We are comfortable close.”
“Yes, we are, but we must become more familiar with the art of being close. Passions will
require us being caught in compromising positions, are you comfortable with that?” she
asked it warily.
“Are you?”
“No.”
“Neither am I,” he muttered.
“But to do this, we will have to ignore out comforts, and learn such familiarity,” she sighed as
they paused. He looked at someone painting on a canvas with oils, they were painting
Casterly Rock in all its autumn glory against the shining sea.
“Which sounds unpleasant, despite our enjoyment of one another,” he muttered.
“It is,” she agreed. “So, is there anything you refuse to do?”
He blinked a few times as they warily looked at one another. “What about you?”
“I already told you mine,” she sighed.
He grimaced and looked down at the ground as they walked. “No biting, and no tying each
other down or chaining the other down,” he stated firmly.
“Very well.”
The dragon is dead, he thought. He could feel her magic swirling around him. He was aware
this was against the plan, but it had to be done, things were happening, Aegon’s inability to
even die correctly was infuriating, and he hated that. Everything was still going to plan, but
killing Aegon did leave him in a bit of a bind.
Lord Stark had thwarted his plan by not permitting anyone else to investigate, the key
evidence was not revealed, so it did not have the sides fighting against one another. Which
did delay his intentions, but it would not delay their ever-growing intentions. There would be
a war, and he delighted in the coming chaos. The fools.
Soon, soon he would be able to do what he needed.
Aemond caught Sansa’s waist as they spun around at a dance in Lannisport, something for
the Autumn Festival, now that the Citadel had officially announced the season’s turn. Sansa
was smiling as she held his shoulders, he picked her up with ease as they turned, hands
removing at this point as this was some mimicking dance of the dance of dragons. Sansa
moved with ease between her partners, but now was with him again, giggling.
There were cheers, and claps from people as the dance finished. Aemond had Sansa firmly in
his grasp.
The people were cheering, and he paused as they stood before a massive bonfire by the lions’
fountain. Aemond looked at Sansa who was smiling as she clapped. He kept his hands around
her waist as he pulled her close, her back pressed against his. They saw the Lannisters there,
smiling as they now held up glasses, the entire group of people were clapping as a hush fell
over all of them. Sansa leaned back against him entirely, kissing the underside of his jaw as
she smiled. He pressed his hand more firmly against her stomach as they stood there.
“Yes, yes, happy times, for us to celebrate!” Jason roared with excitement. “We come bearing
good news, as the Autum has turned the seasons, we have come to bring stock of all that
which is good! We have received reports that our fields are plenty, our mines continue, and
our family is strong, our people are thriving! We also wish blessings to our newest Royal
couple, may the Crown continue to stand strong and unyielding to the uncertainties of life.
We pray for your good health and success, Prince Aemond, Princess Sansa,” Jason cheered.
People roared with glee.
“Now, let us continue the festivities!” Jason encouraged. And Aemond pressed a small kiss to
Sansa’s temple as they pulled away from the dancing crowds. Sansa slipped her arm in his,
smiling as they walked. He saw the Houses of the Westerlands looking at them, it was a look
of curiosity. Aemond kept a firm grasp on Sansa.
“What would you like to do now?” Sansa asked as they walked.

“I am not fond of festivities,” he grumbled.
“Yes, even so, indulge me Aemond,” she encouraged. “What did you always want to do at
festivities as a boy that you were never permitted to do?” she asked.
“Not attend.”
“Aemond!”
“What do you like doing at festivities like this?” he sighed in surrender. He wasn’t going to
win, he knew this, she was the same way at the Winterfell festivities, though she had
primarily wanted to dance.
“It’s not about me, Aemond, it’s about you,” Sansa chuckled.
He scowled.
“Come on, perhaps there’s some games you’ll enjoy,” she mused as she pulled him along.
Aemond followed her carefully as they maneuvered through the crowds. They reached a stall
where Aemond saw the men throwing daggers, and Sansa paused when he looked at it. “Let
us see if you can win me a favor!” she grinned as they walked to the stand.
He was a bit wary as he stood there, looking at the knives he examined them carefully. Sansa
smiled.
“It’s one shilling for five throws,” the stand master said.
Aemond looked at Sansa and then at the stand master before he pulled out two shillings.
“Sansa, you should try first,” he said.
She snorted. “I’m warning you, Bryan’s been teaching me!”
“I’m terrified,” he retorted dryly. She picked up a dagger, then threw one onto the middle
rings.
The men gasped, and the crowd seemed startled.
“Little to the left,” he informed her.
She threw the next four, always off center, but firmly on the target, looking very smug. He
smirked a bit as they stood there, she smiled.
“I’m better,” he informed her bluntly as he picked up one and hurled it hard into the center of
the target. The resounding thwack had her giggling as she stood there. He threw the next for
quickly before he let her select the prize she wanted, he gave an extra two shillings to the
stand keeper so they could have it for children who wanted to play and couldn’t afford. Sansa
put her wreath of green leaves atop her head as they walked to a food stand then. Sansa
bought them some of the fruits.
“You should keep her feet further apart when you throw a knife,” he informed her. “And your
arm a bit stiffer.”
“It feels odd to stand that way,” she informed him.
“It will, but if you’re going to throw them, ignore the discomfort, the goal is to save your life
with that skill,” he murmured.
“I will endeavor to keep that in mind.”
“Lady Sansa! Prince Aemond!” a voice called and Aemond turned to see Cerelle and Tyshara
waving at them. He saw Daeron and the other Lannisters too. Sansa handed him an apple as
they walked together towards them.
“I see someone won Caspor’s dagger throwing, the game is typically rigged,” Cerelle mused.
“The knives are heavy, but it is not rigged,” Aemond shrugged as he looked at them.
“That would be rigging the game, Aemond,” Sansa informed him.
“No, because to rig something insinuates the manipulation of something to be against one,
regardless of skill,” Aemond said.
“That’s… Aemond, not everyone has skills of your callibur,” Sansa countered.
“You threw moderately well, and you are of average skill,” he countered.
Sansa gave a gasp, then burst into laughter before the others could take offense. Sansa pulled
herself upright as her head fell back. “You and Cregan will have fun debating the merits of
skillsets.”
Aemond just shrugged.
“It sounds like a playful marital spat,” Cerelle chuckled.
“A minor disagreement,” Sansa mused with giggle. Aemond just shook his head in
amusement as they listened to the Lannisters chattered with Sansa. He looked out at the
crowd, examining them, he kept Sansa close to his side and then he spotted Daeron dancing
Jocelyn. He watched them all having good lives, he wondered if King’s Landing was just a
grand poison meant to tear apart everyone there. Casterly Rock, Winterfell, they were both so
bright, and full of happy life. How was it that these two ancient Houses built a continuous
happiness? He wanted to know, because King’s Landing was… stifling. He did not think any
celebration there had ever felt as liberating the celebrations he had witnessed here or at
Winterfell. Happy subjects, he wanted to read Casterly Rock’s libraries to see if he could
glean an insight on this matter.

Helaena walked the beaches of Driftmark with Rody on her arm, she bit her lip as she leaned
heavily on him. This dream had been a taxing, never ceasing exhaustion, and she felt a
thousand years older. She watched as Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor played with the Dustin
guards, and she watched the waves lap at their feet. Leaning on Rody, it felt she was without
strength or legs to stand upon. Rody however, had insisted on the walk, insisting fresh sea air
would aid in her recovery.
“Rody?” she rasped, watching the children play. “Might we go to the caves?”
“Want to find your creepy crawlies?” he chuckled playfully.
“I… I have not seen them since… since the funeral,” she admitted.
“Funeral?” Rody sputtered.
“Lady Laena Valeryon’s funeral, the one which Lucerys took Aemond’s eye, and Aemond
claimed Vhagar,” Helaena said softly. Aemond was always so sad before Vhagar, so alone, it
did not matter how he attempted to reach out, or try to make friends, he was always left
alone.
“Ah, that is not a very entertaining, but perhaps we shall go and enjoy you hunting for your
wee beasties,” he decided. Dreamfyre appeared, shimmering out of the sea, and she smiled as
she saw her dragon bounding towards her. Rody yelped, releasing her, and she stumbled
forward as she caught Dreamfyre’s snout, smiling.
“Oh, I’ve missed you,” she whispered. Hugging the dragon’s snout, she felt the massive
dragon lay down, humming in delight. Their bond was thrumming with joy and relief, she
sighed as she closed her eyes and relished in holding the beast there.
“Rody, this is Dreamfyre,” she turned to see the Northerner standing far away, nearly pressed
to the cliffs. “Why are you over there? She’s harmless,” Helaena giggled.
“Just cause I like the wee ones that can’t eat me in a bite, doesn’t mean the big ones aren’t
fucking startling!” he huffed.
“Rody, you’ve made a saddle for Vhagar, and assisted putting it on her, Dreamfyre is much
smaller,” Helaena giggled.
“SMALLER! Princess, you and I are going to have a talk about what’s small!” he strangled
out. “And I was just as shitless regarding Vhagar, probably more so.”
“Dramfyre, say hello to Rody,” she chuckled as she leaned on Dreamfyre’s throat, the dragon
reeled Rody then.
The dragon went to Rody, sniffing, and Rody grimaced.
“I like them smaller,” Rody muttered. She laughed as he slowly reached out, petting
Dreamfyre. She closed her eyes as she smiled. Rody came over to her, he caught her as she
stood straighter, Dreamfyre roused, chirping sharply at her hatchlings, and Helaena chuckled
as all the children and small dragons turned to her.
The kids started running to her, she felt rody helping her down and she held out her arms as
she caught Jaehaera first, Jaehaerys, and then Maelor, they were all laughing. Rody kept her
propped upright as his brothers came over to her.
Sansa was alone this day with Aemond in the library, something he wanted to research, and
Sansa was not going to get between Aemond and his hyperfixation. She had seen how that
could go if she attempted to get between Jon, Cregan, Sara, Robb, Arya, or even Rickon and
her brother Rickon if she attempted to intercede on their latest hyperfixation. So she let him
go, as she found herself a seat in the gardens, and started sewing. She was working on
another vest for herself now, Aemond had said he couldn’t have more clothes until they were
back at Winterfell, but Sansa was in dire need of lighter clothes. She might be torn between
being perpetually hot or cold, but the Reach, regardless of Autumn, would be hot. She heard
their Winters never had snow, which she envied, and they could maintain growing crops.
Humming to herself, she enjoyed being stretched out to sew. She liked the over vests, and
asymmetrical overskirts. Her over shirts, were abnormal, and out of fashion by Southron
styles no doubt, but Sansa hadn’t had material for a full overdress, and she didn’t want them
for dragonriding.
Sansa looked up when Johanna walked into the gardens.
“Lady Sansa! I did not expect you to be here,” Johanna chuckled.
“I very much doubt that, my lady, for I doubt there is little you do not know happens in this
keep,” she mused. “I would enjoy the company of your daughters and yourself though if you
would like to join me,” she offered.
“What are you sewing?” Cerelle asked.
“Another over vest, it is not fashionable, but I like them, they are comfortable with the styles
I wear at this moment,” Sansa mused as she held it up to be examined. She hadn’t been
sewing it in Lannister red, but it was a deep, dark blue, with Lannister red accenting the
flowers.”
“I do not recognize these flowers, what are they?” Johanna asked as she examined the over
vest.
“Frostfyres, they bloom about now in the North, you’ll see open fields littered in violets,
reds, and blues, but the frostfyre is a personal favorite of mine,” she explained. “It looks like
fire, in Autumn, and in Spring, it looks like fire against all the frost, and snow, they’ll remain
in bloom, in full until a summer, or winters finally become so cold that the mere cold
extinguishes fires, they’re very beautiful though,” Sansa smiled.
“Sounds lovely,” Johanna said.

“I’ll add tundra lavender, and highland heathers, they’re violet, and I’m very fond of them,”
Sansa admitted.
“I half expected you and Aemond to be enjoying your honeymoon at this time,” Tyshara said
slyly.
“We are, Aemond and I were solitary by nature before our union, we enjoy time apart and
together, at this moment, he’s most fascinated by the history of Casterly Rock,” Sansa
explained. “He’s a bit of a history, and finds the Westerosi history fascinating, before Aegon’s
Conquest, he enjoys learning about the many Realms.”
“That is unexpected,” Johanna murmured with wide green eyes.
Johanna watched the pair over the week, they were rather… peculiar. Her goodbrother had
mentioned that Aemond would give his bride his full attention, something which everyone
knew Aemond rarely ever bothered to give to anyone not in his family.
Prince Aemond had always been a quiet enigma. Until recent years, Tyland suspected
Aemond to attend to Aegon’s duties because Aemond was a half-wit who could not say ‘no’
to his brother. It was believed that Aemond was lack witted because he so rarely spoke, he
would glare down any threat, or anyone who attempted to counter his commands as a dare.
He didn’t debate, argue, or repeat himself. He was so unnervingly direct when he was
addressing anyone that would say he didn’t have social tact, and they weren’t wrong, but his
lack of social skills could be attributed to other things according to Amory.
Johanna’s eldest son had spent the past year getting to know Prince Aemond and would admit
that Prince Aemond was an enigma. Oh, there were things Amory thought were clear as day,
the young Prince was not in fact a half-wit, but rather extremely isolated. Until this past year
Aemond had never had a group of friends, companions, or correspondents, he had been
notoriously quiet, and still was by all accounts, he was not overly exposed to the Court unless
he was with his family. Which lead to his somewhat reclusive nature. It was rather interesting
in Johanna’s mind, because having met and gotten to know Daeron she was confident that the
child idolized his brother, and his brother was not revealing his true self to anyone.
Petitioning a match between Aemond and one of her eldest daughters had proven in vain, the
Hightower family sneered at a Lannister match. Hightowers were such purist, they believed
the Lannisters coveted gold too much and were far too greedy, which Johanna honestly did
not disagree with, but she felt it was a stupid reason for their families to have a strife still. It
was a few millennia old strife, not like Jason’s recent strife with the Targaryens, the
Hightowers and Lannisters did not have a good relationship.
However, Houses like Hightower, Lannister, Tarly, they had traditions, expectations, and just
because they were conquered did not mean they did not expect those traditions and standards
to be upheld. Johanna knew everyone fancied it was because Rhaenyra was a woman that she
could not hold the Iron Throne; and that was partially true. But like Rhaenys, Rhaenyra was a
short sighted fool, with no real concept of ruling, running a country, or the ability to wield
power. In theory, because the Great Houses were more receptive to male heirs, men had a
more sure rule with the lack of concerns with childbirth and other fragilities women had,
there was hopes that the Great Houses could, at the very least, guide and teach House
Targaryen how to rule. But because Viserys was always a pliable fool who sought to appease
his family before the Realm, he had created a succession crisis, then named an entitled brat
his heir.
Johanna doubted that if Rhaenyra displayed a temperament like Lady Sansa Stark, or her own
daughters, Cerelle and Tyshara, or even that Baratheon bint, Cassandra, then the Realm
would not despise Rhaenyra so. While being a woman did give them a disadvantage, their
conduct, behavior, and wits were undeniable, they were appealing to men and women to
listen to. Rhaenyra did not understand that, and behaved like a petulant child. Aegon had at
the very least proven spineless, which gave Tyland and Jason hopes that they could control
him and assist or have assistance in rearing his offspring appropriately.
So, for the time being, Lannisters were allies of the Hightowers, which was tense and rather,
difficult, given the Hightowers were mere petty kings before they had bent the knee to the
Gardeners, and later the Targaryens. The Hightowers had lofty aims, and Johanna disliked the
idea of being entangled with them. Tyland’s reports of the Hightower conduct were
unbecoming. And since the announcement of Prince Aemond’s wedding to Lady Sansa Stark,
the Green Targaryens had started fracturing. It was apparently difficult to notice, but it was
there, Aemond had ceased being his mother’s enforcer, he had ceased being the Green power
card, and turned into something of a unique gambit.
No one knew what Aemond was doing.
No one had ever expected anything of Aemond beyond him to react and protect his family.
Then he had married a Black, and the marriage, from what Johanna had witnessed, was a
good match. It made her curious about what the young Prince was up to. She watched
Aemond and Sansa as they were herded off to join Johanna’s daughters for jumping off the
cliffs.
“What are you thinking?” Jason’s voice purred.
“It is a surprisingly good match,” she sighed dismally.
“And yet the sheets are clean, he seems uninterested in his young bride,” he sneered.
“I doubt that, husband,” she snorted. “Your brother and our son report Aemond has always
been quiet, and nonintrusive, Rhaenyra’s brats are known bullies, and Aemond’s brother a
spineless fool, it is not a stretch to believe his isolation and quiet demeanor are from being
tormented. If that is the case, there might be a matter we are unaware of in this marriage.
Besides, they consummated their marriage.”
“And that matters why?”
“The sheets have been clean husband, and it’s been about a moon or more since that
consummation,” she stated.
His eyes went wide as he thought that over. Sansa and Aemond were walking to the cliffs,
and Johanna sighed as she turned, leaving the scene behind her. The sheets being clean was
not the end of this world, at this time, the pair were young still, and they could also be
uninterested in having the bed, Aemond had been stealing his bride off for long dragon rides
to explore the Westerlands.
“A raven came for Prince Aemond and Prince Daeron, as well as us,” he said.
“What’s happened?” she asked warily.
“It appears that Prince Aegon finally succumbed to his injuries, he passed a week ago,” her
husband said. “His funeral was held in dragon rider tradition, Queen Alicent has not
summoned her sons back to her.”
It did not matter though, tomorrow, Prince Aemond and his wife would leave for the Reach,
or this evening depending on their mood. Johanna knew that for certainty.
"I'm going to burn the missive for Prince Aemond, if they are summons, and he's never
received them, then there is no shame in him continuing his campaign," Jason shrugged. She
stared at her husband in surprise.
Chapter 29
Chapter Notes
Sansa held onto Aemond tightly as they flew to Oldtown. Her heart was slamming hard in
her chest, and she had a death grip on his waist. There was a time, when she was but a foolish
girl, she had yearned to come here. Oldtown was said to be the center of civilization, to be the
pinnacle of society, only rivaled by King’s Landing, and in her era, there were but a few cities
even worthy of such a status. White Harbor, though a city, was not amongst the great cities;
or so she had foolishly thought as a child. White Harbor had it’s own charm, the infusion of
Northern and Southron styles, as well as being Northern, it appealed to Sansa more now, but
as a child she had thought it terribly run down and horrid.
She peered over Aemond shoulder, biting her lip as Vhagar swooped down beneath the cloud
bank, her breath hitched as she stared at the alabaster city emerging from the sea. Her eyes
widening a little at the sight of the tall, lone tower, standing tall, proud and erect with a
glowing white flame atop it. She stared at the port and harbor, and Vhagar gave a low roar,
they circled, Vhagar banking so they might have a better view. Sansa tightened her hold on
Aemond, staring at the city as it sprawled out in a wide circle. The Starry Sept, the Citadel,
the pyramids, the statues of the gods, the bells chimed, there was a flurry of ravens, all
screaming as they flew around. Aemond patted Sansa’s hands as Vhagar flapped her wings
and flew higher. She leaned forward, hiding against Aemond’s shoulder for a moment. They
flew high again before Vhagar went for a low swooping dive near a river, and landed.
It was quiet, and Sansa slowly leaned away from Aemond.
“Now we begin,” Aemond murmured.
“Now we begin,” she agreed and kissed his throat and pulse before smiling as he turned fully
to see her, she chuckled. She liked taking him by surprise on his blindside, primarily because
he always seemed startled whenever she did give him affection when he wasn’t expecting it.
Carefully they got down off of Vhagar, Sansa hopped on the ground after tossing their bags
down. Aemond caught her waist and swung her around. They both watched Vhagar as the
Queen of Dragons wrapped herself around them and rested her head on the ground. Her
orange eye glowed intensely. Aemond released Sansa as he walked over to Vhagar’s head,
scratching her brow as he muttered something before resting his brow against Vhagar’s.
Vhagar gave a huff, a snort and the rose, leaping up into the air as she went for the cloud
bank, disappearing into the grey skies. Sansa shouldered her bag as she watched.
“She does not like Oldtown,” Aemond muttered as he grabbed his own bag.
“I cannot blame her,” Sansa muttered tiredly.

“I sent a raven to Cregan, before we left,” Aemond said as they started walking for Oldtown.
“Thank you,” she sighed.
He nodded.
“There was a time, when I was a foolish girl, I wanted to come here, it is the pinnacle of
society, other than King’s Landing itself,” Sansa said as they walked.
“I always hated it here,” he muttered. “It’s so stifling, and I do not like my mother’s family,”
he confessed.
“Why is that?” she mused as she slipped her arm in his.
He looked over at her and then sighed. “My cousin Bethany, she is… dimwitted, and
persistent. Before we wed, if I was to have any prospects at all, she was one of the primary
ones, and I would rather drown myself than marry her.”
“I would rather throw myself off of a tower than marry a Lannister again, or a Prince named
Joffrey,” Sansa informed him.
He snorted. “I do not like my cousins, my grandsire and his brother are rigid, unimaginative,
and I do not like they act like I am a Hightower, and not a Targaryen, I do not like being
dragged to the sept at every turn, or being shamed for having sought out Vhagar. I do not like
my Hightower kin, but I like them more than Rhaenyra and her brats,” he muttered.
Sansa chuckled as she looked at Aemond. “I didn’t like my Tully kin if I’m honest,
Sweetrobin was disgusting, and my Aunt Lysa attempted to murder me, and she was… mad,
she was very mad. Passions apparently can make one quite mad, and I do not believe her
fully here.”
“You had an aunt?” Aemond murmured.
“Aye, I did, she was… dismal,” Sansa sighed. “My mother’s sister was a poor girl, she fell in
love with a man who was nothing but a mockingbird in disguise, that man was named
Littlefinger, he was my mentor,” she explained. “Littlefinger grew up with my mother, aunt,
and their brother. He was claimed to be madly in love with my mother, but I do not believe
Littlefigner understood love, in any capacity. When my mother was betrothed to my Uncle
Brandon, she was pleased with the match, but Littlefinger foolishly challenged my uncle to a
duel. You’ve seen Cregan fight, Jon’s just as good. If there’s one thing you should know,
other than war, Starks are excellent in a fight, we’re wolves, we’re going to be vicious. My
Uncle Brandon nearly cleaved Littlefinger in half, only stopping because my mother asked
him to stop, he lived because of my mother. I wish she hadn’t stopped my uncle.
“My Aunt Lysa was… obsessed with Littlefinger, and I believe she got pregnant with his
bastard, it only took one time according to her. She had hopes my grandfather would marry
her to Littlefinger, but he didn’t, he gave her a heavy douse of moontea and married her off to
Lord Arynn, and so much destruction happened from that one decision in my era. Eventually
my aunt had her son, Robin, Sweetrobin, and after she killed her husband, she married
Littlefinger. I had narrowly escaped King’s Landing, thanks to the aid of Littlefinger, though
I think he wanted me to replace my mother in his lust, I was not fond of him.
“My Aunt Lysa though was a vapid, mad, passionate woman, and she viewed me as a threat,
she was jealous of me, or hated me, she hated I looked like my mother, and that I was young,
and so on, and eventually, Littlefinger couldn’t control himself and kissed me, she nearly
pitched me out the Moon Door, and Littlefinger interfered to save me. Again. But he broke
her heart before he shoved her out the Moon Door, I was terrified he would want me to repay
him with… my body,” she grimaced. “However, he was the monster I knew, and I didn’t
know the Lords of the Vale, and my Aunt was just killed, and thus, I became Alayne Stone,
bastard daughter of Littlefinger,” she explained.
He nodded, taking in her story. “Our extended families are terrible,” he decided.
“They are!” she agreed. “But my uncle Edmure, he was actually good, a fool, but good, he
cared about his people.”
“King Jaehaerys cared about the people and yet, everywhere I turn I’m discovering the insults
he dealt,” Aemond sighed.
Sansa chuckled a bit. “The hazard of being a King I suppose, you cannot appease everyone.”
“It does not mean you should insult everyone,” Aemond countered. “And I rather enjoy
insulting some people, but I do not seek to infuriate everyone to silently resent me!”
“Speaking of insults, now that you know my little secret, I must admit, I was quite a fan of
yours when I was a girl. Your ‘Strong boys’ insult was legendary,” she informed him.
“At the dinner, where your father announced the betrothals of Lucerys, Rhaena, Jacaerys, and
Baela, it is recorded that you lead a toast, and it was so artfully diplomatic, whilst being
insulting, it was glorious to witness that, but also, the tact and wit of such an insult has been
studied heavily by my era, it was just stunning.”
“I did not say anything insulting or untrue,” he countered.
She laughed as they walked. “That’s the brilliance, Aemond! The tact of such an insult, it was
used in many diplomatic lessons I attended, and it is remembered as one of the greatest toasts
in history!”
He had a small smile, near invisible on his lips, and she kissed his scarred cheek.
“I did enjoy witnessing it,” she murmured.
“I am pleased you enjoyed that farse,” he replied.
“It was a surprise that you reacted that way in reaction to defending me, but it was still
enjoyable to witness. At the time it wasn’t because I was utterly terrified, but it was good
when I look back on the memory.”
“Why were you so terrified?” he asked. “I have never understood such a reaction from you
about some food to the face.”
“Oh, there were riots when Joffrey was King, it was one of the rare times he had let us out of
the Red Keep, to walk through King’s Landing. People were starving, upset, furious, and I
was smacked in the face with, I think a cow pie, anyways, I was separated from my
handmaidens and ladies in waiting, and the crowd was vicious, they had torn someone apart
already, and the King was gone all of a sudden with all my ladies in waiting and
handmaidens, and I was running through King’s Landing. A part of me hoped to escape my
prison entirely, but another part of me was panicking, and I was eventually cornered by some
men, they had every intention of raping me. I was pinned down, my dress torn, they had torn
my stockings off; i had not yet gotten my moon’s blood; and I was praying I never would,
because if I did then I’d have to marry King Joffrey, and I was crying… I was not screaming,
I was crying. Ser Sandor Clegane found me, he killed all three men, put me on his shoulder
and stalked out of King’s Landing to the Red Keep.
“He saved me from being raped. When your nephews threw potatoes in my face, I was
already stressed from having returned to my prison, and worse, I had not slept well, stressing
about saving Vaemond Valeryon, and praying to get King Viserys’ attention; the histories did
not mention he was senile; and memories have a tendency to always be boiling beneath the
surface when you are stressed. Being struck brought me right back to that memory, if Cregan
had not been there to promise I was not trapped, I probably would have broken down to
tears,” she confessed.
She did not anticipate him leaning over, kissing her softly, though she leaned up into him. He
pulled her closer and she moaned a bit, she really did like their kisses, even if he was being
shy at this moment. He pulled away, kissing her brow.
“You are safe,” he promised softly.
She smiled a bit as she kissed the underside of his jaw again. “I trust you,” she promised.
They resumed walking. Aemond said that after they were finished in Oldtown, they’d be
going down this river to Beesbury’s estate, and she was surprised. The Honeyholt was up the
Honeywine river, and she was excited at the prospect of going there. From there, they’d go to
High Garden, and from there to Storm’s End. Then to Dragonstone, then to the Vale, then to
Riverun, and then North. Sansa looked forward to going home if she was honest.
Leaning her head against Aemond’s shoulder, they walked.
They heard the thundering hoofbeats, and she tensed, tightening her hands on Aemond’s arm.
He pulled his arm free, then slid his arm around her waist, kissing her temple, she looped her
arms around his own waist and pulled herself closer.
“Prince Aemond, it is a pleasure to see you again, cousin!”
“Ser Lyonel,” Aemond replied stiffly. Sansa tensed, she choked back a gag as an atrocious
scent, akin to something nauseously fruity, filled the air. “This is my wife, Princess Sansa,”
Aemond said.
She smiled tightly. The Hightower man swung off the horse. Like Aemond, he was tall, lean,
long face, with a beard growing in to hide his face. He had bright eyes, and dark brown hair,
he was very pale, with full lips. She was a bit surprised, the Hightower women seemed to be
round and soft, but their men were long and sharp, it was an interesting contrast. He walked
forward, and Sansa felt her mouth salavitating as she choked back her gag; Gods above, the
man smelled like rotting fruit! She wanted to get away from him.
She wasn’t paying attention to the men, she was forcing back the burning acid in the back of
her throat; she wondered if the Hightowers ever bathed! What the hell was that smell. Her
hand was caught, and she was forced to look at the young man, he was admittedly handsome,
older than herself and Aemond, being in his twenties at least.
“It is an honor to meet you, Princess Sansa, it is a shame we did not have a formal meeting at
your wedding,” he swept down to kiss her knuckles, smiling as he rose again. She attempted
to smile tightly.
Sansa’s stomach did a flip, and before she could stop herself; she lurched forward, vomiting
on Ser Lyonel’s boots.
Chapter End Notes
Purposely short, I know. I'm finishing with plotting out the end of this story so I can
prep for the third one. When I finish this story I'm going through and fixing all the typos
and plot holes. I'm hoping to finish this up before the end of July. So, buckle up, there's
going to be a few long chapters.
Chapter 30
Cregan was surprised when he received a raven from Dorne of all places, he was trailing after
Barba and Rickon when the rookery master had appeared with a missive. He’d received a
missive also from the Wall. The curiosity about why Dorne was contracting him had him
opening that missive first. Nefarious giggles had him raising his brow as he looked at the two
children. Timber and Ice looked at him, Ice was in front of the children, Timber was letting
Rickon use him to walk. Looking back at the missive, Cregan started reading it over.
Princess Aliandra of Dorne had written him. He was a bit surprised at her script, and it had to
be hers, it was so feminine and smooth at the same time, the Martell sigil was displayed and
he looked it over before he slit it open and started reading.
He just about dropped the missive in surprise, she had written to inform him that before
Winter set in, she was coming to Winterfell, partially so they might learn from one another,
but also to learn about the North. Dorne was feeling an inequality in trade and wished to learn
what the North needed in exchange for the trade currently in place. She assured him she
would discuss matters further with Ser Vaemond Velaryon because he was the holder of the
contracts, but in an attempt to know what the North wanted, she wanted to learn about the
North. He was a bit surprised at this. She would be travelling with her sister, Princess
Coryanne, who was of Sara’s age.
Cregan stood there a bit miffed, and decided he’d have to send a raven to White Harbor to
ensure that a proper envoy was there to greet the Martells, he’d have to ensure they were
escorted to Winterfell and dressed appropriately. Fuck, this would mean tampering with the
wares, and accounting for whomever she brought with her, he’d also have to probably
personally be there to greet her. Fuck.
He caught Barba before she fell on her face. She was a little younger than Rickon, perhaps a
year old, legs were obviously new mobility and Rickon was steadier on his than she on hers.
Setting Barba down on her feet, Cregan continued following the babes as he opened the
second missive.
Lord Commander Osric Snow had sent it, or one of his lieutenants had, Osric was coming
south to Winterfell, there were reports from Beyond the Wall that he wanted to share.
Cregan sighed, Osric coming to Winterfell in the span of a few years, it was unsettling.
Granted, Cregan had not been able to travel as much these past few years, first with his
establishing his Lordship as Lord of Winterfell, then with the famine, then Arra’s murder,
Rickon’s birth, preparations for Sansa’s wedding, fuck… had he’d really become such a
homebody in the last few years he hadn’t noticed? He caught Rickon before his son tripped
and set his son right on his feet then.
Dragging a hand through his hair he pondered what the hell he was supposed to do with two
Princess of Dorne. Autumns were the most unpredictable season in the North, because either
they were warm and long, with a sudden death or they turned quickly into Winter with no
mercy. And yes, White Harbor was the primary harbor of trade in the North, but even then,
they didn’t want to be encased in it if a rue Winter settled in the North. Cregan was aware he
had a few years before a true Winter settled upon him, but the prospect was daunting. Still,
Dorne was the North’s biggest trade partners at this moment, and the most likely prospect for
the North to return to self sufficiency, so he didn’t want to squander the relationship between
their realms.
Realistically though, Cregan paused. Dorne was not an ideal ally, but they could be a
practical one, he thought. Not just in trade, but if the North decided to march South again.
Cregan was feeling the mounting tensions for war, and he was certain that whatever Sansa
and Aemond would uncover would point to war as an inevitability. Oldtown was located
ideally at a converging point of rivers, a narrow harbor, and was uniquely inland if he
remembered. The security of the Reach though wasn’t just geography, the Red Mountains
serving as a natural barrier between Dorne and Westeros…
Dorne was near the Reach…
It wasn’t an ideal allyship, but it could surround the Reach, and if Cregan could make allies
with the Lannisters, and Riverlands, then there was a possibility of enclosing the Reach. He’d
have to examine that prospect more seriously depending upon what Dorne had to offer for
something other than a trade partner…
Dorne had stood against the Targaryens though, and killed a dragon… They did have military
prowess, and a warrior culture. Cregan thought this over carefully.
Landlocking an enemy would appeal to him, he wouldn’t deny that, but he needed more
thinking on this matter, because he knew it wasn’t that simple. There was the prospect of a
Targaryen civil war, regardless, and he knew that even with Aegon dead; for surely the Prince
had died by now, there’d be a succession crisis.
War was inevitable.
He pondered this over as he looked at Rickon. There was the prospect that Vaemond was
bringing, a navy and trading family to the North, there’d be ships in the North soon, so
there’d be more prospects for ease in travel… Logistics on land were still a problem. But, if
the North and Dorne were united, then that landlocked the possible enemy. It was appealing.
But it’d also mean Cregan would have to make nice with the Vale, the Riverlands, and
Westerlands, and those three were a remaining issue.
But… if what Sansa and Aemond found was a threat to their Realms, they might be
interested in assisting the North rather than the perpetrators of their missing funds…
Fruit for thought, Cregan would have to think this over carefully. He’d also need to look at
the records from House Manderly about Southron Houses and strengths; given House
Manderly probably had the most accurate maester records before Cregan had banished them.
There was a roar of a dragon, and Cregan sighed; right, he’d sort of forgotten about Jace
coming back to finish his squiring.
Fuck.
“Are you certain about this cousin?” Malentine asked as they finished loading Daemion’s
belongs on the ship.
“Yes,” he answered. “Even if you’re not, you can take me North, I’ll go to Winterfell, I need
to learn how to be a steward, and do it so I don’t infuriate my lord’s vassals.”
“It’s not that,” Malentine snorted.
“Then what is it?” Daemion asked as he finished securing a few crates.
“This is all rash.”
“Not for me, cousin,” he sighed. “I mean, I did not expect how you turned in your
commissions, or how you accepted this shift, but for me this was not rash.”
“That was rather brash on our part,” Malentine snorted.
“Why’d you decide right then?” Daemion chuckled as he and his cousins started prepping the
ship to leave port.
“Uncle’s always proud and rash, father said it was some of his most endearing traits as it
assisted in building up our House in trade and standing,” Malentine replied. “And I believed
that, I truly did, I always thought Uncle Corlys had our best interests in mind. He was fair,
gave us a decent education, a decent commission, and we were secure. Not well off, but what
is to be expected for a third son’s sons? I knew there was strife between your father and
Uncle Corlys, but thought it to be a difference of opinion.”
“What changed?” Daemion asked as he was carefully tying off the ropes.
“Listening to Uncle Corlys and Uncle Vaemond argue,” Malentine answered softly. “Uncle
Vaemond’s never treated us like we were the sons of a third son but rather like we were an
extension of your House, he treated my brothers and I more like sons than like nephews, and
listening to him and Uncle Corlys argue… it was daunting. Uncle Corlys said this was not
about our House, but then your father snapped it was, and demanded he speak before our
House, and when your father did that, he gestured to all of us, Uncle Corlys cut us out
immediately. And I… I was surprised. Especially when your father had announced his
resignation as Admiral in the Velaryon navy, it did not even occur to Uncle to consult myself
or Rhogar. Your father presented choices, and Uncle Corlys demanded our compliance, and I
am a soldier, I will always follow orders, but family should not be so, and your father and
you have pointed out House Velaryon’s decline, and our lack of security, so… I’d rather
follow Uncle Vaemond than Uncle Corlys.
“Is it truly so dismal though?” Malentine asked.
“Our House?” Daemion asked.
“Yes.”
“Yes, it’s worse than we’ve let on,” Daemion sighed. “Until the contracts were secured for
trade between the North and Dorne, we had lost most of our trade standing in Braavos, Lys
has never been a good trade union, Tarth was losing our standing, Pentos was not trading
openly, Myr is still in good standing for us, but it’s losing hold, Volantis is too perilous, and
the Tyrosh won’t trade with us because of the War, and unless you want to go into trade with
cities like Astapor, Meereen, and Yunkai, I don’t see us recovering under Uncle Corlys’
ideals. Despite our Valyrian ancestory, we are Westerosi, and if we start peddling in flesh and
the slave trade we’ll lose what standing we possess, and that’ll ruin us, father’s fear is Uncle
Corlys would be tempted to go to Slaver’s Bay for trade. And if we do that, Westeros will
destroy us. These people do not tolerate slave trade, or flesh peddling.”
“We’re in such dire straits, you truly fear Uncle would resort to the slave trade?” Malentine
sputtered.
“I don’t want to be around if he does,” Daemion murmured.
“I was unaware of that,” Malentine muttered.
“Father’s been doing his best to attempt to keep House Velaryon afloat, but the storm of
Uncle Corlys is tearing the ships asunder faster than father can manage,” Daemion admitted.
“At least in the North we’ll be able to start over.”
Daemion didn’t want to know what his uncle would do when he realized House Velaryon was
nearly on the brink of collapse. Obviously, his Uncle wouldn’t lower his ambitions from the
Iron Throne, but Daemion didn’t want to know what his Uncle would do to recover all that he
had squandered.
“Those Northerners are interesting,” Malentine said. Daemion turned to look out at the
Dustin brothers playing with Princess Helaena’s children and dragons. There were two
brothers keeping watch, one playing, Rody was probably with Princess Helaena.
“They’re good people, I mean, not all of them, like all people they have some bad ones, but
House Dustin are good people,” Daemion admitted.
“You made it out like these folk were saints,” Malentine snorted.
“Ah… that might’ve been an exaggeration on my part to persuade you North,” he chuckled.
“I also just really enjoy these people, they’re so different from the South. But Lord Stark I
think will be a fair overlord, the Starks are beloved by their entire Realm, you should’ve seen
the fury of these people when Lady Arra was murdered, they looked ready to declare war on
their Lord’s behalf.”
“Interesting,” Malentine murmured. “Come on, we need to go while the tide’s favorable, and
we’ll get you North as swiftly as possible. I’d like to meet this Lord Stark,” he chuckled.
Daemion smiled as he waved at Daeron who was on the docks with Hazel and Daenaera in
his arms. He saw his father there too, and smiled as they set sail for the North. No doubt,
soon his family would follow, and Daemion looked forward to this new beginning. But first,
he would learn to be a steward. A proper, Northern steward for his Northern Lord and his
Northern Liege.
Aemond held Sansa against him again. She looked a little grey when her stomach had settled;
he had retrieved her peppermint oil, dabbed some of it in a handkerchief; given she had
whispered it was the stench of the Hightower perfume which had her gagging. He had sort of
always ignored the stench of Oldtown, because King’s Landing in the summer was a
thousand times worse. However, Aemond had noticed the Northerners bathed, a lot, and liked
being clean. Winterfell had an entire hot spring bathing area, there were communal bathing
areas, and the ability to summon baths, Northerners liked being clean. And Southron people
had similar desires, but washing faces, hands, teeth, and a quick wipe down of the body, it
was not uncommon to bathe infrequently down South, while also covering scents with
perfumes. Clearly Sansa had been surprised by the perfume. There were many big bathhouses
in the South, famous were the Baths of Honeywell, but unlike the Northerners, the South
didn’t seem as obsessive about bathes.
Sansa was leaning against him, still looking queasy.
If it were not for the fact she looked absolutely mortified, and also grey, he would have
openly reveled in how she threw up on his cousin! Lyonel Hightower was Aemond’s second
least favorite cousin, having had a long rivalry since their childhood. Lyonel had once
attempted to get Aemond drunk when he was ten, Aemond was certain the wine had been
spiked, because he had done a slight of hand and watched his cousin gag, and puke all over a
maiden he had been attempting to impress. Lyonel had never forgiven Aemond for that, but
Aemond was not inclined to drink wine poured by anyone else’s hand since then.
Sansa had choked down guest rights, which Lyonel had nearly thrown in her face after
getting his boots covered in vomit. Aemond had helped her up onto a horse, seeing his cousin
had at least brought two horses, Aemond still swung up behind Sansa, she slumped against
him, her nose firmly hidden in the perfumed handkerchief.
Riding into Oldtown, he made sure to ride a bit farther behind his cousin, so Sansa didn’t
have to endure his cousin’s stench. As they rode, Sansa slowly regained control of her senses
as she peered around curiously.
He would point out things to her occasionally, the Starry Sept seemed to be of interest to her
even if she did not partake in the Faith, but she stared in awe at the pyramids. The three
pyramids of the Old Empire of Ghis, which had been a gift to Oldtown before the Hightowers
had bent the knee to the Gardeners and slavery was officially forbidden in Westeros. Still, the
old gift stood, small, and atop a marketplace, alabaster stones with golden tops. As they rode
through it, the heavy, vaulted ceilings draped in a variety of fabrics, all colorful and bright,
there were many stalls standing; fishing, butchers, fruits, vegetables, street vendors,
entertainers, septons, spetas, it was all very lively. It used to be a slave market, where Andal
slaves were purchased and set free, it was called the Last Market. He pointed to the buildings
of the Citadel, because it was not one, there were many, the lecture halls, the great libraries,
the halls of magic, halls of healing, halls of knowledge. Sansa stared around with wide eyes.
He pointed to the other septs, the ones of various buildings or attempts at new construction
styles, then to the famous Rookery where the Citadel bred the ravens, both the white and
black ravens.
Sansa stared at the great arches, the statues of the Mother, the Father, the Maiden, the Smith,
the Warrior, the Crone, and one of the Stranger.
They made it to the Hightower docks, where the ships were waiting. Swinging off the horse,
he carefully pulled Sansa down, and set her on her feet. She stared up at Hightower with her
mouth agape as they both looked at it.
“That’s… impressive,” she whispered honestly.
“I have never been particularly fond of it,” he muttered honestly. She just looked in awe of it.
Honestly, if Aemond was honest, Hightower always reminded him of Aegon’s dick. Which
always disgusted Aemond to remember; he’d caught his brother jerking off too many times
out of his window in King’s Landing, or fucking some whore, but remembering Aegon
angered Aemond. He remembered what his brother had done with his life, and it was
disgusting.
Sansa’s hand in his arm reminded him that this wasn’t about Aegon anymore.
The hairs on the back of Aemond’s neck stood up, and he turned, looking out at the crowd.
Twisting around he pulled Sansa closer as he looked for what unsettled him.
“What is it?” Sansa asked as she looked around.
“I don’t know,” he muttered. She kissed the underside of his jaw again and he looked down at
her again.
“I’ll keep you safe,” she promised. He pressed a kiss to her brow as they walked towards the
ship.
“Is your stomach feeling better?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she admitted with a grimace. “That was most unexpected, on all parts, I did
not anticipate that reaction,” she mumbled.
“Perhaps it is something you ate, or the fact we are finally here,” he murmured.
“Perhaps,” she agreed with a sigh. “That was the most embarrassing moment of my life, and
I’ve had many of those, but I do not believe I have ever thrown up in public,” she grimaced.
“It was glorious,” he snorted. “Lyonel is vile,” he murmured.
She snorted as they walked onto the ship now.
“Cousin,” Lyonel glared at Sansa and him then. “We are prepared to leave for Hightower,
unless you constitution is far too delicate for sailing around a harbor Lady Sansa.”
“I believe I will manage,” she murmured without bite. Aemond bit back his retorts as he
walked with Sansa to the bow of the ship. She shakily sat down and sighed as she dragged
her hands through her hair.
“Could it have been something you ate?” he asked as he sat down beside her.
“I honestly think his scent just hit me wrong,” Sansa murmured. “It’s very foul, like rotting
fruit.”
He nodded. Examining her carefully, he noted her color was returning, though she was
always pale as ice, her eyes were brightening again. He brushed her hair aside and looked at
her as he looked for any signs of fever, but there wasn’t anything. She turned into his touch,
smiling a little as she hid in the handkerchief again. Dropping her hair he looked at
Hightower again. They were here, and it would begin now.
It’d been a surprise watching the pair ride into the Last Market. He’d been startled, stunned,
bamboozled, for a moment he thought he had seen Aemon or Baelon, but turning he had seen
it was Prince Aemond. It had to be the young man turned, his eyepatch revealing the flaw.
The young man looked unnervingly like Aemon and Baelon, the long, sharp features,
watchful lilac gaze, hair so pale it was nearly white gold. But the young man looked much
harsher than Aemon or Baelon ever could.
The young woman against the young man’s chest, a Stark, he remembered that, the union
between a Targaryen and a Stark, first in recorded history, first Southron marriage for the
House Stark.
The missive from his friend had informed him of his great-nephew’s intentions to come to
Oldtown. He just had not expected it. Following the envoy through the market and city, he
watched as they arrived at the Hightower docks. He watched as his great-nephew swung off
the horse, assisting his bride down. But then for an unnerving moment, he feared he’d been
spotted, as Aemond’s head snapped over, and it was like the young man was looking right at
him.
The intensity of the young man’s single eye gaze was startling, none of his family had ever
had a truly piercing gaze like that, but for a horrid moment he feared he’d been seen, was
found out. It wouldn’t do. Then the girl moved, and an act of affection so wolf like it was
hard to think the woman anything but a Stark, she kissed the underside of the young Prince’s
jaw. He’d witnessed wolves do something similar once, the mark of affection and trust
between the mated pair of the pack, to see it translated into a human’s actions, there was no
mistaking the woman as anyone but a Stark.
Then the pair walked onto the Hightower ship.
He wanted to watch them more before he revealed himself, if they were truly trustworthy, he
would reveal himself. There was a roar, and he looked up to see Vhagar fly overhead, then
she disappeared into the cloudbank again.
Sansa was surprised as they were lead out of the ship, she looked around at the cavern
beneath the base of Hightower. Aemond pulled her closer to him, his arm resting around her
waist as they walked into the main level of Hightower. Her breath hitched as she looked up
at, having expected this place to be an endless tower, she was surprised. There was an open
cnter; like the drum tower of Winterfell, and the interior was littered with a garden, small,
modest, but a garden all the same, set in the center of the hole of the tower. She looked up,
surprised, there were stained glass windows, and long arches as the tower spiraled upwards.
She heard some mechanisms working and saw box like carriages moving up and down on a
series of pullies, chains, and hydrolics no doubt. Sansa looked up at the fires which she could
see flickering in the high distance, none of the smoke billowed down into the tower.
“If you would follow me, I’m certain after a long journey you would like to rest, father has
selected the south east rooms,” Lyonel stated. “Forgive us for not being fully prepared for
your visit, with the news of your brother’s passing we expected you to return to King’s
Landing.”
“I had not heard of Aegon’s passing,” Aemond stated stiffly. Sansa looked at him, his face
was a mask of indifference right then.
“Forgive me, you have my condolences, I was very fond of Cousin Aegon,” Lyonel stated.
“Thank you,” Aemond replied.
“Are you intending to return to the capitol then?” Lyonel asked.
“At this time, no, I will send a raven to my liege lord, given the delays of this campaign
already though, I have been encouraged to take the time to learn about being a lord of new
lands. If there is cause for me to return to the capitol I shall, but I have delayed my education
too long,” Aemond responded icily.
“A harsh liege lord not to permit you to mourn your brother properly,” Lyonel sneered.
“Lord Stark is a demanding man.”
Sansa didn’t respond.
“At least while you are here, we will ensure you have time to properly mourn your brother.”
“Thank you,” Aemond responded.
“If you are pressured to further acts by your liege, I will personally see to it that it is put to a
cease, mourning is to be expected,” Lyonel stated.
Sansa grit her teeth, but she wasn’t going to say anything, she wasn’t. So long as she and
Aemond could remain here they’d be able to investigate the records. Cregan wasn’t a tyrant,
she knew that; Aemond knew that, still, biting back the need to yell at the Hightowers that
they were tyrants compared to Cregan. Still, she bit back the yelling. They were led into a
lever cart, Sansa squeaked as they surged upwards, grabbing onto Aemond’s arm as she
stared at the floor. Sansa heard the men snort and glared past Aemond at his cousin. Walking
through the hall, Sansa peered down, the drop had her stomach lurching as she gripped
Aemond’s arm a little tighter.
They were shown to the room they were staying in, and Sansa looked around. The room was
decorated with deep, rich woods, there were green flourishing, plants. Alone again, Sansa
turned to Aemond then as he shut the door behind him.
“I’ve spoken to my cousin, we’ll attend a dinner with my great uncle, uncles, cousins, the
Hightowers are with the High Septon today, so that is why only cousin Lyonel greeted us, but
they are coming,” Aemond said.
“That’s… good,” she sighed.
“Are you feeling any better?” he asked warily.
“I am, I just think the scent caught me wrong, and flying is not my favorite thing, so I just
think I lost my stomach,” she admitted.
“You are more comfortable on Vhagar though,” he pointed out.
“So long as I’m with you, yes, if I had to fly upon her alone, I think it would go poorly,”
Sansa chuckled.
“Probably,” he snorted. “I’ll summon you a bath,” he murmured as she started pulling out her
combs to fix her hair. Alone, Sansa sat on the bed and grimaced, her stomach churning. It
was strange, yesterday she had felt fine, and she did not think she had eaten anything to upset
her stomach. Simple apples, with honey bread and sausage this morning, with some slices of
bacon, and that had been hours ago. They had not stopped for a nooning meal in their flight
to Oldtown, and she felt fine. Nothing felt off. It just had to be the smell, she decided, the
scent caught her wrong, and nerves had her stomach in a delicate state, so she lost control.
She would have to apologize to Lyonel later. Sighing she stood, combing her hair carefully.
The loss of composure was unsettling and embarrassing.
Aemond had not taken long to prepare for dinner, helping Sansa when she had come out
irritated with her hair not cooperating with her desire to simply braid it. He had to hold some
of her hair for her, as she utilized a scarf to braid it. Once she had it tied in a similar fashion
that she seemed to be coming to prefer while South, she huffed at a stray strand that had
escaped her quest to get her hair up. He tugged it lightly before she could get it in her head to
redo her hair, he dragged her out of their room. Walking through Hightower he looked for the
markers Daeron had told him of, and that he had seen in his brother’s drawings.
They walked into the lever boxes and went up a few levels. Most of Hightower was an
engineering feat, utilizing the fires atop the tower to funnell hot air through the tower into a
siphon, where the ocean water would pull a counterweight. It was an engineering marvel, and
Hightower had created a vast network of travel with these counterweights through these lever
boxes. It was not always perfected, but it was always interesting. To cease any movement in
Hightower, ceasing the fires atop Hightower, the air would cool, and avoid leaving a vacuum,
the waters were siphoned from the buckets back into the metal spheres, causing the heavy
buckets to rise with aid of a counterweight, and ceasing all movement in Hightower.
They made it to the level they needed to be on, and stepped out. Sansa stared in awe at the
box.
“That is fascinating. Something similar is at the Wall, and in the towers of Winterfell, but not
to such an efficiency, most of theirs are manual,” Sansa said as they walked.
“It is an engineering marvel,” he admitted. “But if they extinguish the fires atop Hightower,
then everything in the keep ceases working and moving, it utilizes hot air, water, and
counterweights. It’s a good defense mechanism, for no outside force, except a dragon, could
relight those fires, and when Hightower is sealed, it is not able to be breeched.”
“I did not know that,” Sansa murmured.
“Winterfell utilizes water in a very similar manner,” Aemond pointed out. “Special powders
are utilized by the maesters to change the colors of the flames, green is a call to arms, red is a
storm, white is winter, violet is a celebration, and blue is for mourning,” he explained.
“I did not know that,” Sansa chuckled.
“Hightower is also utilized as a beacon in storms for ships coming to port here at Oldtown,” a
new voice said. Aemond turned to see his cousin Lyonel approaching them. On his arm was a
plump woman, short in stature, robust in nature, mousy brown hair, moon shaped face, and
bright eyes. Sansa perked up immediately upon the sight of the woman, and he could all but
feel her joy at the sight of the woman.
“Cousin, this is my father’s betrothed, Lady Samantha Tarly,” he gestured to the young
woman on his arm. “Lady Sam, this is my cousin, Prince Aemond, and his wife, Lady Sansa
Stark.”
“Princess Sansa Targaryen,” Aemond corrected. “Or Lady Sansa Drekaúlfur.”
“Forgive us, the title is so new, and we are unaccustomed to the new titles,” he said.
“Cousin Aemond! It is so good to see you!” he cringed as he turned to see his cousin
Bethany. She was standing there, with wide smile. He wanted to get as far away from her as
possible.
“Lady Bethany,” he greeted. “Sansa, this is my cousin,” he said as he gestured for Sansa to
turn. He saw something flash over Bethany’s features, but it was gone just as swiftly.
“Lady Bethany! My husband has informed me about you, it is a pleasure to finally meet
you,” Sansa said with a smile as she waited for Bethany to curtsey. “My husband informed
me that due to stormy weather the Hightowers could not attend beyond his uncle and a few
cousins. I am pleased to meet the rest of his family.”
Bethany’s eyes were glaring angrily at Sansa, though her smile was pleasant. “It is a pleasure
to meet you as well, Lady Sansa, I was sorry I was unable to attend the wedding. My cousin
seems to be enchanted by you though.”
“And I by him,” Sansa gave Aemond a sultry smile, and he looked between the women
uncertain about what was going on.
“Nephew, it is good to see you,” Aemond turned to see his uncle Hobart then walking in, and
he looked at Sansa with narrow, disapproving eyes. “I was told your bride was feeling
unwell. Perhaps she would prefer to be retired to her room so she might rest and recover.”
“I believe it was something I ate,” Sansa said tensely with a tight smile. “But I’m well again,
and ravenous,” she assured.
“Very well, let us be seated,” Hobart smiled. Aemond nodded as he guided Sansa to the
opposite end of the table, he placed her on his right side so he would be able to keep an eye
on her. He wanted to make certain she was safe, and actually recovered. Sansa smiled up at
him as he seated her, he kissed the top of her head before he assumed his seat at the end of
the table, and watched his Hightower relatives warily.
He wanted more wine; he didn’t know if he could endure this farse again. He nodded his
thanks to a servant as they poured him a cup of wine, and Sansa smiled as she whispered her
own thanks. He saw the servant blush as they stepped back from the table. The silence at the
table was stifling, and Aemond was not going to be the first to speak.
“Lady Bethany, I’ve been told you enjoy the arts, and have a lovely singing voice,” Sansa
said.
“The finest, the Maiden blessed my daughter with many talents and gifts,” Ormund spoke
with a smile.
“It is glorious then, she is a splendid beauty,” Sansa said.
“As are you, Lady Sansa, though I was informed your hair used to be black. Is it vanity or
subterfuge which changed that account?” Lyonel asked.
“Unfortunately neither,” Sansa stated with a wry smile. “I do not look like a Stark with my
red hair, I take after my grandmother’s family, they all had red hair, but it is not a trait I
believed the South to know Starks to possess, and so as to keep attentions on our plight, my
brother and I devised the decision to hide my natural hair.”
“That is blasphemous, the Gods blessed you with such a look, you should not tamper with it,”
Garmund stated.
“Perhaps, perhaps not, perhaps your Gods are too vain themselves, my Gods could not care
about my appearance, for they care more for my character,” she replied.
“The Gods are not vain, you blasphemous heathen!” Lyonel snapped.
“I do not know, I am here to learn, am I not? My husband has praised the Faith, and I must
admit I am curious to learn. I know some of your principles, but not all, so I apologize for
sounding blasphemous, but I’m hardly a heathen,” she chuckled.
“Do you not believe your Gods to be the perfect divinity of this world, molding it in the
correct form?” Bethany asked.
“No.” Sansa’s blunt answer seemed to startle his cousins and Aemond smirked a bit as he
watched the food be served. “The Old Gods are flawed, imperfect, they walk amongst us,
guiding us, yes, but they do not seek perfection. They seek to guide, not control, they seek to
teach, not be worshipped, they are not perfect.”
“That is barbaric, should one not strive to live a perfect life?” sneered Garmund.
“Define perfect, for surely such a definition will vary from Dorne to the Reach,” Sansa said.
“For example, beauty is an excellent example of the various definition of perfection. In the
North, red hair is prized, it’s believed we’re kissed by fire, we’re wild, beautiful, stunning,
red hair is the pinnacle of Northern beauty standards, in the North I’m considered a great
beauty, that is not vanity, that is what is considered to be beauty. In the Westerlands hair gold
as wheat, with green eyes, fine delicate, angular features, it’s their pinnacle of beauty. Here
long, dark brown curls, round features, with big eyes, that appears to be the pinnacle of
beauty. Valyrians were famed for wanting silver hair, lilac eyes, and beautiful, delicate
features. The Dornish love big brown eyes, black hair, and red lips, they consider it beautiful.
Those are considered peaks of perfection in those cultures and society; it is considered
perfection. So, with so many various definitions of perfections, how is perfection to be
judged?”
“By the true Faith’s standards,” Lyonel stated.
“And what is the true Faith?” Sansa countered. “Your Faith, the Faith of the Drowned Gods,
the Old Gods, the Lord of Light, the God of Many Faces, the Valyrian Gods? Tell me, of the
Many Gods, which one is true? For practioners of each of those Faiths will insist theirs is
true.”
“Then they are heathens and fools,” Garmund said.
“Or are you?” she asked.
“I see you’ve found a theologist in your wife, it would do you well to teach her her place,”
Hobart informed Aemond.
“I agreed to the match for her wit and tongue, I will not temper either,” Aemond said softly.
Sansa smiled at him brightly and he nodded softly.
“It is a shame, a match for a Great House to a third son, is it not?” Bethany asked.
“It’s far loftier than I was anticipating,” Sansa chuckled.
That seemed to shock the entire table as they were served food. Sansa cut portions of the
meat for him, and he nodded his thanks to her as he sipped his wine. This was going to be a
long night, he could already tell. Sansa was holding her own though, and she was smiling
politely and he was impressed.
She smiled as she walked with Aemond after dinner. He smelled of wine, and dinner, but she
was pleased to be with him.
“You are a vexing woman,” he informed her softly as he paused their walk.
“I am?” she mused playfully.
“Very,” he decided as he turned on her, she smiled a bit, biting her lip as she bounced on the
balls of her feet. He loomed over her, and she bounced up, kissing him softly.
“I try,” she whispered. She gasped as he kissed her back hard and demandingly. She kissed
him back, pulling herself up against him. He growled a bit, catching her hips as he pushed her
back into the wall. It felt like she was being lit on fire as his hands carefully trailed over her
curves, she raked her nails through his hair, he groaned a bit, breathing sharply as he broke
the kiss, she smiled; she liked knowing he had a particular weakness like that. He kissed her
jaw, then her pulse, she gasped as her head fell back, his teeth scraping over her skin. His
tongue slide against her pulse, and she shivered a little as he kissed her softly. He had stepped
between her legs, pinning her to the wall, she shuddered a bit as she turned her head, feeling
his hands catch her thighs. Wrapping her legs around his hips she moaned as he came back up
to kiss her hard again. Deeping the kiss she clung to him, she felt tension building in her
stomach as he let his hands travel along her thighs.
There was a sound, and her eyes snapped open, Aemond snarled as he pulled away from her.
She turned to see Bethany there. instinctively, Sansa tightened her legs around Aemond,
pulling herself closer to him, despite the indecency screaming at her to pull away. Aemond
didn’t seem inclined to let her go just yet. The look on Bethany’s face was one Sansa didn’t
recognize, but the look of outrage, shock, and embarrassment were a little unsettling to
Sansa. That expression reminded Sansa of Cersei in a very peculiar way, like child who’d lost
their toy, or found something distasteful to loath.
“That… What are you doing!?” Bethany sputtered.
“Passions might run hot when you are young, but it is to be confined out of sight!” Hobart
snapped as he appeared.
“My apologies,” Aemond murmured as he kissed her again. Stepping away, she let her legs
fall again, and her skirt remained rumpled. “We’ll have to endeavor to be more contained in
our passions,” Aemond informed her.
She kissed him softly as she let him pull her along and out of the hall into their room. A
snicker escaped her before it bubbled into a giggle as she stepped up to Aemond.
“So it begins,” she whispered with a smile.
“So it begins,” he agreed as he leaned over, his brow resting on hers. “You are very good at
holding them off,” he murmured as he cupped her cheek. She turned into his touch.
“I am accustomed to them in reverse, but it was good,” she admitted. “I prefer the Old Gods,”
she sighed.
He kissed her brow then. “We should rest, we will have to begin early tomorrow if we are to
look for al we need.”
“Mmm…” she hummed in agreement. But grabbed Aemond, he was startled when she
tugged on his buttons. She pushed off the vest then, he blinked a few times. “If we are to play
the part, Aemond, we should leave evidence,” she whispered.
Understanding dawned in his eye as he undid the heavy belt she was wearing so it fell, then
he did tug at her vest, which he drpped over the chair. She managed to undo his shirt,
throwing it aside. He snorted a bit in amusement, and she giggled, he caught her overshirt
and tore it.
“Aemond!”
“You’ll steal a different one,” he remarked, she laughed as he kissed her throat and pushed it
off her. She giggled a bit, but then he kissed one of the scars from Ramsay. She closed her
eyes as they stood there for a moment.
“I am trying,” he whispered.
“I know,” she replied as she turned a bit, kissing the tip of his scar as she pushed off his
eyepatch, pocketing it. He undid the laces on her over skirts, she let them fall as she also
kicked off her slippers. Left in her stockings, stays, and chemise, she shivered a little. Then
she tugged at Aemond’s laces.
“Sansa? What are you doing?” He asked warily.
“If we are to leave evidence, we’re leaving evidence,” she stated. “We do not have to do
anything, but we will have to ruin the sheets, and sleep together, bare,” she informed him.
“I… I do not think that wise,” he admitted.
“It probably is not, but we will have to have the servants believing us passionate and to do
that, we will have to be uncomfortable, I won’t do anything to you,” she promised.
“I won’t touch you either,” he assured.
“Then we have nothing more to discuss, we have already discussed everything else,” she
whispered as she came on her tip toes to kiss him softly. She gasped feeling her braids untied
and falling. Then the silk scarf slithered out of her hair, letting it fall apart.
“Very well,” he answered. She smiled softly, kissing him again. She felt the stay fall off her,
and she shivered a bit as he looked at her, she hesitated before she nodded, the chemise fell
away too.
Aemond lost his boots, socks and pants. But when Sansa went to remove her stockings, he
stilled her. She saw a look on his face, one she couldn’t identify, before smiling a little at him,
slipping off her stockings, she threw them, and he snorted as she giggled a bit. Falling into
the bed, he carefully joined her. Kissing him again, she curled up into the bed. She’d have to
figure out how to soil the sheets. At the Casterly Rock, they had escaped true scrutiny
because of the exhausting events before their campaign, but also because Aemond was
always dragging her off somewhere new. Now they did not have that luxury.
Aemond’s warmth was radiating beside her, his back pressed to hers, she shivered as she
pulled the blanket up. The curtains to the window billowed; and she sighed, closing her eyes
she let the day’s exhaustion win.
Chapter 31
The scent of blood waft through the air, the smoke, the fire, there were screams, she scented
the air. It was a pull, her lip curled back as she darted through the forest. There was an
exhilarating rush, running faster than she ever had. She spotted something, which had her
pausing, her heart racing in her chest, her blood roaring in her ears.
A shiny man raised a sword over Sara, who was scrambling back.
Snarling, she darted, running low and fast, without slowing or stopping, there were shouts,
she felt something sharp stab her shoulder, but she didn’t slow. Sara gave a shout, the man
turned, and as she leapt to clear the gully, there was one horrid moment when the man shat
himself while screaming soundlessly as his eyes went wide with terror. Her fangs tore into his
throat, her body swinging with the momentum of her leap as she tore his head off, the iron
tang of blood filled her mouth, and she lipped her lips as she smiled at the other enemies.
There was a shout, arrows hit one man in the eye, she rushed again, the thrill of the hunt
filling her as she caught another man’s arm, his screams were music. Another shout, and she
released her prey, backing up as she snarled. Another wolf was beside her, and she felt Sara’s
hand in her fur. The enemy was there, bleeding out, and she smiled. The scent of death and
pain filled the air, White Fang howled, she rushed another human, who screamed as she tore
over the ledge, leaping with fangs bared.
Gasping, she jolted awake as she tried to catch her breath. Sagging into the pillows again she
lay there for a long moment, her heart slowing in her chest as she closed her eyes and took a
few steadying breaths. It was just a dream, just a dream, different from her childhood when
she would dream, she was Lady. It was just a dream. Sara was safe in Winterfell soon.
Sansa groaned a bit as she rolled her hips, arching her back as she roused from her sleep. A
hand was cupping her breast, an arm wrapped around her shoulders, her back was flush to a
chest, and her bum was pressed securely against Aemond’s hips, she had tucked her feet
between his calves, and his breath skittered across the back of her neck. Rolling her hips
again as she stretched and shifted, she paused feeling his arousal pressed to her throbbing
core. Shivering slightly, she pressed herself more into his chest as they lay there. Wriggling to
get a little more comfortable, Aemond let out a low moan.
“Sansa…” his voice was harsh, guttural filled with sleep.
She paused getting comfortable as she turned back to look at him.
“Stop. Moving.” He grumbled as he kept his eye shut.
“I need to relieve myself,” she muttered.

He slowly released her, and she grabbed a blanket, wrapping it around herself as she went
about taking care of her needs. Once she had relieved herself, she cleaned her teeth, snagged
one of Aemond’s shirts as she walked back to the bed. She saw him waking up, rubbing his
hands over his face. She looked over his lean form, long muscles, a few marks, but not many,
he was smooth and lean, there was darker silver hair on his chest, and a small trail of hair
down from his navel, center in his hips. He was shifting, and she felt herself blush a little
when she saw his own obvious arousal. Biting her lip, she folded her arms as she looked at
him, he squinted at her as he seemed to be coming awake. An idea occurred to her, and she
carefully came to sit on the bed on her knees. Aemond peered at her as he tried to roll away
from her or hide his arousal from her.
“Aemond…” she said. He rubbed his hands over his face as he lay in the pillows. “About
your… arousal…”
“It’ll go away,” he muttered.
“Or… you could relieve yourself, here,” she pointed out. He dropped his hands to glare at
her. She bit her lip as she sat there. “Well, I have lived with men, it’s perfectly natural, and
it’ll… soil the sheets…” she felt her face burning as she said the thought aloud. Aemond
blinked a few times. “I grew up with Robb, Jon, Theon, Joffrey, and I live Cregan, his
friends, and I traveled with an encampment of soldiers.”
He frowned at her.
“You should just… take care of it,” she gestured haplessly then.
Aemond just stared at her as if she had grown a second head. She looked at him as she sat
there waiting for some sort of response from him.
“Sansa…” he sighed. “We are… attempting to… learn, but I… can’t, not with you… here,”
he said uncertainly.
“I’ll go… prepare for the day,” she decided as she slid off the bed. She peeked over her
shoulder as Aemond fell back in the pillows. She stepped behind the divider as she tugged off
her shirt. Aemond gave a soft groan barely audible, she heard the harsh breaths and his soft
sounds. She felt her face heating up as she stood there getting dressed, it was when he gave a
soft moan that she felt comfortable stepping out from behind the divider. He was standing,
pulling a sheet around his hips. Aemond peered at her over his shoulder, she tilted her head a
bit, but didn’t look at the bed as she walked up to him. Sansa kissed his scar and smiled softly
as she stood there. “Good morning,” she murmured.
“Sansa,” he murmured as he looked at her.
“I refuse to live like a Southron Lady ever again so we will be bathing, nightly,” she warned
as she walked away, picking up the pearls. Aemond walked behind her. She heard him getting
dressed, she combed out her hair, braiding it carefully. Aemond stepped out, and she saw him
looking for his socks then, and she snorted. His hair was messy, and he looked about ready to
perform a mutiny on it, which was when she pushed him onto a seat as she started combing it
out and braiding it loosely. He caught her hand as she walked, she paused as they both
remained there.
“Stay close today,” he said softly as he looked up at her.
She nodded.
He rose up then, and she tangled their fingers for a moment, smiling a bit tightly as he came
over, pressing his lips to her brow. She picked up his sapphire and eyepatch, he accepted both
and carefully put them on. After that Aemond grabbed up the weapons, and she watched as
he armed himself. Once he was ready, he handed her a knife.
“For you boot,” he stated. “Keep it on you at all times,” he ordered softly. She nodded as she
accepted the knife for her boot. She remembered as a girl when she always felt
uncomfortable hiding daggers on her person, but after Rody, Domeron, Bryan, and Cregan’s
training she was a bit more at ease about having them on her person and using them.
Aemond caught her hand and slipped it into his elbow as they walked together out of their
room. She felt her breath hitched and she smiled a little at him as they navigated the halls.
“We’ll have to attend the breaking of fast with the Hightowers, but given we are newlywed,
we are to be left alone, and we will rejoin them this evening. Starting in four days times we
will be shown around the Citadels, and Septs, I have a few engagements to be held with
maesters, and you will attend a few Court sessions with my cousin Bethany,” Aemond
murmured.
“You have this planned,” she observed.
“I await word from Lord Beesbury, but yes, I have this planned,” Aemond replied softly as
they walked to one of those lever carts. She winced a little as they moved, her stomach
lurched a little at the motion, and she gripped Aemond a little tighter.
“What woke you?” he asked as they walked through Hightower. Aemond had been surprised
with how he woke this morning, it wasn’t unpleasant, it was merely, unexpected. He had
woken to Sansa warm and soft in his arms, and naked, wriggling. For one blinding moment
of want he had wanted nothing more than to give into his base desires and bury himself in
her. Gods help him, it’d been so tempting, especially with her warm and close, and for one
agonizing minute he thought about it. Then everything else, he could still feel her, and she
was right behind a privacy screen readying for the day when she’d told him to essentially
relieve his desires in their bed. All he could think about was her, and he was surrounded by
her scent.
“A nightmare,” Sansa answered. “I dreamt I was Frostfyre, and there was a battle, I protected
Sara, but it was… awful…” she sighed.
He raised his brow at that. “Do… do you dream yourself to be Frostfyre often?” he asked
carefully.
“Oh… occasionally I suppose, I would dream that I was free, running the forests outside of
Winterfell, when I was a girl, I would dream I was Lady,” she chuckled. “I do have dreams
about being a bird from time to time, or cats, when I’m in the Red Keep I always dreamt I
was a cat,” she grimaced at the statement.
“They’re just dreams Aemond, odd, yes, but just dreams,” she shrugged as they walked into
the dining hall. He looked his wife over carefully, he didn’t want to broach the subject with
her given that it was a guarded secret of House Targaryen; the bonding of minds between
riders and dragons.
“I’ll send a missive to Lord Stark, see if there’s word about Sara’s return,” he decided as they
walked.
“Thank you,” she smiled.
He nodded.
“So… today,” she started.
“Resting today, we will explore Hightower a little, seek the entries,” he murmured. “Are you
feeling better today?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she assured with exasperation written all over her face.
“Sansa, indulge me,” he decided. “I am trying,” he mumbled.
“I know, Aemond, and I do indulge you,” she sighed.
He didn’t rebut her statement; he knew she did. Many women would probably have scorned
him for not trusting them, or for not reacting how they wanted to their secrets, but Sansa was
giving him time and space. And he knew she indulged many of his idiosyncrasies in
conversations, and interactions. She had boundless patience regarding him, he knew that. She
was kind, consistent, and patient, he valued that, but in regards to her own person, he just
wanted to ensure she was well.
“You had not thrown up in all our flights,” he pointed out. “And we are busy, you are
stressed, indulge me,” he said softly. “I value you, and we are friends…. I am trying Sansa.”
“Very well,” she sighed as they walked. Lyonel appeared, and Sansa went grey, he
immediately steered her out the hall. “What the hell perfume is that!?” she hissed as she
pressed her hand to her lips.
Aemond didn’t respond as he pulled a scented handkerchief for her, and she buried her nose
in while scowling at the dining hall.
“It is noxious,” he agreed honestly after a bit.

She shook her head as she leaned against him. he guided her to the gardens instead, the fresh
air of the sea would do her well. Once she was seated, he went to grab them each a serving of
the morning meal.
“Aemond,” his uncle called out, he turned as he loaded up a plate for himself and Sansa.
“This is High Septon Dickon,” Hobart said. “High Septon, this is my great nephew, Prince
Aemond, son of my niece, Queen Alicent.”
Aemond reluctantly tilted his head to the man.
“Prince Aemond, I was most surprised when your wife and you did not call upon me for my
services to perform your wedding,” High Septon Dickon stated. “Never before had I been
denied such an honor, I wed your brother to his wife, I wed your mother to her husband.”
“My apologies, it was not my intent to offend, but… the Northerners do not follow the
Seven,” Aemond said stiffly.
“Neither do you it would seem,” Dickon stated stiffly.
“Forgive me, the match was arranged by my sister to House Targaryen’s standards, as well as
to not offend the North, given the manner of Lady Arra Stark’s death, it seemed more
pertinent to not offend my bride’s family.”
“The Faith had nothing to do with her death,” sneered the High Septon. “If a maester
declared it medical necessity, then who are we to say it was not needed?”
“I am aware, but Maester Garrett attempted to hide behind the Faith as justification for his
course of action, despite testimony from a midwife that the action was uncalled for,” Aemond
said.
“Midwives, what do they know?” Dickon huffed. “Women should know their place, and the
birthing bed is their only purpose, to believe they know more about birth than the maesters is
foolish,” he informed Aemond.
“I am aware,” Aemond replied stiffly. “My bride and I would seek to rectify the offenses we
have dealt you, your holiness, it would give my mother true joy to know that I have amended
this slight.”
“I see he is a true born son,” Dickon observed.
“Yes.”
“Very well, then I would perform a proper ceremony, of union, between yourself and a proper
bride, it will be held at the Starry Sept in a Cycle’s time, that should give you time to
prepare.”
“Thank you, your holiness, I shall inform my wife,” Aemond said with a slight nod of his
head.
“It would not do to have a child born out of wedlock in the eyes of the Seven,” the High
Septon stated. Aemond stiffened but did not counter as he looked at the man. “We will speak
more on the matter, but I will speak to your bride soon.”
Aemond tilted his head in response as he walked away with the plates. He found Sansa and
she tilted her head back as she looked up at him.
“We’re to be wed in the Starry Sept by decree of the High Septon,” Aemond informed her.
She smiled very wolfishly then. “What an honor,” she mused.
“We will more than likely be encouraged to discuss this in more depth with the High Septon,”
Aemond said. She accepted the toast with honey on it then.
“That will be fine, we’ll figure this out,” she promised. “It will give us time to work in
Oldtown like we wanted,” she said.
He inclined his head in agreement as he lathered his toast with honey and butter. He eyed the
sausage and bacon he had grabbed. Either way, they would now have access to the mainland
of Oldtown and be able to move more freely. Still, he wanted to find the tunnels. Sansa
leaned back in her seat, leaning in a manner she could enjoy the sun.
“The sun is hotter here, be careful,” he informed her bluntly. She cracked an eye open and
nodded.
“As a girl… I used to watch the ships, try to figure out where they were going. I had a
handmaiden once, her name was Shae, I would try to encourage her to play this game with
me, afterall, it is terribly lonely in the Red Keep. Frequently, I would imagine getting on one
of those ships and sailing off to never return, find my way North, find Jon, Robb, Cregan,”
she said softly. “I always hated sailing, but I dreamt of it once.”
“And how is this game played?” he sighed as he leaned back. She brightened immensely as
she looked at the morning ships.
“That one,” she pointed. “It is going to… Braavos, where it will… be going for a loan from
the Iron Bank, but they’ll stop in Lys,” she smiled scandalously.
“For what?”
“Pleasure,” she mused as she took a massive bite of her toast. “Your turn.”
Aemond frowned but sighed as he took a few more bites of toast. “That one, it’s going to
Driftmark, to work for Vaemond, and going to stop in Dorne for lemons,” he said.
“You’re better at this than I thought,” she mused with a sly smile.
“I played it before I had Vhagar,” he murmured. “I thought of fleeing on the ships.”
She gave him a soft smile as they sat there. “That one is going to Pentos,” she decided. “With
a captain who has a lover in Dorne, and a wife in Oldtown, but he isn’t satisfied, so he’s
going to Pentos for silks, wine, and another lover.”
He snorted.
“What? Do you think you have a better one?” she mused.
“That one is bound for Lannisport, then the Iron Islands where they’ll be trading wools for
smuggled spices,” he stated.
“You are much better at this game than Shae ever was,” she giggled as she sat there.
Aemond nodded as he continued eating. He watched Sansa carefully, other than her aversion
to Lyonel, she appeared to be fine and well. Perhaps his cousin’s perfume was just that vile,
Aemond couldn’t say. He was relatively certain his sense of smell was destroyed from living
in King’s Landing. Sansa was a Stark though, and Winterfell was by far one of the cleanest
Keeps Aemond had ever seen. They were obsessive about it, and hygiene, so he could
understand the distaste in a person’s smell. Even before his father had become rank and
putrid, he had reeked.
“That one is bound for Tyroshi,” she pointed with a smile. “It’s a smuggler’s ship, it’ll stop at
Storm’s End and steal onions.”
“Onions?” he inquired.
“Do not underestimate the power of onions, Aemond! They have layers,” she mused.
He shook his head as he sighed. “Your humor is terrible.”
“It is not!”
It was the Velaryon sails, without the escort, which had him scowling as he stood there
watching his ship come to him. He trembled with rage, but clenched his hands as he stood
there at the docks awaiting to receive his brother, or whomever his brother would send. The
fly over of Dreamfyre told him this was the Northerners with Princess Helaena. Carefully the
ship was pulled up to the dock, and he was surprised when it was his nephew who walked off
first, wearing blue. Not the teal of Velaryon, but blue, a deep, dark blue, trimmed with silver,
and threads of red. It wasn’t the Velaryon naval uniform, or the merchant captain uniform.
Corlys stood there shocked as Daeron held out his hand, and another slender young woman,
with dark brown hair took his hand, she was dressed in a simpler gown, a pale grey with bits
of blue in it. Once she was off the ship, she followed Daeron, and Daeron spoke to her, while
docking the ship.
Next off the ship was the Northerners, only two, and Princess Helaena. Daemon and
Rhaenyra went to greet them formally, Daeron walked behind the Northerners.
“It is presumptuous for that Northerner to stand with the Princess,” Corlys muttered noting
the Northerners were flanking Princess Helaena, but also, Princess Helaena held the arm of
one who was wearing mail, and an axe, and sword, the other had an actual shield on his back.
“Calm yourself husband,” Rhaenys murmured.
“Vaemond has taken everything I have worked for, without thought or care! And for those…
those… those infuriating Northerners,” he ground out.
“We actually aren’t that infuriating, Lord Corlys, we just don’t like you,” the big one snarled
as he stalked past, and Corlys was stunned as the man stalked by. Daemon, Rhaenyra, and
Rhaenys were glaring at him, but he was stunned.
“Easy Princess, we’ll find the wee beasties later,” the Northerner escorting the Princess said.
“Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, Maelor…” she whispered.
“Safe, come along, it’s only a few days,” he assured.
“Uncle,” Daeron stood there. “I would prefer you not to insult my neighbors, they are rather
stubborn, and demanding, but good folk all the same. We have accepted guest rights, we’ll be
but a few days, my father sends his regards and told me to speak to you about the acquiring
of your fleet while he is here, it would not do to have the ships rotting on the docks.”
“It is not the time to do business, here, nephew,” Corlys said tightly as he attempted to save
face.
“I am aware, but I am here for a few days, so we will speak about this matter, Uncle,” Daeron
warned seriously.
“I will speak to you about it, later. I do not believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your
bride,” Corlys said.
The young woman, with thick brows, bright brown eyes, dark brown hair, and full face
frowned a bit as she looked at Daeron.
“You have not,” Daeron answered. “I will attend to Princess Helaena and her guards, it was
good to see you again, Uncle,” Daeron walked off with his bride on his arm.
Corlys looked at his boots, uncertain what he could say to undo his initial outrage, and anger.
There was nothing, he knew that, he had insulted his gooddaughter’s guests.
“Let us go inside,” Rhaenyra sighed tiredly. “We will speak later,” she assured. He said
nothing as he watched them all walk inside and he sighed. He didn’t know what to say, his
anger, and shame about losing his brother in such an open, public manner; as well as most his
House, it hurt him. He did not know if he could salvage his business, even with Princess
Rhaenyra’s aid, he just did not know if he could recover. And worse, seeing his brother take a
massive risk rather than just weather the storm, it infuriated Corlys. Walking with his wife,
they headed for Dragonstone. He saw Baela flying on Moondancer and smiled a little. There
was hopes, hopes that his blood would land on the Iron Throne one day, and if they could
secure that connection then they would be able to secure a wealthier future. They just had to
endure the storm.
He sighed.
Everything was in place, he noted as he read the missive and smiled. Soon, soon, it would
only be a matter of a few months, everything was in motion now. Soon. He looked at the
feeble King, who’s raspy breath continued, and he suppressed the desire to just smother the
fool.
For the last twenty-five years, this fool had let fester the greatest era of discontent and peace,
and soon, soon the Realm would burn!
Aemond walked beside Sansa in Oldtown. They had spent their morning just relaxing,
Aemond had wanted her to rest more, but she was being characteristically stubborn. Like a
wolf with a bone, she was determined to start their mission. He wasn’t opposed, he was
itching to get his hands on the records in Oldtown, but he wanted to be certain she was well.
Sansa was a Stark, and they had stubbornness issues, he was noticing. Cregan was… Cregan,
Aemond did not think that require elaboration. Sara was a stubborn, opinionated young
woman, and she was very determined. Sansa wasn’t as loud, or but she was no less
opinionated, and stubborn, so very fucking stubborn. There was Jon, who seemed the
embodiment of grim determination, and doing things out of stubborn spite. And Rickon…
who was a Stark, and stubborn. Stark stubbornness, it must be an overlooked trait of their
lineage, because Gods help him, his wife’s stubborn determination would have him throttling
her.
Still, he let Sansa charm the staff, and sway the ferry driver to take them to Oldtown; if
Ameond couldn’t slow her down he’d at least be around to make certain she was safe and
well during her little stubborn quest. He actually admired her stubborn grit when she was
irritating him.
He looked at his notes from Daeron as they walked through Last Market, and Sansa started
eyeing lemon cakes again, he grabbed her arm so he didn’t lose her in the crowd while he
was reading. He had enough practice reading and keeping track of toddlers, it could not be
that difficult to keep track of Sansa; especially with her bright red hair.
He followed after his wife, reading his brother’s notes, as she did whatever it was that she did
to charm people. Honestly, he was relatively certain that Sansa’s existence charmed people,
that had to be the case, because she was just endearing. He paused his readings when he
spotted her talking to a few mothers, asking questions, and looking at the market. People
were staring at her openly, not in distaste, or distrust, but curiosity.
Sansa chuckled as she grabbed his arm, waving off the family.
“I was told that there is an orphanage I would like to see,” she said as they walked.
“An orphanage?” he asked as he continued reading, leading her down the routes his brother
had written down.
“Aye, it would be good to learn the charieties in this area, Aemond,” she informed him.
“There is also a hospital, for those afflicted with Grey Scale, and a ward in the Halls of
Healing for the mad, which I think should also be examined.”
“Why?” he frowned as he looked at her.
“Do you want your sister to be trapped by the mad and cruel?” she asked. “Helaena is
fortunate to be a princess, her status will never permit her to be trapped, but what of those
who are not so fortunate, Aemond? We should inspect these conditions and make certain they
are at least habitable. Did you know, frequently, those afflicted with Grey Scale are sent to
Old Valyria to die?”
“I… I did, how do you know that?” Aemond sputtered as he looked at her.
“Dany,” she answered. “I might not like the woman, but we are not Essos, Aemond, we
should make certain the ill are well cared for, and comfortable.”
“Very well, but you are not going to visit a Grey Scale ward, we will not enter it,” he warned.
“I…!”
“No.”
“Very well.”
“We will see what a ward room looks like, and speak to the maesters, but we are not going in
a Grey Scale ward, not after what you’ve learnt,” he said firmly. Aemond didn’t want Sansa
to become infected.
“I understand,” she sighed honestly.
“Good,” he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising and he turned, looking over the crowd
as they walked. Nothing stood out as a threat to him, which had him pulling his arm free of
Sansa’s as he draped it around her waist. They continued walking, and he paused at the statue
of the Stranger.
There were but two in Oldtown, the Stranger was not a God they welcomed with ease, or
open arms. Death was a nasty business, but still unavoidable. He looked around the base of
the statue, which towered at least fifty feet in the air. It was carved of grey stones, and rather
eerie, covered in bird shite, salt, and rust, it looked horrifying and beautiful, but also utterly
terrifying. Aemond walked around, Sansa standing back to admire the statue, and he felt
along the stones. He knew what he was feeling forward and turned when he felt it. Pressing
in, he heard it, the heavy grinding of gears, barely audible against the back noise of the
crowds. Aemond watched for a moment as hole appeared, it was about as big as his
shoulders. He turned to Sansa again, and she meandered close, peering over his shoulder at
the hole and smiling.
They found the first passage.

Chapter 32
Aemond caught Sansa as they entered the tunnels. Aemond looked around at the light filtered
through the grates, and looked at Sansa as they stood there for a moment. He found the torch,
tapping it’s tip, he was surprised, even as he lifted it to his nose, he scented the oil. Lighting it
was a matter of flint rocks, when he had it lit, he turned to see Sansa, her nose buried in her
peppermint handkerchief, looking very grey and ready to throw up.
“I’m fine,” she mumbled as he placed the torch in a torch holder.
“No, you are not,” he muttered as he looked her over, pressing his hand to her brow, but there
was no fever.
“Aemond, I’m fine,” she insisted.
“Why do you insist you are fine when I can clearly see you are not even in this pitiful
lighting!” he snapped furiously. She scowled.
“Come on, where’s Daeron’s notes say to go?” she pleaded.
“Answer the question, Sansa!” he snapped.
“Where do the notes…”
“We will go back out this bloody tunnel if you don’t answer the question and I will continue
this endever on my own!” he warned.
“Because it’s not important, Aemond!” she hissed. “I can do this! I’ve done it all before
battered, beaten, black and blue, half frozen, half starved, half dead, and actually dead! It is
not important, I am fine!”
“I am trying, Sansa, but if we are to be partners, we must work together so it matters!” he

snarled as he glared at her. “I want to trust you, I am trying, but it is difficult when you are
not entirely honest! If you do not tell me what is wrong, right now, I will return you to
Hightower to continue on this mission alone! I can do this on my own, Sansa!”
She blinked a few times as they stood there. “I am honest.”
“When it is a matter of convenience, or vital importance, yes, but regarding yourself, no,” he
huffed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.
She blinked a few more times, tilted her head as she looked at him, he frowned in response as
they stood there, trapped in the dim light of the tunnel, the flickering torch, with the sounds
muffled above them. “Very well, I do not think anything is wrong with my health, Aemond, I
think my stomach and nerves do not like being in Oldtown, it reminds me of King’s Landing,
I do not like religious debates with zealots, because it’s a no win argument no matter how it is
to be done, and I do not like strange dreams; and I have been plagued with those lately, or not
knowing how Cregan, Jon, Sara, and Rickon are, I do not like being in the South, I do not
like being alone in the South, it is reminding me of being a child, and I trust you, but I’m
terrified you will leave me here if I cannot keep up, and I do not think my stomach is as
strong as it was, because I am terrified Aemond. Terrified. There is something sinister and
poisonous happening here, and it’s been centuries in the making, and that is a daunting
prospect.
“If it is bigger than simply attempting to snag the Iron Throne, then that means our foe is
much more patient and enduring than… than normal Houses! And I’m scared, I’m scared of
all this entails, of the charade we have to put forth; do not be mistaken, Aemond, I do like
you, and I like our affections, and I enjoy kissing you, but the charade is daunting. I am not
certain I am that good of an actress if I’m honest, but I do like you, I find you handsome, we
are friends, so I am trying. You are a very difficult man, but that is not a bad quality, it just
makes our relationship very… unique, and I am still trying to figure you out and you are
attempting to figure me out, and we are friends.
“I have a mess of knowledge in my head which is not applicable to our situation, and now I
have no idea what is happening. I’m scared, Aemond, I’m terrified. I have never been this far
South, and I want to go home, to Winterfell, or Lenton, or North! I want to be North of the
Neck! It’s all I can think about, I do not like being this far South, I’m terrified! Because if I
mess up, we’re dead, if I accidentally slip up, we’re dead, and I’m terrified of dying, again,
because I don’t think I could survive landing in another, different era! I can’t even die
correctly Aemond!
“Oh, and your mother, she hates me, but she infuriates me, and that saddens me, because you
should have your mother, and because of this wretched Faith, she won’t support you, and
that… I want to scratch her eyes out for that, Aemond, I do. My mother was hardly perfect,
but she would never do what your mother has, because she loved us, she did not care about
our religion, but she cared about us enough to put her faith second to loving us, your mother
infuriates me, Aemond. I also am terrified for Heleana, because I know how much you love
her, and we should get her safe, and I’m terrified, utterly terrified we might fail keeping her
and her children safe, and that has my heart aching. I couldn’t save Arra, but what if I can’t
save you, or Helaena, or Jaehaerys, or Jaehaera, or Maelor!? I love all of you, you are all a
part of my family, and it would devastate me, and… I’m so stressed Aemond. The last time I
was this stressed I came South to get aid for the North!
“And someone is hunting Targaryens, and what if everything I’ve attempted to do is for not?
What if everything I do does not matter? Yes, war is inevitable, I can see the writing on the
proverbial wall, one way or another, the South will have it’s war, but what if everything I did
was for nothing? What are we to do if we even find whoever’s hunting and killing
Targaryens? Your family is already intent on tearing itself apart, you hate Rhaenyra, Daemon,
Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Aegon the Younger, Viserys the Younger, Rhaenys, Baela,
Rhaena, and Lord Corlys; and I am not faulting that hatred, Aemond, but your ability to hold
a grudge might be the true death of us before we can even make a dent in changing history.
Either way though, unless by some divine miracle the Targaryens ability to hold a grudge is
let go, there’s a war coming for House Targaryen; even if we find who’s trying to kill off your
House.
“And I need you to learn war, Aemond, and I do not want you too, but you will also have to
learn restraint, and control, because you are… infamous, for your temper, and bloody battles,
and I’m scared that nothing will help because I’m firmly of the opinion; after having met
you, you are the most controlled person, other than Cregan I’ve ever met, and you had
probably snapped during the Dance, and were intent on as much carnage as possible, and that
is a terrifying prospect, because I want better for you. You deserve better. But I’m not a
military genius like Cregan, or Jon, and Gods know I’m not a fighter like Arya or Sara, and
I’m commanding like Arra, I fear that you, like my father, will have no one to teach you how
to lead, and you’ll make mistakes that’ll be catastrophic, but I can’t stop you. I’m well aware
I can’t stop you, so I hope I can help you, or keep you grounded enough so you don’t burn the
Riverlands down! Believe me, if my mother knew I was married to you, she’d been a bit irate
about that, she’s never forgiven House Targaryen for burning the Riverlands down, but I
think if my mother met you, she’d like you. You’re like my father, infuriatingly stubborn and
quiet!
“My Gods, did I really just compare you to my father!?” she sputtered. “Well, there are worse
men, you are infuriatingly quiet, and stubborn. Those are not bad things, Aemond, I do like
you, I know I do not sound it right now, but I do not like having to speak everything on my
mind, so I am crossed about that, but you have asked for it.
“Further, I am concerned about you, you need to eat more and get more sleep, I will not argue
about your training and exercise, but for the love of all the Gods I know, please eat
something! I understand your family is frustrating, but I swear, if I can stomach that
atrocious, greasy food, you can too, and you must eat Aemond. Also, while we are on the
topic of food, I have had a craving for sausage and lemon cakes, it’s all I’ve been thinking
about since the Last Market. Anyways, we also have to get more accustomed to affection,
and I like our kisses, and waking up this morning was comfortable, I… I’m scared, stressed,
and tired, Aemond, I do not think my stomach is handling it, and this city reeks, King’s
Landing smells of piss, shit, cum, and life, but something here smells like… like… like
something’s rotting, does anyone bathe here!? I want to go home, Aemond, I want to go
home, curl up in my bed, and sleep for a decade! I’m scared, nervous, terrified, stressed, and
exhausted. And if anyone attempts to dress me in these heavy material styles in this heat, I’ll
hurt them,” she warned seriously. “I might suffer a constant chill, but I swear if I have to
wear those cloths I will perish from heat! I think the heat and stress have caused my stomach
to weaken in constitution.”
He stared dumbly at her.
“I can do this, Aemond, I’ve done everything else in my life terrified, alone, half dead, half
starved, half beaten, black and blue, sliced up, hurting, aching, and this is no different. I can
do this, I’ll not slow you down,” she promised.
“First, I’ll never leave you behind,” he assured firmly.
“If it comes between me and saving your House, you must save your House, Aemond,” she
started.
“No. I selected you to be my wife, that makes us family, does it not?”
“It does, but…”
“Then family comes first, I will not be leaving you behind,” he stated firmly. “I will do
whatever it takes to get you home, Sansa, no matter the consequence, I will return you to
your home. I am trying, Sansa, I will not be… good, at… this,” he gestured between them. “I
enjoy you, I… I want to make you, happy, but I do not know how to do this. I am trying.”
“You are learning, Aemond, you’re doing very well,” she said softly. “I… I knew revealing
my truth would hurt you and us, but I could not keep it to myself. Not if I wanted us to be
true.”
“I know,” he agreed. “But it is… difficult,” he murmured. “However, I… I want to, and if
you are… honest with me, I will learn to trust you.”
“I am honest with you,” she sighed.
He frowned as they stood there.
“I will try to be more forth coming,” she amended.
He nodded. “I will endeavour to eat more, and get proper rest,” he offered.
She nodded as she folded her arm over her middle.
“I will also learn to control my temper, and be less impulsive,” he offered.
She snorted. “I don’t think that one will work, Aemond. It’d be like me offering to learn to be
more courteous and ladylike,” she sighed.
He looked up at the cavern of the tunnel and groaned as he gritted his teeth. “I will endeavour
to… work with Rhaenyra and her brats,” he ground out.
“If the threat is truly to House Targaryen, and you wish to save House Targaryen despite all
they have done to your family, then I will endeavour to not squander your second chance at
life, in this era, by attempting to learn to be… amicable, with them.”
She blinked a few more times as they stood there. Aemond waited for her to either accept the
offer, or scoff at it, and her big blue eyes were wide. He did not like that he could not see half
her face to have a true gage on what she was thinking.
“Are you being sincere?” she asked bluntly.
“Yes.”
She stare at him, blinking a few more times. He was startled when she surged forward,
kissing him hard. He caught her, and braced himself on the wall, stunned at her action.
Kissing her back he pulled her a bit closer. She pulled away, and smiled a bit, her nose
brushed against his, her eyes were wide and bright, full of life, in the dancing firelight he
could see the flakes of silver, and the bright blues.
“Thank you.”
“But you must communicate what is happening with yourself,” he warned seriously.
“You should communicate as well,” she muttered.
“Very well, we will continue this slowly,” she sighed. Kissing him again, she stepped back,
and he sighed as he grabbed the torch. Her nose was again buried in the peppermint
handkerchief, and he looked around the tunnel. They started walking down the tunnels. He
turned to the left, and felt along the wall, he found the strange runes Daeron had described
and looked at Sansa who knelt to read them.
“Be true before death,” she said as she looked up at him.
“Does that mean anything to the North?” he asked.
“Not really, the North believes in facing death without fear, we do not buckle or yield in the
face with the cruelty of this life, we fight, we welcome death like we welcome Winter. We do
not turn away in the face adversity,” she explained. “Lord Dustin, Rody’s father, he… he’s
got a very famous quote in history. He met Ser Cole in battle, and Cole was attempting to talk
him out of battle.
“Cregan couldn’t go South initially for the Dance, he had the famine ravaging the North, and
he was attempting to aid in the Harvests. But he sent the Winter Wolves South, Lord Dustin
lead them, and Ser Cole attempted to talk him out of the battle, it was to be a slaughter, and…
well, Lord Roderick Dustin, he’s famous as Roddy the Ruin for a reason, and he said ‘That’s
why we come. Winter’s here. Time for us to go. No better way to die than sword in hand.’
The North, we like to die fighting, we believe it prepares us for whatever is next, I suppose,
but, death in battle, it’s a very honorable death.”
“That battle…” Aemond started but cut himself off as he shook his head.
“I… I do not think we should discuss it, but… it was one of your greatest military failures,”
she grimaced. “My father said no one studied the Dance for military brilliance, but for it’s
failures. If… if you are willing to learn, Aemond, and not let your passions rule you, I think
you will learn much.”
“Cole… did he…” Aemond murmured.
“He died in that battle,” Sansa admitted softly. He flinched. He killed the man who was the
closest thing to a father he’d ever had… of everything Sansa had told him, of all his failures
in history, or in her recorded history, killing his family, had him trembling in agony. How
could everything have gone so terribly wrong? All because he lost his temper and Lucerys
was the victim of that moment? Sansa’s hand touched his arm, and he looked at her. Failure
was not an option, not this time, he vowed quietly. The stakes were too high.
“We’ll not let that happen, and… you’ll have time with Cole again,” she promised.
“I do not believe that to matter, Sansa,” he murmured. “I have made choices, but I would
prefer not to be the reason my entire family dies.”
She nodded. “We should keep going…” she sighed.
He agreed as they started down the tunnel. He pulled out Daeron’s maps, looking around as
they walked quietly. Sansa kept her nose buried in her handkerchief, but she looked very grey
at this moment. Aemond focused on moving forward though. He couldn’t change whatever
he was known in history for, but he could learn, he would learn, he would have to if he
wanted to prevent his House from collapsing. They kept moving, and he paused as they
reached another set of tunnels. They were so far down beneath the city they couldn’t hear it,
though he felt the vibrations of life above them. Sansa peered over his shoulder at the map,
and they looked at one another.
“Right or left?” she asked.
“East,” he answered softly. She nodded as they went to the center tunnel and kept moving
through it. Going down another flight of stairs, they paused and he looked around, the sound
of rushing water had him walking towards the noise. Sansa followed closely and they paused
as they came to an underground cavern, there was a small rushing water river, with a bridge
built over it. Sansa gagged, and turned as she threw up in a corner. He put up the torch as he
pulled her hair back. Her hair had long since escaped its braids. When she was finally
regaining her breath, he looked her over carefully. She was still very pale.
“Let’s go,” she breathed as she wiped her mouth. He helped her up and they looked around
the cavern.
“There’s fresh prints,” Sansa said as she walked around the cavern with the torchlight guiding
her. “Cregan, Sara and Bryan, all taught me hunting, these are, if not fresh, recent,” she said
as she looked around.
He was inclined to agree.
He stared at where they had disappeared and frowned. If he was honest, he had not expected
his nephew or his bride to be in Oldtown. The Stark girl was unexpected entirely.
He had learnt about his nephew’s disposition through what few friends he retained, and what
few informants he had. Aemond was nothing particularly spectacular. A half-wit with a talent
for numbers according to the rumors, but according to his contacts, Aemond was rather
intelligent, if weak and malleable to his brother’s will. Aemond had recently married the
Stark girl though, and if the ballads were to be believed, it was, for all intents and purposes, a
love match. Which was, unsettling.
Love was an emotion which made one unpredictable, and vulnerable, and he did not believe
anyone in his family truly had the fortitude for what he knew, but he had held out vain hopes
that perhaps one could. It was unlikely he could reach out to his sister, she had left long
before he had even caught onto the genuine threat against them all. Hist fool of a father could
not see he was leading them all to ruination.
It was not the queer Targaryen customs which would kill them out, no, it was truly the
inability to adapt, while retaining immense power. It was not the dragons which would
destroy his House, no, it was love. Love was an infernal emotion which Targaryens were
fueled by and it made them fools. Thus far, he had only been informed of one relative not
afflicted by love and that was Prince Aemond, and that was not boding well as he had
followed the pair around. Never was he one to put stock in ballods, given their fanciful nature
and inability to be genuine, but he was inclined to believe the match one of love. And he
didn’t like that prospect.
He would keep an eye on the pair though.
For ten years, since he had returned to Oldtown, he had kept careful eyes peeled on his
enemies, and his enemies were none the wiser to his life and return. However, his enemies
were turning their eyes on the young prince and his bride. He would keep an eye out on his
nephew, learn what sort of man he was. Perhaps he would prove to be of a more solid
constitution to his mother and father, neither of them had believed they had true enemies. A
hubris of House Targaryen, he supposed, the inability to see the difference between love and
hatred when they were so ruled by passions.
Walking to the Stranger’s statue he looked around for an indication of where his nephew and
his bride disappeared, but was surprised to see nothing to indicate they had even been here.
Strange, he thought, could the tunnels be more elaborate than he was aware of?
Sansa and Aemond had spent most of their day walking beneath the city, and learning the
tunnels, it had not taken her long to find the one constructed by her ancestor. When she and
Aemond had identified that tunnel, they had proceeded to escape into Oldtown, they found
themselves free on the streets near the library district. Sansa had been surprised when they
saw the sun setting. Walking back to the ferry, and sailing back to Hightower, Aemond
ordered them a bath, and lead them to their quarters. He had sent word to his uncle they
would not be attending supper, but rather requested a meal brought to them, for which Sansa
was grateful. She wasn’t certain she could stomach a meal if she had to be near Lyonel, she
just didn’t think her stomach could handle it.
Leaning in the hot tub, she closed her eyes as they just sat in silence. Aemond was lounging
at the desk, reading over the map, and she was in the bath. Aemond was absorbed in his own
plans and thoughts, and Sansa found it a bit amusing to watch him. Without his eyepatch on
at this moment, and the naked scar facing her, she found herself a bit mesmorized by him.
Yes, Aemond was handsome, but his relaxed manner at this moment, the unguarded focus he
had on his expression, it was very endearing in her opinion, and she rather enjoyed watching
him.
“Tomorrow we should attempt to get to the Citadel,” he murmured as he turned to look at her.
“Now that we have an entrance,” he explained.
“Aye, we should,” she agreed. He frowned as he walked over, leaning down.
“I am trying, Sansa,” he promised seriously.
“I know,” she sighed tiredly. “I do hope for us to do things we also enjoy, not just hunting for
money, and embezalment,” she mused.
“We can… after Oldtown, there is little fun here,” he murmured honestly as she shifted in the
bath. His gaze was intense and she bit her lip as she looked down at herself. She had her hair
flowing all around her, and she wasn’t feeling particularly beautiful, but the intensity of his
gaze was startling.
“Where are we going after Oldtown?” she asked.
“Honeyholt,” he answered. “And from there, we’ll go to High Garden, then to the
Stormlands, I have a few… acquaintances to visit there, then House Baratheon, and then the
Crownlands, then the Vale, then the Riverlands, then the North,” he said.
“Mmm,” she hummed.
“Is something the matter?” he asked warily.
“No,” she assured with a smile. “Nothing is the matter, Aemond, I’m just… thinking.”
“About what?” he asked as he came down so his arms rested on the rim of the tub.
“You first,” she said.
“I asked first,” he countered.
She snorted as her head fell back. “So you did.”
“I… I do not know how to do this,” he muttered.
“I’m thinking about our moves, Aemond. We need allies,” she admitted. “I do not think
Hightowers will be our allies, but we need a Great House of the Reach. I believe the
Lannisters, if not allies at this moment, have the ability to be allies they are Greens, but I do
not think House Lannister and House Hightower get along. So there is the prospect of pulling
them to our side, but I do not want them husband hunting Cregan, he has endured enough.
We should seek to make allies with the Tarlys, Lady Samantha… she’s, she’s in love with
your cousin, Lyonel, their relationship was quite the scandal, your cousin Ormund died
sometime during the Dance, there was no love loss in his death, but Lady Sam’s relationship
with Lord Lyonel Hightower, is infamous, also, she’s the ancestor to Sam, and I… I find
myself surprised but I do miss Sam.”
“We shall make friends with House Tyrell,” Aemond pointed out.
She snorted. “Pardon me, Aemond, but, House Tyrell, in my era had barely risen to the affirm
status of Great House, and that was primarily because of Olena and Margaery, and even then,
they had just barely been accepted as true Paramounts.”
“I thought they were… by decree of Aegon the Conqueror…” Aemond started.
“No,” she chuckled as she looked at him with a small smile. “No. The Tyrells were stewards
to the Gardener Kings, they were elevated to Lord Paramount, and Warden of the South by
decree of King Aegon, but that does not mean they are a Great House. The insult of their rise,
it has created a bit of a discourse between the two Great Houses of the Reach. If Aegon
should’ve named anyone Lord Paramount of the South it should’ve been House Tarly, or
Hightower. Perhaps then this… conspiracy wouldn’t be happening,” she sighed. “We should
seek to make friends with the Tarlys,” she informed him. “Yes, we’ll make friends with the
Tyrells, but the Tarlys would be a better ally.”
“I… I did not know this,” Aemond admitted.
“It rarely occurs to me,” she shrugged. “We should also seek to make allies with House
Baratheon, though that might be difficult with your relationship with Cassandra,” she pointed
out with a baleful glare.
“She did that to herself,” he muttered.
“I know, but still, your temper,” she sighed as she dragged her hand through her hair. “I do
not think we’ll make allies with the Arryns, I did insult Lady Arryn’s heir,” she muttered.
“Why did you do that?”
“I told you of my Aunt Lyanna…” she murmured.
“Yes,” he replied.
“That’s why,” she answered. “I’m not going to be used as a prize between men, I will remain
faithful to my husband and offer my favor to no one but him.”
He kissed her then and she smiled. “I am trying,” he promised.
Sansa didn’t say she felt she had his trust again. Given Aemond’s aversion to small
affections, sharing his personal space, as well as conversation in general, she felt they were
something, and he did trust her to some degree, perhaps not what it had been, but she hadn’t
lost him. Not entirely.
“We need allies, and to pick them carefully, whatever we learn, it will be vital to have the
right allies in place so we can act or wait,” she murmured. “As I said, you have much to learn
about war,” she smiled.
He snorted as he looked her over. “For now, you should get out of there, and eat,” he
murmured.
“Only if you eat too,” she warned seriously. He looked a little startled, but nodded. She
waited as he turned to the waiting meal, then she rose out of the tub, grabbing a drying cloth,
then Aemond’s shirt. She rather liked having his scent surrounding her. Not bothering to get
dressed further, she braided her hair loosely and walked over to where Aemond had set out
the food. Sitting she looked at her husband, he eyed her warily and she smiled as she started
eating her portion. He cut into his own portion then.
“What about you, what are you planning?” she asked as they ate.
“These are the record halls, we should seek them out, they’re restricted. Tomorrow I intend…
if you do not mind, we… affections and passions, if we are… passionate, in a manner that is
public, I believe we will be left to our own devices. Once alone, we should seek this tunnel,
and go to Oldtown, it will not take us long. We shall spend the whole day there, and return
for the evening meal,” he explained.
“Mmm, and how passionate shall we be?” she asked.
“You have admitted to enjoying our… affections,” he stammered out.
“Yes,” she agreed.
“Then… perhaps we shall attempt to be… normal,” he replied, his ears were red. She stared
at him, and smiled. “Everything between us has been abnormal, perhaps we shall be… or
attempt to learn, not only our… preference, but how to be… normal,” he muttered.
“I’d like that,” she replied honestly. She would like that. Never had anything ever been
normal for her.
He nodded. “We will have to be quiet in the halls though, we cannot be seen or caught, if you
act as a look out, I will look through the records quickly, I know what I’m seeking.”
“I would serve better as a look out,” she agreed. Numbers were not her forte, she was well
aware of her mathematic struggles, where her husband seemed to love mathematics, she felt
mathematics were cruel torture from the Gods to punish her. It was difficult enough for her to
learn, but anything pertaining to numbers, and she was slower than normal. Aemond though
just seemed to understand numbers, she envied that. His ability to learn was astounding and
impressive, especially since he did not seem to have any formal tutors since his tenth
nameday; at least from what he had described.
“You are not stupid,” Aemond said suddenly.
She blinked a few times, and smiled at him. “I am slow, Aemond, and that is fine, we must all
have different strengths and weaknesses, you are a sharp mind.”
“As are you,” he informed her.
“It is very kind of you to say, but I believe my tutors will disagree, and I am fine with this,”
she assured.
“I am not,” he informed her. “I… I am trying Sansa, and we are friends, I would not lie and
say you are stupid, or slow.”
“I would not say you’re a half-wit,” she said carefully. He nodded, and seemed satisfied. She
softened. Aemond was clumsy, and direct, but she found it refreshing and endearing. Aemond
was not how history remembered and it saddened her greatly that his legacy was so contorted
from who he actually was.
Aemond ate his entire plate of food, and snagged some extra, Sansa ate most her plate, with
exception to the carrots; her stomach churned at the idea of eating those. Instead, she hid the
distaste by serving herself an extra portion of potatoes, which seemed to satisfy Aemond as
he watched her.
Chapter 33
Chapter Notes
3rd day of the 7th Lunar Cycle, Year 128 AC
Aemond woke to Sansa wriggling against him again, she gave soft sounds as she squirmed,
pressing herself into his chest. He pulled her tighter as he shifted.
“Sansa,” he said softly in her ear. She growled, squirming as she seemed to be trying to
escape whatever dream she was in, a small, pained sound, then he saw a tear escaping her in
her sleep.
“Sansa!” he snarled. She gasped as she jerked awake gripping his arm with bruising force as
she looked around. He pulled her closer as he saw her twist around in his arms, but slowly
sagged into the bed when she saw him. He pressed his lips to her temple as she turned in his
arms.
“You’re safe,” he promised as she lay there slowing her breaths. She looked up at him, and he
pressed his lips to her brow.
“I dreamt I was back in the Red Keep,” she whispered. “I couldn’t stop them, I couldn’t
stop…”
“You’re not,” he replied as he pulled her closer. He pressed a kiss to her temple as they lay
there. She shifted in his arms; he felt her lips pressed to his jaw as she scooted up in his arms.
Aemond looked at her.
“I want to forget,” she said firmly. He moved her hair aside as they lay there. “I want… good,
and normal, and… you said we could try to be normal… and we enjoy kissing.”
He blinked a few times, but nodded as they laid there. Sansa tilted her head back, she reached
up, tracing his unscarred cheek, smiling a little, he looked her over carefully. Impulse had
him kissing her softly, she kissed him back, he deepened the kiss as he shifted, rolling over
her. Sansa kissed him hard, her hands slid up to his shoulders, he was careful kissing her, she
gave a soft groan as he found himself braced on his elbows, her legs wrapped around his
waist. She was so soft, he felt her arch up against him, he pulled away, pressing a kiss against
her jaw, and down to her throat. He felt her pulse hammering against his lips, and smiled a
little as he felt her pulse, his hand traced the other side of her jawline then. She gave a soft
giggle as she tilted her head, giving him better access as she kissed his hand.
Aemond inhaled sharply, she smelled like peppermint, lemons, and something else,
something sharp, crisp and cold. He kissed her pulse again, enjoying the way it was
hammering against his lips. Her nails dug into his shoulders, he groaned a bit when she slid
her fingers into his hair. She moaned as he carefully nipped her pulse, he enjoyed knowing
she trusted him, feeling her shift as she rolled her hips. A snarl escaped him at her small
action as his own hips surged against hers in response. Fuck, she felt so warm, and he could
feel how wet she was when she ground against him! Nipping her collar bone, he paused at a
mark.
She wriggled, grinding her hips into him, he reached down to still her hips as he kissed the
scar on her collar bone. It was a small, dangerous little mark, he doubted she was aware of
how dangerous that scar actually was. He came up over to her, kissing her again. She pushed
up kissing him as they rolled onto their sides again. He was startled when she lightly bit his
lip as he pulled away. She smiled mischievously as she kissed his scarred cheek, he was a bit
frozen at her action. Her lips were soft, and gentle as she kissed the scar, she dragged her
nails over his scalp, and he closed his eye as she pressed her lips beside his empty socket.
There was a knock, but he didn’t respond as he turned, kissing her again as he let his hand
slide down between them, she tensed a little as he trailed his knuckles over her ribs.
The door opened and he heard the maid gasp, which was when he and Sansa broke apart, he
quickly pulled Sansa against him as he watched the maid.
“I’m so sorry… my prince, I thought… I’m so sorry!” she stammered out.
“Leave,” he ordered crisply.
She scurried off, leaving the door open and Sansa snorted a bit, biting her lip as she turned to
kiss his chin.
“You could stand to not be so direct,” Sansa chuckled.
He frowned at her, and she kissed him again. “If I’m not direct, they attempt to misconstrue
my instructions, intentions, and in general my will,” he stated as he looked down at her.
“Aemond, not everything is manipulation and a game,” she promised.
He didn’t agree, kissing her before a smile curled his lips. “We’ll be left alone now,” he
pointed out.
She shook her head. “And what of afternoon meals?”
“We’re leaving in a few hours, it will give them time to give us food for the afternoon, and
we will take it with us,” he murmured as he held her hip. His thumb was rubbing circles on
the swell of her hip.
“Mmm…” she hummed as she rolled her hips towards him. “And in the meantime…?” she
asked.
“We attempt to be… normal?” he proposed uncertainly. She kissed the underside of his jaw
again, and he stared at her for a moment. “Will you tell me your dream?” he asked as they lay
there, he wanted to touch her some more, but was uncertain of what to do.
“It was a bad memory,” she replied. Her eyes flicked down as she bit her lip, she looked shy.
He reached up, touching the small mole at the top corner of her lips. Tracing his fingers down
to the other mole on her throat. She was so still, even with these small marks, she was
flawless. Suddenly her big blue eyes flicked back up to him, as she smiled a little as she bit
her lip. “I don’t want to think about it, I do want to kiss you…”
He kissed her then. She moaned against his lips.
Daemon watched his wife with their sons, lower in the gardens Helaena was sitting with her
guard, Daeron’s wife, and Daeron Velaryon. The two Dustin Northerners were imposing and
seemed unbothered by the damp weather. Thinking about it, Daemon didn’t think he had ever
seen the Northerners bothered by anything, even in King’s Landing when they weren’t in
their element, they never seemed bothered or phased, if they were commanded to do it they
did, and if they were there they adapted. Daemon could honestly say he had not seen people
as adaptable as the Notherners; in the Step Stones, all the Westerosi soldiers had been
miserable, bothered by the weather, the sea, the stench, they found things to complain about.
In Essos, the people were indulgent, fat, Daemon didn’t think they’d be very adaptable. He
turned when he saw a maester walking towards them.
“There’s been an official raven from the capitol, the first bird was lost, but the second made
it,” the maester said. “My condolences, Prince Aegon is dead, he was given a dragon rider’s
funeral,” he held out the missive. Daemon took it and waited for the maester to leave before
he read it over himself and he trembled. Walking to Rhaenyra he sat, and saw Rhaenys and
Corlys walking the gardens now. They came over and he waited for them, he was tapping his
fingers on his leg as he thought this over.
Aegon being dead was good, but it wasn’t. They’d need to secure Jaehaerys, and given
Princess Helaena was here… they could easily secure her offspring. The problem was the
Northerners, Lord Stark’s statements about his loyalty made it clear that they couldn’t just act
without the North taking up arms. And that was a problem. The North had effectively bound
Daemon’s hands. Aemond was another problem, he was uncertain of where his nephew
would be at this moment but he was probably in or near the Reach, and that was unsettling.
“What is it?” Corlys asked as he sat then.
“Prince Aegon is dead, he perished a few days ago,” Daemon held out the missive with
Alicent’s seal on it. Corlys snatched it up, and Rhaenyra stared at him wide eyed. “There’s no
longer a threat to the throne, it is Rhaenyra’s,” he informed them. “But there is still a threat to
our House,” he murmured honestly.
“House Targaryen,” Rhaenys started, but she sighed as she sagged in her own seat. Daemon
frowned, as they all looked at Princess Helaena who was smiling a bit as the other young
Velaryon woman spoke excitedly with her. The Northerners glared threateningly back and
Daemon rubbed his temple. They needed to make amends, to heal the rifts of House
Targaryen.
“Where is Rhaena?” he asked as an idea occurred to him. Sansa was not the only one in this
House who would need Ladies in Waiting, perhaps, if he could not get the young Stark to see
reason, then he could persuade Princess Helaena to accept Rhaena as a lady in waiting for her
Court. It wasn’t ideal, but Daemon wasn’t fool enough to think Baela would be amicable at
this time to be a lady in waiting for Helaena. He was going to have to think of a way to get
his daughter to see reason, but that was a problem for later.
“She’s with Morning, they’re at the beaches,” Rhaenys answered.
“Get her, and Baela,” he ordered. Rhaenys rose, and started walking.
“What are you thinking?” Rhaenyra asked him.
“I’m thinking, that if we cannot mend sway Aemond to our side, perhaps Helaena can,” he
answered as he looked at her. Rheanys paused her walk, as she stood over Corlys.
“Befriending Helaena will be the way to sway Aemond, given he is a most attentive uncle
and brother to his sister and her children, we must unite House Targaryen, and perhaps this is
the route to go.”
Rhaenyra nodded then as she seemed to understand. He kissed his wife as he rose. “Sell the
ships, Corlys,” he ordered. “We will not be able to crew them soon enough, and now with
Aegon dead, if the ships are at least with the North, and in control of Vaemond they are still
ours. Which will give us sea superiority, we have the air, and if we retain the North we will
keep the military advantage. I think Baela should go to the Vale, form a good standing with
Lady Arryn, and we’ll retain the Vale. They might be family, but we must choose our allies;
Lady Jeyne has been pledged to you since her uncles attempted to steal her seat at the Eyrie,”
he said.
“And what of House Baratheon?” Corlys asked. “We have secured the North, and the Vale,
but what of the Stormlands?”
He thought that over, he knew that Lord Baratheon had many daughters, and like Lord
Lannister, he was attempting to marry them off. There was a point at which too many
daughters was just as bad as too many sons. A marriage match should be offered, but there
was a problem of none of their suitable bachelors being of a proper age to betroth. He
scowled, he couldn’t offer Joffrey, Aegon, or Viserys, he was uncertain of retaining a
Baratheon alliance.
“I can speak to my cousin,” Rhaenys said as she paused at the steps.
“It should be done,” Corlys sighed reluctantly.
Daemon nodded. “Get Rhaena, I’ll speak to her first, and then I’ll find Baela.”
Getting up he kissed Rhaenyra’s temple as he went inside of Dragonstone, he needed to plan.

The Riverlands were a lost cause, but he knew they needed to drum up alliances, and swiftly.
If they did not have the proper allies in place, then the Greens would take the Throne, but
without a proper heir in their custody, he was uncertain how they could.
“Aemond agreed to the match,” he reaffirmed as they sat there quietly in the bowls of
Oldtown. The chamber of the Father’s Council had long since been held here, a few millennia
of crusades, and vital wars had made it important for the Kings of Old and the Faith to
converse with the Memory of Westeros.
“The boy is bewitched,” he sighed honestly as they looked amongst themselves. “Women are
such wily and beguiling creatures, one can hardly fault him for stepping off the righteous
path.”
“And what of your Northern contacts?” the archmaester asked. “What do they say about the
match?”
“The match was unexpected, there was no indications for the match until Rhaenyra and her
brats went North with that vile demon, Daemon,” he sneered. “Aemond is a weak man, a
halfwit. According to my brother he has been attending to Aegon’s duties for years because
Aegon forces him too. The boy is incapable of saying no, if he was told to marry the
Northerner then he did so, he is not smart enough to see it was a trap.”
“I have been told he is quite intelligent,” the archmaester countered.
“Yes, but the boy is a fool, he is inept at social matters,” he explained. His nephew might be
intelligent, but Aemond was so stunted with social abilities, it was vexing. Even now, the boy
barely spoke, and his orders were harsh and direct, the lack of tact was clear he lacked any
prowess to communicate. And Aemond’s unwillingness to cow his wife, it was vexing. The
Northerner should know her place, and let the men speak, the sheer audacity for her to
engage in theological debate, and to speak as an equal no less. It was a grave insult, and the
fact Aemond permitted it, and would not cow his wife, it infuriated him. His nephew should
not permit her to speak in such a manner. If she’d been his wife…
“And how do you seek to rectify this?” the High Septon inquired.
“A marriage to a proper bride,” he replied. “A true ceremony at the Starry Sept is needed,
before the Seven and the people, to know that the Crown has not faltered from the True path,
but also, so we do not permit the people to forget their proper place. This… Lady Sansa,” he
sneered. “Is a wild, untamed heathen who threatens our way of life, and the fact the
Northerners permit and praise her conceited temperament is insulting to Westerosi tradition!
Lord Stark’s willful permitting of his sisters to dare to think themselves… equal to their
betters is an insult and threat! Lord Stark permitted his youngest sister to compete in a race at
Prince Aemond’s tourney!”
“And she won.” The High Septon stated icily.
“The insult of that act against the young knights competing for their honor and rights, she
dare to compete to humiliate them, and for what?” he demanded. “A woman’s place is not
riding in a tourney, nor is it outside of the bed! We shall have a proper wedding, before the
Seven, so the people know the Crown is on the True path, and we will ensure Prince Aemond
is wed to a woman of proper breeding.”
“I presume your daughter is to be his bride?” the High Septon inquired.

“I had Bethany released from service to Princess Helaena after the wedding of Prince
Aemond, it is imperative we maintain a hold on the Throne, if we lose this hold then
Westeros will fall into ruination and chaos,” he said.
“I agree, it is imperative, but what of Lady Sansa?”
“That Northern heathen will be dealt with soon enough,” he said confidently. “Reports from
Lord Manderly illustrate why it is imperative we turn our gaze to Westeros, the people of
Westeros need to be saved from these tempting ways. I believe we should continue with the
righteous plan, as we had begun before Aegon the Conqueror.”
“Should we not secure our line on the Crown before continuing with our righteous path?” he
turned to look at the High Septon.
“It is imperative to begin the saving of Westeros and not just the Crown, Dorne and the North
remain beyond our reach, and it is imperative we make them see the righteous path, to save
ourselves and Westeros. This… union of Targaryen and Stark is unacceptable at this time and
it is vital we continue the work of the Seven. It is vital to pray to the Smith for aid to rebuild
Westeros true and strong, but also the Crone so she might guide our righteous path.”
“And if it should come to another crusade?” he asked. “We have not recovered from the
cruelties of Maegor, and many of the faithless threaten us.”
“That is why it is vital to bring our flock back to us, arrange a union between House
Lannister and House Hightower, perhaps the proud Lions will turn away their vanity, you
have many grandsons, Lord Lannister has many daughters, it is vital we arrange a union
between them. Securing the gold of Westeros will elevate us,” the High Septon explained.
“Also look to the east, Lady Cassandra is of proper age, the stags are always powerful allies.”
He nodded in agreement.
“As for the wolf, she wears a sheeps clothing, she will be dealt with, have the proper bride
prepared,” the High Septon rose.
“Have you heard from the North recently?” the archmaester asked.
“No, but the Warrior is strong, and sure, the Father will aid in our will,” the High Septon said
firmly.
He nodded in agreement.
“We will give Aemond a proper bride, the death of Prince Aegon has created a new
opportunity, if we can obtain the young Targaryen prince, and turn his uncles to the righteous
path, then Prince Jaehaerys will live a long and true rule,” the High Septon predicted.
“It is imperative we move swiftly, as Vaegon proved, the dragons are, despite all qualms they
might have amongst one another, fiercely protective of their House,” the archmaester said
carefully.
He agreed, they had never expected Vaegon of all Targaryens to pose a threat to them.
Vaegon had held his family in contempt, he never spoke highly of them, and he never spoke
poorly of them. There was a time he had thought Vaegon to be the most reasonable of the
Targaryens given his utter lack of emotion. But then Vaegon had betrayed them all, and that
had been a painful and stark reminder that the dragons could not be trusted entirely. Even the
dragonless dragons were dangerous. Vaegon was no exception. His shoulder still throbbed
from the old wound from Vaegon. He remembered Vaegon’s face when he had dealt the
killing blow too, the usually stoic, expressionless man looked at him with a look of absolute
hatred before he fell into the Honeywine.
“We shall give Aemond a proper bride, and I have men on the way to retrieve Prince
Jaehaerys as we speak, I have sent my best men, they shall be in the Crownlands within a
fortnight, and from there shal sail to Driftmark,” he assured.
“Good, we shall meet again in a fortnight,” the High Septon assured as he rose. He nodded as
he bowed to the High Sept and watched the man swiftly walk away.
“Divert some of the funds to the construction of the outer city walls, we should fortify our
Holy City in preparations for the coming war, and speak to our Dornish contacts, see if we
can acquire some more of their Hellholts, it is vital we are ready for Daemon’s moves, if we
can down Caraxes, then the Blacks will have lost their vital dragon rider.”
“Should we not arrange a trap then?” the archmaester asked.
“No, agents are in place to deal with Princess Rhaenyra, women are so vulnerable and weak,”
he stated.
The archmaester nodded in understanding. The problem would remain with Daemon.
Daemon was the unpredictable threat of the Blacks, everything else could be managed. It
would just take patience. And House Hightower was very good at being patient. They had
spent millennia molding Westeros before the infernal, queer dragonlords of Valyria had set
foot upon their shores, and they would have the House of the Dragon know their rightful
place. Turning he left to walk the tunnels to Hightower. Everything was a matter of patience
and planning. It could take millennia, but time was of no importance, so long as their House
stood, they could work patiently, in the shadows. If Aegon had cruely slaughtered House
Gardener, then the Hightowers would already possess control of the Reach and perhaps the
Westerlands and Stormlands, but no matter, House Targaryen had been an unexpected, minor
problem to the long term salvation of Westeros.
Getting to the hall of records was a bit challenging, primarily because Aemond had been
surprised at how much he enjoyed being… normal, with Sansa. She was a responsive
woman, and though they had not had a coupling, he had found he rather enjoyed her presence
and her flavor. She was so damn responsive, he had not expected a woman to seem to
genuinely enjoy his presence. Yes, Aemond sought to try to make his partners when he
selected them to feel good, but whores were paid, Sansa was not, so her pleasure was a
genuine surprise to him. It was intoxicating to know he could make her beg for pleasure from
him, it was surprisingly exhilarating how he could have her pleading, and writhing under his
touch. He’d almost been tempted to remain in their bed all day, but the midday meal’s
delivery reminded him that they did have a mission to accomplish. The embezzalling was a
why they had bothered to go on a campaign through Westeros rather than just going North to
Winterfell after their wedding.
Now he was pulling Sansa up out of the hole in an entrance, she was quiet as he set her on the
ground and they looked around as he carefully got up. The floor was wood, he bit his lip as
he looked at the heavy planks, no doubt designed to be loose and alert maesters to other’s
presence. Aemond had noticed that Winterfell employed similar tactics throughout their
Keep, though the heavy stone floors were not uncommon either. He looked at Sansa as she
stood, she tucked her skirts on her belt as she looked at him. He pressed a finger to his lips,
and she slowly nodded. Aemond moved carefully, Sansa placed her feet where he did, and
they tiptoed through the heavy stacks of shelves. Peering around, Aemond was surprised to
see no one around, tilting his head up, he looked up the spiralling tower. Sansa looked up, her
jaw dropping as her eyes went wide. There was a sound, Aemond caught Sansa, pulling her
against him as he clamped a hand over her mouth as they stepped into the shadows.
“It is vital for the funds to be diverted to the defense of the sacred city, we will fortify the
walls, and I have been tasked with going to Dorne,” someone spoke.
“Very well, I will have the masons work on a plan to protect the city, but what of the dragons,
are they not a problem?”
“No,” the other voice stated. Aemond tensed as he pulled Sansa closer to him, peering around
the corner. He saw the two maesters there, he felt Sansa’s hand clamp his wrist, her fingers
tapping his wrist, and he glanced down at her, then moved his hand a bit as they stood there.
“Is there anything else?”
“His Holiness intends for nothing more at this time, but we should send ravens to speak to
our agents about the dragons,” he stated as they walked away. Aemond waited until they
could not hear the footsteps anymore before he looked at Sansa, she nodded, and he released
her as they darted through the stacks. Aemond found a candle and looked at Sansa as she
nodded again. They kept moving, his eyes scanning over the spins and lables of books, the
Stacks were labled by subject, and eventually he found himself looking at the tax records
section.
The advantage of maesters were they were so orderly it would continue even in their secret
records; of this Aemond had no doubt. Sansa had pointed out the Houses being so ancient
and steeped in traditions, that Aemond would wager it could be applied to the orders in the
Houses’ control. The Maesters were the memory of Westeros, and no doubt retained a system
akin to what the public had access to, even in private. The traditions, traits and histories of
the Great Houses would be both a strength and weakness, and Aemond would study more on
that later, but for now he would try to see if it applied to the orders just as well as the Houses.
It felt like hours, his heart pounding painfully in his chest as he scoured the records for what
he was seeking. Finally, he came across the most recent records, the ink was blacker, firmer,
not as faded. He started reading them over, taking a few notes in Valyrian as he went. Sansa
stood as his look out as he read. The most recent records didn’t line up with his own records,
which was the first discrepancy he noted, they were rather like the Northern records, but there
were odd lists of symbols beside the amounts. It caused him to frown, he looked at the
symbols and blinked a few times. It wasn’t a new language, of that he was certain, it wasn’t
Valyrian glyphs, or Old Tongue Runes, or the old Andal language, no, this was different.
Something else, he looked at the markings and looked up, Sansa was keeping a look out, and
so he sat, then started writing the marks out as he worked on copying as much as he could as
swiftly as he could. He didn’t recognize the language, if it was a language, he wasn’t certain
what this was, he worked swiftly though.
The symbols had some sort of pattern, he couldn’t figure it out though, he was confused as he
wrote out more of it though. There seemed to be some sort of correlation with these symbols,
numbers, and records. Looking at it at first glance one would think it was just a different
language, but he didn’t think that to be the case. He’d have to study these symbols more, he
was certain there was something here, but he didn’t think it was a language. Glancing at
Sansa, he noted that she was still looking out, she looked alert and tense, ready to move.
Working on copying more of what he found, he tuned out the world as he worked.
Finally, she touched his shoulder, he looked up and closed the record, putting it on the shelf.
They’d have to do this over the course of days, he knew this, but he didn’t want to leave.
Looping his arm around Sansa’s waist they exited the records. He lowered her into the
tunnels, dropping his bag to her before he followed, closing the entrance behind him. Once he
dropped down, he jerked his head, and they started walking swiftly out of the tunnel.
“What did you find?” she asked as they walked.
“Nothing new, but I will examine it more when we are out of Oldtown,” he decided.
“What did you think the maesters were talking about?” Sansa asked as they hurried along.
“I do not know, but I do not like it,” he admitted as he pulled her against him as they came to
a steeper part of the tunnel, he pressed her in between himself and the wall so she didn’t fall.
Sansa was quiet, but he didn’t want to speak about anything right now, his mind was racing
with the overheard conversation and dread in his gut.
Sansa and he exited into the Hightower library, when he heard voices. Tensing, he nearly
panicked until Sansa grabbed him, hopping up on the tables as she pulled him into her for a
hard kiss which took him by surprise. Her legs hooked around his hips as she pulled him
closer with surprising strength, he braced himself against the table as she nearly fell back, he
nipped her lip as he felt her fingers drag through his hair.
“Cousin,” a voice sounded surprised and disgusted, Aemond turned to look at Lyonel and
Lady Samantha Tarly.
“Lyonel,” he replied dryly as he rose slightly from Sansa. He noted that Sansa had hidden his
bag on a chair beneath her skirts.
“I believe we were clear, passions are not for the public areas of Hightower,” he stated as he
glared at Sansa. Aemond looked at Lady Samantha, who looked a bit flushed, and blustered,
her hair mused a little, and her lips swollen. He remembered what Sansa had said about his
cousin’s affair with Lady Samantha Tarly being quite infamous, and looking between the pair
he nearly smiled at having a lethal edge because of his wife’s knowledge. If it was known
that Lady Samantha was involved with Lyonel, the resulting scandal between House
Hightower and House Tarly would be an insult to grave to ignore, resulting in both their
executions ultimately because of the betrayal of family and Faith. Of that Aemond had no
doubt, their affair was a dangerous one. Especially with the element of Lady Samantha being
engaged to Ormund at this moment for marriage.
“I’ll not accept lectures about my conduct with my wife, from a cousin alone with his father’s
fiancée,” Aemond stated. The pair sputtered, as Lyonel paled drastically, and his eyes went
wide and terrified. Aemond felt Sansa bury her nose into his neck then, and chanced a glance
at her, she was looking very grey at this moment.
“There is nothing scandalous about my relationship with Lady Sam!” Lyonel sputtered.
Aemond wondered if his cousin had caught onto the affectionate short name, he had given
Lady Samantha; probably not. Lyonel was not a very smart man or observant in Aemond’s
experience.
“Does Ser Ormund know of your… friendship, with Lady Samantha?” he inquired.
“It is none of your concern!” Lyonel sputtered.
“Just as my relationship is none of yours, should you not agree, cousin?” Aemond asked as
he felt Sansa’s hand curling tighter against his shoulder. “You do look… ravishing, this
evening, Lady Samantha, perhaps you could teach my wife how you get your lips so, red,” he
said as he looked between her and his cousin.
Lady Samantha paled drastically as her hand lifted to her lips, and Lyonel looked mortified
then. Aemond waited.
“Whatever you are insinuating…” Lyonel started.
“Given your… condition, cousin, I insinuate nothing. I am certain your father would be
pleased to know his wife’s beguiling skills.”
“You dare to insinuate upon Lady Sam’s honor!?” Lyonel started ferociously.
“I would never insult Lady Samantha. For it is your honor I’m questioning.”
“My honor is impeccable, how dare you even besmirch my honor!”
“I could never besmirch your honor, cousin, merely inquire if you possess any to begin with.
Though admittedly, this offense is the first I’ve witnessed not against my own person, but
rather, your father’s and House’s,” Aemond countered.
“I have honor! You… you… you… half-wit!” Lyonel sputtered.
“Half-wit? It is not very original for an insult,” Aemond drawled out. “I am unsurprised
though at your lack of wit and tact, given you are attempting to seduce the innocent Lady
Samantha and steal her from her intended. Very dishonorable of you cousin, tell me, was your
intentions to have her catch your babe and elope with her before the Seven?”
“If you persist upon questioning my honor, I shall be forced to set you straight, in a duel of
combat!”
“Do you truly desire that, cousin? For it will end poorly for you,” he stated with a sharp
smile. Aemond knew that his reputation as a half-wit did not extend to his skills with a blade.
Aemond might lack real combat but he was learning, and he was one of the best with a blade
in the Seven Kingdoms; Cole had seen to it that Aemond was skilled with a blade. And with
Cregan and the North’s tutelage, Aemond had learned how to be fiercer, fight dirtier, and
harder than any one in the South. Lyonel paled a little, and seemed to mimic a fish with his
mouth opening and closing. “however, I will not speak to the matter if we can come to an
accord,” Aemond stated.
“What do you want?” Lyonel growled.
“I’ll think of something, in the meantime, something about your perfume is unsettling my
wife’s stomach, go bathe, properly and find something less revolting to wear,” Aemond
ordered as he rose. “Lady Samantha, would you kindly escort my wife to the Hightower
gardens? She would likely enjoy the company.”
Sansa smiled against Aemond’s throat.
“And what are you going to do, cousin?” Lyonel asked.
“I have many things to discus with my uncle and his heir,” Aemond stated as he rose. Sansa
kept herself pressed against him and he waited for his cousin to decide what he wanted to do,
what his next move was, before he relented and stalked off. Sansa gagged as she curled into
his shoulder.
“I would like to see the gardens,” Sansa said as soon as she seemed to finally get herself
undercontrol. He nodded as he pressed his lips to her temple and released her then. Sansa
smiled at Lady Samantha before he watched them leave. Alone he sagged against the table,
trembling a little as he grabbed up his bag and went for their quarters. He wouldn’t be fool
enough to leave this in his quarters, but he wanted time to examine it.
Once in his quarters again, he pulled off his bag and thought over what Sansa had told him,
and what she had said they needed. Allies, they needed allies, preferably of the Great Houses,
Sansa wanted to connect with Lannisters, Tarlys, and Baratheons, which he would admit
would be good, but getting Hightower seemed important even if Sansa didn’t see it. Perhaps
with controlling Lyonel he could obtain Hightower, if Lyonel wanted Lady Samantha Tarly
then perhaps a match would be utilized to gain Lyonel as an ally. Which was an intriguing
idea, because Aemond had no doubt to obtain House Hightower as an ally they’d have to
eliminate some members of the House, but he could think that over. War was inevitable, of
that he had no doubt.
Once he was sitting at his desk, he started looking at the copied records and frowned. There
was something here, he could see that, but he didn’t know what was here. He read over the
symbols carefully and started writing them out, just one copy of each symbol he found.
Perhaps this was a cipher or code of some sort, he wanted a marker of each symbol. Once he
had that, he started writing out each letter in the common tongue, then each number, he’d get
Sansa to write out each rune of Old Tongue for him later. Looking at what he had he tapped
his finger against his cheek and frowned. It looked confusing, but perhaps it would become
clearer as he deciphered whatever these symbols were. They had to be important, because he
didn’t think he’d ever seen them anywhere else in the records. Sighing, his head fell back as
he rubbed his temple. He noted the time as the bells started ringing. The night meal would be
served now, getting up, he put away his notes, hiding them carefully in a hole in his riding
bag before he walked to the meal.
Chapter End Notes
My goal of having this done by the end of July was thwarted by working for an idiot,
and now I'm on a job-hunting quest. The worst part about working for an idiot is the fact
they are determined to remain stupid, and somehow everyone in management keeps
covering for them. So, I'm not fired, but I need a job-job and not the current job I have in
retail. I also got a bit sidetracked because I have to set up college things, so yeah, I got a
little slowed down.
Chapter 34
Chapter Notes
Sansa walked beside Lady Samantha as they walked through the halls of Hightower. Sansa
wisely kept her nose buried in her handkerchief. She was wary of trying to remove her nose
from the heavenly, cool scent of peppermint and something akin to Aemond. Her stomach
really could not take it, something was just bothering her sense of smell to the point of
distraction, her only reason for not losing her stomach entirely in the Citadel was solely
because she was focused on being Aemond’s eyes and ears to keep them safe. Aemond’s
ability to focus so intensely he could ignore the world was rather impressive, but he was
probably at least partially tuned to the world around him.
Lady Samantha was rather similar to Sam, same moon shape face, robust figure, and big,
earnest eyes, with a swath of brown hair to top it all off. Part of Sansa just wanted to embrace
the woman and beg to be friends; Samantha was not only one of the most commanding
women of history, while retaining the status of Lady, but also one of Sam’s ancestors. And
Sam had, in Sansa’s earnest opinion, been one of the few truly good people around, Sam was
just good, he wasn’t complicated, he was good, he was good to Gilly, their shared child, Jon,
Mance Rayder’s son, educating the children, assisting in the smithing of dragonglass, and
just… good, he was good. Sansa wouldn’t dare to think all his ancestors were the same,
knowing that Sam’s own father was horrid, but she had hopes that that goodness was
somewhere a Tarly trait, even when it was buried deep down and hidden.
Admittedly, Sansa didn’t know much about House Tarly, they were a House as old as the
Starks, supposedly, they’d been, if not Kings, very powerful in their region, and they were
loyal. Other than that, she admittedly did not know much about House Tarly.
“My Lady, pardon me, my princess, if you do not mind, this might be an impertinent
question, but… are you feeling unwell?” Lady Samantha said, rousing Sansa from her
thoughts.
Blinking twice she stared at the woman. “It is not an impertinent question, I am fine,” Sansa
replied.
“Oh, good,” Samantha nodded as they continued walking. Sansa towered over the young
woman and it was a bit odd. Sansa rarely noticed her own height, given she stood nearly as
Aemond, and Cregan, and though Jon was barely shorter than herself. Most of Cregan’s
friends were Sansa’s own height too.
“I think my stomach is just not fond of Lyonel Hightower’s perfume,” Sansa admitted as they
walked.
“Then why is your nose buried in a perfumed handkerchief?” Sam asked with a rueful smile.
“Not to worry, I’ll permit everyone to think it’s the perfume,” she giggled.
Sansa shook her head at the woman’s good nature, hiding her smile in the handkerchief.
“I…” Samantha bit her lip as she looked at her hands. “I am aware of what Prince Aemond
has threatened…”
“Yes, it was most unkind of him,” Sansa said softly.
“If my father…”
“I will speak with Aemond,” Sansa offered.
“But yourself…” Samantha stammered.
“What about me?” Sansa asked as she slowly lowered her hand with the handkerchief,
folding her arms over her middle.
“Prince Aemond… and you,” she started. “I do not want you to think less of me, I… Lyonel
and I have been friends since we were but children…” she started.
“I do not think less of you,” Sansa stated. “I… I think there’s much I do not know, and I
cannot bear witness to your choices for they are not mine to make. I cannot condemn you, but
I do not condone your choices.”
“Will you…?” Samantha started. “Prince Aemond…” she started.
“Make no mistake, no matter how I might wish for us to be friends, I am with my husband,”
Sansa said firmly. “However, I will speak to him; perhaps himself and the future Lord
Hightower will be easier to speak to when passions are not running so hot. Men and their
passions make them… difficult.”
Samantha snorted and rolled her eyes with a rueful smile. “They are peculiar creatures and
dare to call us the emotional sex!”
Sansa chuckled. “They are very emotional,” she agreed. “I have a brother, and he’s… wildly
emotional, not that anyone would dare to say as much.”
Samantha giggled a bit as they walked again.
“I know you feel you are in a precarious situation, but, for the moment, perhaps we could
attempt to be friends, I will speak with Aemond,” Sansa assured.
“I would like that very much,” Samantha breathed. “Other than Lyonel, no one here has
attempted to welcome me. Lady Bethany and her ladies in waiting have… they do not seem
receptive of me, and the other women here are so demure, I do not feel welcomed.”
“Then we shall have a magnificent tea party without all of them, we shall be friends because
we are outsiders in this queer place,” Sansa decided with a smile.
“I do not believe the Hightowers would appreciate being called ‘queer’, my princess,”
Samantha giggled.
“Whyever not? They are most peculiar, and that is not bad, merely different. It is the
differences in life which should be celebrated,” Sansa mused.
“They would prefer the assimilation of our people,” Samantha countered seriously.
Sansa felt a chill rush down her spine at the mere statement. The assimilation of the people, it
was… an unnerving way to phrase that. She didn’t know what it meant, well, she did,
because Dany had been similar, but also, how Samantha used it, it was unusual. With
Daenaerys Targaryen, she had wanted to demand the compliance of the people, she wanted
the people to bow to her and comply with her, but assimilation… an odd turn of phrase.
“What is it like in the North? I have never been north of Highgarden.”
“Well… Oldtown is the furthest South I’ve ever been, but… the North is a rugged, harsh,
wild, beautiful land,” Sansa started.
He was sitting in outside of a bakery, uncertain of what to do, he’d been following the pair
around for the past week. But in his indecision, he was waiting now for his friend. He’d
received a missive a few days ago, hand delivered to one of his hide outs; it did not cost him
much to pretend to be nothing but a honey merchant, brought to Oldtown to sell honey. It
wasn’t far from a lie either, he was forever in debt to his friend for having saved him. The
wine he’d been served was a bit too sweet, with a tang of sourness, it wasn’t pleasant, nor
unpleasant. Sipping it, he looked out at the market, a figure took a seat across from him and
he turned to look at his old weathered friend.
“It is good to see you are alive,” his friend smiled wryly. “Your missives are so…
uninformative.”
“Beesbury,” he replied.
“Prince Vaegon,” he mused.
Vaegon scowled at the reference to the title he loathed and detested, as well as the name he
could not claim. It was a shame; he had always liked his name.
“You have sent me a fool,” he sighed as he leaned back in his seat.
“You have clearly not bothered to meet him, so I will have to disagree,” Beesbury stated as
he settled in his seat.
“He is but a half-wit chasing a skirt,” Vaegon seethed. “The Northern bint is even less
impressive.”
“So closed minded, my friend,” Beesbury chuckled. “Your great-nephew is rather akin to
you, fiercer temper, more unpredictable, less noticeable, quieter, and not of such a sour
disposition, but he bears an uncanny resemblance to you.”
“I see nothing worth my time,” Vaegon dismissed. There was a stack of papers set before
him, and he frowned as he looked at Beesbury. Beesbury had halted a server, requesting his
own drink, curiosity got the better of Vaegon as he started reading over the contracts,
missives, and notes. The handwriting wasn’t one he recognized, but it was rather smooth,
better than some of his peers had been, the numbers, calculations, projections were
impressive; the contract was for inner Realm trade, between the Reach, Westerlands,
Riverlands, and North. He frowned as he read over the umbers, this was crass, crude, but not
incorrect, there were proposals for loss, and compensation, projections for growth…
“I have spent many years assisting you in your endeavors, and though you sneer at your
family, Prince Aemond is a remarkable young man, barely eight and ten namedays old. What
you are looking at is his work from when he was but sixteen, he has grown considerably
since then.”
“What is this for?” Vaegon asked.
“That Northern bint, as you call her, was cunning enough to threaten to break the Realm,”
Beesbury said. Vaegon sat up a little straighter then as he stared at his friend. “And her
brother powerful enough to back the threat. The Starks of Winterfell, they’re said to be
brilliant and dangerous…”
“The Starks would never break an oath, nor threaten to. They have built their trade in
maintaining their word, and are foolish to uphold the standard,” Vaegon stated crisply. He had
never been impressed by the Northmen when he met them, they were all so loud, brash,
tactless, it was akin to dealing with Aemon and Baelon when they were in their competitions
and tourneys, but worse.
Beesbury smiled his thanks as he accepted a glass of wine then. “I know you hold Court
gossip in high disdain, but it would behoove you, Vaegon to attempt to listen to it once in a
while,” Beesbury said when they were alone. “When you brought to me your… problem, and
I assisted in concealing your life, betraying my Lord paramount with such an action, an
action akin to treason, I did it for the good of the Realm.”
Vaegon frowned as the old scar throbbed in the reminder. “And you believe this Prince is the
best course of action? I do hear the Court rumors, Beesbury, he is weak, spineless, a child
who acts on his emotions, and a half-wit; a meager talent with numbers will not change my
mind,” Vaegon said as he pushed the contracts to Beesbury.
“No, but perhaps this will. Your unwillingness to come to the Crownlands has made
conversing with you difficult, so sit, and listen, because the rumors do not have a single
aspect of what is known correct. For that I can attest too,” he assured.
Vaegon frowned as he sipped his wine, and waited.

“Two years ago, Lord Stark came South with his Lady sister, and levelled a threat to break
the Realm, and had the power to carry through with this threat. In the Court session, Lord
Stark crossed blades with Prince Daemon to save my current friend, Ser Vaemond Valeryon,
and no doubt saving his line as well. With but four Northmen, and his sister, Lord Stark took
command of the Great Hall, and levelled his threats against King Viserys.
“Now, the threat of war is not new, but Starks have an interesting relationship with war, a
history I have only recently started learning about in depth, and they are bred for war. If the
North persists on breaking the Realm, for that is what they threatened to do, we do not have
to worry about the House of the Dragon tearing itself apart, given the Realm would do that
before they could. And there was a farce of a diplomatic dinner, in which Princess Sansa was
assaulted, by one of Princess Rhaenyra’s sons according to the servants. Prince Aemond
interceded, and attempted to mend relations with the North.
“No one knew what he was doing until he returned to the Crownlands after an impromptu
campaign, in which he secured these contracts, and in conjuncture with Ser Vaemond’s own
contracts. No one knew, no one would even wager that’s what he was doing, he secured inner
Realm trade, as well as prevented the North from collapsing under the strain of a famine. No
one would know it was him though, except I was privy to having approve the contracts, he’s
unrefined; yes, but hardly a half-wit.”
“And yet he follows the Stark girl,” Vaegon sneered.
“She is the political might of the North, Vaegon, perhaps not intelligent in a manner you
consider prevellent but the young woman did threaten to break the entire Seven Kingdoms,
her brother might have levelled the threat, but there is little doubt in my mind she
orchestrated it. That young woman forced your nephew’s hand in a way because before, even
I will admit, I believed him to be a half-wit bullied into Aegon’s work.”
“And now?” Vaegon raised his brow.
“Now I believe for the good of the Realm,” Beesbury sipped his wine.
“A very treasonous statement,” Vaegon pointed out.
“Not at this moment, he’s made no attempts to claim the Crown, he’s impulsive,
temperamental, quiet, but he’s shown wit and intelligence, as well as the ability to force his
family’s hand and force his family into compliance,” Beesbury shrugged. “If given the right
guidance and connections, he will be a force to be reckoned with, not merely a threat because
he claimed Vhagar.”
Vaegon leaned back in his seat as he looked out at the crowd. “And what are your true
intentions for my nephew?” he looked at Beesbury then.
“The boy his young, malliable, war is inevitable, perhaps by the end, for the good of the
Realm,” he tilted his head as he shrugged and sipped his wine.
“That is most treasonous,” Vaegon stated stiffly.

“Not any worse than the Great Council selecting an heir,” Beesbury countered.
“I still stand by the decision, Rhaenys is too akin to Lady Jocelyn, and Baratheons are… not
suited for the Crown, they will lead the Realm to ruination, and petty squabbles. The
Baratheon House might possess the power of kings, but they never were, nor are they meant
to be,” he stated.
“And yet, instead of endorsing Daemon you endorsed Viserys to your father.”
“I did not,” Vaegon stated firmly. “I advocated that if my father was insistent upon breaking
the line of succession for the Realm, then he should listen, truly listen, to the Realm, and to
do that, he would need to select a man of the people; I advocated for Daemon to be his heir.”
“I was unaware.”
“I might not like my nephew, but of my siblings’ offspring, I believed Daemon to be the best
suited for the Crown,” he sighed. His nephew was impulsive, brash, dangerous, but he was
also good at inspiring loyalty, he was good at tactics, and asking the right questions, he was
inquisitive, commanding, and humble. Yes, Daemon had an ego like all the rest of the
Targaryens, but there was a humility within Daemon which appealed to Vaegon.
“If you advocated for Daemon, then I believe you will enjoy Aemond.”
“And why should I not seek to put Daemon on the throne this time?” Vaegon challenged.
“Daemon is in love,” Beesbury stated primly. Vaegon scowled. “It is no secret he has been in
love with Princess Rhaenyra since her sixteenth nameday, perhaps longer, he is possessive of
her, he will burn the Realm to put her on the Throne, and though she might be the better
cannidate because with the right council she’ll be pliable, she’s also Aemma Arryn’s and
Viserys Targaryen’s daughter. She is so far removed from the Realm she could not be an
objective leader, and further, her father never trained her, and Daemon being her husband and
sole council will only have the Realm plunging into ruin. Ser Otto Hightower has burned
whatever bridges Daemon might make to form a cohesive council of his own, no, their feud
has dashed any hopes you might have of a reasonable council guiding the Targaryen
dynasty.”
“And you believe my nephew, Aemond, is a more malliable selection?” he sighed in

disbelief.
Beesbury smiled dryly as he looked out at the crowd. “Yes. I did not believe it initially, but
yes, I do now. He has sought my council, as well as Tyland Lannister’s, Vaemond Valeryon’s,
and Cregan Stark’s, he’s inquisitive, cunning, firm, quiet, and his wife is a great asset of
appeal. She is intelligent, cunning, and a Stark. You should research House Stark.”
“This does not change the fact he is infatuated with the Stark girl,” he pointed out seriously.
“A Targaryen in love is not a good thing,” he murmured honestly. “Love will destroy my
house.”
“Love is how the Starks retain their position,” Beesbury countered softly. Vaegon frowned. “I
have sent a missive to Aemond, and his young wife, to join me for a meal, I hope you are
there.”
“Why?”
“Meet him, Vaegon,” Beesbury sighed. “Before you condemn your House, a House which
you love.”
“My father was a fool,” he muttered sourly as he glared at the street.
“King Jaehaerys was many things, but a father was not one of them,” Beesbury agreed.
Vaegon looked at Beesbury, the older man sipped his wine and sat there leisurely. Part of
Vaegon had always envied the ability to love and be loved, but as his father had proven,
House Targaryen and love was a fool’s errand.
“I regret not listening to Seara,” he sighed after a bit of time. “She was a dreadful brat, but
she was not a fool, nor was she wrong. Our father was a fool.”
“For the good of the Realm, Vaegon, meet your nephew,” Beesbury stated. “Who knows, you
might actually like him,” he chuckled.
“He is the son of a Hightower though.”
“He is more Targaryen than you,” Beesbury stated. Vaegon scowled, the fact he had no
dragon was infamous, and he despised that his father had used that as a defining trait of being
a Targaryen. “I think you might like him, might even find a kinship with him,” Beesbury
chuckled.
Vaegon didn’t speak for a long while. “Very well, prove me wrong, Lord Beesbury.”
12th Day of the 7th Cycle, Year 128 AC
Sansa was unsurprised at the speed at which Aemond worked, once he was going, he was
very quick to act. She was surprised this morning though as she walked the streets of
Oldtown with Aemond rather than their clandestine hunt into the records. Normally he’d be
rather incessant about the trip to Oldtown, it wasn’t a part of their tour to meet maesters or
septons, no this was something that had Aemond excited. Well, perhaps not excited, but
interested as they went through Last Market towards an inn called Quill and Tankard. Sansa
wondered what Aemond was up to, but she also didn’t want to infringe upon him and
something of interest outside of the Realm and sparring.
She chuckled bit as Aemond pulled her hand a bit, forcing her to keep up, she held her skirts
a bit more firmly in hand as they walked over the bridge. Aemond pulled her into his side,
looping his arm around her waist.
“You are rather jubilant this morning,” Sansa mused.

“They have the best honey bread rolls,” he muttered as he pulled her along to the bakery.
“Is that so?” she mused.
“They have lemon cakes,” he said blandly and she snorted.
“You should’ve led with that,” Sansa giggled a bit. “Or you are a tease, Aemond.”
“I would never jest about cakes, specifically your lemon cakes,” he assured.
She chuckled as she felt pulled into his side, he pressed his lips to her temple. “I have been
meaning to inquire as to your intentions regarding Lady Samantha and your cousin, she’s
been fretting about your threat.”
“You mean my cousin is fretting?” Aemond inquired.
“Yes, but given how he churns my stomach at his mere vicinity he won’t dare approach me
when I am with Lady Sam,” she informed him.
“Nothing, as of now, your information about their… relationship, is useful,” Aemond said as
he found interest in a market stall and snagged two oranges, he handed her one as he paid for
it.
“I didn’t tell you that to blackmail them,” she sighed.
“I am aware, but you said we need allies,” he stated.
“Allies, Aemond, not blackmail victims,” Sansa quipped as she started peeling her orange.
“Yes, but, given the nature of allies not being friendships, this is a beneficial allyship to
maintain for later,” Aemond stated firmly.
“Why?” she raised her brow as they walked.
“Lyonel is a fool, but war is upon us, you wish to secure the Reach, do you not?” he asked as
he looked her dead in the eye.
“Yes…”
“Then trust me, I’m working on a plan.”
“What plan?”
“Best you do not know,” he said.
“Is this like how you arranged our marriage plan?” she asked.
“Similar but different, and probably bloodier,” he admitted as he ate an orange slice.
“I am not against blood, Aemond,” she pointed out.

“Give your vindictive nature, I am not surprised, but if it does not work…” he started.
“Why don’t you share the plan and let me see if I can improve it?” she proposed. “You did
marry me for my mind and wit after all. Let me help you.”
He smiled sharply. “You do help, immensely, continue befriending Lady Samantha,” he said.
She chuckled a little as they walked together. They finally made it to be bakery, and Aemond
set her at one of the small tables and then he disappeared within the bakery, reappearing with
three buns, and a lemon cake. Sansa felt her mouth water at the scent of the lemon cake as
she accepted the serving. Aemond sat, and seemed to be picking apart his bun, as they
waited. He didn’t speak, watching everyone, Sasna watched as well. The rotting, sweet scent
still danced on the winds, but she wasn’t feeling as queasy at this moment as she carefully ate
the lemon cake in measured bites. It was a slender figure, with another figure beside him,
when Aemond rose.
“Lord Beesbury,” he said. Sansa blinked a few times, mid bite as she struggled to stand.
“Sit, sit, it is simply Lyman,” Lord Beesbury said with a soft chuckle as he sat. “It is good to
see marriage suiting, both of you, Princess Sansa, you are positively glowing,” he smiled.
“It is so good to see you,” Sansa smiled. Her eyes flicked up to the other man. He was a very
severely looking man, long oval face, wide blue eyes, neatly combed back white hair, he was
pale, and his mouth set in a grim line. He looked a bit familiar, but Sansa couldn’t place it as
he looked between Aemond and Beesbury.
“Aemond, this is my long time, and very good friend, Vardis,” Beesbury said. “Vardis, this is
Prince Aemond, and his wife, Princess Sansa, let us sit.”
Vardis moved carefully, sitting, and Aemond took his own seat. Sansa took another bite of
her lemon cake, smiling a bit.
“Vardis is one of my business associates, Aemond, he has been assisting in your investigation
when I need aid to find the records,” Beesbury said.
“Vardis… are you from the Vale?” Sansa asked as she looked at him. The other man blinked
a few times in surprise.
“It has been many years, but yes, I once resided in the Vale,” he answered carefully.
“Vardis is a common name in the Vale, I hadn’t heard it used this far South,” she mused with
a smile. Vardis blinked a few times. “What brought you South?”
“Family and business,” he answered. “Lord Beesbury saved my life, and I have worked for
him ever since.”
“That is interesting,” Sansa mused.

“Vardis is very talented with numbers, he is a natural mathematician, even better than I,”
Beesbury chuckled. Aemond perked up and Sansa could see her husband’s mind whirling
with questions well beyond her grasp. “Vardis has been aiding me in locating the missing
funds.”
“And what is known thus far?” Aemond asked warily, he watched Vardis carefully.
“The embezalled money is being transported in the transaction of the taxes, and moved over
the various roads. It is not uncommon, given the prevalence of thieves along King’s Road, for
the taxes to be broken up in sections, the North paying in summer, the Reach in Winter, it
prevents all money being transported at once,” Vardis said stiffly.
“I am aware,” Aemond said softly as he picked at his sticky bun. Vardis had also snagged a
roll and started eating it by pulling it apart. Sansa looked between Vardis and Aemond, there
was something there, she couldn’t put her finger on it.
Aemond and Beesbury were talking, and Sansa was content to leave this in Aemond’s realm
of conversation. Instead, she watched Vardis, he was sitting as silently as Aemond was,
Beesbury was carrying most the conversation. Sansa was a bit impressed; she knew Aemond
looked up to Beesbury, but Beesbury’s acceptance of Aemond’s idiosyncrasies was rather
endearing. Sansa had long since learnt Aemond was very good at hiding himself from
everyone, but to see him be himself with someone who was not his family, Cregan, the
Northerners, or herself, it was endearing.
The pair seemed to be in a deep debate about something Aemond had found; something
Aemond referred to as a cipher, but she wasn’t convinced what he had discovered was an
actual cipher. Sansa had used ciphers frequently when she was under Littlefinger’s tutelage,
and they never required other symbols, they would use keys, and a system instead. But
Aemond was of a different opinion, and this was a minor disagreement between them, but she
saw his reasoning and he saw hers.
“And you believe this a cipher?” Vardis concluded as he looked at the notes.
“It is something, unusual,” Aemond decided.
“I do not know if it is a cipher, for it is very complex if it is, differing languages, writing
systems, and probably further encoding if it actually is a cipher, that seems overly elaborate
even for such a conspiracy,” Sansa sighed.
“And you have much experience with conspiracies?” Vardis challenged.
“Perhaps more than you’d expect, but not so much to discredit Aemond’s theory,” Sansa
replied dryly.
“Sansa is very adept at the military methods of coding and ensuring the safety of missives,”
Aemond pointed out.
Vardis didn’t counter as he looked at her and then Aemond.

“I believe for now, this is a start, I do not believe the money to be transferred to an institution
like the Iron Bank, or Rogare Bank,” Beesbury sighed.
“Would it not be wiser, and more economical to move the money out of Westeros?” Sansa
asked as she looked between the men.
“No, there are too many variables once it is out of Westeros,” Vardis stated crisply. Sansa
raised a brow; everything about Vardis seemed unnervingly familiar but she didn’t know
why. “For now, it would be easier to control the funds within Westrosi territory.”
“It would also be easier to conceal within Westeros,” Aemond said softly.
Sansa inclined her head then as she thought that over.
“If you involve ships then there is also a concern for the ships to be lost or raided, best to
keep it in Westeros,” Aemond murmured.
“Ah,” she nodded as she understood those sentiments. She stifled a yawn as she excused
herself, both to relieve herself and to get a bit of tea. When she was back she saw the men
were discussing something else. Aemond looked up as she sat down then, and raised his
brow, she gave him a small smile, while Beesbury just looked like a feline who ate a sparrow.
“There is still the matter of logistic regarding this embezalling and I have found nothing to
indicate where the money is stored,” Vardis groused irritably.
“Perhaps that is something I can find,” Sansa said warily. Aemond looked at her and frowned
a little. “I am very good at discovering things I ought not to discover,” she informed him with
a wry smile.
“Ah,” he nodded.
“It is so good to see your bride assisting you in this matter, I was a bit skeptical, but she is a
delightful addition to our little investigation party,” Beesbury mused.
Aemond shrugged and Sansa smiled a bit. They continued talking until the bells rang for
midday, Aemond gave Lord Beesbury a copy of his notes as they finished their conversation
and he rose, offering Sansa his hand.
“We’ll meet here in five days, I will also be in attendance to the Starry Sept for your union,
Lord Hightower has summoned his banners to bear witness,” Beesbury stated.
“I forgot about that,” Aemond pinched the bridge of his nose as he frowned.
“I have been sewing his new tunic for the wedding,” Sansa informed him.
“Is that truly the best use of your time?” sneered Vardis. “Such a frivolous use of precious
time in hunting traitors of the Realm, sewing.”
“I believe in utilizing my knowledge and talents in a different manner than my husband, is

that not what a good married couple should do?” Sansa challenged.
“So, one should, perhaps you’ll share what you’ve learnt thus far, my princess,” Beesbury
mused as he gave Vardis an amused look. Vardis merely sat there looking a bit annoyed.
“Nothing of interest to you, or yours, but to me and mine, a great deal,” Sansa predicted.
“Sansa is invaluable,” Aemond stated firmly. “And we should go, before my uncle notices
our absence, I have a meeting with the High Septon this evening,” Aemond took her hand.
“And I have a night in Lady Bethany’s court,” Sansa sighed with a roll of her eyes.
“Be wary, Princess, that court is a nest of wasps,” Beesbury stated. “There is good reason I
would never permit my granddaughters any relation to the Court of Lady Bethany.”
“Thank you for the warning,” she said earnestly as she let Aemond walk away with her.
“That was very productive,” Aemond murmured.
“I honestly did not understand half the math,” she informed him.
He sighed before kissing her temple.
Chapter End Notes
Next chapter is both LONG, and going to take a while, I'm going to aim to have it out by
the end of the week, but it might be next week. I'm also filling out job applications; I
can't keep working for this idio.
Chapter 35
Chapter Notes
I'm splitting this up into 3 chapters, I wanted it to be 1 but it's just too long that way.
Cregan looked up from his seat in the Godswood, Rickon was climbing the weirwood, Ice
and Timber were sleeping but rose as the horn blew in the air. Cregan was up, catching
Rickon, who nearly toppled over as he walked for the gates. Handing Rickon off to Veron he
headed for the outer wall, wary of what he could be coming to. Crossing the wooden bridges
looked out at King’s Road; the banners were flying high.
“What is it?” Jon appeared beside him.
“Nothing, just relieved to see them,” Cregan admitted.
It took Winterfell less than an hour to be read for their riders. He saw Sara ride in first, Lucan
Norrey beside her, bloodied and battered, he was bandaged.
“What the fuck!?” Cregan darted forward, catching Lucan before he could fall off his horse.
Pulling the other man up against his side.
“I’m fine!”
“The fuck you are! Jon get Sara, Veron, the woodwitches and hedgewizards, now!” Cregan
barked as they walked to the to the castle. Cregan got Lucan to the healing halls, and saw the
staff of Winterfell scrambling.
“I’m fine!” Lucan insisted as Cregan put the man on a bench. “We were beset upon in the
Vale, secured the dowery, but they were targeting the children.”
“Fuck, how many did we lose?” Cregan asked.
“Twenty-two,” Lucan admitted with a grimace. “I’ve never seen such savagery, even the
wildlings would never do what was done, Dustin has secured the rest, sent his sons straight to
Barrowton with the survivors, we thought to split to see what they pursued, your sister, the
dowery or the Targaryen bastards, they hunted the bastards.”
“Who was it?”
“Not armor I recognize,” Lucan shook his head as he was undressed, the molted pattern of
bruises and battering was unsurprising to Cregan to see, but it was still startling.
“Who’d we lose?” Cregan asked.
“Karstark lost some of his men, Torrha Reed was killed, Taria Mormont was too, Lord
Umber was killed, seven of his banners were too, Lord Stane was wounded, but fine, Lord
Cerwyn was also wounded, the Dustins lost a few of their banners, we lost maybe fifty,”
Lucan grimaced as one of the woodwitches worked.
“Orrina and Elissa?” Cregan asked worriedly.
“Fine, Orrina’s broken her arm, Elissa got shot twice, but they will heal,” Lucan assured.
“Good,” Cregan breathed as he bent over, his brow touching Lucan’s, Lucan reached up and
patted the back of Cregan’s head.
“Go, you should meet with the others,” he said.
Cregan nodded as he left Lucan behind and walked to find his friends. He saw Bryan
bleeding, Domeron scolding him, Sara was talking with Jon, the other Lords were gathered,
the dead were being laid out carefully, and Cregan stopped at the Lords who had died.
“What exactly happened?” Cregan asked as he looked at his friends.
“We were ambushed, not surprising, Aemond’s warning saved our bloody arses, but it
couldn’t save us all,” Domeron grimaced a little as he sat. “We lost them at the Neck, they
didn’t want to cross into the North, we stopped at Greywater Watch, the crannogmen are
hunting the few who pursued us, but we don’t think the attackers followed us. They came for
the bastards, specifically, it was a corrdinated attack, they did try to go for Sara,but Frostfyre
and White Fang killed most of those attackers. Odd armor, even for Southron bastards.”
“How so?” Cregan asked as he reached up, examining the cut on his friend’s head.
“Metal plated facemasks, like death masks, odd helmets, the plates were bowed, the metal
was smithed oddly, Karstark got some armor, he’s a day behind us, he stayed with the envoy
with the dowery, Dustin took the surviving bastards to Barrowton,” he said.
Cregan nodded.
“We’re fine, my friend,” Bryan assured softly.
“I should’ve been there,” Cregan stated as he looked them over.
“No, you shouldn’t have,” Bryan stated firmly. “If Bolton succeeded in killing Jon or taking
Winterfell we’d be fucked, but we do have a traitor in the ranks, no chance Bolton would act
alone.”
“We’ll discuss that more after you two have healed,” Cregan said. “I’ll send ravens to House
Reed, I’ll ride down to speak with Blackmyre, Boggs, Cray, Fenn, Greengood, Peat and
Quagg about hunting the invaders, we’ll have to secure the Neck, I’ll also send ravens to the
Mountain Clans, see if they can spare some men. We’ll discuss this more with the Winter’s
Council,” he said.
“Cregan, we’re serious, Bolton can’t be the only traitor,” Domeron said softly.
“I’m aware,” Cregan sighed. “I’ll discuss it with my inner council after we meet with the
Winter’s Council,” he assured.
Domeron nodded as they stood there. Cregan turned, seeing Sara, he smiled at his sister, she
was a little bruised, and battered, but she smiled back as she ran over to him, hugging his
waist.
“I was worried I wouldn’t see you again!” Sara whispered.
He didn’t reply as he hugged her tighter, Jon came over and Cregan grabbed Jon into a hug
before the surly man could walk off. They just needed Sansa, Aemond’s raven from
Lannisport had spoken to them being in the Reach by now. He sighed as he released them
both.
“Everyone, clean up, rest, we’ll prepare the dead to their customs, and return them to their
homes, for now rest. I’ll send ravens to the Winter’s Council and have them summoned
here,” Cregan said. For the most part, the envoy was the Winter’s Council, but there were
other Lords, Chieftains, and Leaders to be summoned. Cregan paused again at the dead and
silently prayed the Gods welcomed the dead into their halls, they had died good deaths even
if they shouldn’t have died just yet. Anger welled in Cregan though as he looked at the dead.
The South wanted to play games…
Very well, he would remind them why they shouldn’t hunt a wolf. He looked up to see
Jacaerys’ eyes wide, and he held his resolve as the boy looked at death. Jacaerys finally
looked at Cregan and Cregan walked away as he left the dead to their caretakers for
preparations.
Daemion stood with Malentine the crew scurried about the ship as the mist seemed to clear
and White Harbor came into view. He felt his breath shudder, staining the sea air as they
sailed towards the city. It was a city. It was a city in every sense of the word, in a harsh,
beautiful way, but also odd. There was an ancient fortress towering over the city like a threat
and promise, it was beautiful in it’s alabaster walls, and grey grim setting. The city itself was
constructed of various buildings, mostly they were colorful, reds, yellows, whites, blues,
greens, it all was brightly colored. Which was a surprise. Sailing past a rock where there were
seals lounging they entered a complex harbor. The buildings had steep slatted roofs, high
structures, and the river water way seemed complex into the city. It was a surprise to see,
Daemion had seen cities use water ways to travel through their city, but White Harbor was
different. The canals had colors, white, red, yellow, and it seemed to indicate something, the
smaller ships travelled in and out of those waterways with ease. The docks were organized,
sound structures and made of… stone!?
The docks themselves were full of life, seals barking, fishermen shouting, sailors working,
traders unloading and reloading ships. Daemion looked at Malentine who looked just as
amazed. The level of organization and scale of operations was astounding, Daemion saw as
they were motioned to a dock, and slowly they went in that direction. The dockhands worked
with the crew to bring their ship into place. Daemion slowly grabbed up his bag and walked
off the gangplank when they were docked, he was surprised when he was stopped by the
dockmaster.
“Valeryons,” the older man stated.
“Yes, I’m Daemion Valeryon,” he said.
“Good, this way, Lord Manderly was awaiting your arrival,” the man stated. Daemion looked
at Malentine who looked a little wary as they walked. The city was unlike any Daemion had
been to. The cobbled streets weren’t new, but the steep incline up the shore showed how
different White Harbor was. There were stairs, long, wide stairs, with a railing beside them.
There was also the buildings lining the street, side by side, with no break between them, they
were pressed together tightly, built of stone, there were windows evenly placed despite the
incline of the buildings, making them appear somewhat uniformed. There was a uniqueness
to the buildings in colors and the way they curved and bent to follow the natural bends of the
rivers and roades they rested along. The city’s streets were not narrow, which was a surprise,
but then Daemion saw why. There were heavy carriages drawn by horses, there were a few
sleighs pulled out and being worked on. The heavy, giant draft horses moved through the city,
and that seemed to be the primary kind of steed in the North.
The fashions of the North were drastically different from anything Daemion had seen in the
South. Men wore long tunics, leather vests, heavy coats, their boots were worn. There were
other men walking through the city wearing something akin to short women skirts, stopping
above their knees, with boots and tunics with heavy leather belts. There were other men
dressed in heavy furs. The women all wore different fashions as well, some wore long floral
skirts with something akin to men’s tunics and vests, others wore something akin to an apron
dress, others wore heavy furs. There was an eclectic diversity to White Harbor in the fashions
alone, the markets had signs in numerous languages, with pictures for their business, it was
astounding. He was surprised, from people who looked sophisticated as Southron folks to as
wild as the forest itself.
They walked to Keep, and he was just in awe.
Daemion had been to many cities, in Westeros, and Essos, and a few other exotic ports and
cities, but he was going to admit he was enamored with the North thus far. The North was a
grim, severe land, he had seen that in Winterfell, and he liked the people. He was biased
towards the North, and he was a bit mystified by this city.
The most Southron looking dress, he noted, was the people of clear Andal descent, and he
was surprised seeing this. the North had not altered the Southron refugees, but rather let them
acclimate to the North, and Daemion smiled as he looked at his cousin, who was looking a bit
wary.
“We’ll acclimate too,” he promised his cousin.
“I am surprised,” Malentine admitted. They came to a robust man, who stood with robust
young men, they were barrel chested, stout, sturdy men, with light golden brown hair, though
the elder had greying hair. They wore a blue-green with white furs, heavy gold necklaces like
the south, but Northern weapons on their persons.
“Lord Manderly,” the messenger greeted with a low bow. “I have brought the Velaryons as
ordered,” he said.
“Welcome, we greet you, accept the welcome of peace,” Lord Manderly said as he offered
the bread and salt then. Daemion blinked.
“We are grateful for such a welcome, and graciously accept,” Daemion said as he bowed and
accepted the salt and bread. Melantine accepted as well before they walked into the keep.
“Forgive me, but I was unaware of another coming with you, Ser Dameion.”
“This is my cousin, Captain Melantine, of the Velaryon fleet, he has accompanied me to the
North to witness it for himself,” Daemion answered. “As we are relocating here for our new
lord, and our new Lord Paramount.”
“Yes, I had heard about your move to the North, we are eager to greet our new neighbors, we
hope our port will suffice for your business temporarily, my sons have agreed to assist in the
surveying of the New Gift for a reasonable safe haven for House Velaryon to construct a port
of their own,” Lord Manderly said.
“That is most generous,” Melantine said warily.
“Of course, Lord Stark wants for this new cadet branch of House Stark to succeed, to do that,
there will be need to examine the New Gift now that it is returned to the North,” Lord
Manderly said.
“Lord Stark is very generous,” Melantine observed.
“He can be,” Lord Manderly said. “Do not be fooled by the wolf’s generous nature, they are
still wild and dangerous, and merciless when provoked. Our family only came into
possession of White Harbor after the Starks had eradicated an upstart cadet branch of theirs,
the Grey Starks, so do not forget the Starks are wild wolves when provoked. They did just
eliminate their greatest rival in the North, the House Bolton now is extinct, and the lands will
pass to a regent of Lord Stark’s choosing and the last Bolton wed into the Stark line.”
Daemion blinked as he looked at Melantine who looked a bit wary now. Daemion would
admit, he had been studying Stark History, but he had not reached that far back.
Jace had never seen dead people before, he stared at Winterfell’s somber treatment of the
Northmen’s dead, the gentle way they prepared the bodies, the way they took care of their
wounded. They were kind, gentle they took care of the dead and prepared to return them to
the living. Jace honestly had never been confronted with death, not in this manner. Cregan
rarely took Jace out around the North when he moved around the North, and Cregan always
seemed to be the one to handle death, protecting Jace from death and the wars coming, but
now there was no such protection.
Jace knew he’d been sent North again to keep the relations strong between House Targaryen
and the North, though Cregan was always busy he wasn’t neglectful of Jace, but he wasn’t
attentive. Cregan did not hinge the North’s loyalty on their relationship, Jace had noted that.
Cregan’s loyalty was bound on oaths, his personal values and views were not a factor to his
loyalty to the Crown, as Jace had noticed.
He walked to see Cregan sitting with his cousin and other banners, his son and Barba Bolton
at his feet.
“Prince Jacaerys,” Sara greeted, her stubborn jaw set as she looked at him with a blank
expression. “I had not been informed of your return,” she said stiffly.
“My step-father decided it was best I finish my squiring here, in the North,” he replied. He
and Sara were not on good terms typically, but the Stark girl was never cruel to him. Sara
nodded as she walked away to sit with her cousin and brother. There were times Jace thought
Jon Stark more of a brother than cousin to the Stark siblings, he never seemed to be out of
place in their odd family dynamic. Cregan motioned for Jace to come over, so he did.
“The Winter’s Council will be here soon, you are to assist in attending to the horses, after
that, you and I will be riding North to the Mountain Clans, the chieftains will have business
to discuss with me, and then we are to travel south to the Neck, you will leave Vermax here,”
Cregan stated.
“I understand,” he said warily.
“Good,” Cregan nodded. “And Jace, write your intended, you have informed me of your
union in less than two years time, you will converse with her, regularly, ravens are expected.”
“I understand,” he nodded as he stood there looking at Cregan. Jace hadn’t really given his
marriage much thought, given he was only five and ten, but he knew he would have to begin
preparing for his own union. A union which would no doubt be grander than Aemond’s had
been, and Aemond’s had taken two years to prepare for. He was a bit anxious about his own
union.
“Good,” Cregan nodded.
“I… I wanted to apologize, for everything in the past two years… I, I was a fool, and I am
sorry for everything, I see now that the Realm is more important than the Crown,” Jace
admitted. He had forgotten how his family was when they were together, and seeing it and
then everything that had happened at Aemond’s wedding, it was startling. House Targaryen’s
open divide, where the other Houses stood as one, and House Targaryen… couldn’t. it was
startling, the divide of the Crown, and how it was tearing the Realm apart. The North stood as
one, despite everything in their Realm that could divide them.
“You will learn, the Crown and Realm, it is one, Jace, it is not two things, they are two
separate powers yes, but they are one,” Cregan explained. “The Crown guides and protects
the Realm, the Realm in turn trust the Crown to represent them and their interests, they are
one though in the face of the world,” Cregan said.
Jace nodded, he hadn’t expected that, the unity he hadn’t really understood.
“Go, you have work,” Cregan said as he motioned for Jace to go work. Walking towards the
stables, he saw the Northern horses, some were speckled in blood, but all were caked in mud.
He tugged off his vest as he grabbed up a bucket and started working. He couldn’t complain
about the work, he knew it was their duty to care for all the Realm, from the horses and
people, to the livestock and farms, it was vital to the North that all were understood and
worked with. Jace couldn’t argue with the North’s logic, he knew they saw everyone and
everything interconnected. Those with more power were to look out for those with less
power. And that was how the North retained it’s power. He walked up to the war horses, who
were secured, and started washing off the blood and mud. The beasts were temperamental as
they shifted under his touch.
Otto sat alone, uncertain of what to do, he did not know what more he could do at this time.
Aegon’s death had been unexpected and unfortunate, and it did not serve the Realm. Aemond
had gone rogue, and Otto did not like that he did not know what his grandson was up to. Not
only that, but Aemond was accepting of his posting in the North, as a new lord, no less,
which was beneath a Prince of any standing, even a second son. Closing his eyes, he rubbed
his brow. Daeron was squiring for a Lannister. Aemond married to a Black. Jaehaerys,
Jaehaera, Maelor were in the grips of the Blacks. Helaena was mad. Everything was falling
apart before Otto’s very eyes and he could not seem to stop it.
There was a knock.
“I wish to be left in peace,” he said tiredly.
“I believe you’ll want to read this,” he turned to see Larys Strong limping in on his cane. The
Master of Whispers held out a piece of parchment, then took a seat as Otto accepted it. Otto
raised his brow at the seal not being broken, as well as Ormund’s seal. He looked at Larys. “I
have not read it if that is the concern,” he said wryly. “But… I hear a great many things.”
“And what have you heard?” Otto asked.
“That you are going to attempt to take back your grandson,” Larys said.
Otto stared levelly at the master of whispers. He had never been certain of what game Larys
was playing or where his loyalties lie but he had never seemed interested in aiding Rhaenyra
or her claims.
“What if… I could, secure… the throne for your grandson?” he proposed. “Do not speak,
listen. Before you have men killed against those infernal Northmen, even if you should
secure Prince Jaehaerys, you face the opposition of Princess Rhaenyra and her husband
Prince Daemon.”
Otto did not respond as he looked at Larys, uncertain of what Lord Strong’s motive was at
this moment. He didn’t know what the man was intending to do, or what his motives were.
Through Rhaenyra’s affair the man had connections to the throne, and Otto did not know
what Larys would do. There were also the plans in place the agents Otto had secured.
Larys though was looking at Otto with a look of triumph and superiority, which he had never
liked on the spymaster’s face. Larys was only openly confident when he had a particularly
bloody plan in place, and Otto knew no one in the Realm could prove it, but Larys had most
assuredly arranged the deaths of his father and brother. Not that Otto opposed the deaths of
the late Lord Strong and Harwin Strong, given they were traitors to the Realm, but he was
opposed to kinslaying and kinslayers. No one though could prove what everyone knew about
Larys’ involvement in his family’s deaths. It was rather like when Daemon orchestrated
Rhea’s death.
Still, Otto was not certain he could turn away an ally at this time.
Alys stood quietly looking over her spell, carefully. She looked in the mirror, seeing her
dragon enamored with the wolf as they lay in the bed, lazily kissing and embracing. Part of
her did not mind the loss of the dragon, it was his bloodline she needed, securing it was vital
to the future. But her intentions could wait for him and his bloodline.
Blinking, she broke the image as she continued working on her herbs, the violet flowers, so
beautiful, so lethal, drying them out, pressing to be ground into a fine dust was necessary. It
was rather tedious, but she needed it to be done. She also needed the other herbs, she paused
looking at the tea as she prepared it.
So long as she pleased her younger brother and current Lord she could continue as she
planned, she would have to ensure Larys’ pans came to fruition so he did not turn his eye on
her prize. The man was no doubt aware of what Alys was seeking, though he would not
understand why she sought it. But she would need to secure her dragon’s bloodline. The
power of a true, hot blooded, wild dragon was vital to her plans.
Looking over the preparation of her spell, she picked up the candles, two red, three black, one
white, one violet, one blue. Setting it out carefully she picked up a Valyrian steel dish she had
acquired as she carefully pulled her vial of quicksilver to pour it into the dish. Magic had
long since made her immune to what she was about to do, but it would kill a lesser being.
Once she set out the candles and bowl with the quicksilver, she collected up the tea she was
preparing as she hung it above the bowl, the dried herbs were a deceptive, sweet tea, and it
would do her bidding well. Picking up her Valyrian steal blade, picking up the small bit of
hair her brother had given her, she wound it around her hand, she picked up her own tea,
knocking back the vervain, lavender, sage, mint tea mix, she grimaced, gasping as she felt the
magic sear through her blood and veins, the connection was forming, she could feel it in her
mind as her chest ached, her back throbbed, and her body seemed to mingle with her
victim’s. The hair around her hand dug into her skin, Alys held her hand over the bowl of
quick silver and lit a fire as the hairs tightened painfully around her hand.
She felt it when the hair broke her skin, and watched the blood drop pool, sliding along the
thread of hair, as Alys looked at her palm. The lines were different, she carefully pulled the
Valyrian knife up before blood dropped off the hair, which would break the connection, and
slid the blade of her knife over the vital life line, before squeezing her blood into he
poisonous fire which fumigated the tea above. The hair dropped the blood, and burned as it
snapped, falling into the fires.
She would send the tea by raven.
Rhaenyra grimaced a bit as she shifted to try to get comfortable, a heavy foot would not cease
kicking her ribs! She wanted to relax, watching Rhaena and Helaena. The Northerners had
not let Helaena out of their sights, even when they were reading about dragon dreams the
Northern guard never left Helaena alone, but they would on Helaena’s approval permit
Rhaenyra, Rhaena, or Daemon to be near Helaena, unless it upset Helaena. Rhaenyra rubbed
her hand over her womb, feeling the babe squirming and stretching within her. She looked up
when she saw Daemon walk over to her, smiling she reached up, tracing his jawline.
“Nyra,” he smiled, as he kissed her softly as he sat. he caught her hand, turning it over, seeing
the cut she’d gotten. “What is this?” he asked.
“Nothing, pregnancy clumsiness,” she assured with a smile. She was always finding mystery
cuts and bruises on her person, he sat beside her and traced over her womb.
“Be kind to your mother,” he ordered as he sat there caressing her stomach.
“She is,” she assured. “What is on your mind, my dragon?” she asked.
“We must mend our House,” he sighed as they sat there. She hummed as she felt his knuckles
rub over the babe. The babe twisted within her. “Viserys does not have much time, and Otto
retains the Court.”
“Aegon is dead,” she pointed out.
“So he is, but there is still a concern with the Hightower threat,” he murmured.
“They have no heir,” she pointed out.
“Jaehaerys, Maelor, they are heirs, Aemond, Daeron, if the Hightowers make moves, they
have a selection of candidates to push forward,” Daemon murmured.
“None will follow, they swore to me,” she pointed out tiredly.
“The Hightowers hold the Court,” Daemon sighed.
“Must we always discuss politics, the Court will follow me, I am the rightful heir,” she
sighed.
“This is important Nyra,” he sighed tiredly.

“Aegon is dead,” she sighed. “Can we discuss enjoyable topics for this day. Corlys and
Rhaenys are in the Stormlands, we will know something soon,” she promised. “As to
appealing to Aemond… we will… we will find some way to mend our House.”
“I worry about these things,” Daemon admitted.
“There is nothing to worry about,” Rhaenyra soothed. “As to my father, he is well as he can
be, we have time, my dragon,” she promised. “We have time.”
“Do you not wish to be Queen?” Daemon demanded.
“I have only wanted to be Queen since I was named heir, I have prepared for this day for my
entire life. It is all I have sought after! I have wanted nothing more,” she said firmly. “But I
want my husband and family happy, and we will not have this time when I am on the throne.”
Daemon scowled, but sighed as he rubbed his hand over her belly. “We are going to have to
think about these things. You wish to be Queen, and I wish for nothing more, the Hightowers
are a threat to us.”
“For now, we are safe, we are here at Dragonstone, they cannot touch us, and we have
dragons,” she reminded him. He nodded in agreement, and she knew that at least for the
moment, she had won their disagreement. “Tonight we shall have a family dinner, welcome
Helaena fully, before she should depart for Ser Vaemond’s home. Rhaena has agreed to
remain a lady in waiting for Helaena, and they shall be safe.”
“Very well,” he agreed and she smiled as she leaned over, kissing him softly.
“The Gods will side with us, Daemon, we are meant to return the era of the dragon to it’s
glory, we shall save the Targaryen dynasty,” she assured again. Daemon did not reply, merely
kissing her hard and deep, she gasped as he pushed her back in her seat, she smiled a bit as he
paused, his hands sliding over her stomach, but he broke the kiss as she hissed when a firm
kick was placed in her ribs. He smiled.
“This one is a fierce little dragon,” he chuckled. Daemon bent over, kissing her stomach and
she smiled as she brushed her fingers through his hair, he looked up at her, over the dome of
her stomach, Daemon trailed his fingers against her stomach.
“The dragon is a good little warrior,” she assured. She just let her head fall back as Daemon
started speaking in High Valyrian to the babe. He was such a good father, she enjoyed
Daemon’s fathering skills, he was always so engaged as a father, Rhaenyra was aware that it
was not normal for their station to engage in rearing the young, but she enjoyed it, and
enjoyed Daemon’s involvement. Also, his hands felt good, she moaned a little as he caressed
the taunt flesh, and kept focusing on her comforting her.
He watched her and the other Targaryen carefully, Rody was didn’t like the Blacks being near
his princess, but he was also aware the Targaryen House needed some sort of peace, or break.
Rubbing his temple, he watched Helaena reading. There was something here at Dragonstone,
not a Black, which made him feel uneasy and he didn’t know why. He looked up when his
brother walked in.
“No word from father?” Rody asked as he tilted his head back.
“None,” his brother said softly. “I have sent inquiries to Driftmark.”
“Good,” he nodded.
“There is something peculiar about this place,” Rogun said as he sat down beside them.
“I do not like Dragonstone,” Rody admitted. He frowned a little as he watched Helaena with
Rhaena.
“I do not either.”
Helaena looked up and gave him a smile. He smiled a little in return.
“She’s a princess,” Rogun reminded him.
“I have not forgotten,” Rody assured tiredly.
Rogun nodded.
Chapter 36
The preparations for the second wedding were vexing. Vaegon did not like stepping out into
the streets of Oldtown at this time because there were so many people preparing for the
wedding of Prince Aemond. Though he was now understanding the appeal of Prince
Aemond’s union with Lady Sansa, it was easy to see the appeal. Aemond was not as
imbecilic as other Targaryens, and Sansa was proving to be of insightful value.
Still, Aemond was young, brash, willful, and infatuated with a woman of moderate
intelligence. Vaegon was certain his father was rolling in his grave; metaphorically of course,
the bastard had been cremated. Vaegon was certain his mother would also be green with envy
with how Lady Sansa appeared to be gaining a beloved following. A week of covert
encounters in public, while Lady Sansa was working with Lady Samantha Tarly to learn
charities, making suggestions for improving those charities, and being seen publicly, it was
clear she was beloved. Or at least endearing to the people. Sansa was the one to attentively sit
through those sanctimonious lectures and lessons from maesters and septas alike, while
Vaegon worked with Aemond.
But a week of working with the pair, and Vaegon would admit that he was a bit surprised at
how swiftly they were becoming liked. It would no doubt be a true point of envy to his own
parents to see this. Because the couple were liked by the small folk, and according to Lord
Beesbury, they were liked by the Nobles. It was, interesting.
Vaegon was becoming inclined to agree with Lord Beesbury, that this pair was probably more
suited for the Crown than not, but it was also a point of treason to think that way. Not that
Vaegon particularly minded treasonous thoughts, not when they were in line with the actual
interests of the Realm. And he was inclined to agree with Beesbury, Prince Aemond was
probably best suited for running the Realm, partially because he also had a partner who could
run it with him.
Sighing he leaned back in his seat, as he glared at Beesbury.
“If you are to persist on him then who’s aid do we have?” Vaegon surrendered.
“Support, you dare to think us so bold or crass?” Beesbury chuckled as he sipped his wine,
and Vaegon pushed the newest stack of reports from Aemond to Beesbury.
“You must not pretend to be so foolish as to not have allies if we are to discuss treason,” he
muttered sourly. He might not have been the brilliant war mind his sibling had been, but he
wasn’t a fool. Vaegon was aware they would need support.
“Mmm, at this time… we do not have, official support,” Beesbury admitted. “Prince Aemond
is establishing a House in the North, in the returned New Gift, he has submitted and sworn
alligence to Lord Stark at this time.”
Vaegon sneered at the mere idea then of having Aemond being King.
“However,” Beesbury cut him off. “We do have the support of Vaemond Velaryon’s branch of
House Velaryon, and we do have the support of a few Houses. I am inclined to believe House
Lannister will be interested in Prince Aemond’s succession, House Stark at this time is not a
part of the discussion, but House Tully would be one to examine. We would also have to
eamine House Tarly.”
“They are of no aid,” Vaegon sighed. “House Tarly and House Hightower are in a marriage
pact with Ser Ormund Hightower and Lady Samantha Tarly, it will not be a good match,” he
admitted.
“But a profitably alliance no doubt,” Beesbury predicted. “We do have the interest of House
Tyrell.”
“It does us no good with the union of House Tarly and House Hightower.”
“You do bemoan this match,” Beesbury sighed.
“Yes, because it will unite two thirds of the Reach, and this is the richest, most well fed, most
prosperous region of Westeros, it is dangerous to stand against a well fed people. And House
Targaryen is not inclined to repeat the Field of Fire tactic, at least last I heard,” Vaegon
admitted tiredly. He knew his uncle Maegor would’ve gleefully burnt the Reach to the
ground, but his uncle did care about the Realm to a degree and was not inclined to ruin it for
the eradication of people.
“Then we shall have to arrange a more favorable match between House Hightower and
Tarly,” Beesbury said carefully.
“That is true treason if we are caught,” Vaegon said warily. He was not opposed to it, but he
was wary of moving against the House that nearly killed him.
“If we are caught,” Beesbury stated. “I suppose you are aware that you are dead,” Beesbury
pointed out.
“I am aware.”
“Good, then this will be simpler.”
“I am not an agent in death, my friend.”
“Neither am I, but we have agreed that for the good of the Realm, we must do something. So,
either you accept Rhaenyra, or we begin,” Beesbury said.
“We have no aid, or support, or allies,” Vaegon countered.
“For the good of the Realm,” Beesbury said tiredly as he cheered his own cup of wine and
sipped it.
“For the good of the Realm,” Vaegon sighed tiredly as he sipped his own wine. “I accept your
proposed heir, so… when do we begin?”
“We’ve begun,” Beesbury said as they sat there. Vaegon stared at the table, and he closed his
eyes as he rubbed his brow. Gods help him, he was uncertain about this act after years of no
actions to be had. But now, now they had an opportunity to move. It was terrifying.
Paralyzing.
“How can you say that?” Vaegon asked.
“Because you finally met an heir you find tolerable,” Beesbury stated. “Now, we begin what
Aemond has unwittingly begun. We have Ser Vaemond, we will gather more. If we can make
the North align with Aemond, then we shall have other Great Houses’ and their attentions.
We now play the game, Vaegon.”
“I have never liked games.”
“You’ll like this one, only the intelligent play,” Beesbury smiled then. “And House Targaryen
might actually be able to finally properly play, without the trump card of dragons.”
Vaegon blinked a few times, he hadn’t thought of it like that.
21st of the 7th Lunar Cycle, Year 128 AC
Sansa sat quietly with Aemond, he was reading, Sansa was working on a new dress, and she
was rather enjoying the time with Aemond. This was the first time in a few weeks they were
able to just sit, uninterrupted without ulterior motives. Aemond had passed off most the
information they had gathered to Vardis, who was… peculiar, but stiff and to the point about
moving the information out of Oldtown. Sansa was uncertain about why Vardis seemed so
familiar, but she did find herself inclined to trust him, he was so scathingly direct.
Soon was to be Sansa and Aemond’s second wedding at the Starry Sept, which Sansa was not
as thrilled for. She had been sewing a simple apron dress similar to the western fashions of
the North. It would be lighter to wear that than some Southron monstrosity she had witnessed
Bethany and her ladies in waiting sewing. Sansa was aware that apron dresses were not very
well known in the South, but she liked them, they were simple, loose, light, and fit atop one
of her long dresses with ease. She had finished Aemond’s own new vest for their wedding a
the previous week, and that left Sansa with little time to alter or make her own dress, not that
she minded.
Aemond was completely absorbed in what he was reading, while he was taking notes.
Overall, sitting here, in the Hightower terrace garden, it was peaceful, far more peaceful than
Sansa had been expecting. She stifled a yawn as she continued her sewing. The heat of the
late summer was wearing on her, despite the fact she had that deep, never-ceasing chill, she
felt hot and uncomfortable. Leaning back in her seat, she rubbed her temple.
“You should go sleep,” Aemond said.

“I’m not tired,” she promised as she stifled another yawn.
Aemond raised his brow as he gave her frown. “That’s the ninth yawn within the past hour.”
“It is not!”
“Sansa, if you are tired, go sleep,” Aemond commanded.
“I’m not tired!” Sansa promised as she bit back another yawn. “I’m just a little worn,” she
promised.
“Then go sleep!”
“I’m not tired!” she promised.
Aemond sat back on his seat, giving her an unimpressed look. Sansa gave Aemond smile as
she continued sewing and he shook his head as they sat there. “Remember the compromise?”
“And I’m not tired,” she said firmly.
“Starks have stubbornness issues,” he muttered.
“Targaryens are exceedingly impulsive,” Sansa countered.
He scowled, she smiled brightly. “You are being vexing,” he grumbled.
“You’re being domineering,” she countered, then stifled a yawn. He snorted as he raised his
brow, she frowned now as she tried to stop the yawn, without success.
“Go sleep,” he ordered.
“I’m not tired!”
“We will both go sleep,” he offered.
“Why are you so persistent about this matter?” she asked, biting back another yawn.
“If I promised to eat more and sleep more, then you have to take care of yourself as well,” he
countered as he rose up, holding out his hand. She rolled her eyes, but accepted his hand as
she rose up, grabbing her sewing with her.
“Very well, but this will not be a regular occurrence,” she warned.
“If you are intent on keeping me alive for a long time, then you are also required to remain
alive,” he warned.
“Mmm, we’ll suffer in old age together,” she sighed.
“It appears only fair,” he informed her.

“Mmm,” she hummed. Stifling another yawn. “I am not tired! I slept well last night, and all
the other nights, I think the heat is just tiring me out,” she yawned again, leaning over.
He said nothing as she leaned against him. “We will leave soon, by the nineth lunar cycle,
we’ll be out the Reach, we’ll be in the North by the twelfth lunar cycle.”
They made it to their room, and Sansa started braiding her hair after she set down the sewing
she was doing. Aemond watched her suspiciously as she sat on the bed.
“What?”
“In your era… economically, how was the Realm funded?” Aemond asked.
Sansa blinked a few times as she stared at him in surprise. “I…why?” Sansa asked.
“I have been thinking about it since you asked about moving funds out of the Realm, did the
Realm ever build a central banking system to eliminate outside forces? House Lannister
could probably manage it given the amount of gold they possess for collateral,” Aemond
said.
Sansa blinked a few times and rubbed her temple. “Well, I was never entirely certain how the
Realm was funded but I do know that Littlefinger was in contact with Iron Bank, and te
Crown was in debt to the Iron Bank. But that was in the span of Robert’s reign, I do not think
it was before his reign…” she frowned. “But… there was, it is a conspiracy mind you, but it
was thought that Viserys II was a Rogare imposter, and he tied the Realm to the Rogare Bank
until it collapsed, and the Iron Bank supposedly bought the debt… but I do not know if that is
true, Aemond, I don’t know. I was never good at economics, I was struggling with preparing
supplies and granaries in my era, so I do not know.”
“You are good at managing your funds, and people, and the North is the most independent
Realm…” he pointed out.
“Aye, it is, but we are not the richest, we never have been. The treasures House Stark has
hoarded are both a part of our history and collateral if the North should ever be worse than
we are at this moment. We are prepared to bale the North out and approach outside forces if
we are on the brink of collapse,” Sansa admitted.
Aemond frowned as he seemed to be thinking something over.
“What is it?” she yawned as she sat against the headboard of the bed, watching Aemond
carefully.
“I would like to propose an internal, centralized banking system for the Realm; if we can
keep outside forces and interests outside of the Realm there will be less strife brought into
our Realm, as well as a lack of need to serve the self-interests of outside forces. Own debt is
not alliances, it’s power, if we can control our economy, internally, and structure a surer
infrastructure, it would be more difficult to embezzle the funds without the entire Realm
noticing. At this moment, this embezzlement is happening because the Realms and the
Crown have a disconnect. Institutions such as banks, while not always honorable, could make
it more difficult to rob the Realm and its people. It is the Realm that suffers ultimately, not
the Crown,” he pointed out.
“In this matter, the Realm and the Crown are one in the same,” Sansa said firmly. “It is the
Crown’s duty to maintain the funds of the Realm, and to manage the economy to be most
profitable to the people, with a good economy life for the small folk offers more
opportunities in trade, business, education, travel.”
“Yes, but to do that, there must be an infrastructure, which the Seven Realms do not possess.
Yes, individually they do, but they value different things independently. The North with it’s
conscription, the Reach with the Faith and Citadel. The Realms should not be the same, or
hold the same values and ideals, their individuality is vital to their cultures, but there are need
to have infrastructure, and economic reforms to unify the Realms.”
“There should be,” Sansa agreed. “But how would you run a bank? The Master of Coin is
meant to manage the funds of the Realm already.”
“Yes, but where are the funds?” Aemond countered. “The Crown entrusted the care of the
Realm to the Maesters, as they were impartial and unbiased; at least that is how they were
initially presented to Aegon the Conqueror. But as you and I are finding that is not the case,
so how to eliminate some of that? Yes, maesters should still maintain the records and memory
of the Realm, but the North has proven to not need them, which makes me think the other
Realms do not need them either. The maesters being dispersed throughout Westeros has given
nothing to the Realms or the Great Houses.”
“That is… true,” Sansa said carefully.
“What?”
“It is something Lady Sam said to me,” Sansa said as she drew up her knees, resting her
elbows on them as she slid her fingers into her hair. “I was teasing when I called House
Hightower queer, for they are… different, even from what I am accustomed to I find them
very queer. Lady Sam said that they would not appreciate being called queer, I had countered
and teased whyever not, for everyone is unique and different. At least… in the North they
are. The roaming mountain clans, the city folks, the western shores, the eastern shores, Bear
Island, the far North, we have people who are rather akin to Wildlings and Free Folk and
people very akin to the Southron folk, the unique differences are to be appreciated and cared
for. House Stark is perhaps the only House in the North to have to honor all the traditions,
because we are the North. From the fashions to the customs, we have had to blend them all to
work with our Realm, but we never… we never forced assimilation of our people even when
we conquered them. Lady Sam said… House Hightower wanted the assimilation of the
people…
“I… in my era, the maesters had a more… prominent role,” she explained honestly. “And I
even know why they got a more prominent role in the Realm, not just impartial healers and
record keepers, but prominent members of the House.
“The Blackfyre Rebellions, as they would be known as, were started because of Aegon the
Unworthy legitimizing all his bastards as true borns. This lead to a civil war between House
Blackfyre and House Targaryen, thankfully there were no dragons at this time, because that
would have definitely been worse than the Dance. These rebellions would begin in about
sixty years from now, and they continued to… probably well into my era. It would not
surprise me if Young Griff is a Blackfyre, or a legitimate Targaryen, it would not surprise me
either way.
“But the first rebellion, the first Blackfyre Rebellion killed most of the Westerosi male
population within the span of ten years, the North was famous for being able to summon a
vast amount of banners, well trained, and disciplined, but the famine from now, it was a
crippling blow, and then the Dance slaughtered people by the millions, Westeros had not
recovered by the Blackfyre Rebellions, and it cut a struggling population down greatly,”
Sansa said. “By my father’s era, the North could only summon eighty thousand to a hundred
thousand men, and most of them were killed in Robert’s Rebellion, and by the time my
brother could summon banners, he could only summon twenty thousand immediately with
maybe fifty thousand on reserves.
“The cuts in population, it’s lead to Great Houses, regardless of Realm, greatly relying on
maesters to teach the heirs of Great Houses,” Sansa explained. “I was taught and raised by
septas and maesters, my brother, Bran, his advisor was a maester. If assimilation is the goal,
then… the best assimilation would probably be through education,” she looked at him warily.
“House Hightower has never been closer to the Throne than they are now, and they never
recovered from the Dance, but they retained a seat of power and status as a Great House,
despite their fall, primarily because they still are the largest patrons of both the Faith and
Citadel…” she grimaced as she rubbed her brow.
Sansa did not believe Maester Luwin to be an evil, conniving man, but… it terrified her. It
terrified her that the Great Houses might’ve not noticed their own assimilation because crisis,
after crisis, loss of Lords left and right might’ve forced the Great Houses to rely on maesters
to educate their heirs and their next generation rather than the Great Lords themselves. Lord
Tywin had been unusual in Westeros because he had controlled Jaime and Cersei’s education,
and even Tyrion’s despite the disdain he held for Tyrion. But Sansa knew her parents had
trusted the maesters and septas to educate their children, and more children in Sansa’s era had
similar backgrounds. Even Joffrey, Myrcella, Tomen were taught by maesters, not by their
parents. Maesters had a greater sphere of influence in her era than they had in this era.
“The assimilation through education, and religion,” Aemond said suddenly, and Sansa stared
at him terrified as a chill ran down her spine. “If you wish to control the people you must
control the narrative, to control the narrative, the sphere of influence must be indisputable,
and absolute, to be entrusted with the education of a Realm and it’s heirs…” he frowned.
“The embezzlement, the discourse, it’s meant to destabilize the Realm, it’s not an external
attack, it’s a slow, long term, systematic attack… you’ve said the Houses are ancient, the
games they’ve played with one another are too, the goals would be just as ancient,” he rose as
he paced. “The tactics, skills, knowledge, you speak of the Great Houses like collectives, and
that would be true in some regards, these Houses are older than most of the empires in Essos
and Sothoryos combined. You’ve mentioned this, they’ll be skilled in espionage, warfare on
multiple fronts, tactics tried, tested and true, they refer to this as a game…
“What if the long-term game is the assimilation and control of the Houses to one House?” he
turned to her and she blinked.
“Aemond, that would be… millennia old and even the Great Houses are not always the
committed to the long game…” she said.
“House Stark is in regard to the Long Night,” he countered. She hugged her knees then.
“What if the House Hightower is committed to a different, just as long game but a different
game? It is not impossible,” he pointed out. “Your Houses play games older than most
empires, most organizations, at this time there are perhaps a handful of empires a few
millennia old, but even they do not stand against the test of time when compared to Great
Houses. Braavos, Lorath, Lys, Tyrosh, Volantis, Myr, they’re all infants in comparison to the
Great Houses, even Valyria was young in comparison, the Old Empire of Ghis collapsed
before the Great Houses, Meereen, Yunkai, Astapor; they are perhaps nearest in age to the
Great Houses, and even then, they’re short by a couple millennia. The Great Houses
withstand an impossible test of time, Sansa, how, why, what motivates them if not long term
goals? House Stark might hold a simple goal of survival, but they play the long games, the
long history of the other Great Houses just as well. So what are the other Great Houses goals?
What keeps them standing?”
Sansa sat back thinking this over. “Before Aegon the Conqueror came, we were warring
nations, we had alliances, and relations and trade standing before Aegon the Conqueror,” she
pointed out.
“So what if Aegon the Conqueror did what one of the Great Houses aimed? Conquering and
controlling Westeros under a unified Crown?” he proposed. “Would that not be the ultimate
goal initially?”
“I suppose it could be a goal, but Aemond, the Great Houses grow, they evolve, change, they
did not rule entire Realms initially, just sections, and through conquests they’ve obtained
their power. House Stark, Lannister, Hightower, Tarly, Arynn, they’ve obtained this ancient
power through conquering their Realms, and that took… millennia to do. It did not happen
instantly,” she pointed out.
“But continue the escalation of Conquests, what would House Stark’s next move have been if
Aegon had not gone North?” he asked.
Sansa thought this over carefully. Truthfully, House Stark had started moving South, the
Three Sisters had been a goal of the North’s once, controlling Sweetsister, Longsister, and
Little Sister would’ve been good jumping points into the Vale, or the Riverlands…
“I guess we’d have moved South, we were engaged in a war for the Three Sisters already,”
she admitted. “We claimed it was to cease smuggling and piracy, but the Three Sisters do
hold strategic value for naval control on the eastern seaboard, and it is a good point of
jumping to both the Vale and the Riverlands. I mean, the next moves would’ve been
conquering the Vale, or the Riverlands, as both are near areas of control for the North.”
“So, it would not be unreasonable to venture that the Games would grow to a magnitude as
large as an entire continent?” Aemond ventured.
“No, but… the scale of a plan like that, even the Great Houses are not that patient or
persistent. To plan something like that, it would take… several generations to indoctrinate the
plan, but then millennia to execute it, and it would require the trusting of external
organizations to carry it out without war…” she pointed out.
“The Hightowers were known for their crusades,” Aemond reminded her. “That was
something my grandfather taught me infatically, the Holy Wars, the crusades, even in
Maegor’s war against the Faith, Maegor calls it war, the Faith calls it a crusade, and there is a
difference in their minds,” he pointed out.
“I’m not disagreeing, but the time needed to do that…” she stared at him.
“And a generations long plan against House Targaryen?” Aemond countered. “That is not
unexpected, but as you mentioned, King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne had thirteen
children, and had a succession crisis, and we face another one in less than a generation, why?
How? It is not normal.”
“Let us focus on one issue at a time, if that is a true goal of House Hightower, it will take
more time to learn about it than just seeing information about embezzling,” she pointed out.
“Very well. Then, about the central banking system.”
“And what Great House would you seek to run a Bank, Aemond?” Sansa asked as she leaned
back entirely against the pillows of her bed. Her stomach was twisted in greasy knots about
what Aemond had proposed because it was rather sinister in nature and thought, she didn’t
like the idea that House Hightower was seeking to eradicate culture through means as
diabolical as assimilation. And worse, she did not like idea of an organization she had already
lost much trust in not being trustworthy at all, the maesters were supposed to serve the Great
Houses, guide them, aid them with memory and knowledge, and the idea that they would but
at the price of erasing the uniqueness of the Great Houses was… evil.
“House Lannister, they possess the Realm’s gold already, or House Tarly or House Tyrell,
they are amongst some of the wealthiest Houses, and having the ability back the Realm,
financially would be a great boon of power to them. These Houses have proven to run their
Realms well, and they are comfortable maintaining great power,” he pointed out.
“And they have their own self interests,” Sansa countered.
“As every House will,” Aemond countered blandly. “The Great Houses play their games to
win over the Crown, they are great in their own ways, but their schemes will always continue
despite our desires.”
“True,” she sighed. “We’ll have to discuss more about this, in depth, perhaps with Lord
Beesbury, or that friend of his, Vardis, they both know more about finance than I, and you’ll
find the discussion more productive with them.”
“You possess greater insight into the Great Houses than they do as you are from two different
eras, and a Great House, one of the Greatest Houses, of Westeros,” he pointed out.
She nodded as she straightened out her dress and sighed. “In that case, House Lannister
would be the wisest to seek connections to at this time to form a bank to back the Realm, as
you pointed out their gold is the collateral of the Realm, frequently, they are wealthy enough
to fund the Westerlands, Riverlands, Iron Islands, Vale, North, Stormlands, Crownlands and
even the Reach and never run out of funds. Even in my era when their mines ceased
producing gold they were still the wealthiest family in Westeros. They could even fund Dorne
if they wanted to. They are not only wealthy, but cunning with their investments, I was
married to a Lannister and know that they do, not only mine and fund their own gold, but
they keep their money busy, investing it, letting it grow they will remain wealthy long after
their mines cease production if they keep their investments working. And don’t succumb to
Cersei. And they are not patrons of the Faith or Citadel, so they have no other organization
they are in control of, limiting their sphere of influence minorly as the bank is structured.
Further, they would see it as an honor and power grab, so if they do build a bank, there’d
need to be infrastructure for the Crown at least, to be able to monitor it in some capacity.”
“Which is where the Master of Coin would be necessary,” Aemond pointed out.
“Aye,” she agreed. “Are you certain you wish to attempt to build a bank in Westeros?”
“Why not? It will limit outsiders from accessing Westeros, and if Westeros can, for a time, go
back to being isolationist, then it will also aid in building infrastructure so your era was not
collapsing or as near collapse, and in face of the Long Night there’ll be reasonable aid, and
dragons,” he pointed out.
“Aye, that is true, but then there is the how of this, Aemond,” Sansa sighed. “A Bank, like the
Faith and Citadel, even if an independent organization would have connections to a Great
House and their own motives.”
“Yes, and that would be a matter to be addressed, but it would also be good for a moment to
prevent embezzling from this scale from going unnoticed, again.”
“So you predict this to happen again?” Sansa asked.
“It would be foolish not to anticipate unsavory traits from arising again. Humans are flawed
and imperfect, the motives of greed, power, lust, wrath, envy, they will never be eradicated
from the very base of human nature,” he pointed out. “But if one plans for the outlook of the
Realm to also be inevitable, then it would stand to reason another will come along, looking to
care for the Realm as well.”
“Yes, that is true,” she agreed.
“Then by creating infrastructure for another to rise and care for the Realm would be vital to
prevent your era from collapsing,” he pointed out.
“Mmm,” she hummed. “But things end, they collapse Aemond, it is all a part of the cycle of
life. Yes, the Great Houses have maintained power for millennia, but that does not mean they
will not collapse in time.”
“True, but to prevent a collapse like the Ghris Empire, or Valyria, which plunged Essos into
chaos, creating infrastructure, and permitting the Seven Kingdoms to maintain independence
to some capacity will aid if when the Throne collapses,” he pointed out.
“You think the Crown will collapse?” Sansa asked.
“Yes, the Great Houses are ancient, and long standing, House Targaryen is young by
comparison, and I doubt House Targaryen could ever properly hold power. Also, we are not
endeared to the small folk and our history is… bloody, it is likely one of House Targaryen’s
descendants will do something rash and foolish and the Crown collapse, as it did in your era,
even if it is not in your era when it collapses,” he reasoned. “I would prefer for the whole of
Westeros not to collapse with House Targaryen if we collapse,” he sighed.
“Then you’re going to have to look at how to create policies to care for the small folk, while
also aiding the Great Houses, it will be a dangerous balancing act,” she pointed out.
“But not impossible,” he murmured.
“You’re not the heir,” Sansa pointed out.
“I should be,” he groused tiredly. “It is I, the younger brother who studies history, philosophy,
and the sword, it is I who attends to the Small Council, and matters of the Realm, who
performs the duties my family frequently neglects, it is I who does the work for my House,
without aid!”
Sansa was startled at Aemond’s attitude about this matter. “Do… do you want to be heir?”
“Should I not be?” he sighed. “It does not matter,” he dismissed tiredly then. “We will go
North, and none of this will matter, I will cease maintaining the Realm, and hopefully
Rhaenyra and Daemon and their brats do not ruin all my work.”
Sansa blinked a few times. “Aemond, do you want the Throne?” she demanded softly.
He paused looking at her as if she were insane. “No, I merely wish for my work not to be
destroyed, even if it is not my name on the work,” he stated as he walked over to the bed.
“Your little threat to break the Realm, it was why I went to working on aiding the North. It is
why I moved through the Realm, and started this… investigation. Perhaps I should just let it
go, and let the Realm be plunged into chaos,” he sighed as he dragged his hands through his
hair. She hesitated as she reached over, brushing her fingers through his loose hair, removing
his eyepatch again. His socket was empty today, and he turned to look at her.
“It is alright to be envious, or to be prideful, Aemond, to desire things not for yourself, I once
wanted to be the Queen,” she murmured. “Growing up is letting go of the envy and the pride
for being happy with your own life. Having ambitions is not a sin, but they should not be
everything.”
“We will be… happy?” he asked carefully.

She smiled as she leaned forward, her chin resting on his shoulder as he kept his blind side to
her. “Not always,” she murmured honestly. “We will not always like one another, or be
happy, but… I will always be your partner, I will attempt to give you a home and family, and
we will… grow, together, and learn, together, and in that, have happiness, sorrow, anger,
passion, contentment, and we will live. So, yes, we will be happy Aemond, but not always,”
she murmured. “I do not want you to have an unrealistic expectation that everything will be
perfect, Aemond, but, we will try to be happy and content and live.”
“Thank you,” Aemond turned to her as his brow pressed against hers. “Thank you Sansa,” he
murmured.
“Of course,” she smiled as they sat there. “We will… have normal,” she pointed out.
His lips twitched a little as they sat there. “You still are going to sleep,” he stated.
“I am not tired!”
“You’ve yawned four times since we got to this room. You are going to sleep!”
“Fine,” she rolled her eyes as she fell back against the pillows, he stretched out beside her
then.
“You Starks are childishly stubborn,” he muttered.
“Mmm, compared to you impulsive Targaryens, we’re doing well,” she mused. Aemond
snorted a bit, and gave her a rare, sly, sharp, genuine smile. There was something very sharp
about Aemond’s smiles, always so dangerous, but she smiled in return. Aemond looked very
sly and mischievous when he smiled, not boyish though. He never seemed young, he always
seemed older than he was.
“Until it comes to caring for yourself,” he muttered.
“I take care of myself!”
“Then go to sleep, Sansa,” he ordered.
“You’re so demanding,” she shook he head in exasperation as she rolled into his side. “Then
you’re staying while I sleep,” she muttered tiredly. Before he could escape, she curled up into
him, draping her leg over his hips, as she tucked her head under his chin as she hugged his
chest. Aemond seemed startled, but relaxed quickly as his arm curled under her shoulders,
and around her waist.
“You’re cuddly.”
“Mmm, go to sleep,” she mumbled as she felt her eyes growing heavy as she pressed herself
more securely against him. Aemond pulled her closer, and tighter, which had her sighing. His
heart was beating slow and steady, she smiled a little as she had him pinned now.
“You dare to call me demanding,” he grumbled. She snorted as she curled up against him.
Aemond’s hand rested on her hip and waist, she was comfortable right then. Warm, and
comfortable, sighing, she felt sleep pulling her under. She wished she was home, but she felt
safe right here with Aemond.
22nd of the 7th Lunar Cycle, Year 128 AC
Bethany was standing quietly in her room, the seamstress finished hemming her gown, and
she looked at herself in the mirror, smoothing over the dress. it was a beautiful shade of
green, looking proper, and beautiful. The dress pinched her waist a little, but she didn’t mind,
her bust was exposed, but it would serve her well to be seen a bit more sensually, if Aemond
was swayed by sensual beauty, then she would be sensual. Targaryens were queer creatures.
Her hair was loose around her, but beautiful, and she turned when her father walked in.
Ormund looked her over as she smoothed her dress over as she let her father examine her.
“You will be a beautiful bride,” her father decided.
“I hope so,” she smiled softly as she looked at him. “Do you think it will be enough?” she
asked honestly. Breaking the witch’s spell was important.
“You shall just have to be present,” he assured. “Aemond will no longer be entranced by the
Northerner, we will return him to his rightful path.”
“He will return to us,” she smiled softly. She would show Aemond his righteous path, and
they would save Westeros, together.
23rd of the 7th Lunar Cycle, Year 128 AC
Alicent leaned tiredly on the post of her window, tapping her finger along the rim of the
goblet, closing her eyes she rubbed her brow. She was exhausted, tired of the plots, the plans,
it had killed her son, and she still was not certain who had killed her son. Looking over her
shoulder, she saw Cole there, he was watching her very carefully and unobtrusive. Sighing,
her head fell back.
“I am not going to throw myself from the tower,” she assured.
“I would never think that,” he countered.
“There is no need to hover over me, I will not be foolish,” she murmured.
“Perhaps I am not here for you but myself,” he offered honestly as he walked towards her,
she stared out at the city again.
“Then I will accept your company,” she murmured honestly. Alicent just closed her eyes
again, feeling Cole pull the goblet from her fingers, and she dropped her hand then. She was
wavering, she knew it, she was wavering in her convictions, but she could not find it within
herself to care. She had lost a son. It did not matter that Aegon had grown into a perverse,
vile monster, he had been her son, and she ached at his loss.
“You should write the Princess,” Cole said suddenly. She opened her eyes then, looking at
him from the corner of her eye.
“Rhaenyra and I have nothing further to discuss,” she stated crisply.
“Your daughter, your highness, Princess Helaena, she’s at Driftmark, it would do well to
speak with her at the very least.”
“Yes, I suppose,” Alicent murmured as she looked out at the city again. “Do you believe it is
all futile?”
“Pardon?” Cole sputtered.
“Everything, is it not all futile in the name of the Gods?” she asked as she stared levelly at
him. He stood there looking levelly back at her.
“I believe we do the best we can, and await the judgement of the gods, but no, it is not futile,”
he assured.
“Then… then why have the gods cursed me? One son a monster so vile to destroy his family,
another who will not seek the righteous path, and another who is too willful to remain?” she
murmured.
“I think the Gods challenge us with what we can bear, Aegon is a son failed, but Aemond and
Daeron are not lost to you, my queen, they still need and love their mother, and no matter the
gods worshipped, that should never get between a mother and their child, ever,” Cole said
softly. “I sent a raven to Aemond, perhaps you should as well,” he encouraged.
“I do not believe I can heal the rift between Aemond and myself, I said he was no son of
mine,” she whispered her shameful confession as she looked down at her hands. Tears burned
her eyes, and she felt her lip quiver, but then Cole’s hand grabbed hers tightly.
“No matter what was said, that boy loves you more than anyone,” Cole said fiercely and she
blinked a few times. The tears slipped from her control.
“I just wanted him to… to understand,” she whispered as she choked on the tears. Her throat
burned, and felt constricted. Gods help her, she wanted her son here, she wanted to tell him
she loved him, she wanted to tell him everything she hadn’t, she wanted go back in time and
take it all back. She would tolerate that Stark if it meant she had her son back.
“Understand what?” Cole asked warily.
“That Aegon was a necessary evil to save the Realm,” she admitted as she choked back a sob,
fully expecting Cole to pull away from her in disgust. Instead she found herself pulled into a
hard chest, not wearing plated armor, arms wrapping around her as lips pressed against the
top of her head. Such shameful, scandalous conduct should be scorned but she broke as she
sobbed into him, sagging entirely against his tall frame. She just wanted… she wanted the
Realm to be saved, but it felt so impossible, she cried as Cole pulled her tighter, closer, he
was murmuring something in Dornish, but she didn’t know what as she sobbed against the
tunic he wore.
24th of the 7th Lunar Cycle, Year 128 AC
Maester Gerardys was sorting through the teas he had ordered, looking them over as he
separated them and prepared everything. There’d been a raven from the Riverlands, Maester
Rowley assisted him as they worked quietly. He looked up when he heard steps in the hall.
He saw the Ser Harrold Drake, Ser Adrian Redfort, and Ser Loreth Lansdale, the three
primary guards of this wing. Ser Lansdale was supported between Ser Drake and Ser Redfort,
and looked in pain.
“Sorry maester, fool neared the dragon’s nest, and Syrax was having none of it,” Drake
stated.
“Bloody foul beasts,” Gerardys sighed. “Seat him over there, Rowley, get a splint after you
examine his ankle.”
“I’m telling you, there’s a brat wandering around the nesting grounds,” Lansdale ground out.
“And they’re dragon food, enough,” Redfort stated as they sat their friend down. Gerardys
looked at the teas as the other, younger maester got to work, and he stared at the other tea, the
note was simple.
‘It is vital that the blight be cut out of the garden by any means necessary from the root to the
seed, else the stock shall perish.’
The time had come, he thought with a trembling hand, but swiftly put the tea away. He would
have to get to work soon if his masters were moving now. With that in mind, he walked over
to the guards and looked at the mangled limb.
Chapter 37
Chapter Notes
There had been no pleasing information, though Helaena had reluctantly agreed to have her
children brought to Dragonstone, because she was becoming restless with them so far away.
There was something evil lurking here, Helaena did not like it, but she could not find it in her
to demand to leave, part of her screamed to be here, even if she did not desire to be here. She
was trembling as she held onto the railing against the sea, watching the ship sails. The
dragons were happier, but restless here, Dragonstone was an unwelcoming place for all
apparently. Rody was beside her, he was quiet, and assessing, she knew he was growing
restless.
Lady Hazel was also with Helaena, the tall, slender woman was a surprise to Helaena, a calm
voice with wit and mirth, while also being kind and gentle. It felt like the first time in
Helaena’s life where a lady in her circles was a genuine friend, she liked Hazel greatly for her
company and kindness alone. It was rather like being around someone like Sansa. Sansa was
kind, gentle, patient, Hazel had many of those qualities without Sansa’s ferocity.
“I always want Daenaera close to me, I do not like the distance either,” Hazel admitted.
“It is unbearable, while they are small,” Helaena murmured.
“Vaemond will bring them here, safely, like they were his own grandchildren. He does enjoy
being a grandfather,” Hazel smiled brightly.
“You believe he would dote upon mine as well?” Helaena asked.
“Of course, he is fond of Prince Aemond, and yourself, so he would enjoy them, greatly,”
Hazel chuckled.
“That would be good,” Helaena smiled. They finally heard the bells, and she brightened
spotting the sails, the teal and white, she gasped.
“They’re here!” she grabbed Rody’s arm as Dreamfyre flew over her, roaring playfully as she
dove for the ship.
“Aye they are!” Rody smiled.
“Come on!” Hazel and Helaena grabbed Rody’s arms.
“Oi! I am not your brother!” Rody balked.
“Aemond’s quieter!”
“I don’t have brothers!” Hazel cackled.
“Come on, hurry!” Helaena giggled as she dragged Rody with them. Rody caught up.
“If I’m to be trapped by you, then we’ll have one on each arm, and I’ll make that swindling
sea snake envious!” Rody decided. “Two lovely women for me, none for he!”
Hazel and Helaena laughed.
Vaemond walked onto the docks of Dragonstone, was escorted to where his son and
gooddaughter were, leading and guiding Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor, whilst holding
Daenaera in his arms. He smiled when he set his granddaughter to the ground, the children
screaming their delights as they ran to their mothers. Rody released both he women who
rushed to scoop up their children, jabbering excitedly. Vaemond chuckled as the children
rushed Rody then, before the Northman could escape. Daeron walked over to him, smiling as
they embraced.
“Father,” Daeron smiled as they stepped apart.
“It is good to see you’re well, son,” Vaemond said with a smile.
“I have secured fair trade and contracts from uncle,” Daeron said as they watched the
Northmen with the children. “We will have a navy and merchant fleet for Lord Stark,” he
said as they watched the family.
“That is good,” Vaemond said. He had been briefly looking over contracts to secure timber
from the Stromlands and Vale to build the fleet because he would not encroach on the
Northern forests as they seemed sacred to the North. Vaemond had started learning about the
Children of the Forest, and he was surprised at how the Dustin siblings spoke of the Children
of the Forest. Yes, they made their tales, tales for the children, but they sprinkled these tales
with facts, and history. Vaemond was of no doubt that the Northerners were fanciful, and had
rich mythos, but they also were a very factual people, they did not lie about their history, the
good, the bad, the ugly, they taught it all. They taught of the Starks merciless nature, the
Manderlys adaption to the North, the war of the Barrow Kings and Kings of Winter, the gifts
of magic, the Giants, the Wildlings, the Others, the Children of the Forest, they were a blunt,
direct, people who cherished the forests even if the Children of the Forest no longer resided
there, they wanted to preserve the homes of their people. So, Vaemond would not propose
building ships from their forests. No, instead he was going to seek other means to gain the
necessary timbers if Corlys wouldn’t sell.
“I am pleased my brother has not completely lost his senses,” Vaemond concluded as they
looked at the children. Hazel walked over, Daenaera on her hip, and wide smiles on both the
girls’ faces.
“It is good to see you, good father,” Hazel said as she embraced him.
“Hazel, you are looking radiant,” he said as she pulled away. Vaemond was hopeful that
within the year he would have another grandchild on the way. He rather enjoyed being a
grandsire.
“I am most pleased to have my daughter and husband with me, and look forward to our move
North! I am liking our neighbors,” she admitted.
“The Dustins are a very endearing bunch,” Vaemond agreed.
“Oi! No Biting Your Brother!” Rody shouted, the dragons fluttered overhead and Vaemond
snorted as Rody held the twins apart in the air, flailing. Only Northerners would treat the
Royal children like normal children.
Rhaenyra was laying in the tub, frowning, she was not enjoying this pregnancy, the babe had
decided to lay low, and heavy which made Rhaenyra ache. Everything ached, her bones, her
hips, her legs, her breasts, her back, even her birthing canal hurt. It felt like she had a hand, or
foot caught there, and it made everything so much worse. Rhaenyra now found what her
mother disliked, and what she had privately feared as a girl, the discomfort, the inability to be
comfortable. Rhaenyra had spent the last fortnight with her legs spread indecently wide,
laying in a tub, incapable of getting comfortable, and gain true rest. Daemon had been
attending to most the household matters, and Rhaenyra was just unable to do more than lay in
these pools.
“You spend more time in that bath than with our family,” he mused.
“This is the only place I can find any comfort these days,” she confessed. The sound of heavy
feet had Rhaenyra’s head tilting back as she smiled at Daemon. He smiled as he looked her
over, kneeling down beside her as he traced his fingers over the exposed, massive sphere
where their child kicked her hard.
“The water is tepid,” Daemon remarked softly as his fingers splashed the water. She giggled
a little as she took his hand, feeling him entwine their fingers together. He brought their
knuckles to his lips as he sat there. Daemon smiled a little.
“This is as warm as the midwives will allow,” she admitted reluctantly. Daemon shook his
head as he came up closer to her head, his free hand reaching over, tracing the heavy swell of
their child then.
“Don’t they know dragons prefer heat?” he teased.
“Mmm,” she hummed in amusement as Daemon’s brow came to rest on hers. “I see why my
mother thought this to be suffering, this pregnancy has been most taxing.”
“Viserys was cruel to your mother, I would hope you never think I so cruel as to force you to
continuously churn out children,” he murmured softly.
“Hm? No, never,” she said fiercely as she looked up at him. “I want our family, I enjoy it’s
expanding, I just am uncomfortable with this child,” she sighed. “The next one will be
easier,” she predicted. Or at the very least, she hoped, Rhaenyra was not as young as she had
once been, and she knew Harwin would’ve kept her pregnant for many other children, but the
fear of her affair being discovered had her not seeking more children with him. Daemon
though, Daemon she could have as many children as they desired because they were not
hiding an affair.
“They will be loved and cherished,” Daemon assured.
She smiled softly as they sat there. “Has there been any word on Helaena’s children?” she
asked.
“They arrived this morning, a few hours ago, the journey was safe, uneventful,” he
murmured. “The Northmen will not permit anyone near. Ser Vaemond has also come to over
see contracts with Corlys to buy the ships of the Velaryon fleet.”
“Mmm,” she hummed tiredly. “It will be good to retain the fleet,” she sighed.
“It will be,” he agreed. His fingers were rubbing comforting circles over the sphere that was
her belly. Rhaenyra loved pregnancy, being pregnant, and all it entailed, this pregnancy was
just more exhausting than the previous five put together.
“I have spoken to Maester Gerardys about your health,” he murmured then. “I am aware of
the conspiracy, but we have known him for ages, I believe him to have your interests at heart,
he has prepared a tea to aid in soothing you and the babe, he will bring it to you in a bit.”
“A tea?”
“Yes, there is, genuine concern that if your pregnancy continues the babe will be too large to
be birthed, and I’ve… I’ve already lost Laena, I do not wish to lose you, Nyra,” he murmured
softly. “We witnessed Aemma’s death, if we start the labors now, then it will… the babe is
strong, but it will not force me to have to choose,” he said softly.
“You… you wish my labors to begin? Now?” she asked. She had another lunar cycle or a bit
more left, but she knew her time was drawing near.
“Yes,” he said softly. “I want you and the babe to be safe, I have been assured the babe is late
enough in the pregnancy to live, so I believe it is best to act now, before we have concerns for
you.”
“Very well,” she sighed. He kissed her hard again and she smiled as he pulled away.
“Thank you,” he smiled as they sat there. Rhaenyra wanted this babe out of her and this
pregnancy over, she grimaced again as the babe kicked her ribs. It was after a bit, when the
water was chilling her bones, that Daemon helped her up and out of the tum. Stepping out,
she sighed, he held her weight as she clung to him. The weight of the babe tugged at her
spine, but it felt good to bend over and lean against his solid form.
“Before… before I have the tea, fuck me one last time, it will be a while before we can
again,” she murmured.
“Darling, you have but ask,” he mused and she giggled as he bent her over the desk. She
gripped it tightly as he kissed her shoulder and then kissed his way down her spine, his
thumbs kneading her lower spine, where her hips and beck felt impossibly wide and heavy.
She moaned lowly as she felt herself warming to his gentle ministrations. Gods they were
divine together, it was like they were made for one another. She moaned as she felt his cock
sliding into her, deep and sure.
Sansa was sitting quietly along the river, Aemond was talking with Beesbury and Vardis,
Sansa was watching the crowds. She was a bit wary as the weeks droned on, she wasn’t
liking Bethany’s court, her ladies in waiting reminded Sansa of Cersei’s court. The scheming,
the snark, mockery, and the element of danger Sansa felt around them. She’d been in a few
sewing circles with Lady Bethany’s ladies in waiting, and Sansa was certain that if she was
not a guest she’d have been stabbed by needles. The sense Sansa had she was in danger
would not relent, even here, which had her quietly watching and assessing everyone.
“Another grand wedding to be had, are you excited?” Beesbury asked, drawing Sansa’s
attention then. Aemond groaned, Sansa burst into laughter as Aemond’s head fell back.
Beesbury looked bemused, Vardis looked annoyed.
“One wedding was nightmare enough,” he groaned.
Sansa gasped for air as she wheezed and hugged her ribs. “I feel so beloved,” she tittered.
“You Did Not Have To Tolerate Viserys, Court, Hightowers, Politics, Foreign Dignitaries,
and Everyone Intent On Keeping An Eye Or Favor Of Mine!” Aemond growled. “And now
we have to do it… again! In front of different gods!”
Sansa gripped Aemond’s chair so she didn’t topple over, laughing hysterically as he glared at
her.
“Is it so amusing?” Vardis asked dryly.
“Apparently,” Beesbury mused. “One would think the groom should be excited for the
wedding at the very least.”
“One wedding was enough for Aemond,” Sansa gasped as she held herself up on the table,
smiling. “He was about as enthused for that wedding as this one,” Sansa mused as she smiled
at Aemond. Aemond glared at her. “One would think you detest being married to me
Aemond,” she teased.
“Marriages and weddings are not the same thing.”
“At least he is of some sense,” Vardis sighed.
“So young, and wise to have figured that tidbit out, many your age are unaware of it given
most marry in heated passions; those same passions lead to trouble,” Beesbury remarked.
“Aemond and his heated passions never lead to trouble,” Sansa said wryly as she fought
back most of her laughter. Aemond was famous for his temper, but temper was a version of
passions. Passions and Aemond were probably synonymous with one another when he wasn’t
working on controlling himself.
“Gods save me, get me out of this conversation,” Aemond muttered as he reached forward to
grab some tea.
“No, I don’t think they’ll save you or get you out of this conversation,” Sansa mused as she
smiled.
He glared at her, and she giggled as she leaned back in her seat.
“Ah, young love,” Beesbury mused.
“I would not venture that far,” Vardis sneered. Sansa snorted and took a sip of her own tea.
“A glowing young couple, their simply glowing with their union,” Beesbury said.
Aemond looked at her, then at Beesbury, Vardis sipped his wine, and Beesbury gave Sansa a
smile. “Union, already completed, and now another bloody wedding,” he sighed.
“Perhaps not so… bloody, Aemond,” Sansa said as she grimaced a little at the implications.
Her brother’s own wedding, and Joffrey’s wedding, bloody weddings were something Sansa
sought to avoid if she could.
“We’re already wed, and I agreed to this… union, to appease my maternal family, but I would
rather not go through this wedding… again,” Aemond rubbed his temple on his blindside. If
they were alone, she’d have stolen that damn eyepatch.
“Still, a bloody wedding would not be good,” she reminded him. “It’s ill luck, and I would
prefer for us to have good luck, Aemond.”
“It can’t be ill luck if we are already wed, Sansa,” Aemond countered blandly.
“Still, I would like to survive this wedding,” she stated as she looked levelly at him. “It
would please me greatly not to have a bloody wedding, Aemond.”
“Very well, but if I am required to endure a third, there will be blood,” he warned.
“That third wedding will be to the second wife,” Sansa mused.
“You are living long after I am dead, I am not doing this again,” he warned seriously.
“Then we will have to ask Lord Beesbury the secret to living long, ripe lives, because I’m not
dying until my hair is more silver than yours,” she mused.
“The secret is bee keeping,” Beesbury said. “It is a soothing pastime.”
“Then I will get my husband to take up beekeeping, because he’s going to live as old as King
Jaehaerys if I have any say in this matter,” Sansa smiled wolfishly at Aemond.
He scowled as they sat there. Beesbury looked absolutely delighted, Vardis was looking
uncertainly between them.
“I would rather not live to that age,” Aemond stated.
“He’ll come around, with a wife like yourself, it will do him well,” Beesbury mused.
“It would’ve served him well to know that other than violent deaths, Starks live notoriously
long lives, and we prefer our spouses to remain with us,” Sansa mused.
“You did not forewarn me of that, I will have to rethink this union,” Aemond remarked dryly.
“Till death do us part, Aemond,” she teased as she smiled. He glared at her and she bit back
her laughter as she sat there.
“It is a pleasure to see young love full of teasing and life, is it not Vardis?” Beesbury
remarked. “It gives hope for the future.”
“Hope,” Vardis sighed tiredly. “Let us hope this future is more promising than futures past…”
he looked at them with a look Sansa couldn’t place. She did not understand this look of his,
but it seemed significant as it had Beesbury’s attention. Aemond gave Sansa a curious look as
he looked between Vardis and Beesbury as well.
“Sansa, we must go,” Aemond said when the bells of the sept rang out for the noon meal.
Sansa nodded as she rose and grabbed Aemond’s hand, they bid their farewells as they
walked away. Sansa’s stomach flipped, and they paused as she stood there for a moment.
“So, what have you, Vardis and Beesbury discovered?” Sansa asked.
“We’ll discuss it more outside of Oldtown,” he assured. “We just have to survive the
wedding, and we will be free, then we will discuss what is to happen next,” he promised.
“Very well,” she nodded. “As to Lyonel and Sam, I believe your plan is flawed,” she
informed him.
“I have not informed you of a plan,” he grimaced.
“Mmm, and that is why it is flawed, I do not believe you to have one,” she said levelly.
He scowled and she took that to mean that she was correct. Aemond’s plots had likely
involved just keeping Lyonel under his thumb, but Sansa had been observing Lyonel and Sam
for the past fortnight since they had been encountered and she had her own little plot. But she
wanted Aemond to admit he either didn’t have a plot, or did but did not know how to execute
it.
“I have a plan,” he started.
“Aemond, remember that mentor I’ve told you about?” she asked calmly.
“Yes…” he answered warily.

“He was an expert blackmailer, and schemer, it would do you well to let me assist you,” she
informed him.
“I…”
“We are wed, and have agreed to a partnership, and I know things you do not and you know
things I do not, in this matter, we shall compare economics, which I am dismal at and
politics, which you are dismal at,” she said. “However, you are excellent at economics, and I
am good at politics, so, permit my aid,” she sighed.
“I, primarily, wanted him to leave us alone, and be wary about being near or following us,”
he sighed.
“Mmm, and let him stew in misery of not seeing his lover?” Sansa asked.
He nodded a bit sheepishly.
“Excellent plan, if we were children,” she informed him.
“And what do you wish to do with Lyonel? He is a useless ally, unless Ormund should meet
an untimely end,” Aemond sighed.
“Lyonel might be a useless ally, but Lady Sam is not,” Sansa said as they walked through the
markets then. Aemond bought them apples as they walked. She noticed he had a habit of
snacking throughout his day, eating as he went along, part of her was attempting to figure out
how to get him to eat more enticing foods than fruits he could eat and walk with. She would
have to speak to cooks about this problem, she was certain dried meat might be suitable, but
finding something Aemond would like would be a challenge.
“I think Lyonel has uses, but he is too far removed from succession at this moment to be of
service to any true plan,” Aemond confessed. “I should’ve withheld the information you gave
me until after Lady Sam was wed to Ormund.”
“You intended to black mail him regardless!?” Sansa sputtered.
“Yes,” Aemond answered slowly. “Paternity fraud is a grave offense, and so is kinslaying” he
informed her seriously.
“You…” she sputtered.
“Yes,” he replied. “Primarily because, through controlling Lyonel we’d have a firmer
foothold in controlling the Reach if we went to war. The soldiers would be following Lyonel,
and given Ormund’s age and lack of war experience, his death would be easy to arrange. I
was intending to push him in that direction, utilizing the affair, and possibility of Lady
Samantha’s child being his, to push him to act on his own selfish interests, and take his
position as Lord of Hightower. In turn, I would offer to have his union to Lady Sam official,
with no protests from the Crown, even offering an annulment, gained through a similar
manner as our own union was gained,” he stated. “However, I blackmailed him too soon,” he
sighed.
Sansa chuckled. “That is a good scheme, but your patience is in need of improvement.”
“I have noticed,” he grumbled as he ate his apple.
“Let me improve this,” she mused.
“How?” he asked dryly.
“Lyonel is enthralled with Lady Sam, and Lady Sam with him… and as you’ve proven,
Lyonel is easily provoked,” she pointed out. “I do think your aims are plausible. But as you
said, the execution is early, however, we do know the depths of their affections.”
“Mmm, it only works if Lyonel will kill for Lady Samantha,” he pointed out. “And at the
very least, appear to have killed his own father.”
“I am not disagreeing, but for now, the pressure of blackmail, with no intentions, will put us
in more danger than Lyonel and Lady Sam,” she pointed out.
“And what do you propose?” Aemond asked.
“Paternity fraud is a grave offense,” Sansa replied as she looked up at Aemond. “I do not
believe Lady Sam to be as maidenly as the others in Lady Bethany’s court, nor as virtuous as
the Faith would like. Her reputation whilst outlandish, does have some base in truth, just as
yours does,” she pointed out.
“And what do you intend?” Aemond asked.
“Nothing,” Sansa smiled. “That is the brilliance, Lady Sam will have to be wed soon, or
shortly after us, if we can… persuade her and Lyonel to give into their passions fully, the risk
of paternity fraud will either drive them to elope, in which case, offering our assistance and
aid will gain us friends, rather than vexed victims of blackmail, in which case, Ormund being
a problem will only last as long as he is a threat, because Lyonel will likely escalate to drastic
measures to keep her. Aiding them will have us with friends in our debt, Aemond, the
blackmail secures them if they do not desire friendship,” she informed him.
He blinked a few times and shrugged. “Very well, Ormund though is a threat.”
“Yes, but he’ll be offended, and as his heirs are Lyonel, Martyn or Garmund, and Martyn is…
utterly useless, Garmund needs to be fostered out, so, Lyonel is who he needs. I do think we
could nudge it into the direction of a duel, but it’d between a husband and scorned betrothed,
which while kinslaying could be framed for love, and the small folk do love a good love
story,” she pointed out. Afterall, the small folk were infatuated with her union to Aemond.
“So… you wish to promote it as a love story?” he asked skeptically.
“Aye, do not under estimate the appeal of love Aemond,” she quipped.
“I’m not, but I wish to not be embroiled in any more love, I do not like the ballads,” he
stated.
“I like the one where they think I changed your hair, and you changed mine with a kiss,” she
mused.
Aemond grimaced.
Vaegon sat with Beesbury quietly as they watched Sansa and Aemond leaving. He sighed as
he leaned back in his seat. Vaegon was concerned at how casually the couple were about a
grand wedding, an affair which would have been taxing typically. He did not know much
about weddings, but both Aemon’s and Baelon’s weddings had been stressful and grand, and
dreadful. Vaegon disagree with Aemond’s sentiments about weddings being dreadful affairs,
though the couple’s lack of seriousness was startling.
Aemon had been nearly panicked, he was marrying a woman he liked, but he had been nearly
panicked about the union. In fact, when Vaegon had still sought his brothers’ companionship
and friendship, (before they utterly humiliated him and destroyed any hopes, he might’ve had
at being their brother), he had heard Aemon in a panicky rant plot escaping to Essos on
Caraxes. Not that he would. Baelon had talked him out of that. But then again, when Baelon
was going to marry Alyssa, the same panic had occurred, and Baelon; who loved Alyssa
more than his own life, had planned to run off on Vhagar’s back. Not that he had.
Vaegon’s experience said grooms should be panicked, terrified, and ready to flee. But
Aemond had merely looked vexed, unperturbed, and annoyed. Princess Sansa looked
amused, and annoyed. Ultimately, the pair’s lack of care about the wedding was startling to
Vaegon. He’d never witnessed that.
“I will keep an eye on Aemond, we are friends, and I have made my presence known, but I
must ask you to keep an eye on Princess Sansa,” Beesbury said when they were alone again,
finally.
“She appears quite well,” Vaegon said.
“Yes, but given the antics of Aemond’s previous union, and the displeasure of House
Hightower about this union, I want to ensure that we have eyes upon the couple,” Beesbury
murmured.
“Why?” Vaegon asked. “They are married.”
“Yes,” Beesbury replied. “But for the sake of the Realm, we should ensure our desired
candidates are safe. Should we not?”
Vaegon blinked a few times and nodded slowly.
“And given you are dead, you are free to move in ways I cannot, utilizing routes I cannot,”
Beesbury pointed out.
“I shall keep an eye on Princess Sansa,” he agreed carefully as they sat there. he was
uncertain what Beesbury thought the Hightowers could or would do, given the couple were
already married. Unless there was an active attempt to remove Princess Sansa, which would
seem foolish to Vaegon, (Vaegon did not know much about people, but he had noticed Sansa
was endearing herself to the people in ways that his mother would truly envy), but Vaegon
remembered most people were inherently foolish. Sighing he finished his wine as he prepared
to figure out a way to Hightower again without being caught.
“I am not an agent of death, my friend,” he reminded Beesbury seriously.
“But you are dead,” Beesbury countered.
Vaegon scowled as he accepted his assignment.
Sansa woke to being pressed into Aemond’s chest as he stretched out along her back. She
groaned a bit as she curled into him, grimacing as she tried to stretch her aching back.
Aemond’s warm hand felt good on her stomach, as she curled a little more around it, pressing
her own hand over his, and squirming against him as she got comfortable. Aemond’s other
arm trapped her from squirming any more.
“If you do not cease your actions I will not be responsible for mine,” Aemond grumbled
against her neck, she turned a little to see him still laying there, eye closed.
“You are so stiff,” she yawned.
“Sansa, do not be vexing,” Aemond warned tiredly as he pressed his hand more firmly
against her stomach and held her tighter.
“Mmm,” she hummed tiredly as she lay there. Today was their last morning together. For the
next week they’d be separated for the preparations for the wedding at the sept. They’d have
to go through purifying rituals, and whatever else the Faith intended for them to endure.
Sansa did not know what the South would do in preparations for a wedding. Her only
Southron wedding was, unexpected and not traditional, as it was done in haste with every
intention of making a mockery of her House and Tyrion Lannister. Turning a bit she peered
over her shoulder at Aemond. In the weak morning light she thought he looked his age,
young, long face, silver hair, he looked young, and vulnerable.
“Go to sleep,” Aemond grumbled tiredly.
“I’m awake,” she countered.
“Sansa…” he sighed. She rolled over, kissing him then, his eye snapped open, as he seemed
startled. She smiled, he was faster to surge forward kissing her, she found herself pressed into
the pillows, he had her hips trapped as she twisted to kiss him back. She moaned a bit when
he rolled his hips, she was too trapped to react, and he pulled away, kissing along her jaw and
then her pulse, nipping her pulse.
“Aemond…” she gasped his name as she turned her head a bit. He kissed her pulse again, she
felt him move then and he was over her.
“I warned you,” he mumbled as he kissed her jaw, and she smiled and his brow came to rest
on hers, his hair created the veil between them and the world.
“I know,” she giggled as she kissed him again. “But this is the last time we’re together for a
little bit,” she whispered.
“So it is,” he agreed tiredly.
“I trust you,” she whispered softly and he blinked a few times, she reached up, tracing his
scar. “I just… I think you should know, I trust you, and… I’ll see you again, at the Starry
Sept,” she promised.
He kissed her again and she groaned as he pulled away, his brow resting on hers. “I will see
you at the Starry Sept,” he promised.
She smiled as she nodded, and then she got out of their bed to prepare for their separation for
the next few days. She didn’t really like this part of the Hightower wedding, but given her
genuine disinterest in having another wedding, she hadn’t paid this one any mind. Aemond
and she had been busy.
“I meet with Beesbury today, it is the final time, Vardis will be there,” Aemond stated as he
was rising now, getting dressed.
“Good, we’ll meet them at Honeyholt, Beesbury has our notes and records,” Sansa pointed
out as she undid her braid, having stolen one of Aemond’s shirts after relieving herself this
morning.
“He does,” Aemond answered as he stood, walking over to her. “You’re very pale,” he
murmured as she rubbed her temple then.
“I’m just worried,” she assured tiredly as he examined her. “Aemond… I, I know you do not
like not wearing your eye patch before the public, but… for this wedding, again, I would
rather us be wed if your true face is showing.”
“I… I, I will think about it, Sansa,” he stammered out.
She nodded as she looked at him, tracing his jawline with her fingers. “I like your face
Aemond, scar and all,” she assured.
He didn’t respond.
“I will be waiting for you, husband,” she assured as she walked away to get ready for her day.
She wanted a bath. Bending over, she started picking up her dress, stockings, and other
garments, rising, she felt a surge of strangeness as it felt like the world was elongated, the
floor torn out from under her feet, gasping out, she caught the chest.
“Sansa!?” Aemond was there, hands grabbing her shoulders. She closed her eyes as she
focused on breathing, Aemond was carefully helping her stand up. “I am getting a healer,” he
stated.
“No, I’m fine,” she promised as he held her against him.
“Sansa, this has gone on long enough!” he hissed.
“Aemond, I can’t explain how I’m alive to a maester, healer, or anyone,” she hissed furiously
as she squeezed her eyes tighter, her head felt like it was spinning.
“You don’t have to,” he started.
“Aemond, I can’t talk to them!” she peeled her eyes open, and found herself staring levelly at
him.
“Why not!?” he demanded.
“I don’t know how I’m alive, here, or how the Night King’s blade hurt me, I can’t talk to
them,” she whispered. “I just think the heat is getting to me, I am from the North, I have
never fared well in the heat.”
“If you do not heal by the end of the next lunar cycle, we’re going North,” he warned
seriously.
She nodded as she felt his lips press against her brow. “I do not feel… like I am dying,
Aemond, I just, feel very tired, worn, and hot, and cold, but I am always cold, I am tired from
the heat and cold,” she concluded as she looked at him again.
“If this persists we are going North and Domeron will examine you,” he warned.
She nodded as he slowly released her, grabbing up her clothes and handing them to her. She
gave a small smile, kissed him before she went to summon a bath and he went to go scrounge
up food. Alone she slowly sat down on a stool as she rubbed her temples, she focused on her
breathing as the maids scurried about, taking care of preparing her bath. Smiling, she thanked
them as they left, alone, she stripped and looked at the scar from the Night King as she
lowered herself into the cool water. It was not darker or worse, which had Domeron’s
concerns. Rubbing her hands along she scar, she winced as she pushed her breast up, a small,
aching pain radiated through her body as she laid back.
Closing her eyes, she just focused on breathing before she started washing herself, she felt
tired, and sore, the chill was at war with the heat, and it felt like she was being torn asunder.
Part of her wanted to plunge into the icy shores of a fjord in the North, and another part of
her wanted to stew in the hot springs of Winterfell. Gods, this was worse than being ill, she
thought, at least when she was ill, she felt ill, but now she just felt like she was being torn
apart with the cold and heat. Getting up, she dried off, braided her hair in a long braid, and
got dressed.
Pausing, she looked around the room she shared with Aemond and sighed. It would be odd
being without him, she had grown accustomed to him, at the very least being in her bed. They
did not always sleep curled up with one another, but she rather liked his presence in her bed.
Sighing, she finished preparing for the day, collecting the pearls, and fixing the broaches on
her apron dress straps. She was missing some beading to be decorative, if she were to do this
dress in true Northern fashion, but she was rather pleased with the results when she looked at
it. Stealing one of Aemond’s heavier belts, she secured it around her hips, and slipped a small
dagger to be on her back.
The other aspect of always being around Aemond, she was safe, without him, she feared she
would lose the sense of security she had gained around him and Cregan. She wondered if her
father had ever felt this overwhelmed and underprepared about being in the South, if he’d be
proud of her for attempting to serve the Realm. It was all her father had done, being in
service to others, not himself or his interests. Leaving her room, she was surprised when she
walked out to the gardens to see Lady Bethany and her court.
“Good morning Princess Sansa, we’ve been sent to assist you in preparing for your
wedding,” Lady Bethany gave a very low, proper curtsey then.
“Thank you, Lady Bethany, I am most honored by your aid,” Sansa replied with a smile.
Jon watched Mira Stane carefully. She had a mane of curly red hair, and bright green eyes,
like all the Stanes had, she had a cleft chin, weak jawline, bowed lips, and a large nose. She
looked rather impish with her heart shaped face. She was skinny, and rather like Ygritte but
shorter. Not terribly short like Daenerys or Arya, but not as tall as Ygritte or Sansa. She was
not unappealing, or hideous.
Lady Gwyn Cerwyn was a Northern beauty, ebony hair, full lips as red as blood, pert nose,
blue eyes, and skin pale as snow itself. She was tall, graceful, not as tall as Sansa, but still,
she was tall. She had a slender form, with a womanly curve. She was a classic Northern
beauty, but he found little about her of interest.
Both women were commanding, careful, sharp, he did not dislike either of them now that he
watched them prepare for Sansa’s return, while also making plans for their own journeys
home. They were engaging, good with children, and not woefully unappealing as a whole.
They were nothing like Dany, that’s all he noticed, they also weren’t anything like Ygritte,
Val, or Arya.
However, Jon could not deny he preferred Mira’s appearance, as shallow as that made him
feel. Her fiery temper and personality were also appealing, but her appearance was what drew
his eye most the time. Red hair was not common, and Jon had always liked red hair. he did
not know why, but it was just… he was drawn to the red heads. Perhaps it was his inner
Targaryen, drawn to fire, the appeal of kissing the personification of fire, of being fire able to
see another afflicted by fire. Or perhaps he just liked red. Jon didn’t know, but his eyes were
drawn to Mira when he watched them.
He had thought he had kept his interests to himself, but he got a rude awakening as he found
himself nose to nose with fiery green eyes and a face full of red curls as Mira Stane glared at
him in the Glass Gardens at this moment. He had just about fallen back, Rickon and Barba
were playing, and he had been following them around, trailing around the toddlers and
thinking over his life options. Cregan had been very clear, Jon would be married before the
end of the year, either he could choose his bride or accept Cregan picking.
“Fuck!?” Jon stumbled back, catching the herb table, before he could fall entirely on his arse.
“Fuck be right,” Mira stated. “If I wait for you to speak to me much longer I’ll be old and
white!”
“I…”
“Aye! You!” She huffed as she grabbed up Barba onto her hip then. “Now, lets get to the
heart of this bloody matter, Lord Jon Norstark. My brother has mentioned you’ve been
meaning to speak to me, you’re avoiding me!”
“I haven’t asked anything of you!”
“Then why do I feel you’re mooning eyes on me?” she demanded.
“I am not mooning after you!” he huffed as he finally stood.
“Aye, you are, I see your big sad eyes, Jon Norstark. Is that what you Starks do, bat those big
eyes and get women folk swooning?” she demanded.
He bit back the laughter he felt building as he stared at her. “No…” he choked out so he
didn’t make a bigger fool of himself.
“Then why are you mooning after me?” she demanded.
“I’m not!”
“Am I not pretty enough for the pretty Stark?” she demanded.
“What!? No, that’s not what I…”
“Am I not good enough for the pretty Stark!?” she growled.
“I did not say that!”
“Then why would you say you’re not mooning after me? I’m beautiful!” she snorted.
“Bloody fucking hells,” he groused as he caught Rickon before he could fall. Timber loped
by with Ghost then, and he snatched up the giggling Rickon. “I think you’re beautiful, I’m
not mooning after you, I’m not…” he started.
“So you admit I’m beautiful!” she mused with a sharp smile.
“Yes…?” he blinked a few times. He felt like he was falling into a trap he couldn’t see.
“Good, you’re pretty, Jon Norstark,” she smiled bright and innocent. Jon just felt like he was
spinning. “You’re going to speak to me. I suppose about marriage with how you’re mooning
after me.”
“I’m not mooning after you!” he snapped.
“Ah, so it is marriage you desire to speak to me about!” she decided. “I would like Sansa as a
cousin, you’re tolerable, I will have to feed you more, and make you smile, this one is
appealing too.”
“I’m not… wait… what?” Jon sputtered.
“I will speak to Bryan, the match is tolerable,” she walked off handing him Barba. Jon looked
at the little girl, Rickon burst into laughter.
“What just happened?” Jon asked no one in particular as he looked around the Glass Garden
uncertain what had just happened. It felt like his unions with Ygritte and Val, but some much
more direct, he was uncertain what had just happened. The children giggling wasn’t helping,
and Jon was uncertain how he had been entrapped but he was certain he had been ensnared in
a trap he hadn’t seen. Sitting down, he scratched Ghost’s ears as he looked at Barba, who was
resting against his shoulder. Sighing he let his head fall as he shook it. Women were
confusing. Redheads were unnerving. Standing he grabbed Rickon to put the toddlers down
for their nap. Cregan was out greeting the Winter’s Council, and working with arranging the
newest recruits training.
He found Cregan after he had put the toddlers down for sleep.
“You ambushed a fiery Stane on me,” Jon stated as he stood beside Cregan.
“I did no such thing,” Cregan countered.
“I know when I’ve been manipulated and this reeks of Stark tactics; Robb’s tactics
particularly, but he must’ve learnt them from you somehow,” Jon growled.
“Mmm, I didn’t do anything, Jon, but I’m pleased you met Mira finally,” Cregan said.
“You’re an arse,” Jon snarled.
Cregan snickered as he walked off.
Chapter End Notes
Sorry about the previous, false posting of this chapter. I was really tired and had a
splitting headache. The puppy is good, she's exhausting but good, and we're just
working on basic training and getting house broken.
Chapter 38
Sansa was exhausted, as she stumbled into her room alone, at last. She wanted nothing more
than to turn around and rush to Aemond, beg him to leave, and fly away on Vhagar. The
wariness she felt in preparations for this wedding just made all her previous weddings seem
simple. She did not like the amount of praying she had been forced to do, septas demanding
she repent, and the amount of time she spent on her knees made them ache. Her back and
shoulders also ached, as well as her neck, she rubbed a hand over the knots forming in her
neck and shoulders as she stood alone in her room. The other thing she did not like, she did
not like being alone in her room without Aemond. Sleep had been elusive for the past few
days because she missed Aemond in her bed, she did not feel safe in Hightower.
Taking her hair down, Sansa ordered a tea, and hot bath, the chill was causing her bones to
ache.
It was after the maids had prepared her bath and she was alone again that she undress, the tea
was lavender, and mint, which made her smile as she sipped it. Now that she was alone, she
pulled off the dress, and carefully lowered herself into the tub, the steaming water soothed
her aching bones, and the shivers she was rattling from. Sighing, she took a few deep breaths
as she sipped the hot tea and curled up in the warm waters. There was a storm building
outside her windows, she wanted Aemond here so she could enjoy the night curled up beside
him. It was a surprise to her that she was desiring his presence in her bed again.
Part of her was truly surprised at how much she enjoyed having Aemond’s presence in her
bed, or her space. Sansa had never felt good about sharing her space, when she had a space
she considered her own. Sweet Robin was invasive and annoying, Joffrey was cruel, Tyrion
was sour, Littlefinger was uncomfortable, Harry a necessary nuisance, and Ramsey was
terrifying. Sansa had never minded sharng her space with her siblings, or her family. And she
enjoyed the friends she had made in this era, having them near her never felt horrifying, but it
also wasn’t like she shared her space with them at the end of her days. Aemond though, she
shared her space with Aemond, and she missed him.
He was across the balconies in the suites on the other side of Hightower, and she missed him.
She missed having him present in her room, she missed how safe she felt with him around.
Odd how that worked out in her life, she thought, she only felt safe with dangerous men with
questionable morals… sighing, she shook her head. She had spent too much time in the sept
praying to be forgiven for sins if she considered Aemond, Sandor, Jon, Cregan, and Jaime
questionable in their morals.
Shaking her head of that thought she leaned back as she thought about Aemond. He was not
far from her at this time, and she knew she could sneak over to his quarters for the night, she
missed him and wanted to sleep without nightmares or worries this night. Not that she would,
but she wanted to. Letting her head fall back she thought that desire over carefully. Sansa had
never particularly wanted a man in her life. Sansa had never lusted after a man either. Harry
had been handsome, but so had Joffrey and Ramsey, and both of them had been vile, cruel
men. She had sworn off love when she acknowledged the practicality of needing a husband,
and after Ramsey she didn't think she would ever trust anyone enough to want to love them.
But then there was Aemond.
She missed his presence in their space, she missed having him in her bed and room, and she
hated this period of purification and separation between herself and Aemond. She did not like
this wedding, and she wanted it over with so she could have one night of true sleep, and no
dreams. Aemond kept her nightmares at bay, and she hadn't really noticed because he was
always present, and when he wasn't present, she was typically safe at home, or with a
Northern guard. It was only recently because of the separation for their wedding that she
came to the realization of how unsafe she felt here in the South, and in Hightower. Sansa
wanted Aemond here to keep the nightmares at bay, and also, she wanted him to reassure her
she was safe.
Perhaps it was the conspiracy they were investigating, but Sansa couldn't settle or calm
herself since they had been separated. No matter, tomorrow was the wedding, this was the
last night apart, she promised herself.
Sipping her tea, she felt her eyes growing heavy, which had her getting up, and picking up
one of Aemond’s shirts. If he wasn’t here, she could at the very least curl up in his scent.
She hated being here at Hightower.
Stretching out on her bed, she sighed, exhaustion had her eyes growing heavy, and she
trembled a little in fear at the exhaustion. Sansa didn't want to sleep. She didn't want the
nightmares to come up, she just wanted to leave, or sleep beside Aemond again. Closing her
eyes, she took a few steadying breaths as she felt the claws of exhaustion digging into her
aching body and pulling her to the dreams she was trying to avoid.
Sansa didn't hear her teacup shatter on the marble floor beside her bed as she gave into sleep.
She was stretched out amongst the pillows, her hair looked like a soft fire, spilled over the
pillows, and she was stretched out, so every sensual curve was exposed as her breasts
delicately rose and fell with her gentle breaths. Walking over her, he stared down at her, she
was so still, like she was carved of the ice they said the Northerners were born from. She was
not wearing the appropriate sleepware, no, indecently exposed in a man’s shirt, a single breast
taunt in the night’s air. He looked her over, she was a very sensual woman, curves, and a
slender frame, he was a bit surprised seeing the dark scar under her breast, the other marks
too. Long, pale, shapely legs were tangled in the sheets of the bed, and her arms draped over
her head, the sensual way she slept was obviously a part of her spell.
Part of him could not fault his cousin for being enraptured by this creature, she was sensual,
and if she were not under the sleeping herbs of the tea, then she would enrapture him.
Reaching down, he wanted to touch her exposed breast. He was pleased she had been given
the sleep tea, she would never know his desires… no one would, soon she would not matter.
His hand hovered a breath away from her breast, she moaned as she shifted. His heart
hammered painfully in his chest, the blood roaring in his ears. She struggled awake, and he
froze as those heavy lashes struggled open. For a startling moment, her blue eyes were bright,
then she was fully awake, he lunged for her, she gasped as he grabbed her mouth before she
could scream. A grunt escaped him as he caught her wrists above her head, his hips slotted
against hers. She squirmed, he smiled, what would be the harm if he tasted what had
bewitched the imbecile Aemond.
“Be quiet, or this will hurt,” he warned seriously. “You will be leaving tonight, heathen, it
will not do to have you here. But we cannot kill you, so not to worry, it will be a test of
survival,” he warned. A sharp pain hit his ribs, winding him, as a foot got between them, she
was surprisingly strong as she shoved him off her. Slamming into the ground, he grunted as
he banged his head on the trunk. She was up, scrambling, tangled in the sheets. He rolled to
grab them, jerking them, she crashed sluggishly to the ground.
“That hurt!” he snarled as he dabbed his fingers to his temple. She crawled from him, he
staggered to his feet, she was struggling. Staggering a few steps, he kicked her as hard as he
could in her gut, which had her gasping for air as she curled into herself, he kicked her again
as she rolled attempted to roll away.
“What are you doing!?” he turned to look at his father then.
“She’s wanton, tempting me like this!” he sneered.
“Put her in that dress!” his father barked.
“I…”
“Now! We must get her in the new dress to make her appear a runaway bride, the ships are
ready, and a storm is blowing in, hurry, before we lose the tides,” his father ordered.
He grabbed her up, she struggled again, and when he reached for her chin, she bit him, he
flung his fist back, having her collapse into the hard stones.
“Get her dressed, now!” his father barked quietly.
Aemond couldn’t sleep.
Laying in the bed, he felt tired, anxious and… alone. Pushing himself up he frowned.
Solitude had never bothered him before, he would admit he had never minded solitude;
sharing his space always made him anxious. Being alone, doing something on his own, it
never bothered him. But he couldn’t sleep, and three days of this, it left him wary as he rose
up and walked around the room.
He missed Vhagar, the dragoness never liked being around Oldtown.
He missed Helaena, Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, Maelor; it was surprising to him after days left with
none for company but his dismal cousins how much he missed his family. The days were
quiet, too quiet, it unsettled him being around Hightowers how quiet their children were, how
demure everyone was. Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor were so full of life, and laughter,
mischief, he could not reconcile the children here with his nephews and niece, and he missed
his sister. He missed Helaena’s insightful, odd ramblings, he missed her musings, her sewing,
and her company, he missed having her as his best friend, because she was his best friend
now that he thought about it.
He missed Daeron, his brother was a pain in the arse, but he missed his little brother. Daeron
was safe though, even with the Lannisters, and he was happier with the Lannisters than he
ever had been with the Hightowers. He missed his brother though, the little shit, he missed
the antics, quips, and mischief.
He missed his mother, being alone with the Hightowers made him think about his mother,
and these past days in solitude with Hightowers and septons, it had made Aemond realize his
mother was a byproduct of her upbringing and fear. She feared for them, she feared
Rhaenyra, she feared the Gods’ wrath, she feared change, she feared failure, and Aemond
was certain she was taught fear.
He missed Cole, Gods did he miss Cole! He would have done anything to have another
conversation with Cole at this moment, he was feeling overwhelmed and uncertain of his
own future. And Cole had always been more a father for Aemond than Viserys had been, and
he was overwhelmed, he wanted to talk to Cole about his future and concerns for the Realm.
But mostly, Aemond missed his wife!
Gods, he missed Sansa just being in his bloody bed, the bed was odd now without her. It was
difficult to sleep without her soft weight against him, it was odder to sleep without getting a
mouthful of hair, or hair tickling his nose, it was difficult to sleep, being able to move around
his bed and not touch her, it was also… quiet. Sansa was not a noisy woman, but she did talk
in her sleep on occasion, and she snored a little, she was also cuddly. He had not truly
realized how much he enjoyed Sansa though until he could only see her in the distance,
around Hightower, and not speak to her because they were separated for their wedding
ceremony for the Faith.
She was a constant, steady, quiet presence, full of kindness, and peace, he felt at peace around
her. She was patient, gentle, and good, and despite his difficulties with her truth, she had not
wavered in her treatment of him despite him wavering in his treatment of her. He missed her
insight, her quips, her presence. Aemond wasn’t reliant on her, he knew that, they did not do
everything together, but he missed ending his days with her there. He also just missed having
her there, and it was merely a few days of this. There would be a wedding soon enough, and
he and Sansa would return to their routines. But it unsettled him how much he missed having
her around. And worse, he could see her, they’d see each other in the mornings across
Hightower’s balconies, he could see her clear as day when they exited, but then they’d both
be rushed off for preparations for the wedding, and he would only catch glimpses of her
throughout the day. Thank the Gods her hair was bright red, it made it easy to keep track of
her.
Still, he grew bored, and he did not like his bed being so bloody empty.
Getting up, he poured himself a goblet of wine, and went to stand on the balcony. Escaping to
visit Sansa’s room on the other side of the tower was futile, the Hightowers, unlike the Starks
and Lannisters, had stationed guards everywhere, and this high into the tower, there were no
passages to utilize.
Aemond pondered how Sansa had become so important to him in such a short span of time.
Yes, he would admit he had liked her since he had met her, she was just kind, and never
invasive. Her direct mind, and genuine kindness were unusual, and he had felt captivated by
the simplicity of her, despite the complications of the situation she presented; forcing his
hand and making him reveal his own involvement with the Crown and Throne while
maintaining the status quo of the Realm. She was always consistent and patient with him, and
his friend; he had never, in his life, ever had a friend before, other than his sister, and he
rather liked how Sansa treated him. And… and she had wanted him, Aemond couldn’t
remember anyone wanting him for him, she wasn’t opposed to being his wife, and despite
everything for the wedding to now, she was always kind and consistent, and Gods above, he
really might have fallen in love with her.
The thought was knee jerking as he thought about it.
In abstract Aemond understood love; he loved Vhagar, his mother, his sister, his brother, his
nephews and niece. He cared about Cole, Beesbury, Cregan, Sara, Jon, Rickon, Rody,
Domeron, Bryan, and even Vaemond, Daemion, Daeron Velaryon in some capacity. He
tolerated those he had started accepting as friends. And Aemond did love Sansa in some
capacity even before their marriage, he knew he liked her enough to want to marry her, he
had not thought himself falling in love though. He had thought he loved her how he loved
Helaena, Vhagar, or his mother.
Aemond honestly did not notice when had fallen in love with Sansa how the poets described
until now, when he was sleeping alone in Hightower, unable to sleep. Bloody woman, had to
go about complicating his life, and he now didn’t like sleeping alone in a bed. He scowled at
his bed before he leaned on the post of the terrace. First she calmly orchestrates breaking the
Realm, very casually with her dainty presentation and soft smiles, then she reveals her
wolfish nature, and by the time he’d noticed he was completely enraptured by her, not just
her appearance by her mind, he hadn’t noticed himself falling for her. And the terrifying part
was, despite the terror he felt about not noticing he had fallen for her, was how bloody
effortless she made it. Everything in his life was difficult, it was a challenge, a quest, and
then there was Sansa Stark, and she just made it easy, and that unnerved him.
Sighing he looked out at the sea, storms were brewing, building, he had always liked storms.
They made him feel less alone in the turmoil, it was as if nature also felt turmoil and felt the
need to unleash the destruction upon the world, then let it regrow.
Sipping his wine, he grimaced, it was a bit too sour for his tastes, it was a good vintage but it
was tart, sour, he didn’t like. Setting it down he watched the storm building, feeling the sea
on his face, and the winds tugging his hair around. Soon this nonsense would be over, and
they’d be North again, and he’d build a life there. He would no longer be doing the work of
the Crown, and the Realm would either thrive or plunge into chaos. Part of him was hoping
for the later just to watch his cunt of an elder sister flounder, the whore never suffered
consequences, let this be a consequence. Aemond just pitied the Realm which would suffer
under Rhaenyra’s thumb.
He would enjoy a quieter life in the North, and he would learn to live without the stresses of
being discovered, harassed, or tormented by his family. He would build a home, and have a
life and family of his own, and it wouldn’t be entangled with these conspiracies.
Aemond watched the storm building, frowning as he noticed some of the ships leaving the
harbors at this hour, and thought it odd. Exhaustion had his eye growing heavy and he
surrendered to needing some rest. Soon he’d have Sansa back in the bed and he’d be able to
rest easier knowing she was genuinely safe.
The uneasy feeling filled his gut as he sat on the bed. He felt a dreadful fear pooling in his
gut, grabbing his eyepatch, he left his room. Looking around he noted the guards and started
for Sansa’s quarters.
“My prince, where are you going?” Aemond paused, turning to see his cousin there. Ormund
frowned a bit, looking at him with heavy eyes, and the night around them. “Come, let us
pray,” Ormund ordered.
Aemond looked at Sansa’s door, and was about to continue that way when a heavy hand
caught his shoulder.
“I know it is difficult, to be young and passionate, with seed to sow, but if you wish a fruitful
union it is vital to wait,” Ormund said. “Else we shall have to have penance for dishonoring a
maiden before her wedding night, and she too shall have to pay penance, my prince, for
tempting you from the virtuous path.”
“She is my wife,” Aemond turned to glare at Ormund.
“Not in the eyes of the Seven,” Ormund said. “Come, let us pray.”
Aemond resisted the desire to roll his eye. He would indulge Ormund so nothing was amiss,
but he was going to check on Sansa before he went to rest. The sense something was amiss
could not leave him be, and he doubted it had anything to do with the revelation he was
falling for his wife.
“We have not had many opportunities to converse, cousin,” Ormund said. “Perhaps we shall
indulge in some conversation. Your mother mentioned you are a scholar of philosophy and
theology, perhaps we shall discuss the Seven and the tenants of virtue.”
“Such scintillating repartee, how could I ever refuse?” Aemond asked dryly.
“It is important to know the tenants of virtue,” Ormund persisted with a smile.
Aemond did not respond. He had not desired to have this conversaion, he turned and looked
at the doors to Sansa’s room, he didn’t like this sensation in his gut. Something was wrong,
he could not elude to anything being amiss though, he knew that. If anyone thought for a
moment he was paranoid, they would believe him to be nothing more than a mad Targaryen,
and he would have to keep his concerns to himself until he could be alone to check in on
Sansa.
“Do you know your tenants of morality?” Ormund asked and Aemond looked over at the
older man then.
“Temperance, Charity, Diligence, Kindness, Patience, Humility, and Chastity,” Aemond

answered.
“Then you know the tenants of immorality,” Ormund said.
“Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Envy, Wrath, Pride and Lust,” Aemond responded.
“Then you should know it is vital not to give into the wicked ways of the woman and
succumb to the baser needs like lust,” Ormund deduced with a kind smile. “Your true wife
will be prepared for your union, and you shall find yourself able to sow your seed then. Not
before. The ability to overcome the baser instincts of nature is what separates man from
beast.”
Aemond didn’t respond, because he knew responding would lead to a sanctimonious debate
he did not want to endure. He would have to outwait his cousin to get to Sansa.
Rhaenyra sat in her quarters, heavy, uncomfortable on her favorite chair. Her legs were
spread wide, her breasts were heavy, sticky, she felt hot, sweaty, uncomfortable, and sitting
there, she sighed. Gerardys came to her with a try, the tea smelled good, and she trembled as
she pressed her hand to the small of her aching back.
“What is this tea?” she asked warily, it did not smell like the moon tea, she noted.
“It is the blue cohosh, with some lavender, sage, mint, and the other is raspberry leaf tea,
these will aid in bringing on labor,” he explained and she looked at the teas. “I am concerned
if you continue for the rest of the lunar cycle the babe will tear you,” he explained.
“Daemon has explained,” she sighed as she looked at the teas. She did want this pregnancy
over with, she felt so uncomfortable. “They will not harm the babe?” she asked as she rubbed
her hand over her belly.
“No. These have been known to bring on labors, but with no adverse affects upon the babe,”
he assured.
She nodded before reaching up, grabbing the cup she tilted her head back as she drank it
swiftly. Fighting back the urge to gag, then she set it aside before grabbing the other, drinking
that one just as swiftly she set the cup on the tray and fought back the gagging she felt.
Pressing her hands to her lips she sat there, controlling her stomach as the babe kicked it
hard.
“How long…?” she started.

“It depends, we shall check in an hour if the labors have started, if not there will be more
tea,” he stated.
She nodded as he walked away. She closed her eyes as she rubbed her back, she looked out at
the sea. A groan escaped her as she felt another kick to her ribs. The sooner she had this
child, the sooner she would cease this misery, she thought. Carefully standing she started
walking. Daemon was training Lucerys and Joffrey at this moment, and she knew that he was
also including Aegon and Viserys, though he had extended the invitation to Jaehaerys and
Maelor. He was a truly good father, she was always enraptured watching him with their
children.
Making it to the bed, she leaned over, gripping the footboard, she heard the arrival of her
midwives and maids, and closed her eyes. This child had better come soon, she thought,
standing she started walking around. She’d rather have Daemon fuck her, thinking that she
looked at the midwife.
“Can someone fetch my husband, with the aid of teas, perhaps the labors will begin sooner
with his assistance,” she sighed.
“Yes Princess,” one of the maids said before rushing off. Rhaenyra looked at her belly, she
felt impossibly large, but she smiled, soon she would hold her own daughter in her arms! The
thought was exhilarating. But for now, she would endure the misery.
Chapter 39
Vaegon had slipped into Hightower, cursing this bloody tower for it’s monstrosity and lack
hiding locations. He also did not understand how the upper part of the tower could be so
vulnerable. Entering Hightower’s inner docking cavern he looked around. The Hightowers
would be sending out most the ships in the harbor, typically because water would rise into
this cavern to be at the ceiling, so he knew they were working with limited time. Vaegon had
noticed how restless Vhagar had been getting, it was a reflection of Aemond’s state of mind
in Vaegon’s experience.
When his siblings would get upset, restless, or angry their dragons would reflect the state of
their mind. Even his father and mother could not conceal their states of mind because of their
dragons. Silverwing was always a reflecton of his mother, because no matter how much strife
came between his mother and father, Silverwing was always bound to Vermithor. Caraxes
also reflected Aemon’s state of mind perfectly with a sinister smile on his jaws. Meleys was
less responsive, but no less reflective, she had always shown how Alyssa was. The weakest
bond had been Viserys and Balerion, but Vaegon was certain it showed how weak Viserys
was, and the older dragon likely was just indulging a childish brat before his own end. But
Vhagar…
Vhagar was the Queen of Dragons, the Oldest in the World, the Largest Dragon too; unless
Cannibal still lived, and she always reflected her riders, no matter the mood. She had always
bonded tightly with her riders, she would fight for them to the death, and protect their
offspring. She did not indulge the vain or fickle. She did not tolerate the cruel, or brutal, and
any who attempted to control her were met with her wrath. Vhagar only took riders as wild as
her, and Vaegon had not thought that a reflection of Aemond until now. He had seen Vhagar
circling Oldtown, and harbor and would venture something was amiss. Vhagar wouldn’t do
something brash like burning the city down, not if it endangered her rider, but she would
make her presence known as a warning first. However, she was not settling, so Vaegon had
decided to come to Hightower to see what was wrong.
This was a foolish venture, of that he was certain. There was a low rumble of thunder as he
looked around the docks.
“Quickly now, the teas will only last so long on them!” someone said.
“You’re certain about the amount you gave Aemond?”
“Yes! Move, we must get the ships out of the harbor!” a man shouted.
“Swiftly now,” Vaegon recognized Ormund then, and pulled out the dirk.
“I have her things, do not forget them,” the other man said, handing a bag into the ship.
Vaegon frowned at the ‘her’ and he saw a figure slumped in the arms of one of Ormund’s
sons. The red hair was unmistakable, the slender frame, the red hair, he now could figure out
why Aemond was restless.
“Put her in the boat,” Hobart ordered.
Vaegon trembled a bit, his hand tightening on the hilt of his dirk as he slid it into the sleeves
of his cloak then, and he stepped out into the light for the first time in twenty-six years.
“I would inquire about what you are doing, but given our last encounter I believe I know,”
Vaegon stated.
“Prince Vaegon!?” Ormund sputtered as Hobart tripped, slipping into the ship. The younger
Hightower looked confused then, and Vaegon stood there looking between his two would-be
killers.
“It has been a long time, old friend,” Ormund recovered as he slowly dropped Sansa to the
ground. The young woman spilled onto the rocks like a lifeless doll. Part of Vaegon was
worried he was too late, but he couldn’t focus on her right now. Vaegon had never been on
par with Aemon or Baelon, or even Alyssa, but he knew he was not as poor with his blade
skills as many believed. He watched the Hightowers fanning out around him.
“It has been, but I do not recall us ever being friends,” Vaegon replied. “Friends insinuates we
were equal, and let us be clear, Ser Hightower, you were always my inferior.”
“Tragaryens, so vain, and proud, it is a wonder your House has not destroyed the realm,”
Ormund stated. “We will return Westeros to the righteous path, and you dare to stand
between us and the good of the Realm?”
Vaegon smiled bitterly then. “For the good of the Realm?” he chuckled humorlessly, and he
looked between the zealots. “The only good of the Realm would have been if my great-uncle
had burned your kind out. Zealots, unreasonable extremes on either end of any scale, are
intolerable, and a disease.”
“You incestuous, inbred monster, your very existence is an affront to the Gods!” the younger
Hightower screeched.
“It is imbecilic to argue based on my existence, as yours is about to not matter,” Vaegon
informed the young man. The young man’s face turned red, and Vaegon looked at Ormund
and Hobart.
“I will not be felled so easily this time,” Ormund decided.
Vaegon was swift to step aside as the older man drew his sword rushing him. Slamming his
elbow into the ribs of Ormund he tripped his friend as he twisted around, pulling the dirk he
slashed the long blade along his friend’s shoulder and twisted, evading the young
Hightower’s blade. Vaegon stumbled, but regained his footing as he looked at the other two
men, Hobart was rushing to Sansa, and Vaegon moved to keep the man separated from the
girl. Hobart gasped as Vaegon drove his blade through the man’s chest and spine, the older
man collapsed as Vaegon twisted the blade before jerking it out.
“Father!” Ormund shouted, running to Hobart. Vaegon grunted as someone tackled him, they
rolled, and blades clattered, Vaegon struggled to his feet on the slippery rocks. The water was
churning more violently, looking inky black now. He scrambled up as a blade came for him,
he caught the hilt of the blade, struggling back. His hand was slick with blood but he grabbed
the hilt of the dirk, slashing through the young man’s legs, he staggered back, Vaegon kicked
out his legs, and the man collapsed into the churning waters. Scrambling up, Vaegon found
himself looking at Ormund who was rushing Sansa. Sliding along the slick rocks, he slid into
Ormund who slammed Vaegon’s head into the rocks, dazed, he staggered a bit. Ormund had
pulled a blade, and was about to stab Vaegon, but there was movement.
A small sound, and Vaegon was startled as Sansa seemed to be moving. Ormund was too, the
young woman pushed herself up, tackling Ormund’s arm. She was thrown aside, rolling over
the lip of the rocky path. Vaegon, used the momentary opening to drive his dirk into
Ormund’s gut, tearing the blade through the man as he rushed to the lip of the path, skidding
over on his knees, gasping for air. Sansa had landed on the small dinghy, and he nearly sighed
with relief as she lay there, looking very dazed and confused.
Vaegon twisted around to see Ormund Hightower staggering, holding his own guts in his
hand, then collapsing to his knees, before falling entirely. There was a rumble of thunder, and
Vaegon heard the sea getting more restless, he was still dazed and trying to catch his breath.
Turning he looked down at Sansa who was laying in the dinghy looking just as confused as
he was.
“How… what happened?” Sansa whispered.
“Let’s get you up, and to my nephew,” he decided as he reached down, pulling her up. She
was a slender thing, very soft weight. She stumbled into his side, and he grunted, she seemed
too dazed and confused, her eyes were bleary and she leaned heavily on him. Vaegon held her
up, keeping her against him. Storms were coming, and he knew it would clear out the bodies
he was leaving behind.
Years of old experience had him sneaking them through the Hightower, Sansa was too dazed
to aid him in getting her up to the guest quarters. He struggled a bit with the stairs, but years
of having been here had not changed anything as they navigated up to the guest quarters.
Making his way to the women’s quarters at the other side of the tower, the balcony was an
open cavern of the tower. The open door was the room he ventured was Sansa’s, and he
carefully walked into it, shutting the door behind him.
“Who… Vardis?” she slurred as she slumped into the seat. He poured a goblet of water.
“Lord Beesbury asked me to keep an eye on you and Aemond,” he responded as he knelt
down, she winced as he tilted her head. A flash of lightning showed the bruise on her jawline,
her lip was split. Her eyes were still heavy, and she looked tired.
“Why?” she breathed but her eyes fluttered shut before he could answer. He lifted his
knuckles, her breath was soft, and gentle. Whatever she had been give was strong, he
thought, standing, he grimaced and noted his hip bleeding again. He moved to sit at the desk
as he stared at this young woman.
“For the good of the Realm,” he said softly. He found a bit of sheets to tear, making
bandages, he poured some alcohol on the wound. Grimacing, he bit his lip as he fought back
the hiss. Vaegon had never been gifted at healing, he remembered his mother cursing him for
that, he had never particularly liked blood, or illness. Now he sat here, stitching up his wound
again. The seas were turmulous, and he knew the base of Hightower was engulfed in the sea,
the caverns were gone as were the bodies and blood. He looked at Sansa who was still
unconscious. He finished tending to the wound, walked over, checked her breathing again,
she was alive, and he sighed as his head fell forward. Getting her up, he carefully moved her
to the bed, and laid her out, examining her carefully.
Getting up, he limped out of the area. Thankfully, do to night prayers, Hightowers had never
had night servants, and the guards were lax now that the night was well in hand. People were
sent to the mainland in storms. Limping, he made it to the royal guest quarters and slipped in,
he found Aemond on the bed, unconscious, tea cup was on the ground. Picking it up, Vaegon
scented it, and frowned, the hightowers were getting cleverer, grabbing up a pitcher of water,
Vaegon threw it on Aemond. The young man grimaced, rolling away, and Vaegon scowled.
Vhagar’s roar though vibrated through the night, and it was like the bond between rider and
dragon jolted Aemond awake, as the young man gasped, surging up in the bed.
“Good, we must leave, now,” Vaegon said as Aemond saw him. “Meet me at Sansa’s
quarters, we are leaving.”
“What… what’s happening,” Aemond was clearly fighting the herbs the Hightowers had
utilized this night.
Vaegon grimaced as he grabbed the younger man’s arm, pulling it over his shoulders as they
both staggered out of the room. Vaegon saw Vhagar’s shadowy form circling the tower, and
hissed at the throbbing agony of his hip.
“The Hightowers intend treason, we are leaving,” he stated.
“Beesbury… records?” Aemond slurred.
“I have taken care of that, let’s go,” Vaegon struggled as he got into the woman’s quarters
again. Putting Aemond on the chair, he limped, throwing open the balcony doors the storm’s
winds blasted him in the face, icy power. Vhagar rolled through the air, he could hear her
chittering through the winds, and the sea cowed to her as her tail hit the harbor. Her head
swung around, her eye glowing menacingly. Vaegon trembled a bit as she seemed to look at
him with that all knowing, ancient gaze. He shivered for a moment under her gaze.
“Vhagar, it has been a long time,” he said evenly as his heart slammed painfully in his ribs.
Reaching up, he carefully held his hand to her. “Lykirī,” he murmured. She snarled, but he
moved so she could see her struggling rider.
Vhagar gave a small cry, and he saw Aemond struggling to move.
“Let’s go,” Vaegon grabbed the young man’s arm again, hoisting him up, Vhagar shifted,
rolling, and Vaegon was greeted by a well made saddle, he heard the rattling of mail, and was
surprised at the quality of the saddle. The rain was pelting hard, and Vaegon aided his
nephew onto the saddle.
“Sansa?” Aemond turned.
“I am getting her,” Vaegon said. “Secure yourself,” he ordered as he turned back, he now
heard the guards, they were no doubt reacting to Vhagar. He got Sansa and grabbed a leather
jerkin for her not to be soaked, she gave a soft sound, Vhagar roared at Vaegon then.
Stumbling, he managed to get to the saddle, and aided in securing Sansa. There were
poundings on the door, Vaegon climbed on then, feeling his hip scream. He was startled as
Vhagar clawed her way up Hightower and then she launched, he had barely secured a latch
on his waist as she surged up into the storm. He held on for dear life, Sansa pushed against
his chest, and Aemond clinging to the lead seat tightly. There was a concusive blow of
thunder and he gritted his teeth as it felt like his bones rattled painfully.
They broke the cloud lines though and Vhagar rolled as she surged into the air faster. Vaegon
sat there bewildered at the unexpected turn of events, and being on a dragon again. He stared
down below at the storm and looked at the two teenagers, Sansa gave a soft moan, and
Aemond twisted behind him to see the girl. Vaegon shivered as he continued securing himself
to the saddle, he didn’t hear the couple as they were now leaning on one another.
Vaegon sat there in the moonlight and he stared out at the skies.
Nearly thirty years, nearly thirty years of his life, being dead, and now… he had killed his
killers, and one of their sons… he was surprised. Thirty years of a stagnant life, and it had all
come crashing down around him. his long hair was tugged free of the tail he always had it
tied into and he blinked as he pressed his hand to the wound.
“It will take us a few days, we should go to Dragonstone,” Vaegon shouted over the winds.
Sansa was slumped entirely against Aemond, and the young prince was unsettling to Vaegon
as his sapphire glittered in the night’s light, but his face was shrouded in the night.
“What happened?” Aemond shouted.
“I will speak when we are on the ground!” Vaegon shouted. He could feel the blood slowing
from his wound and he looked back behind him, and he shivered. There was no more options
to remain stagnant, not after what he had done.
They needed as much distance between them and Oldtown as possible, he knew that. Sansa
slumped entirely against Aemond, and Aemond seemed to be waking rapidly in the fresh air
of the skies.
Beesbury saw Vhagar disappear into the storm, and he was swift to find a horse. He would
have to move his family, they would flee, North, but he had to leave before Oldtown was
secure or his absence was notice. Riding hard he urged his stead through the narrow, wet
streets of Oldtown as he rushed the gates to escape before he could be cught. Whatever had
happened, he knew, seeing Vhagar flee straight up, Sansa and Aemond had uncovered
trouble, and if the plots were discovered of Hightower’s intentions then it was vital to flee the
Reach now.
The rain pelted him as he rode swiftly out of Oldtown for Honeyholt. There would be no
place safe within Westeros now.
He had to get to his family, they had to flee North.
Rhaenyra groaned as she felt the contraction building, Daemon’s aid, and the tea, and now
her labor was in full swing, she grunted as another contraction rippled over her. It felt
different, felt strange. She cried out, feeling another kick in her ribs, it felt so strange… she
grunted as the contraction ebbed and flowed, she was panting hard, the dawn was breaking,
and everything in her was screaming to push, she was on her hands and knees.
“Something’s wrong!” she gasped as she lowered her head to her arms. Something was
wrong, she couldn’t… she wanted to push, she wanted to push, but something felt wrong.
“Princess!” the midwifes were scurrying around her. “Get Maester Gerardys!”
“I want Daemon!” she sobbed as she pressed her brow into her arms. Oh, something felt so
terribly wrong, terribly wrong. She winced as another contraction wracked her body, and she
felt a gush, the pressure giving her.
“Get Maester Gerardys Now!” a midwife shouted. “Quickly, get her on the bed,” the midwife
ordered. Rhaenyra sobbed in agony, and she cried out as she was guided up to her knees. She
had long since abandoned her chemise, and was naked, her breasts ached and leaked, and
looking down she saw so much blood.
“The baby!” she gasped.
“It’s alright Princess, it’s alright, we’re going to deliver your child,” she was assured.
Rhaenyra groaned as another contraction seized her, she screamed as it rolled up her spine,
and the desire to push. She never made it to the bed, she clung to the chest, kneeling, her feet
felt soaked, and she screamed as she felt something blocked.
“Oh gods… it’s the afterbirth,” a midwife gasped. Rhaenyra sobbed as she felt the
contraction gripping her spine and rolling up to her shoulders, her legs trembled.
“What is happening?” Rhaenyra gasped as the contraction subsided. A hand slid over her
belly, and she felt the child kick her ribs again.
“My Princess, it is vital you do not push,” the midwife ordered.
“What’s happening!?” Rhaenyra gasped.
“Hold still, we… Maester Gerardys should be here soon,” the midwife soothed.
“Nyra!” she turned hearing Daemon. She saw her dragon walking towards her and smiled
weakly before screaming again as another contraction rolled up her spine, gripping her belly
tightly.
“Do not push, my princess, do not push!”
“What is happening!?” Daemon demanded.
Rhaenyra felt the tears rolling down her cheeks as she cried, sobbing, feeling something was
terribly wrong, and wanting to push as she was kicked again in her ribs.
“Daemon! Daemon… something’s wrong,” she gasped as she reached behind her for
Daemon. His hand caught hers, and she felt him come to her side.
“Nothing’s wrong, nothing, but do not push, Nyra, do not push, Maester Gerardys is
coming,” he assured.
Cregan was preparing quietly to leave for White Harbor, he was checking his pack. Cregan
looked up when he heard Jon knocking at the door of his room. Rickon was sleeping on the
bed, and Cregan knew his son’s pack was ready to go.
“Are you certain about going to White Harbor? I can go,” Jon started.
“I’m going, Jon, you’re remaining to greet the Winter’s Council, I’ve spoken to Mira and
Gwyn, you can assess them quietly, but they have graciously agreed, that while the Norrey
sisters are recovering, they will assist you in being host,” Cregan said. “Domeron and Bryan
are going with me to White Harbor, the Dornish should be here by the end of the fortnight,
and I have matters to speak to Lord Manderly about.”
“About that, if there is a traitor amongst the ranks, I do not think it is Manderly,” Jon
confessed.
“I agree, however, it will be House loyal to Bolton. Given the North’s isolationist tendencies,
I am certain the South does not know that Manderlys are loyal vassals, so we shall permit
them to act as our double agent, and we shall contain the Winter’s Council to examine all the
Lords loyal to Bolton.”
“And if we find them?”
“We are not eradicating another House, but it will prove prudent to gain more leverage,”
Cregan answered.
“You want me to collect hostages!?”
“Lord Norstark, of Lonely Hills will need to gain the loyalty and affections of his people,
even if for a time he must hold their children for their children’s safety. Traitors are rampant
at this time, it would be important to keep their children safe from Southron influences,”
Cregan pointed out.
Jon nodded then. “I do not like it,” he admitted.
“I do not like the South encroaching upon my lands, and I will not tolerate it,” Cregan
countered. “Now, when I return, I wish to know which woman you’ll wed, and I expect
Barba to be well cared for. Frostfyre is remaining here, I will have Ice and Timber,” he
picked up his pack and then Rickon.
“Are you certain you wish to take Rickon with you?” Jon asked.
“Aye, it’s time for him to start travelling the North,” Cregan answered. He just didn’t want to
leave his son behind if he was honest. Having just reunited with his son had him disinclined
to part with Rickon at this time, but he did have to tend to his duties. And throughout a true
Winter, Cregan would not be able to bring Rickon along with him until the lad was stronger
and bigger. This was a good chance for him to also just be with his son, and he wasn’t
squandering it.
“Very well, I’ll see you upon your return.”
“I expect to know which woman you’ll wed, Jon,” Cregan warned again as he picked up his
son.
Jon scowled.
Daemon stared at the maester and midwife in shock, he had never heard of such a situation,
and looking back at Rhaenyra, the bloody mess she was in, the pain, the tears.
“She is delivering the afterbirth first?” he sputtered in uncertainty as he looked back at the
staff.
“It is uncommon but does happen, if we act quickly, and now we should be able to not have
to endure the cut, otherwise we will have to perform the cut to safe the babe.”
“And that will kill the mother,” Daemon muttered as he looked back at his wife.
“Yes, my prince, it will kill the mother,” the maester agreed.
Daemon wondered how the fuck he was in this situation again, first Aemma had died this
way, and thus creating Rhaenyra’s greatest fear of dying in the birthing bed. Then Laena…
Daemon’s indecision had killed his wife, he knew that, but he hadn’t been able to make that
decision; his son or wife, how could he be made to choose? Even now, how was he supposed
to choose? He did not think he could tolerate a child if it killed Rhaenyra, but at the same
time he could not not save the child, Rhaenyra would never forgive him, and worse, if he
agreed to the cut, and permitted Rhaenyra to die in this manner, he would never forgive
himself.
“We will attempt everything before the cut!” he stated. “The cut is the last resort,” he stressed
as he walked over to Rhaenyra.
“Very well, get her on her hands and knees, or hold her steady, I must reach within her and
attempt to move the afterbirth and bring the babe,” the midwife ordered. Daemon nodded as
he croached down beside Rhaenyra, she was crying again, her hair was a matted mess of
sweat and she stared at him with terrified violet eyes.
“Nyra, I need you to get on your hands and knees, this will hurt,” he murmured as he held out
his hand. Rhaenyra hesitated and she looked at him, the conviction and terror in her eyes
startled him.
“Promise me, Daemon, promise me you’ll love them no matter what,” she rasped, then
moaned as she slumped against the footboard of the bed. “Promise me!” she snarled.
“I promise,” he murmured.
She seemed satisfied, taking his forearms. “I wish to stand,” she stated.
“Very well, this will hurt, Princess,” the midwife warned. Daemon held his wife up, wrapping
his arms around her, he felt the babe kicking him, and she was standing there with her legs
wide, clinging to his shoulders. He peered down at the midwives, there was blood running
down her leg.
“On the next pain, I will reach in,” the midwife warned.
Rhaenyra nodded, breathing sharply, then she screamed, and Daemon held her tighter. The
agonized scream as she clung tightly to him, and the midwives worked startled him to his
core, and for the first time in his life he found himself praying to every deity he could think
of, that she’d be alright.
They landed in a field, and Aemond slid off Vhagar, reaching up as Sansa came down, she
stumbled a bit, but he set her aside, tilting her head back in the weak morning light as he
stared at her split lip, the bruise on her jaw. He pushed his fingers through her hair, and she
stared at him, somewhat dazed, but trusting.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped as he leaned forward, his brow resting on hers.
She had tears streaming down her face, and he pulled her into him, she burst into sobs against
his neck then, clinging tightly to him. Vhagar rumbled a bit as she curled around them, her
heavy wing coming over as if to be shelter, and Aemond pressed his lips to Sansa’s temple as
she sagged against him. Vardis came down and Aemond glared at the tall, slender man, his
white hair spilled around him, and for a horrifying moment, Aemond thought he was staring
at a portrait of Aemon or Baelon.
“Vaegon,” he rasped.
The man turned to him, pale eyes narrowing. “It has been a very long time since any called
me by that name,” he said.
“You are Vaegon,” Aemond repeated as he held Sansa closer.

“Yes, Prince Vaegon Targaryen, First of His Name, Son of King Jaehaerys and Queen
Alysanne,” he replied.
“You became an archmaester,” Aemond whispered as he felt Sansa shifting in his arms.
“Much to my regret,” Vaegon answered. He turned to Vhagar and scratched her cheek. “What
gave me away?”
“None but a Targaryen would not be afraid of Vhagar, and that means you’re either a bastard,
or Vaegon, given you’re the age of Vaegon,” Aemond answered as Sansa’s hands curled
against his shoulders.
“Mmm,” he hummed. “We should keep flying, to Dragonstone. The sooner we are out of the
Reach, the sooner we are safe,” he stated.
“Dragonstone is not safe.”
“No, but there are more dragons there than men, and that is a great deterrent to our enemy.
Come, there is much you know, much you do not, we must move.” Aemond looked at Sansa
as she trembled, and he kissed her brow as she nodded. It was when they were moving to get
up on Vhagar again that Sansa seemed to pause, she looked very ill right then.
“Sansa?” he was moving to her. She pitched forward, he darted forward, barely catching her
before her head could crash into the grass. He twisted her around laying her out as Vaegon
came forward.
“They might have given her a stronger dose of the sleeping aid,” he stated in a huff.
“What?”
“Milk of the poppy, it is easy to conceal in teas, particularly teas for sleep, that are sweet, she
has been unwell lately,” Vaegon rattled off. Aemond let his hands moved down her ribs,
feeling for anything broken or misplaced, he saw the bruises on her arms, and with how her
dress was rumbled there were blooming bruises on her legs. She was pale as ice, the bruises
were black.
“We must go, if we remain here we will be captured, come, we’ll get her to Dragonstone,”
Vaegon stated. Aemond nodded as he snatched her up, nothing felt broken. They managed to
get her up on Vhagar, who turned and bounded to the skies again.
Sansa was curled up in front of him as he urged Vhagar to fly as swiftly as she could for
Dragonstone. He didn’t know what more they could do at this moment, but Vaegon was right,
they had to get out of the Reach. He’d collect Helaena and her children, the Northerners and
he’d fly North immediately, he was no longer interested in this campaign. Sansa looked so
pale in his arms, and so still, if it were not for the rise and fall of her chest, and the faint flush
of her cheeks, he’d have genuinely worried she was dying.
Aemond reassured himself though she was stronger than she looked, he’d seen the scars.
There was a small cry with Rhaenyra’s weak cry, as she was panting, he held her up, peering
behind her to look.
“It’s a girl, my princess,” the midwife said.
“Visenya,” he murmured to Rhaenyra. “We have Visenya,” he smiled as he watched them

take Visenya up.
Rhaenyra just nodded, looking tired, she was sagged against him panting. Daemon held her
tightly, and she gasped, grunting, and he held her tighter as he pulled her close.
“Oh Gods, there’s another…” the midwife gasped.
Rhaenyra screamed as pain wracked her body. Daemon held her tightly, and she cried. There
was a flurry of action, and Daemon watched as the midwives rushed away with the second
bundle.
“What is happening?” he asked. Rhaenyra was slumped weakly against him, but still
standing. “What is happening!?” he demanded.
“Oh Gods, the Princess, she’s bleeding! Maester Gerardys, I need assistance!” the midwife
shouted. Daemon didn’t get to protest as his wife was ripped out of his arms, and he was
pushed out of the room. The doors slammed shut in his face, he slammed against them then.
Banging hard as he shouted for answers.
Daemon turned to see Lucerys, Rhaena, Baela, Joffrey, Aegon and Viserys there looking
scared with wide eyes.
Chapter 40
Chapter Notes
Daemon was sitting with the children, he was trembling as he gripped his sword in a
deathlike grip. Rhaenys and Corlys had come to sit with them, but Daemon barely recognized
they were here. Part of him couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, he was trembling and fighting
every urge egging him on to go in there and kill everyone who threatened Rhaenyra. Right
now she needed her own aid, and all the aid she could gain. Pressing his head against his
knuckles he prayed to every deity he could think of for Rhaenyra to be well again.
Their family was here, and he was waiting for news about the additions and his wife. This
was a thousand times worse than the pain he felt about Laena, or the decisions involving
Laena and their unborn son. Rhaenyra was a bit more important than Laena had been, Laena
had always known he loved Rhaenyra, and she accepted her place in his life. It was not like
they did not have a good marriage, unlike his union to Rhea, Laena accepted him where Rhae
scorned him.
He had despised Rhae from the moment his grandmother had introduced them at Hightower
prompting, and it was not for the petty reasons everyone assumed, but rather she was self-
assured and did not like anyone. The Bronze Bitch was an unlikeable, self-assured,
independent woman who upstarted most of House Royce with her ascension, and Daemon
could have respected that, but she scorned their union as much as he did. It was as if Rhae
was selected to drive him mad, to make him hate everyone and everything, he had pleaded
with his brother to not accept the union, he had begged his grandmother to let him join the
Kingsguard instead, he had argued with his grandfather to let him go to the Wall. But alas, no
one listened to him.
Daemon’s union to Laena was probably his best union, she was not who he wanted, but she
was as enamoured with freedom as he was, so they had managed. She was good with him, to
him, he did not want her, but after Viserys had forced Rhaenyra and Laenor’s union, Daemon
couldn’t take it. He couldn’t, he had watched the one person he wanted be wed, and he got in
a drunken stupor, stolen Laena with Laena’s aid, and they lived their own lives. Laena had
fallen in love with being a dragonrider, and Vhagar liked Laena. Then their girls had come,
and honestly, Daemon loved Baela and Rhaena with a ferocity which terrified him most days.
He loved them more than his own life.
Rhaenyra though, Rhaenyra was everything Daemon had wanted in his life. He had been
surprised when he had returned to King’s Landing at his brother’s behest to take command of
the City Watch, and there was Rhaenyra, just as wild and stubborn and fiery as a dragon. She
was stunning, he adored her. He adored everything about her, he realized he loved her when
he had taken her on an outing to ensnare her reputation being ruined. That night, that was the
first time he didn’t take what he wanted, and he regretted it. He should’ve stolen her, he
should’ve taken her away to Dragonstone, he should’ve made her his wife, his lover, his
Queen. Together they were perfect, together they were whole, both the opposite sides of the
coin.
Sitting up, he waited, biting his lip, as he hid against his palm, his leg bouncing with his
anxiety. Baela, Rhaena, Luke, Joffrey, Aegon, Viserys needed Rhaenyra, they needed their
mother alive and here, and he didn’t think he would survive losing Rhaenyra. He closed his
eyes as he tried to keep himself from losing his composure.
What if this was a bloody mistake!? What if the conspiracy was deeper than he knew, and
Rhaenyra was a targeted? He had thought the Starks a bit paranoid, but perhaps they weren’t
wrong, the death of their Lady Arra was the indication of a deeper conspiracy. Gods, what if
he had condemned his wife, lover, and child to death by attempting to trust someone who had
the trust of Dragonstone? Daemon didn’t know if he could bear this. He didn’t, he could bear
a lot of things, but this, this was something he was uncertain if he could bear it.
Daemon had though Cregan a man in grief and suspicious of all, while Aemond had openly
admitted to being paranoid. Daemon had thought it simply an overreaching of the paranoia
and grief of the loss of Cregan’s wife, but perhaps there was true merit to this conspiracy.
Rhaenys reached over, touching his shoulder, and he looked up to his former goodmother,
and looked at the door. He saw a bundle in the arms of a midwife. Rising to his feet he
walked over to the midwife, he saw the second midwife behind her holding another bundle.
“My Prince, there is a new Prince and Princess,” the midwife smiled at him. He peered into
the bundles, both were tiny, squished faces, red, and silvery whispers of hair on their heads,
tiny hands curled by their faces. The babes were small, but the girl was obviously larger, the
boy tiny. Visenya, he thought, Visenya was the only name Rhaenyra had always wanted to
use. He looked at the boy. The boy was greyer in coloring, but still had a healthy pinkish hue,
glaring dark, violet wine colored eyes, and silver curls… Daemon knew she wanted to name
a son Aenar, but he also knew she was not committed to the name, the boy looked very like
Aemon or Baelon.
“They are both alive, the young Prince’s lungs were giving him troubles, but we have cleared
them of the blockage, which was broken bits of the afterbirth,” the midwife explained.
“Nyra?” he started.
“Princess Rhaenyra is weak, she has lost a lot of blood, we had to retrieve the second
afterbirth, which ruptured, we believe we have all the pieces, she is currently induced to a
healing sleep, Midwife Jeyne is watching over her at this time, we will be attentive, at this
time, rest is all we can do for her, the labors were hard. We will have to wait and see if she
can bear more children,” the midwife said.
“I want to see her, then speak to the maester,” Daemon said softly as he looked at his
children. Then he looked over at the other children, and trembled as he looked at the
midwives then.
“Of course my prince,” the midwives nodded. He rushed out of the hall, and made his way to
her rooms, pushing into the room he swept through the suite. Making his way to her bed he
saw her. She looked sickly grey, her hair was matted with sweat, and she was now dressed in
a chemise, he could see they bound her breasts, but they still leaked. The cracked, chapped
lips were parted, breathing shallowly. Carefully stepping towards her, he sat down beside her,
her swollen belly was soft, her legs were spread a little, and he reached over, touching her
cheek, which was clammy to the touch. Lowering his brow down he rested there, against his
wife.
“Kostilus gaomagon daor jikagon skoriot nyke daor,” he rasped. “Īlva riñar se nyke
nykeēdrosa jorrāelagon ao, se pāletilla jorrāelagon ao naejot sagon dāria.”
She let out a raspy breath which flitted against his own lips, as he opened his eyes to stare at
her. He loved her, he needed her back. A trembling hand traced her cheek, and he reached
down to hold her hand, which did not curl around his. For the first time he felt truly terrified
that everything could never be. He had never loved anyone like he loved Rhaenyra, and he
needed her.
Sitting there, he wanted to mount Caraxes and burn the Hightowers to nothing, he wanted
them to be nothing, he wished Maegor had completed this war the first time! Rage filled him
as he glared down at his wife, and bent over her. There was a threat to his wife, their House,
their family, he would burn it away. Pressing his lips to her brow he stood carefully then.
“Nyke jāhor zālagon se qilōnagon naejot īlva lentor,” he promised as he looked her over. He
would retrieve Daeron and Aemond, and whether they liked it or not, to appease Rhaenyra
they would be a part of this family, and they’d be protected, and then, Daemon was going
after the threat. He looked up when the maester walked in, he felt the tears burning in his
eyes as he glared at the man.
Rhaenyra was breathing soft and shallow.
“My Prince, I was just coming to assess the Princess,” Gerardys said softly.
“You will answer me now, Maester, did you do this?” Daemon demanded.
“Pardon me, my Prince?” Gerardys sputtered.
Daemon drew Dark Sister then, and stared at this maester. “My nephew believes the Citadel
to have a conspiracy with the Citadel attacking my House and family, and I have entrusted to
you that which I hold most dear, and it is broken, bleeding and dying, so… tell me, did you
do this?” Daemon asked.
Gerardys looked terrified. “There is no conspiracy…” he rasped.
“I would believe you, but Rhaenyra is laying here, fighting for her life after I asked you to aid
her,” Daemon snarled. “And there’s damning evidence, so, Maester Gerardys… Did. You.
Do. This?”
“I have done nothing to harm Princess Rhaenyra, I am a loyal servant!” Gerardys sputtered.
“To whom?”
“Pardon!?”
“You claim to be a loyal servant, to whom? House Targaryen? I do not remember a maester
ever bending the knee to make an oath of fealty, or honor,” Daemon rested Dark Sister before
him as he looked at the other man. “It did not occur to me, until just now, but who do
maesters swear fealty to? Gods, Crown, Hightowers? Who?”
“I do not… understand what you seek…” Gerardys said warily.
“I seek information, and you can provide it willingly or unwillingly, it is your choice. Did
you do this to my wife?” he snarled.
“You did this, my prince, this was what we discussed, there was always a rick to the Princess,
but this was your doing,” Gerardys stated. “You impregnated her, you gave the commands,
you fathered the new Prince and Princess, this is your doing. I am but a servant of your will.”
“I never willed this,” Daemon snarled as he felt the tears burning his eyes. “Who is your
master?”
“I am a Maester of the Citadel, loyal to the Crown,” Gerardys stated.
Daemon trembled as he stared levelly at this man. The rage he felt was boiling in his blood,
he wanted to cut him down, cut him into pieces, he wanted this man to suffer.
“What conspiracy do you speak of, my prince?” Gerardys asked warily. “Perhaps the stress of
this day has been too much, I will prepare the teas, it will sooth the mind.”
Daemon looked at the man, and his hand tightened on Dark Sister. He moved swiftly
knocking Gerardys down, and unconscious. The part of him screaming for blood was
silenced by the need for answers as he grabbed the unconscious man and dragged him from
Rhaenyra’s chambers. He saw some of his guardsmen there.
“Take him to the dungeons, summon the most skilled healer to here, I don’t care if we have to
raid Driftmark for them!” he ordered harshly. “And keep the maester alive until I can speak to
him! Get me Corlys,” he ordered as he stalked into the apartments, and slammed the doors
behind him. Distance between him and the object of his rage was needed before he turned
around and killed the maester. He reached Rhaenyra again and knelt down.
“Shijetra issa, yn nyke brōzi īlva tresy Baelon, yn īlon emagon Visenya se Baelon. Māzigon
arlī naejot īlva,” he rasped softly before kissing her brow again.
Rody was chuckling as he watched Helaena and her children laugh, chasing the waves. He
leaned back on the cliffs, enjoying the salty air, watching as Helaena giddily chased her
children, her skirts in hand. Shrykos and Morghul flew overhead playing with the children.
Helaena turned to him, and he saw her beaming at him, impulse had him aching to join them,
but reason had him standing guard, he gave her a smile though. She laughed as she rushed off
after Jaehaera, Maelor determinedly toddling after his family too. Rody raised a brow as
Daeron appeared with Hazel and Daenaera, the moment Helaena spotted them she shouted,
waving her arms, and Hazel was grabbing up her skirts, running towards Helaena and the
children. He chuckled as he watched the women team up to playing with their children,
laughing as they ran along the surf. Rody saw Daeron approaching and waited for the
Valeryon to reach him.
“The Blacks are convening at this time, it appears Princess Rhaenyra has suffered during her
labors,” Daeron muttered.
“Fuck,” Rody groused as he rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Rody wasn’t
the political brilliance of Sansa Stark or Reince, but even he knew that was bad.
“Father is thinking I should go to Driftmark, start the exodus of Valyrian Houses,” Daeron
murmured as they watched the women.
“Aye, that would be best,” he agreed reluctantly. He knew that the Valyrians would have to
move North sooner rather than later with the problems of a coming Winter. If Sansa was
right, Winter would be upon the North sooner rather than later. He wondered if the frost had
already begun to settle in, he wanted to go home.
“Hazel and Daenaera, I know they are not your charges, but…” Daeron started uncertainly.
“It does not impede myself to watch after two more lovely lasses,” Rody assured with a
smile. “You will owe me, you swindling seasnake! You’re worse than your brother,” he
groused.
Daeron chuckled. “Where do you think he learnt it from.”
“Ah, that explains a lot.”
“I hope you do not mind,” Daeron chuckled.
“I mind nothing,” Rody sighed as he watched the women.
“She is lovely,” Daeron murmured. Rody didn’t respond as they both stood in silence. Rody
just enjoyed watching the sheer unadulterated joy on Helaena’s face, as she laughed and acted
as anyone young should.
“Talk to my brothers,” Rody said after a while. “I can’t accompany you, but admittedly,
Rogun, or Rolan can accompany you, hell, even Reince, he’s our father’s heir, but one of
them might be able to aid you,” he murmured.
“That is generous if they should,” Daeron mused.
“Our mother taught us generosity,” Rody murmured honestly. “It won’t be easy, and might be
pertinent to make the journey now, before the first frost, winter, even a Summer’s or
Autumn’s winter in the North is a brutal affair, and can be perilous, it would serve you well to
leave sooner rather than later.”
“I will speak to your brothers then,” Daeron said. “I will also arrange more my cousins to
lead the journey, I might return to join you, and your party when Prince Aemond has
returned. He is to be my overlord afterall, and I would prefer to assist in protecting his
family.”
Rody nodded then. “When we’re all North, you should bring your wife to Barrowton,
acclimating to the North is not a feat for the faint of heart, but seeing our villages, and our
cities, it might aid in your people in learning how to structure their settlement. Also, my
mother would dote upon your wife,” he stated.
“Hazel would like that,” Daeron chuckled as they watched the group. “I regret much with my
wife, I love her dearly, I would die for her, kill for her, give her the world if she but asks, but
I do regret much.”
“Like what?” Rody mused.
“She does not know,” Daeron admitted. “She looks upon my House and family with awe and
wonder, and is unaware of how much more it should truly be. I regret bringing her into this
sphere of society, the schemes and plots, the cruelty of our equals and betters, and what we
do to manage our sphere, she was not raised for our world. She was raised as all which is
good and kind, and I regret bringing her to this level.”
“Mmm, the North does not play those games,” Rody muttered. “It is not to say we do not
have games of our own, for we do, but the need for survival, it outclasses most of the petty
games the South seems to indulge in. Perhaps, in the North, your woman will be your equal?”
“I would like that very much,” Daeron mused. “I regret being unable to introduce her to
Court, or our equals, but I do not want them to ruin what I treasure.”
Rody didn’t respond, because he understood. He understood wanting to guard and hide what
was precious and important, but his eyes flicked up as Dreamfyre flew overhead, chittering
and purring with Sunfyre then. She wasn’t his, he reminded himself. Hiding a princess and
her children away from the world was not a good idea, especially if she had dragons. Rody
cursed the gods for making him fall in love with a bloody princess, he’d whine about how it
was not fair, but honestly, it was just his luck.
They both looked up when there was a roar, and a shrill whistle. Shrykos and Morghul landed
beside Jaehaera and Jaehaerys, while Helaena picked up Maelor, Dreamfyre landed beside
the women then.
“Dragons are getting restless, if you’re leaving, it’ll have to be soon,” Rody stated. Daeron
nodded as Rody walked towards the women and children. He picked up Maelor and Jaehaera
as Helaena picked up Jaehaerys, and Hazel grabbed up Daenaera, they hurried for
Dragonstone then. Something ominous seemed to be happening on this bloody island, and
Rody didn’t like it.
Lyman made it to his house, surging through the gate, which had his stablehands scrambling.
He pushed into the Chateau of Honeyholt.
“Get my sons,” he ordered as he walked in. “Wake the women, I need the staff, I’ll see them
in the Great Hall, Now!” he barked as he walked through the chateau, he didn’t pull off his
cloak. Making his way into the office he rummaged, grabbing up his official seals, he
checked over the other supplies. He saw the sleepy House assembling as he walked through
the chateau seeing the staff, the people sleepily assembling, there were confused whispers,
and confused murmurs, the storm was raging outside, and he brought himself to the front of
the hall. He saw his sons, Ben, Humfrey, and Braxton, and his grandsons Alan, Beony, Hugh,
Bertram, and his granddaughters, Jeyne and Alys, he saw his great granddaughter Margaery,
his gooddaughters, Elinor and Lynesse, and he trembled a little as he looked out at the staff.
“My apologies,” he said softly, he could see he had their attention as they all peered at him.
“Forgive the hour, but the situation is dire. I will understand termination of employment, or
the decision to remain, however, it will be vital to disperse and go into hiding, or accept
moving with me and mine but here is where we have a crossroads. Many will stay, that is
acceptable, because I do not offer a life of ease, or plenty, I have failed…
“As Lord of this House, and Master of Coin, and now we might suffer,” he explained. “The
Realm will be at war, soon enough, we have all accepted this, but now we have a choice in
this matter. Continue service to a Great House with no interest to Realm or people, who’s
ambition has doomed the Realm to war, or we move. We flee, this is our last opportunity to
turn coat and seek refuge.”
“And where would we go?” Ben sputtered.
“North,” he answered. “It is not ideal, but if we do not leave right now, we’re all dead. I have
acted in the interests of the Realm, and in doing so, betrayed House Hightower, for that I
apologize, I was doing my duty as Master of Coin,” he stated. “Now, we will take everything
we can carry, and flee, North, Lord Drekaúlfur is in need of tenants, and Lord Stark is a fair
overlord, I would swear fealty to them, we offer skills and trade they do not, and in interests
of surviving the coming wrath, I implore us to flee, North, now, tonight.
“By the end of this fortnight, if we are not gone, we will be embroiled with treason of the
highest order, and if we should be caught, by our Lord Paramount, the Wardens of the South,
or the Crown, we will all burn. To survive, we shall seek sanctuary in the North,” he
explained.
Ben looked surprised.
“Please, think this over, if it is not what you desire, the rest of the year’s wages will be paid,
and the fields to be burned, all the hives included, move, now,” Lyman ordered as he swept
through the room.
He had no doubt that Lord Hightower would be summoning banners soon, and given Vhagar
fleeing, Lyman feared the worse. Something had happened, and this would be a call to war, a
call to arms, and Lyman would no longer be able to hide his true allegiance. Sweeping into
his suite, he paused, looking around the room his wife had taken such care to design, and
create, this was their life…
This was everything, this was everything he had lived for, loved, this was where he and his
wife had spent their lives, she had died in this bed, given birth to their sons in this bed, they
had made love in this bed. This room was their life. He trembled as he looked around.
“Forgive me, Brella,” he whispered softly, then he moved. He grabbed the sketchbook of his
wife’s, pieces of her jewelry, and then he paused at her quilt. Impulse had him packing it up,
they were about to lose everything, he wanted to preserve some of his House before they
began again. He worked swiftly and had a pack for a cart. He was unsurprised that his House
was in a flurry of action, packing, his gooddaughters were selecting pieces, and his sons were
organizing the carts. He watched as they acted. By the dawn, despite the storms, he was
sitting on a horse, at the back of a caravan, and watched as his farmers, tenants, and his
people walked with torches into the fields with the bees. His heart was breaking as he
watched the hives burn, and the chateau start to burn. They were leaving, moving swiftly as
the storms finally broke, but the fires were burning hot as they fled. Most of Lyman’s tenants
were with them, but many had also fled, he knew that soon, regardless of his desires, Lord
Hightower, or his successor would find Lyman’s treason.
“Does this have to do with Vardis?” Ben asked as they watched their home burning as they
rode away.
“It is so much more than Vardis,” he admitted as they swayed with the carriages. Lyman
trembled. “And it is so much more terrible than simply Vardis. Vhagar fled Hightower, which
means something has happened to Prince Aemond and Princess Sansa, and something
happened with the Hightowers, and we cannot remain here any longer, it is time to flee.”
“Will Lord Stark even accept us?” Alan asked softly.
“I pray he does,” he whispered honestly.
He didn’t know if Lord Stark would accept more people immigrating to the North. But
Lyman prayed that they could find refuge with the North. No matter what, staying in the
Reach was not an option, and there’d be no hope with pleading their case. House Tyrell might
be Wardens of the South, but they were nothing but upstart stewards who’d been named in
place of a true power at High Garden. They had simply been in the right place at the right
time when King Aegon named them Lord Paramount of the Reach and High Garden, as well
as Wardens of the South. But their power was nothing. House Tarly and House Hightower
would soon be joined in blood, again, and their renewed union would mean there’d be no
hope for anything Lyman had uncovered in service to the Realm. House Tarly and House
Hightower were the reigning powers of these lands.
Malentine was impressed by White Harbor, yes, it was very white, the colors on buildings
along the rivers correlated with the acceptable trade in that canal, which impressed
Malentine. He discovered that White Harbor as a whole was an engineering marvel, between
aqueducts, pipes, levees, and even loose cobblestones, which were rather unique in the fact
they were set, solid, but due to ice and winters, expanded and contracted with the ice so it did
not displace the roads of White Harbor too greatly. Also, novel concept, but there were metal
tracks in the roads for heavy carts to hook into while they were pulled through the city, it
prevented so much turmoil as the carts were now difficult to overturn or have run away, they
were hooked into the metal track! It was ingenious, and safe. Also, bathhouses, there were
more bathhouses than septs in the North, and he was rather surprised because in the South
there were septs on nearly every city block, but in White Harbor there were far more
bathhouses. The septs were stunning gothic beauties of art, but also seemed more of
community centers here than places of devote faith, still no less stunning or imposing, but far
less intimidating, and Malentine had only seen septons and septas looking rather Northern in
appearance.
Other than the buildings along the canal everything was white, with the heavy woods being
the rich colors of the White Harbor. Every color indicated something for the canals. Blue
were for shallow river exits, utilized by locals going out of the city, primarily it seemed to be
utilized by fur traders, hunters, red was marked for livestock and fish which were moved
between the meat houses (which was preparations for exporting it out of White Harbor),
wares, and the marketplace, green was for logging, and yellow was for merchant trade. The
depths of the canals were indicated by the colors, and ships had to bear markers to move
through those canals. It was bloody genius. Malentine had spent hours talking to dock
masters who managed these canals to learn about them, and he still felt that they weren’t fully
telling him.
The biggest surprise to Malentine though was the smell of the city, it smelt of the sea, salt,
and crisp, clean air. There were no chamber pots being emptied in the streets, no scent of piss,
cum, or the acidic scent of vomit on the air. The city was clean, he had watched as men and
women came through cleaning their streets. Which was reflected with nearly perfect white
streets, buildings, and stone fences. There were massive trees, massive parks, and
surprisingly, a blend of something that felt very out of the Reach, and something…
harmonious, he couldn’t put his finger on for the environment.
White Harbor was always bustling with life, he had learnt, there were many trades, visitors,
people moving in and out of the city. There were many places of trade, he had seen smiths,
bakers, farriers, tanners, seamstresses, jewelers, textiles, carpenters, glassblowers, and so
many other trades. The life was richer than he was expecting.
Then there were the ships, many of them were old, but the amount of care in these ships was
impressive. He had spent hours at the docks just studying the various designs of Northern
ships, and he was beginning to understand what his uncle was seeing in these lands.
The people were interesting, and he didn’t know how to react to them all the time. They were
so… different, and odd. But not unpleasant… entirely, he’d seen a very violent game being
played in the park earlier, and the Northerners seemed to be intent on making their opponents
bleed. The sheer ferocity in the game was unsettling, but also interesting, the people were
enthralled with the game, cheering and shouting. The game involved wide, smooth, flat
sticks, and a ball, he wasn’t sure how many were on a team, but it didn’t seem to matter, there
were two goals on either end of the field, a bout of boundaries, and then the men were
violently rushing the other. Malentine swore he heard bones breaking in this game; though
they didn’t beat each other with the sticks, instead using the sticks to pass the ball around.
There were other things that were odd, but Malentine was very curious about it.
Now he found himself walking through this city, enthralled with the engineering marvel he
was in the center of. He was in awe. He knew the North was famed for it’s engineering, but
this was high praise, he had been expecting a backwater city, but this was a true city, worthy
of the claim. It was just as grand, and beautiful as King’s Landing, Oldtown, Lannisport,
Spice Town, Braavos, Tyrosh, Volantis, Lorath, Myr, Pentos; White Harbor was a beautiful
city, and it was stunning.
The lack of colors was betrayed by nature’s beauty, and it just amazed him. He paused when
saw bustling harbor.
He could see what his uncle and cousin were seeing, and he felt this was the right choice,
even if it was unnerving. Walking back through White Harbor, he enjoyed watching the
various people as they moved through the city. Perhaps there was hope he and his cousins
could aid in building something just as spectacular with their uncle here, because he was
impressed. He wanted to know about this pipe system the North seemed to utilize to move
heat through their buildings and city, he was very curious about the nature of their plumbing.
And honestly, the scent of clean air, he understood why the Northerners were obsessive with
bathing, it felt… good, to be in a clean city.
Malentine was surprised when he was nearing New Castle and saw it bustling with more life
than he had witnessed before.
“Lord Stark will be here in a few days, we will need to prepare for his party, bring out a few
elk, and two boars, prepare the freshest cod, and crabs, also, the lobster, salmon are nor
spawning yet, nor are the herring, and send word to the fishermen that the seasons matter.
Also, prepare clams and pheasant, Lord Stark is known to enjoy both,” Lady Manderly spoke
as she rushed past him. “This is so exciting, it has been so long since Lord Stark visited
White Harbor!”
Malentine was surprised to hear them talking so eagerly about Lord Stark’s arrival; he could
only remember his uncle’s household sounding with dread at the thought of Uncle Corlys
visiting. He didn’t think he’d ever witness anyone genuinely excited for their overlord to
visit.
Spice Town was bustling with life, people were scurrying about and excited. He looked
around as he stepped off the merchant ship that had smuggled him here. Glancing around, he
walked off the docks. The people were queer, unsettling, he did not like them, and it would
do the world well to be rid of them. First though, he had to take back the rightful King, the
born King. Then he could burn this wretched Valyrian Hold to the ground, it was an affront to
the natural order of the world, it was surprising they did not practice the queer customs of
their cruel overlords. Slavery, blood magic, fire magic, yes, this was a queer and unnatural
blight on the perfection of Westeros, and would need to be stamped out. He would take
pleasure in his purpose after retrieving the true King.
When Dragonstone came into view, for the first time in Aemond’s memorable life, he was
relieved seeing the fortress. He hadn’t been here except a few times, the last time Vhagar had
gotten in a fight with Cannibal. Clutching Sansa a little closer, he felt Vhagar dip into a dive,
her roar seemed to rouse the other dragons as she circled the castle. Aemond glanced behind
himself to see Vaegon looking tired, but still comfortable as they flew down to a field. There
was a fluttering of the other dragons. Aemond glanced behind himself to examine Vaegon, he
still didn’t have a true read on Vaegon, after figuring out Vardis was Vaegon.
Was anyone who they said they were? He wondered. Sansa and Jon were from a different era,
Vardis was Vaegon, what was next?
Vhagar gave a warning roar as she swooped down, her heavy wing beating up the winds as
she landed. She bounded over the island with ease, and Aemond felt her pause, her head was
held high, there was a cry and Aemond looked up to see Syrax flying overhead. Caraxes gave
a chittering whistle as they circled them. Sansa shifted in his arms, and Aemond looked
around. Arrax squealed as he flew by with Moondancer, he spotted Sunfyre then.
“What’s going on?” Sansa whispered.
Aemond looked up. “Nothing good,” he muttered.
The last time the dragons had acted this way Aegon had been attacked. Vhagar prowled
forward, she gave a thundering roar and all the dragons landed around her as she moved
towards the castle. Aemond glanced around, counting the dragons to make certain he had the
count right: Arrax was easy to spot, the streak of white. Caraxes was entwined around Syrax,
the pair seemed on edge, the red and gold were unmistakable. Meleys had perched herself
high atop Dragonstone, and snarled down at them, her offspring, Seasmoke was perched
there, his amber eyes gleamed threateningly. Meleys reared up to fire, Vhagar snapped her
jaws, and every dragon settled again. Moondancer perched near Arrax, her teal scales
glimmered from the sea. Sunfyre had settled beside Dreamfyre, and Aemond could see
Shrykos and Morghul beside the mated pair. There was a pink blur, and Aemond recognized
the tiny Morning as they neared. The only ones, Aemond could immediately see were
missing were, Vermithor, Silverwing, Vermax, and the wild dragons. Vhagar neared
Dragonstone, and lowered herself, he undid the straps holding himself and Sansa, before they
slid off. He lowered her first, then the turned to help Vaegon, who grunted as they landed.
Sansa winced a little as Caraxes gave a shrill whistle before he took to the skies. Aemond
looped is arm around her waist when she staggered a little, and he looked at Vaegon who was
lowering himself to a bench.
“Get her in first, I will be here,” Vaegon sighed as he rubbed his wound. Sansa shook her
head and he looked between the pair.
“Remain here, I’ll return,” he said as he set Sansa beside Vaegon. He hurried into the castle.
Taking the steps three at a time, he barely made it to the door when the heavy woods parted
and he saw Rhaenys, who was holding a small bundle.
“Aemond! We were not expecting you,” she said.
“I did not expect to be here,” he replied.
Rhaenys seemed confused, but Aemond didn’t wait. “I need assistance, and a place to stay, I
will see my sister and her children if they are here, if not, I will leave for Driftmark, I need to
speak with Daemon, and Rhaenyra, and yourself with your husband,” he ground out the
names with the greatest amount of reluctance, but after everything they had just escaped and
his promise to Sansa he would be speaking to Rhaenyra’s family. He would rather cut out his
tongue as he listed the names. But if the Hightowers were prepared to break guest rights, then
Aemond did not want to know what more they could do, or were willing to do, against House
Targaryen, he would have to send a raven to Daeron too.
“What happened?” Rhaenys demanded as he turned to leave.
“I need assistance, I’ve already stated everything else I will do!” Aemond snapped furiously.
He heard the mewling bundle in her arms but left, he didn’t want to leave Vaegon or Sansa
too long. Sansa was recovering, but she was still very dazed, and Vaegon’s injury, while not
life threatening was hindering the man the longer it was un treated. He found Sansa,
shivering, wet, and in the leather jerkin, Vaegon was beside her scowling.
“I know where you get your tenacity,” Sansa stated in a huff as he came over. He pressed his
hand to her brow, she was still flushed, but looking calmer, and her bruises were still a violent
black against her skin.
“I am fine!” Vaegon snapped.
Aemond didn’t grace that with a response as he looked Sansa over. Three days of Vhagar
flying at her swiftest speeds, and they had cleared Westeros faster than any could have
anticipated. But the biting cold of the winds, and the fact none of them were dressed for flight
like the one Vhagar took, it was concerning. Vaegon and Sansa were both looking very tired,
and weathered. Aemond had only recovered two days ago, fully, finding himself aware of his
faculties again in their entirety,
“My Prince,” he turned to see Vaemond there, with Daeron.
“Help him,” Aemond said as he pulled Sansa into his arms. Daeron was the one to walk over
and aid Vaegon up. Vaemond rushed ahead as they all entered Dragonstone then. Aemond
looked over his shoulders as the heavy wooden doors shut.
“We were not expecting you,” Vaemond stated.
“I did no expect to be here.”
“Princess Helaena, Prince Jaehaerys, Princess Jaehaera, and Prince Maelor are safe and
secure, here, with he Dustin guard,” Vaemond stated.
“Thank the gods,” Aemond breathed. “I’ll speak to my sister later.”
“We must speak swiftly, before anything else,” Vaemond said.
“After… Sansa needs to warm up, so does my… companion,” Aemond stated. “And I will
speak to everyone at once,” he breathed tiredly.
Vaemond didn’t respond, and Aemond noticed the servants leading him to their quarters.
There was something odd happening here, and now, but he didn’t want to dwell on it at this
moment as he focused on moving Sansa into the rooms they were shown. The rooms were
rather dark, and ominous, but Aemond didn’t dwell on it as he got Sansa set down before the
hearth and got that started. Standing again, he looked at Sansa, she shivered and rubbed her
eyes tiredly.
“I’m sorry,” he said again as he knelt down beside her. She shook her head as she turned
against his shoulder.
“They… they broke something sacred,” she whispered. “I expected them to do something, on
the way to the wedding or on the day, but not… not in their home…” she murmured.
He didn’t respond as he just sat there tiredly. Aemond knew the Greens were displeased
about his union, but to attempt to make Sansa look like a runaway bride… No one who
genuinely knew a Stark would ever think they’d run off. Pressing his lips to her crown he
closed his eye as they sat there. She shivered a little again as she curled up against him, the
fire was going strong, he traced his fingers over her side.
“They… they broke guest rights,” she whimpered. “Why?”
“Because they could,” he answered tiredly. “Custom matter, but so long as one is willing to
accept consequences, customs can be broken, we underestimated how far they could or would
go,” he murmured honestly.
She sniffled and he glanced at her, there were tears again and she slipped her arm in his as
she pressed herself more securely against him.
“Robb died because he trusted guest rights, I’m a fool for trusting guest rights,” she
whispered.
He didn’t respond, he didn’t think he could say anything that would alleviate her agony about
trusting a tested and true customed that everyone in Westeros abided to. To break guest
rights, to even think to break it, it was as good as saying their word meant nothing, and
Aemond knew the Hightowers wouldn’t break guest rights lightly. Something had changed,
something had altered for them, a pressure factor he didn’t know about. They needed more
allies, they needed more information, they needed…
He shook his head as he bowed his head forward and closed his eye. They needed nothing.
They were going North. They were going North, and that was that, he was not remaining here
any longer. They would take Helaena and her children, and they’d go North. He’d figure out
a way to safely abdicate the throne for Jaehaerys to not be targeted, and leave this mess for
Rhaenyra. No matter what, Aemond knew there’d have to be a formal abdication of Aegon’s
line filed with the Court, and Crown, so they might never be in the line of succession.
Aemond would do the same for himself, but honestly, he was so far removed from succession
he didn’t feel concerned about it. Sansa gave a sob, and he pulled her onto his lap as she
started crying again, the heat of the fire was soothing, and he just sat there while they warmed
up. She clung to his chest as they sat there.
It was later, he summoned her a bath, and was relieved when he saw a maid bring him a
dress, it was from Vaemond’s gooddaughter, given she and Sansa were about the same height.
He got Sansa in the bath and stripped out of his own cloths, finding ones from his uncle given
too him. Once dressed again, he left off the eye patch and didn’t bother pulling on boots or
socks as he walked over to Sansa. She was sitting in the bath, and he knelt down. Taking in
the bruises now, the ones blooming on her abdomen were concerning, as were the ones across
her hip, her knees, and then her back. He brushed some of her hair aside and she turned, her
lip was still fat and split, her jaw black, but the look she gave him… it reminded him of
himself, and he frowned as they sat there looking at one another.
“I was such a fool,” she whispered.
“No,” he assured. “I was, given I had no true plan for them being zealous enough to break
sacred tradition,” he sighed.
She shook her head as she drew up her knees. “But I knew, I knew it could be broken, for the
right price, for the right cause, for the right reason, it can be broken even if you do not expect
it,” she whispered as she dragged her hand through her hair. Reaching up, he tucked her hair
behind her ear as they looked at one another. “My brother was killed… I told you, but they…
they broke guest rights, he was supposed to be safe, so I knew, I knew it could be broken, and
I thought, I trusted that it wouldn’t, and… Gods,” she looked down, her eyes were brimming
with tears.
“We were both fools,” he murmured tiredly.
She snorted, and started crying again as she hugged her knees, he just sat there, tracing his
fingers over her spine. She finally stopped crying, and that was when he got her out of the
tub, and got her dried off. After that they were both sitting on the bed, and Sansa just curled
up in a tight ball. He lay there waiting for her fall asleep, he could see her eyes growing
heavy. Part of him was still concerned that the milk of the poppy was affecting her, but he
didn’t think so. Perhaps the emotional turmoil of everything was what had her so exhausted,
Aemond knew he got exhausted when his emotions got the better of him.
“I’m going to go make sure Vaegon hasn’t died,” he murmured softly. “You’re safe, I’ll
return,” he assured as she was slowly drifting off. She nodded as she curled up tighter, he got
up, grabbing a heavy fur and pulling it over her. He brushed her hair aside again and leant
over to make certain she was sleeping. She was.
Leaving her, he stepped out of the room, his head falling back, the sapphire irritated his eye at
this moment, but he didn’t think about it as he dragged his hand through his hair. He was
unsurprised rounding the corner to see Helaena and Rody.
“Mon!” he softened a little as he caught his sister in a tight hug.
“You have terrible timing,” Rody stated.
Aemond shook his head in exhaustion. Helaena stepped back, looking at him, her hand came
up and touched his unscarred cheek and he nodded tiredly as he felt her hand withdraw.
Helaena stepped back and he looked at Rody.
“Prince Aemond, Prince Daemon has summoned your presence,” a servant said. Aemond
looked at Helaena and Rody, and both looked uneasy.
“Sansa is sleeping, if you can…” Aemond started as he looked at Rody.
“Aye, always,” Rody nodded as he walked towards the quarters Aemond had left. Aemond
didn’t bother rebuffing the servant, or returning to get dressed, instead, he just followed. He
didn’t care about his lack of dress, he was exhausted. He followed the servant, who kept
giving him a look he couldn’t place, into a room that was clearly a war room. Aemond did
not wait on ceremony, as he seated himself at the head of the table, his head falling back as he
closed his eye. He felt so bloody tired, the exhaustion was fully hitting him now, he just
wanted to go back to the room he had left Sansa in and curl up and sleep for a month, then go
North. However, he wanted her safe, so they’d be going North as swiftly as they could, then
he’d sleep for a year.
Hearing the others enter, he forced himself awake to see his uncle looking disheveled, Baela,
Rhaena, and Lucerys looked… upset, Rhaenys and Corlys were looking grief stricken.
Aemond frowned but didn’t respond as he waited for them to make their first move.
However, he was becoming more confused as Daemon took Rhaenyra’s seat, and the group
fanned out. Corlys on Daemon’s right, Rhaenys beside Corlys, Lucerys on Daemon’s left,
with Baela beside Lucerys, and Rhaena beside Baela. There was a push, and Aemond turned,
his brow rising as he saw Reince Dustin, Vaemond, Daeron and Vaegon walk in. Vaegon was
limping, leaning on a cane, his white hair was pulled back again and he looked over the
group with disdain.
Daemon and Rhaenys looked like they were looking at a ghost then.
“It’s not possible,” Rhaenys rasped.
“Not probable,” Vaegon countered. “Riñar,” Vaegon nodded as he took the seat on Aemond’s
left, Vaemond was on Aemond’s right, Reince took the seat beside Vaegon, and Daeron
beside Vaemond.
“Where is Rhaenyra?” Aemond asked tiredly as he rested his head on his fist, he felt so
fucking exhausted.
“Rhaenyra has taken to bed, she had blood fever,” Daemon whispered in a harsh, broken
whisper. “The labors were long, and hard, she has lost much blood…”
Aemond blinked a few times as he felt his gut twist into a knot. “I am sorry to hear that, I will
pray for her health to return to her,” he said carefully. “What happened?”
“Rhaenyra labored for a long day, the afterbirth came first, then her first daughter, Princess
Visenya, and the second child might not make it,” Corlys said softly.
Aemond sat there, uncertain now if he should speak. Sansa’s patterns came to mind, Daela,
Alysse, Alysanne, Rhaenys, Gael, Aemma, Laena… Targaryen women did not fair labors
well, and Rhaenyra had had five previous labors with ease. He took a sharp breath in, what if
the attacks had not ceased?
“Who tends to Rhaenyra?” he asked warily.
“The midwives at this time,” Daemon answered softly. “Maester Gerardys was assisting, but
given the decline of Rhaenyra’s health, I have relinquished his opinion in this matter…”
Aemond nodded slowly as they sat at the war table, a map of Westeros.
She watched the flames and smiled as she leant back in her seat. Her magic had mostly
recovered from her previous spell work, and she could feel her dragon’s blood calling out for
her. She could not see him in the flames any longer, but she could feel his blood, the way it
called for her. Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back. She needed a bit more rest before
her next spell, but she would enjoy watching it all burn to the ground. The chaos was glorious
to feel.
The red wolf bristled and snarled when she tried to see her dragon, she gasped when it bared
it’s teeth, charging for her throat. Jolting up in her chair she rubbed her neck and frowned.
A raven cawed outside her window before fluttering away.
Chapter End Notes
Kostilus gaomagon daor jikagon skoriot nyke daor. -- Please do not go where I cannot.
īlva riñar se nyke nykeēdrosa jorrāelagon ao, se pāletilla jorrāelagon ao naejot sagon
dāria. --Our children and I still need you, the crown needs you to be Queen.
Nyke jāhor zālagon se qilōnagon naejot īlva lentor. -- I will burn the threat to our family.
Shijetra issa, yn nyke brōzi īlva tresy Baelon, yn īlon emagon Visenya se Baelon.
Māzigon arlī naejot īlva. -- Forgive me, but I am naming our son Baelon, but we have
Visenya and Baelon. Come back to us.
~*~*~*~
So, only a few more chapters left, I'm restructuring the end for it to work with the next
installment, so I hope you enjoy! =)
Chapter 41
Aemond looked over the table and his eye flicked to Vaemond and Daeron, then he looked at
Reince who was leaning back with a wary look of examination on his features as he looked at
the members of the table. Aemond did not fault him for that wariness, he was wary knowing
his uncle was openly upset about Rhaenyra, it was enough to have Aemond wanting to just
grab Sansa, Helaena, Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor and just leave. But that was not an
option as he looked at Vaegon. They hadn’t had too much time to inquire about Vaegon back
in Oldtown, he had simply been informed Vaegon had passed in 102 AC and that was that, no
further elaborations or explanations. At the time, given Aemond and Sansa were attempting
to appear engaged with their lectures and not investigating the records. That was a mistake
now.
Vaegon leaned back looking at them with a look of absolute indifference and boredom.
Aemond still didn’t know what to think about Vaegon, but he hadn’t focused on it give he had
focused on Sansa and getting to Dragonstone. What Aemond knew of the man was not
dismal, under the presentation of Vardis he was smart, indifferent, practical, and intelligent.
He also possessed an acidic tongue, critical mind, and pragmatic views about the economy
and the numbers he was investigating. Aemond rather liked Vaegon as Vardis because he was
direct, there was no double speak or entrapment when speaking with Vaegon, whereas with
everyone else in Aemond’s life, Aemond had had to watch his words and mind the verbal
traps often laid out in clever disguises. Aemond had hated social niceties, and worse, he hated
always having to mind his tongue and attempting to decipher what people meant.
Sansa was inversely good at figuring out the social traps, and verbal traps others laid out, and
she was great at laying her own traps for others.
Shaking his head of his thoughts, he rubbed his temple as he looked at the table.
“What did you learn?” Corlys asked. And Aemond scowled at the order in his question.
“Prince Aemond has performed admirably, which is more than I can say for the other
members of this table,” Vaegon stated with a nonchalant tone. “The young Prince uncovered
the most obvious embezzlement scheme in the past two centuries, while also noting on the
direct attack against our House and family, without aid of said House and family even
noticing his own efforts from what I’ve been told by my contacts. Arranged a favorable,
profitable match which secures a safe position in the event of war, wed a woman of moderate
intelligence and wit, who’s brother is a brilliant military mind and Warden of the North, a
King in all but title. All with no formal aid but his wife, and her brother, and you come, with
nothing but a demand for information. Pitiful. I would have presumed the former Queen Who
Never Was Consort to have the proactive ambition to seek out information of his own.”
Aemond blinked a few times as he stared at Vaegon who was sitting there.
“And what would you know?” Rhaenys sneered.

“A great deal more than you,” Vaegon retorted icily.
“Enough,” Aemond sighed tiredly as he closed his eye. The sapphire was giving a headache,
four days of not removing it and his head was throbbing. He’d have to get a replacement
eyepatch; the sapphire was annoying him. “The embezzled funds are being moved in transit.
The annual collections rotating through the Realm leave weakness as the maesters have
devised a way to move them while enroute. The funds are then hidden within the Faith’s own
funds, given that their own taxes are marginal in comparison, and their accounts closed to the
Realm, it is easy to conceal. The funds have been utilized by concealing their existence in
constructing septs, as well as monuments, there are other diversions, but there appears to be a
cipher on the records as to the full extent of where the funds are being moved and spent and
invested. They have spread the money through the Houses Tarly and Tyrell, though if House
Tarly and House Tyrell are aware of it remains to be seen. There does not appear to be funds
being sent outside to Lys or Braavos at this time, but there are other payments made, and
receipts from unknown sources.
“There’s also been a moving of funds through charities, specifically ones with high volume
use so the funds are not noticed. Sansa was the one to find these in the funds for orphans and
the ill,” he explained. “It does not appear the funds are sent to line the private coffers of
Hightower, or any particular family in the Reach, but do end up within private coffers of the
Citadel and the Faith. There have been records and notes gathered, in time they will be
furthered in being deciphered upon their collection.”
“You don’t have them!?” Corlys ground out. Aemond scowled as he sat up to glare at the
older man.
“You Do Not Get To Criticize The Choices Made For The Safety Of Me And Mine,”
Aemond snarled.
“What happened?” Daemon asked.
“The Hightowers intended to break guest rights, I would consider them broken personally,
but I know they have no compunction about breaking them,” Vaegon snorted decisively.
“They had plotted the narrative for Princess Sansa to be a runaway bride, intent on utilizing a
storm to cover their hand in her disappearance, they had even gone so far as to slip milk of
the poppy to her. had Vhagar not alerted to the distress of Prince Aemond, then it is very
likely she would either be dead, or lost at sea if not for Vhagar’s alerting. At that point, I
intervened to reveal my identity, my associate and I had been keeping an eye on Prince
Aemond and Princess Sansa. Lord Hobart Hightower and Lord Ormund Hightower are most
assuredly dead.”
“Ormund wasn’t Lord of Hightower,” Rhaenys stated.
“He was for about five minutes after I killed his father but before I gutted him,” Vaegon
replied.
“I like this Targaryen,” Reince chuckled as he smiled sharply at Aemond. Aemond just
sighed, why did Northerners announce who they liked!? Granted, it saved Aemond a lot of
time trying to figure out where he stood with them, it was still baffling when they announced
they liked someone. Vaegon looked startled as he stared openly at Reince like Reince was
some other species of being undiscovered and unsettling, then he glanced at Aemond, and
Aemond shrugged as he shook his head minutely.
“I didn’t have time with my escape, keeping my wife, and great-uncle alive, and Vhagar’s
speed to even contemplate gathering my notes, which were already handed off to a trusted…
colleague,” Aemond stuttered on the label ‘colleague’. He looked them over as he leaned
back. He would hold off on sharing Sansa’s speculation to the other attacks on House
Targaryen through the women and labors, he didn’t think now was an appropriate time as he
looked at his uncle.
“What else have you learnt then?” Corlys asked.
“Nothing more of relevance at this time. When Rhaenyra is in better health, there will be
more to discuss,” Aemond stated.
“Maester Gerardys is currently captured, and imprisoned in the dungeons, awaiting

interrogation, perhaps you’ll find similarities to his answers to those of the maester who
killed Lady Stark,” Daemon rasped tiredly.
Aemond blinked a few times at the information. “I will… speak, to the maester then…” he
said uncertainty. He didn’t know what to expect, his uncle was just sitting there looking
subdued, and furious. “Perhaps… Vaegon, will provide insight,” he looked at his great-uncle,
uncertain of how to address the man.
“I would be pleased to provide insight,” Vaegon answered blandly.
“If that is all, Ser Vaemond, I need to speak to you and your son, and Reince,” Aemond rose
as he moved to leave.
He wasn’t going to discuss the conspiracy further with his uncle looking homicidal and about
to ignite the very war that they couldn’t afford to fight at this moment. Vaemond rose and
followed, Daeron and Reince did too, and to Aemond’s surprise, Vaegon did as well. Aemond
looked warily at Vaegon, but didn’t rebuff the older man, Vaegon had save himself and Sansa,
and Beesbury trusted him. Aemond didn’t know what to make of Vaegon entirely, and he
wasn’t going to think about it at this moment, given he wanted to go check in on Sansa.
“Lord Corlys has agreed to the purchase price of the ships, and I will begin the move North
to White Harbor soon, I am expecting a raven from Daemion or Malentine. Daemion has
gone North to begin his studies in being a steward in the North, I have also gained support of
Valyrian families who seek to swear fealty to you,” Vaemond stated as they walked. Aemond
stopped, blinking a few times as he stared at Vaemond then.
“That is… good…” he said slowly, uncertain of what he was supposed to say further.
“I will have more information for you in a fortnight, but we will be prepared to move to the
North within a lunar cycle.”
Aemond nodded. “I was going to speak with you about the matter of the Iron Bank, or
Rogare Bank…”
“Ah.”
“You have dealings with them, correct?” he asked.
“Lord Corlys has had dealings with them, I have attempted to maintain distance from both
Banks, feeling it is better suited and less of a risk to keep money domestic,” he explained.
Aemond nodded as he thought this over. “I will have more to discuss about this, but I need
you to reach out to contacts in the Reach, men you trust, we need to learn about the
whereabouts and status of Lord Lyman Beesbury, he’s been aiding me in this investigation,
discreetly, the Hightowers are probably about to call their banners.”
Aemond didn’t know who the new Lord Hightower was going to be at this moment,
according to Vaegon both Hobart and Ormund were dead. Which meant, unless by some
divine, unsightly miracle Ormund or Hobart survived, then Lyonel was Lord Hightower, and
he would be calling his banners. It was unreasonable to think there’d be no retaliation for this
action, and undoubtably, Aemond and Sansa were about to be dragged through the mud, he
had no doubt that this was not going to end well. But he wanted to make sure Beesbury and
his family were safe, Beesbury was important.
“I will speak to associates.”
Aemond nodded. “There will likely be an accusation of myself and Sansa breaking guest
rights… we did not,” he looked at Reince then. Aemond desperately wanted them to
understand he had broken nothing sacred, he needed to keep a good standing with the North.
He didn’t… he didn’t want what was about to undoubtably happen, he appeared to be cursed
with the inescapable fate of being labeled a kinslayer, because he did not doubt he’d be
condemned for what had happened to Hobart and Ormund. Vaegon was long since believed
dead, and no one was currently aware he lived, and Aemond had fled with Sansa on Vhagar.
“My Prince,” a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, he flinched slightly at the action as he
found himself looking at Vaemond and Reince then, both of them were looking at him with
patient expressions. “We believe you, I will speak to my sources in the Reach, and perhaps
learn more of what has been happening,” Vaemond assured.
Aemond nodded.
“Lord Stark would only care that you and Sansa are safe, you’ve lost no standing with the
North protecting Sansa,” Reince said firmly.
Aemond nodded again as he felt his shoulder smacked in good nature before Reince nodded
and left. Aemond looked at Vaemond who smiled a bit fatherly, and Aemond bit his lip as he
stood there.
“Go rest, Aemond, you’ve lost no standing with me or mine,” Vaemond said. “We will
discuss the other matters more, for now, I will send out inquiries regarding Lord Beesbury.”
“Go rest, attend to your wife, and within the fortnight we will know more,” Vaemond
assured.
Aemond nodded as he watched Daeron and Vaemond leave. Vaegon was still there, leaning
on a cane. Aemond looked at Vaegon, who raised his brows then.
“There is much you and I should discuss,” Vaegon stated.
“With Sansa,” Aemond cut off. Vaegon looked surprised then. “There is much we do not
have perspectives on, that she does, and I will find it all simpler to discuss it with her present
to save time on re-explaining it. And as she is from a Great House she will have knowledge
House Targaryen would not be privy too.”
“Of course,” Vaegon nodded. “You have selected a woman of moderate intelligence, and
unusually insightful.”
“She is unique,” Aemond muttered as he walked past Vaegon. He saw Daemon at the end of
the hall speaking to a woman in a midwife uniform, and then the woman left. For a moment
his uncle turned and looked at him, and Aemond did not know what to do. Then Daemon left,
and Aemond walked back to the rooms he and Sansa had been settled in. He walked in to
find Rody and Helaena there. Helaena was stroking Sansa’s hair as she sat on the edge of the
bed, and Rody had found himself an ideal vantage point. Aemond nodded his thanks as Rody
nodded at him, and left. Which had Aemond alone with Helaena and Sansa.
“The beast trembles beneath the boards,” Helaena whispered as she looked at him.
He walked over, and stared at his sister for a long moment. She was a little thinner, having
lost weight, her hair was loose in curls, her eyes were bright and clear and she looked sane
again.
“It has been a long time, mandia,” he murmured and she smiled as he bent over, pressing his
lips to her brow. She hummed appreciatively as he rose, looking her over and smiling a little.
“Mon, it is good you are here,” she rasped.
He inclined his head as he looked at Sansa now. She had not uncurled from her ball, but she
was in a deep sleep. The bruises were a violent contrast to her skin, and he wanted them
gone, he wanted to go back to Hightower and burn them all to the ground for inflicting these
marks on Sansa.
“Rhaenyra and Daemon have been gracious hosts,” Helaena said as he sat down beside Sansa
then. He raised his brow as he looked at her. She giggled a little. “They have not been
terrible,” she assured. “They have been almost welcoming, though I do not think they know
how to treat me or my children after our histories…” she confessed softly. “Rhaenyra’s labors
were brutal,” she murmured as she reached up, moving bits of Sansa’s hair. “She gave birth
to part of the afterbirth first, and it broke within her, her daughter is healthy, but her son is…
he might not survive…” Helaena had tears welling up in her eyes then. “Why do the innocent
babes die? They are good and pure?”
“He’s not dead Hel,” Aemond murmured. “He is not Baelor,” he sighed.
Helaena nodded as she wiped her tears. “I will pray Rhaenyra does not know that pain, I
would never wish it upon any.”
“You are far kinder than I or anyone else,” Aemond sighed as he looked at Sansa.
“The children are pleased you’re back,” Helaena said. He smiled a bit. “They have so much
to tell you, and will be gleeful informing you of all their adventures! Lady Hazel has been…
most kind, a true friend even, I have come to cherish her dearly.”
“That is good,” he nodded. “Hel… I have missed you, but I am exhausted,” he murmured.
“Of course,” she nodded. “I will return, Mon.”
He nodded as he watched his sister leave. He stretched out on the bed when he was alone
again, and looked at Sansa. Reaching up, he traced her cheek and she roused a little.
“You’re back…” she rasped.
He nodded.
Sansa’s fingers reached out, tracing his jawline as her fingers came to rest on his lips. He lay
there looking her over, she slowly uncurled as she scooted closer to him. Sansa’s fingers fell
down his chin, he licked his lip and bit it as he watched Sansa’s sleepy expression.
“I am sorry,” he rasped.
She shook her head as she rolled her hips a bit, her knees pushed against his as he draped his
arm over her waist. Sansa bit her own lip as she looked down then.
“Don’t be,” she whispered. “They did what they decided to do…”
“I should have protected you,” he murmured.
“You did… you and Veagon and Vhagar, I am not there, and alive,” she rasped and smiled
softly. “No one ever saved me,” she murmured tiredly. He pulled her closer as he scooted up
so she curled into his chest. Her fingers curled into his shirt, and he grabbed a fur, pulling it
over them as he lay there. For a long moment they just laid there. Aemond closed his eye,
breathing in the scent of Sansa. His hand fisted against the shirt she was wearing as he
pillowed his own head on his arm. Sansa pressed herself very securely against him.
“I’m glad you’re here, and we’re not there,” Sansa rasped.
Aemond opened his eye and pressed his lips to the crown of her head.
“Aemond?”
“Hm…”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Vaegon got us out,” he pointed out.
“You didn’t leave me,” she murmured softly. He tightened his hold on Sansa, and bit his lip.
“I promised I wouldn’t,” he replied. “I’m serious, Sansa, I’m not marrying again, and I’m not
leaving you behind, and I’m coming after you if we do get separated,” he assured.
Vaegon looked after Aemond, and looked at the other Velaryons. It was easy to identify
others of Valyrian descent, and he knew they were Velaryons. The elder looked similar to
Corlys, but more severe, and gruff, the younger looked very suave and handsome, both of
them with long silver locks, vibrant eyes. They were both inhumanely beautiful in the way
most of Vaegon’s own family had been. He looked them over warily.
Vaemond Velaryon, the support of Beesbury’s harebrained schemes. He was uncertain what
to think of the Velaryon, but this one could not be as stupid as Corlys if he had Beesbury’s
attentions and trust. Vaegon could trust Beesbury not to surround himself with imbeciles for
the most part; the man had a penchant for selecting peculiar people of intelligence at times
that Vaegon did not approve of.
“Prince Vaegon,” Vaemond bowed slightly with his son. “It is an honor to meet you,” he rose.
“I sincerely doubt that,” Vaegon stated. “We have matters to discuss, Lord Beesbury has
endorsed you as a man of intelligence and sense.”
“That is high praise from a man like Lord Beesbury,” Vaemond chuckled.
“You are rash though, challenging paternity in open Court, a biased Court no less,” Vaegon
sneered.
“All Courts are biased, for it is the nature of humans to be biased.”
Vaegon inclined his head in agreement. Now he frowned. “For the good of the Realm, we
have matters to discuss,” he said softly.
“Of course,” Vaemond agreed. “We will discuss them on our journey North. Me and mine
will be moving with our Prince North, Lord Stark has offered us sanctuary and respite from
the biased Courts.”
“About Lord Stark,” Vaegon started.
“He is our Prince’s goodbrother, wolves are always more loyal to their own than their
masters,” Vaemond stated confidently.
“That remains to be seen, there’s never been a Stark to break an oath,” Vaegon murmured.
“Do not underestimate the power of a Stark,” Vaemond warned. Vaegon nodded as he
watched the other man. He could see what Beesbury was coming to like about this Velaryon,
this was an ambitious, dangerous man, but calculated, his words were measured and not rash
or revealing, innocuous, this was a man who, unlike Corlys, was cunning.
“Do not over estimate a Stark, they are wolves, and wolves, like dogs, they follow leaders,”
Vaegon reminded Vaemond.
Vaemond tilted his head in acknowledgement then. “Prince Vaegon, this is my son, and heir,
Ser Daeron, my youngest is in the North already to learn how to steward for our Prince.”
Vaegon looked the young man over then.
“Prince Vaegon, I believe, in time, you’ll see that this is all for the good of the Realm,”
Daeron assured.
He shrugged. “We shall see, I have seen many believed to be for the good of the Realm, none
impress me.”
“I believe you share sentiments with my father in that matter, but our Prince is proving
himself,” Daeron said. “Excuse me, I will speak to Reince about returning to Driftmark.”
“Fair winds, my son,” Vaemond smiled.
Daeron nodded as he bowed and left. Vaegon looked at Vaemond then, and waited, uncertain
what more was to be said. He had never been good at engaging others as equals.
“Come, let us enjoy the sun on our old bones,” Vaemond said as they walked. Vaegon leaned
on the cane, his hip was aching, his hand was throbbing, and his bruises were making
themselves known as they walked. It was on the windy bluffs that Vaemond slowed their
walk.
“For the good of the Realm,” Vaemond stated.
“I have been in service to this bloody Realm since my father summoned my council, not that
he could ever be bothered to listen to anyone who wasn’t blowing smoke up his arse,”
Vaegon huffed as they stopped. He leaned on the wall, the winds whipped his hair loose and
free, much to his irritation, and he glared at Vaemond then. “What would you know of the
good of the Realm?”
Vaemond snorted humorlessly as he sat beside Vaegon. “We’re old men, my prince, the sun
isn’t going up for us, it’s going down, and we’re leaving a mess for the young. A mess we
didn’t create, but we did exasperate. Viseys should’ve never been King.”
“Your brother should never be King either,” Vaegon sneered.
“Corlys would not be a good King either, but his dreams of grandeur are what sustain him to
his ruination, and I can no longer support or aid in his delusions of grandeur,” Vaemond
stated. “In my brother’s quest for legacy and infamy, he has condemned my House, my sons,
and our people to ruination, because he sees no qualms about placing his personal ambitions
above his duties and responsibilities. Our House crumbles in his quest to appease his
wounded pride, and Rhaenys’ bitterness about losing the throne, not that she should have
ever been Queen either.
“I tried to fight for my House, if not for Lord Stark I would not be here, nor would my sons,
for I have no doubt they would attempt to avenge me. My brother has let his gooddaughter
run wild, his goodson elope with his gooddaughter a mere fortnight after his son’s death, and
he is actively participating in paternity fraud, with the hopes of concealing it by legitimizing
the blood through the unions of his granddaughters to Princess Rhaenyra’s sons. All of this
has lead to a decline of my House, my business, and my family’s wealth, but it is also
reflecting upon the Realm.
“Endorsing Princess Rhaenyra is intolerable, she has never been permitted to learn the art of
ruling, and her husband is scorned by Court so thoroughly the hopes of constructing a
reasonable Court around her is improbable. Endorsing Prince Aegon was equally intolerable
but more favorable as he was a spineless fool who would be puppetted by a reasonable Court.
The options were both intolerable, but one was less likely to destroy everything compared to
the other.
“I have come to the conclusion though, through experiences, and interactions, that for the
good of the Realm, there is another option,” Vaemond admitted.
“It is improbable you will succeed,” Vaegon stated. “If we do, we are still likely not to see the
results. And if we are caught, we will be put to death.”
“Is it not worth losing our heads for the good of the Realm?” Vaemond asked levelly.
The boy giggled, and she chuckled as she followed him, weaving her way through the forest.
He gripped her hand, leading her along, he walked along the stone fences, a massive wolf
loped beside them, and Sansa flinched as a there was a rush of wind, looking up she saw
Vhagar.
“Kepa!” the child shouted in delight. Sansa caught the boy before he fell on his face. She
followed, the boy laughed as he ran ahead, his ever shifting hair color blurred. Aemond was
there, he turned, scooping down, catching the boy as she walked up, laughing.
“Welcome Home,” she said as he caught her arm.
Aemond’s face rapidly changed, shifting, and she found herself staring into the grey eyes of a
Stark, terror welled in her as the Night King’s crown of ice emerged, and the boy was
giggling in his arms. The Night King spoke as his grip tightened on her waist, she shivered as
she pushed against his chest, reaching to grab the boy who was fighting the Night King's
hold. Then the Night King threw her, she screamed as she fell into a pit of darkness.
Gasping, Sansa grimaced as she woke, the ache of her bruises, the heat, the chill, she shivered
a bit as she lay there. Her back was pressed to Aemond’s chest and his arm was hugged by
her, her feet tucked between his calves, and his chin atop her head. She winced a little in
discomfort. She felt… sticky… and wet, and she grimaced again as she shivered. Slowly she
detangled herself from Aemond, her thighs felt stickier… and hot. She carefully pulled up the
hem of her chemise, she trembled a bit looking between her legs at the blood then. A
whimper escaped her, and she shivered as she moved the covers, and saw the blood
everywhere on the bedding… and worse… on Aemond.
“Sansa?” Aemond’s voice was slurred.
“No…” she gasped, pushed herself off the bed, yelping as she hit the ground pain bloomed
through her hip.
“Sansa!” he was pulling himself over to the side of the bed.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered as she pressed her hands to her mouth.
“Fucking hells, Sansa!” he got up. Then Aemond looked down, then at the bed, then at her.
“Are you hurt, where are you bleeding!?” he grabbed her up. “Sansa, where’s the injury?
Sansa…” he caught her arms.
“I… I… I didn’t mean to make a mess!” she gasped.
“Mess… Sansa…?” Aemond looked confused then his eye widened as he pulled her up.
“We’ll get you a bath,” he murmured.
“I didn’t mean… I’m…” Sansa trembled as Aemond put her on the bed. He looked down at
himself and shook his head.
“Sansa, it’s just blood,” he sighed. “Do you need anything else? Food, water, wine?” he asked
as he looked her over.
Sansa stared at him dumbly, uncertain what to say as she trembled. “A… a bath, mint tea,”
she whispered.
He nodded as he went about changing, cleaning up, and disappeared. Sansa sat there,
shivering, she pulled a fur around herself as she sat there, dragging her fingers through her
hair. Sansa cursed her irregular cycles, she had been told by Shae stress could cease a
woman’s cycles from being regular. And later, with the famine and stresses of the Long Night
encroaching upon them… Sansa had had maybe a handful of cycles in her young life, and
they’d never been predictable, or regular. Of course she’d find herself bleeding all over her
husband… she cried a little as she sat there, rubbing her eyes. Aemond reappeared, maids and
other attendants with a tub. Sansa curled up to hug her knees, crossing her ankles she
whimpered a little as she felt a cramp curling around her lower abdomen. When there was a
tub of steaming water, Aemond had the servants and maids dismissed before Aemond walked
over to her.
“Come on,” Aemond caught her arms, carefully pulling her up to her feet.
“I’m sorry…” she whispered.

“Sansa,” he sighed, but shook his head as he took off her chemise. Sansa looked down, the
blood was still rolling down her thighs, she pressed her thighs together as she hugged herself.
Aemond tossed the chemise on the bed, and scooped her up before he carefully put her in the
tub. She winced as she looked up at him. “I was present when Helaena got her first cycle,”
Aemond murmured. “A hot bath is her favorite reprieve from the cycle.”
“I forgot about it,” Sansa whispered honestly. Aemond frowned as he looked at her. She drew
up her knees as she hugged them. “I never had a regular cycle, I forgot about it…” she
whimpered.
“Rest,” Aemond murmured as he kissed her head and rose up. She shivered a bit, the
perfumes were light, and comforting, and the heat felt good on her as she hugged herself. She
shivered a little watching Aemond from the corner of her eye as he pulled privacy screens
around her, and then there was a sound of feet. She waited, Aemond reappeared and looked
her over. She winced feeling a cramp then, and she watched him as he stood over her.
“It’s cleaned up,” he murmured. “A maid brought materials for you, and the mint tea,” he
said softly as he came to crouch down beside her at the tub. His fingers tucked her hair
behind her ear.
She watched him warily, hugging her knees, the heat felt good on her aching bruises and her
muscles. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s just blood Sansa,” he murmured softly. She bit her lip, and closed her eyes as she rested
her head on her knees. “Do not apologize,” he murmured.
“I… my cycle has never been regular,” she whispered. “First time I flowered, I did not bleed
again for over a year. And when I was in the Vale my cycles were irregular, before the Long
Night they ceased. They were becoming regular again in the North, I had not bled though
since coming South…” she whimpered as she bit her lip. Aemond traced his fingers along her
hairline and she leaned towards him. He just sat with her, even as the water started to grow
tepid. He carefully helped her out, and she dried off. When she readied the supplies to catch
her bleeding, she bit her lip, there was a heavy stream of blood running down her leg. She
wiped it off, and then got dressed. Aemond sat her down, and she shivered as she watched
him pour the tea out, sitting across from him, she bit her lip, she drew her legs up, pressing
her thighs tightly together, hiding her feet beneath her skirts.
Aemond just sat there as he waited. The night’s light was what Sansa noticed now, she hadn’t
really noticed the hour. There was a knock, Aemond got up, and Sansa watched as servants
walked in with new bedding, and a new mattress. It took a few moments, but finally Aemond
and she were alone again as she finished her tea.
“Come on,” he pulled her up to her feet and she walked on shaky legs to the bed, before
Aemond pulled her onto it again and stretched out beside her then. His heavy, warm hand
rested on her stomach as she scooted closer to him, he shifted, rolling his hips as he curled up
along her back, his hot hand felt soothing on her lower abdomen. “Sleep,” he murmured
tiredly. She shivered as she curled around his hand.
He trembled in rage as he sat there. Princess Helaena being moved was not unexpected, she
was a mad dragon, she’d die with the rest. But the moving of the true King and the other
brats… that was a problem which had him trembling in rage. To retrieve the true King would
require going into the dragon’s nest, and he knew that was not plausible or feasible, he would
never get near the true King! the rage he felt had him wanting to burn this heretical city to the
grounds, watching these Valyrians perish!
Slamming his ale down, he scowled as he sat there.
Fucking Targaryens, they couldn’t make anything easy, his Lord would not be pleased at this
complication. He would have to get the true King though, before these monsters corrupted
him.
Daeron stood on the deck of the ship as he watched Dragonstone shrinking. They had left this
evening, and now the sun was sinking as the black night seemed to spread like an inky threat.
He looked at Reince as they watched the shrinking of the island.
“We will return soon,” Reince predicted. “Then we’re heading North.”
“I never thought I’d be leaving Driftmark or Dragonstone,” he admitted as they stood there.
“But I find this prospect… exhilarating.”
“Some changes are good for the soul and survival,” Reince shrugged. Daeron smiled a bit as
he looked at the Northerner.
“Do you believe that?” he asked in amusement.
“For survival, always,” Reince shrugged. “The North’s games are the games of war and
survival.”
“And for the soul?”
“Change is exhilarating, and terrifying, keeps us alive,” Reince smiled sharply. Daeron
chuckled as he looked at Reince. Daeron looked back at Dragonstone, change being
something to keep him alive, he was certain that would do him well. Him and Hazel, change
would be healthy for them.
Cregan rode into White Harbor, Rickon giggling in delight as they galloped, he kept a firm
hand on his son’s stomach as they rode into the city. There were shouts from the guards, but
he didn’t pay them much mind as he smiled at Rickon’s delight. Domeron and Bryan were
riding with him, and he chuckled as they rode up to New Castle.
“Again!” Rickon shouted.
“Again!? We just got here,” Cregan chuckled as he rubbed his son’s stomach.
“AGAIN! AGAIN! AGAIN!” Rickon cheered. Cregan chuckled as he carefully swung off
the horse, catching his son before the boy could break his neck. Swinging Rickon around, he
popped the boy onto his shoulders then.
“I think not, we’re where we’re supposed to be,” he chuckled. The toddler pouted, but looked
around curious. Ice and Timber trotted up to them, and Cregan set Rickon down with Timber
and Ice as he started grabbing their packs.
“You know you’re going to have a wild son if you keep riding that fast all the time, boy’s
only going to know speed,” Domeron chuckled.
“The blood of the wolf is strong with this little one,” Bryan declared with a laugh as he came
down. Cregan snorted as they turned and looked at Rickon chasing Timber, who was playing
happily with the toddler. Cregan sometimes wondered if his son had more wolf’s blood than
not, given the way he and the wolf would play.
“Lord Stark!” he turned to see Lord Manderly then, and Timber and Ice immediately flanked
Rickon, bristling, but not baring their teeth.
“Lord Manderly,” he acknowledged as he stood there, shouldering his pack, his heavy black
cloak tugged on the winds.
“It is a pleasure to host you and yours,” he bowed low, and respectfully. “We greet you,
accept the welcome of peace,” he said, and Cregan saw the bread and salt presented.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Manderly,” Cregan bowed his head slightly in return as
he accepted the bread and salt before handing it to Domeron and Bruan.
“Welcome, Lord Cerwyn and Lord Stane,” Desmond smiled at them. “It is an honor to have
you to host as well,” he said.
“It’s been a long time, Manderly,” Domeron said.
“I hate fucking cities,” Bryan groused.
“I heard there’s a good few game happening if you’re interested,” Medrick chuckled.
Bryan perked up in interest then. Cregan shook his head.
“And who is this!? A proper, young Stark,” Desmond chuckled as he looked at Rickon who
was staring at the other man then.
“Rickon,” Cregan knelt down to his son and nodded. The boy executed a clumsy bow and bit
his lip as he hid into Cregan’s side. Cregan scooped up his son.
“They are shy at this age,” Desmond chuckled.
Cregan nodded in agreement as he kissed Rickon’s temple then. The boy was sucking on his
thumb then, and hid into Cregan’s neck.
“He’s got his mother’s eyes, not color, but shape,” Medrick observed. Cregan smiled at his
son, Rickon was very Stark, with the Stark’s doomed looks, but he was more like Arra than
anyone could ever truly know.
“He is his mother’s son,” Cregan boasted.
“Arra would be very proud,” Desmond chuckled. “Ah, Lord Stark, you know Daemion
Velaryon, and this is his cousin, Captain Malentine Velaryon.
“Lord Stark,” Daemion gave him a bow. Malentine stood up straighter and gave a bow more
reminiscent of a military bow.
Cregan nodded to both of the silver haired Valyrians. “Pleasure to see you here, I hope the
North is treating our newest additions well.”
“It has been an experience,” Malentine admitted wryly. “Your engineering is most
impressive.”
“We do pride ourselves on our innovation,” Domeron chuckled.
“Fucking swindling seasnake!” Bryan groused.
“It isn’t swindling if it’s gambling and fair!” Daemion stated.
Cregan looked to the heavens then as he looked at Rickon. “For fucksake!” he turned on
Bryan. “Behave, for five minutes! Fucking Skagosi!”
“Oi, he swindled me out of my silver!”
“I’m going to take your silver if you two don’t knock it off! You can argue when I’m not
around!” Cregan snapped. Bryan huffed, Domeron was snickering, and Daemion was biting
his cheek. Shaking his head, Cregan looked back at Malentine who looked bewildered.
“Ignore them, come, I have questions about this navy your uncle wishes to build.”
“Lord Stark,” Desmond walked with him. “There is a matter we must speak about.”
“Aye, there are many matters, we will discuss them tonight,” Cregan decided.
“Of course, my lord,” Desmond nodded. “Let us settle you and yours then you might discuss
matters of business more comfortably. Rickon will no doubt enjoy playing in the nursery.”
“I heard your gooddaughter is expecting,” Cregan said as they walked.
“She is, her first child,” he preened.
“I shall pray for her good health, and the babe’s good health,” he said.
“Thank you, my lord,” Desmond smiled. “Torrhen has been a nerves wreak about the
pregnancy.”
“That would not do him much good given he’s not the one carrying the babe,” Cregan stated.
“Too right,” Desmond chuckled. “I have been hoping Medrick will settle down soon.”
“Mmm, I’m hoping my cousin will too.”
“I heard you have named him Lord of the Lonely Hills.”
“Aye, there will be more formalizing about the matter at the Winter’s Council, he is to be
Lord Norstark, he’s serving as Lady Bolton’s regent at this time, and when the time comes,
hopefully, Jon’s son will wed her,” Cregan explained.
“That is an ambitious move, two new Stark cadet branches,” Desmond observed.
Chapter 42
Aemond grimaced as he woke, Sansa was awake, and he stared at her for a moment as he
tried to blink the sleep out of his eye. She reached up, traced his unscarred cheek, then slid
her nails over his scalp as she scooted closer. He pulled her a little tighter as they lay there. he
licked his lip before biting it as he rested his brow against hers then. A shiver ran through
him as he let his fingers slide over her ribs, feeling the ridges and she scooted closer. Resting
his chin atop her head he just lay there, feeling her breath, she wedged a hand between them
so her hand rested on his heart.
“Are you feeling well?” he asked tiredly. Last night had been a nightmarish moment when
he’d returned to their bed and seen the blood. He’d been drenched in it, and the mattress
ruined, the sheets had blood seeped in them, and he’d been scared. For a moment he’d been
terrified as he summoned maids, he’d heard them whispering as they cleaned up, but he had
been too focused on Sansa to pay them any mind. When they had returned with supplies he’d
been surprised at the teas the maid had returned with.
Mint to ease Sansa’s pain. Aemond had noticed when he had first visited Winterfell that
Northerners liked mint tea, Arra and Sansa had been particular enjoyers of the tea. He knew it
mint aided in indigestion, headaches, bad breath, relieving the sinuses, sleep, and moon’s
blood pains.
Red raspberry to help with blood loss, yarrow, also for blood loss, cramp bark for the
cramping, motherwort for Sansa’s mood, the maid had softly said it would aid Sansa with the
passing, and he’d been confused until the maid said she was terribly sorry for the loss.
Apparently, the confusion on his face was evident, because the maid explained she had found
evidence of a miscarriage. The padding for the bleeding was thick and soft, and the maid
advised heat to aid Sansa in being comfortable. Aemond had been stupefied then, accepting
the teas and walking over to Sansa who looked so very fragile and small. She thought it was
her cycle, and he didn’t know what to say to that, she already looked so small and fragile, he
didn’t know what else he could say. He’d have to speak to a midwife or healer to speak to
her, because he knew the information should not come from him.
Many things though started making sense as he aligned Sansa’s symptoms with what he knew
of Helaena’s pregnancies, the exhaustion, nausea, sensitivity, it was glaringly obvious, but his
and Sansa’s investigation focus had caused them to miss the glaring obvious pregnancy. Also,
they’d only been together once, Aemond honestly did not think it took once for a woman to
catch a babe, given the excruciating agonies Helaena and his mother went through for their
couplings with men, it took many tries according to his mother and sister. And a babe was so
very low on his and Sansa’s concern list, they had not truly thought about it. And it was
gone… just like that, like a thought that never existed. Sansa shifted, rolling her hips, trying
to get comfortable, he pulled her a bit closer and pressed his lips to the top of her head.
“I want to go home,” Sansa whispered softly.

Aemond rubbed her shoulders. “We’ll finish with Daemon and Rhaenyra and head North,”
Aemond murmured honestly. They were leaving, he would tell Daemon everything he knew,
except the possibility of House Targaryen being attacked through their women. If Rhaenyra
survived, he’d discuss it then, if she didn’t, he’d have to be smarter about what information
he shared and did not.
“That’ll be nice,” Sansa sighed.
“It will be,” he agreed. “And we’ll go to Winterfell for the Winter, then Lenton in spring,
we’ll survive the famine,” he said softly.
She shifted a bit, he lifted his head, pushing himself up on his elbow, Sansa kissed the
underside of his jaw then. “We’ll build a life,” she assured softly.
He agreed, his hand resting on the swell of her hip. “We should get up, are you feeling
better?” he asked.
“Tired, and sore, the cramping is painful,” she murmured. He kissed her brow as they laid in
the pillows then. He could not be the one to tell her, he would have to have her speak to a
healer.
“Sansa…” he breathed her name softly.
“Hm?”
“I want you to see a healer,” he said. He felt her tensing. “There are many bruises, I want to
ensure you are well.”
“I have taken worse beatings,” Sansa assured him. Aemond snarled as he bit back all the
anger and frustration at her nonchalance of that statement. The mere fact anyone had dared to
put hands on her infuriated him, and the calmness she said she could take a beating had him
angry. Not at her, though he was still coming to terms that she had suffered so greatly from
her era, and she was from another era, but the rage he felt at her abusers was greater than he
knew what to do with. And then what his mother’s family had done to her… he wanted to go
back to Oldtown to burn them all to the ground.
Burning Oldtown though would accomplish nothing, and he knew it, it would drive the
zealots underground, and let them fester like an infection. It would be like burning the crop
then salting the fields, the poison would spread, and the entire Realm would turn on House
Targaryen for that act. He knew it. He wanted to give into his anger, wrath and fury, but he
was attempting not to be the monster he had been in history.
“Sansa, for my peace of mind,” he countered. It was a tactic of hers, but he felt no shame
weaponizing it against her at this moment.
“I’m fine, Aemond,” Sansa assured.
“Sansa…” he forced her to look at him. He could not be the one to tell her. “You’ve been
unwell for a cycle, and have taken a brutal beating, an extremely strong dose of milk of the
poppy, and flew, with me, and Vaegon, for four days, in nothing but a light frock and riding
jerkin, through rain, winds, and ice. So, for the love of your gods, and mine, let a healer look
at you!”
She blinked a few times as they lay there. “Very well,” she sighed.
“Thank you,” he sighed as he shook his head. “I will learn what has happened to Rhaenyra, in
full, and we will discuss tactics and information from there, but after we have decided what
to do, we are going to inform my uncle, then take Hel, Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor North
with us. I will be figuring out how to abdicate Aegon’s line from the Throne, let Rhaenrya
and hers figure this mess out,” he sighed. “We are going North, I have promised you and
Cregan that much. And I am certain Jon and Sara are expecting us.”
“Mmm,” she hummed. “I miss them,” she admitted.
“We’ll be there with them soon,” he assured. Aemond kissed her brow as they lay there.
Sansa was a frustrating woman, but he loved her. He loved her unconditionally, and fully, and
he wanted her safe, and healthy, and he could not tell her but he wanted to ensure she was
healthy and could recover. Sansa wanted a family, he wanted her to be healthy because she
was his family.
“I will go meet with Vaegon and Vaemond, and Rody’s brothers, we’ll discuss the move
North, then I will speak with Daemon.”
She nodded.
“While I do that, you’re going to the healer, I will take you to one personally, and I will
expect an honest statement of your health,” he stated. “And I’ll be asking the healer, so don’t
attempt to ignore this.”
“You’re being domineering,” she grumbled.
“Starks have stubbornness issues, and I’m working around all of them,” he stated.
She snorted, then winced, he rubbed her side over carefully. “Targaryens are impulsive and
controlling,” she muttered.
“Starks are stubborn with no preservation in their instincts,” he stated as he sat up. Sansa
carefully sat up, and he saw a few spots of blood on the bedding, and through her chemise as
she rose. She blinked as she saw it, looking pale and mortified. “It’s just blood, Sansa,” he
sighed tiredly as he sat up.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sansa,” he caught her arm as he stared at her. “Sansa, it is blood. Women bleed, this is
natural, it is not something you can help, nor is it something to be sorry about. We will get it
cleaned up, and that is that,” Aemond tangled their fingers together. She nodded as they
remained there. “I’ll summon you another bathe, then we’ll go to the healer, and then I’ll
speak with Vaegon and Vaemond,” he said firmly.
She nodded as she bit her lip as she looked at her feet as she seemed to be trembling.
Aemond rose up then to summon the maids and healers.
Vaemond was unsurprised at Aemond’s request for himself and Vaegon to meet him on the
bluffs. The morning had, thus far been a quiet one. There still was a very ominous sensation
over the castle, as everyone held a baited breath in waiting for Rhaenyra’s health. Vaegon was
limping along, looking at everyone who came near him with absolute scorn and distaste.
Vaemond found it amusing, and he smirked as he walked down to the bluffs with Vaegon
then.
“Bloody flies to a rotting corpse, so intent on hovering,” Vaegon muttered.
“It has been a long time since they have had the Royal family to dote upon,” Vaemond stated.
“I am not a part of that family,” he hissed.
“You have introduced yourself as Prince Vaegon,” Vaemond pointed out.
“I was born a Prince, it is not a title I relish. The title Archmaester is distasteful,” Vaegon
huffed irritably. They spotted Aemond easily as they walked. Aemond was peeling apart an
apple with a knife as he waited for them. He wasn’t wearing his eyepatch, and the sapphire
glittered menacingly as he looked at them.
“Could you not pick a more welcoming place for our meeting nephew?” Vaegon groused.
“No,” Aemond answered as he looked at the castle. “What I am to say is speculation of

Sansa’s, but if my nuncle heard it, he would take it as license to burn hundreds of thousands
people, who might have nothing to do with the conflict at hand. Unleashing such a wrath will
have the Realm perminently fracturing and the zealots salting the very earth Daemon should
raze, then spreading their poison until no Realm is safe,” Aemond stated.
“Sansa has pointed out disturbing… statistics, with relevant background knowledge only
acquired through Great Houses and their interactions with one another. Something House
Targaryen lacks,” Aemond informed them. Vaemond leaned back against a massive rock and
Vaegon seemed to perch himself so he was somewhat sitting and off his wound. “Queen
Alysanne had thirteen easy pregnancies, and she had at least three recorded hard labors, two
of which nearly killed her. she lost three babes as babes, one child to the Shivers, two
daughters to the birthing bed, one to suicide, two to illness, one to an accident, and one to an
open assassination, which was written off as an accident. Queen Aemma died in the childbed,
as did Lady Laena, and Princess Rhaenys suffered a hard labor after an easy pregnancy, even
now, Rhaenyra, who has not suffered an ill pregnancy, lays in the childbed on the cusp of
death. Given the suspicious nature of these numerous deaths, I am inclined to agree with
Sansa and we believe it to be a part of a pattern.”
“I’m well aware of how my siblings died. But it is hardly surprising for it to be a conspiracy
to kill them and others off. Saera was right,” Vaegon shook his head.
“You and Princess Saera are the last two living children of King Jaehaerys and Queen
Alysanne,” Aemond pointed out.
“No, Saera died,” Vaegon sighed tiredly. “She died in 112 AC.”
“You’re certain of this?” Aemond raised his brow.
“Yes.”
“How certain?”
“She was sitting about the same distance you are from me now when she was killed,” Vaegon
answered. “She saved my arse, only to die out of my reach.”
Aemond blinked a few times at that statement. “What happened to Saera?”
“I have been investigating this embezzlement far longer than you have,” Vaegon sighed
tiredly. “I travelled to Lys, partially to meet with the Rogare and to also meet with Saera, she
had agreed to meet with me on the condition we part ways. I had never liked Saera, but she
was the most intelligent person I knew of, despite her brattish tendencies to create troubles
unnecessary. She loved that Beesbury boy,” Vaegon murmured. “Foolish endeavor, but she
knew father would never agree to the match, father was never as intelligent as he though, and
she gave up pretenses about love. When father killed the boy… well, father always
underestimated Saera, everyone did. She had screamed and squawked endlessly about women
being culled, culling the herd, that’s what she called it…
“‘They’re culling the herd, they have a desired trait, and if not met, they cull the women’, she
hated it. Mother thought her mad, and brattish for spreading that falsity through her Court, as
reprimand, Saera became intent on being everything undesirable to prove her point. But she
was right, we were all blind,” he rubbed his brow. “I uncovered an ancient conspiracy in 98
AC, by accident. At that point, I did not know what I had found, but it appeared family
records of House Gardener, House Tarly, House Hightower, there were other Houses listed,
Houses that no longer stand, House Mudd, House Durrandon, and other Houses, House
Lannister, House Arynn… The women are how they were doing it, for what do men know of
childbirth or women’s labors, truly. We do not grow the bounty men so excitedly sow and
reap, we do not know how it is a woman will carry a babe, or the labors her body endures, we
do not know those pains, those sufferings, and in our ignorance, there was something to be
exploited.
“The plot is not new, Saera found it, I found it, and now you and your wife have found it. The
power of the Faith to arrange suitable matches, and the Citadel’s records for desired traits has
led to a long-term breeding program as the Faith has slowly sought about the assimilation and
conversion of the Westerosi people. Before Aegon’s conqueroring it was projected to be
completed within a millennia, arranging matches between families with desirable influences,
and the placement of the maesters as respected healers to cull the women and babes of
unsavory traits. Aegon’s placement of the maesters in the Great Houses and throughout
Westeros has expedited this plan. I found records proving that within the last hundred years
alone there has been an increase of mothers deaths in mothers and babes at the birthing bed.
“There were phases, the assimilation of the Reach is, in a sense, complete, as well as the
Stormlands and Crownlands, which has granted them a third of the continent. They had
started reaching into the Westerlands and Riverlands, as well as beginning to influence the
Reach. They are affronted by Lady Jeyne Arynn as well as other women, like Lady Rhea
Royce. The assimilation of Dorne and the North are last on their list. The control of House
Targaryen though is a primary concern, though how I do not know.”
“I know,” a new voice said, startling them to look at Corlys Velaryon, who looked horrified
and uneasy. Beside him was Luke, who was standing there pale and trembling.
“I do not believe this is a matter for you, Lord Velaryon,” Vaemond stated icily. Panic was
filling his veins then as he feared the worst at this moment. Corlys was always blindly
ambitious, and Vaemond knew that if Corlys spoke to Daemon then every hope of a
reasonable monarch would be destroyed.
“Brother, please, we are children of Valyria, and we find ourselves under attack,” Corlys said
softly. “The Greens have long since cast Daemon Targaryen as their Maegor the Cruel, they
had named their desired heir Jaehaerys.”
“They were pushing Aegon,” Vaemond stated.
“Yes, they had been publicly, but in theory I do not believe they intended Prince Aegon to
ever become King. They have long since casted Daemon as Maegor, they presented Aegon as
their heir, and Rhaenyra as the usurper, war is inevitable… it is highly probable they intended
to have the narrative prepared for this conflict before it arose so they could present the image
of being the wronged party by Rhaenyra’s ascension to the Throne.
“Did you not think it odd that the Greens did not arrange any matches for their heirs? They
have three, Prince Aegon, Prince Aemond, Prince Daeron, and yet, none of those men had
matches arranged for them before hand. Alicent agreed to the arrangement of Prince Aegon
and Princess Helaena after Rhaenyra proposed a match between Jace and Princess Helaena,
not before. And they named their first born Jaehaerys, after the greatest king Westeros has
ever known. They did not arrange the futures of Prince Aemond or Prince Daeron either, they
have no intentions of utilizing the Princes to secure marriage pacts or alliances, and that is
unusual. Even now, Jace, Luke, Baela, Rhaena, Joffrey, Aegon, Viserys, Visenya, and Baelon
have more optimistic futures than Prince Aemond and Prince Daeron, despite an encroaching
war.”
“They intended for me and mine to die,” Aemond whispered softly, and Vaemond looked at
the young man in horror at his statement. Aemond merely looked resigned and closed his
eye. “Fuck… my mother doesn’t know,” he rasped. “She was attempting to arrange my
match, and Daeron’s, my grandfather… he, he always denied the matches… FUCK!”
Aemond shouted furiously.
“They want Prince Jaehaerys, alive, the intention for the war is Greens and Blacks to kill
each other off, and Prince Jaehaerys to be crowned King, a King raised in their Faith and
their ways,” Corlys said.
“FUCK!” Aemond was pacing now. Vaemond stared at the young man who looked upset and
furious, and worse, livid.
“That is too much, even for them,” Vaemond countered.
“No, it’s not, they seek the assimilation of Westeros,” Aemond uttered as he stopped walking
then. “FUCK! Fuck! Fuck!”
“You don’t actually think,” Vaemond started.
“Sansa… Sansa found records about the deaths in House Targaryen odd, she’s not even an
expert in the field of birthing or midwifery, but she considered the numbers suspect, how
many other Houses have similar numbers, numbers ignored because we do not think to
question them? She also was befriending Lady Samantha Tarly who said House Hightower
sought the assimilation of people, fuck…” Aemond snarled as he paced. “It’s a fucking
crusade. They’ll kill us all just to be victors in the Game, and we have been so consumed by
power we didn’t notice because Viserys is a weak, spineless fool who permitted the fox into
the henhouse!”
“Do you have evidence of this?” Vaegon asked patiently.
Aemond paused, and Vaemond swore he could see the prince thinking this over. “Nothing
that is definitive, I need to speak to the maester…” he said slowly. “But first, I need to speak
to Sansa,” Aemond stalked past them all.
Vaemond looked at Vaegon, who inclined his head with raised brows and a frown, but
Vaemond fought back the desire to smirk in victory. That young man would be King, and
Vaemond was going to figure out how to make it so. It would take patience though, first he
would be moving North with his people and family, he didn’t want to remain in Corlys’
control or sphere of influence when he started moving to make Aemond King. Vaemond also
wanted to give Aemond time to build his own reputation, no doubt he’d be a good Lord in the
North, but this would also give Aemond time to grow up a little bit and learn to be a bit more
than just a perfect Prince. It would also let the boy be a boy, while becoming a true man.
“Vaemond, we must speak,” Corlys said.
“We have nothing to discuss,” Vaemond stated. “Prince Vaegon, forgive me, but there are
matters of inquiry I have for you, matters of business and numbers, I believe it will be of
interest to discuss,” Vaemond said.
Vaegon looked at him with open suspicion written on his face as he looked at Vaemond then
at Corlys.
“You cannot evade me forever brother,” Corlys said.
“I believe we have nothing further to ever discuss, the moment our contracts expire we will
not even have business together,” Vaemond shrugged as he walked with Vaegon.
“He was always a pompous fool,” Vaegon groused.

“It has not gotten better with age,” Vaemond informed him.
“Obviously not, it’s gotten worse,” Vaegon sneered.
“I would like to extend an opportunity, for the good of the Realm,” Vaemond said. “Young
Prince Aemond will need good council, he has much to learn, and proven interested in having
council, perchance you would be interested in accompanying us to the North and continuing
the young Prince’s education.”
“You truly intend to commit to this couse?” Vaegon asked.
“I do,” Vaemond nodded as they looked after Aemond.
“Explain this commitment,” Vaegon ordered. “I have witnessed many unsuitable Princes,
why are you invested in this one?”
“The young man moved through Green territory to secure aid for a Black ally without
promise of fealty, he strongarmed his family into cooperating with him, and he secured a
union that is strong despite his lack of lands, wealth, and an empty title, he secured an entire
Realm as a dowery for a woman, and that has been only done once, unwillingly, and the
Stormlands are still suffering from that union. This young man also has hidden his sharp
mind, and sharp tongue, as well as his nature very well, none could see him coming, I like
him as a young man and person and he’s got more potential than even I anticipated. I thought
him some weak bullied boy who was cowed into his brother’s works, but apparently there is a
will there strong as iron, and a tongue sharper than Valyrian steel, while controlling a vicious
temper, I like him a lot for the Throne,” Vaemond stated. “He has also secured a union with
one of, if not the oldest Great House, and that House has proven more dangerous and
powerful than you or anyone could comprehend given their reputation for never breaking an
oath. The girl has also proven dangerous and cunning in a way many did not anticipate, for
she is undoubtably the political mind behind her brother’s threat to the Realm. Neither wolf is
foolish, but they do seem to know and accept the other’s strengths and weaknesses, and they
are dangerous for this acknowledgement. The North is also a great military power in the
Realm, and forming a connection with them has given Aemond a strong foothold in
continuing his education and becoming a leader worthy of the Realm, and I would support a
man who understands that better than our current candidates for the Realm.”
Vaegon nodded slowly. “Very well then, for the good of the Realm,” Vaegon decided.
“For the good of the Realm,” Vaemond agreed. Vaemond looked at Vaegon who raised his
brows as he limped beside him.
“I will endeavour to continue my great-nephew’s education, and provided he’s not a complete
imbecile, perhaps the good of the Realm will actually matter,” Vaegon stated. “Fools knows it
never has before.”
Aemond walked into their quarters, and he saw Sansa sitting quietly, tears streaming down
her face. The midwives were there, and she flinched as he looked between them all, and
Sansa trembled as he walked over.
“My Prince,” the midwives bowed, he inclined his head as he walked over to Sansa. She
hugged herself as she drew up her knees as she bit her lip. He paused, examining her face,
she had another fat tear rolling down her cheek, and he bent over, kissing her brow then.
“I’m sorry,” she whimpered and he rest his brow against her as he shook his head then. She
shivered a bit as she bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. “I didn’t know,” she whispered.
“Neither did I,” he whispered honestly. Aemond watched the midwives leave, and he brushed
his fingers through her hair, tilting her head back.
“Ramsey… he was relentless, and I never, and Tyrion never touched me, but… I thought it
took more than once,” she whispered as she hugged her knees. Aemond shook his head as he
examined her.
“Neither of us suspected, neither of us anticipated for that consequence,” Aemond said.
“We keep underestimating consequences,” she whispered.
“We do,” he agreed blandly as they were just looking at one another. “This is not your doing,
Sansa, the Hightowers chose their actions, this is a consequence, an unfortunate one, and not
of our doing, but a consequence all the same,” Aemond murmured. “This is not a failing on
your part, not a failing on yourself, this was their doing.”
She gave a watery sound as she came up, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, and he
pulled her into him as he sat on the bed then. Sansa was crying as he pulled her closer, sliding
his arms around her waist, and settled her in his lap. He would put aside his thoughts of this
morning’s topic, it could wait.
The fires were roaring hot and sure then. Sansa tucked herself under his chin, shivering rather
violently as she cried.
This was another crime the Hightowers had committed against him and his, one which had
harmed Sansa deeply, and he wanted to turn around, fly to Oldtown to burn it down. She did
not deserve the pain they had inflicted upon her. It was taking a great deal of control for him
not to act on the murderous impulse to tear Oldtown apart and burn it to the ground. He could
see how that would fail miserably. He’d have to study Maegor’s war against the Faith, and
then look at…
No, he was going to take Sansa North, and they’d settle there and this would not be their
concern. If House Hightower intended to pursue hurting him and his, he’d destroy them, but
he’d have to be clever than Maegor though. He’d have to seek more appropriate war tactics
against the Faith, Hightowers, and Citadel. In the North, Sansa would be safer, she would be
safe from the South, and that would please them.
Cregan sat with Lord Manderly and his heir, alone entirely as they looked out at White
Harbor. Rickon was playing in the courtyard with Timber, Ice, and Bryan. Domeron was
walking around with Daemion and Malentine around White Harbor.
“You want us to act as a double agent?” Desmond said.
“Aye,” Cregan agreed. “The Hightowers reached out to you as former overlords and former
Kings, they asked for your services, and I want you to give them your services.”
“That would not have been a problem before, but I have removed the Southron threats,”
Desmond pointed out.
“You’ve removed the Southron folk, as your overlord commanded, begrudgingly,” Cregan
shrugged. “Starks are known for their ruthlessness, and given the military command structure
of the North it is not a stretch to imagine I would cruelly expel the Southron influence.”
“But… you didn’t,” Medrick sputtered.
“Or did I?” he asked challengingly. “There is a traitor in our ranks, House Bolton might’ve
been spurred by the intrigue of the House Hightower, or the other Great Houses of the Reach,
but they acted in their own self interests. The Red Kings have always fought the Kings of
Winter, and House Bolton and House Stark had long since feuded. But, someone is acting in
their own self interest against the North, and I want their heads. But… I need a lure, bathed in
blood, and primed for the taking.”
“We are a bait?” Medrick murmured.
“Aye.”
“We are not traitors, my lord,” Desmond sputtered.
“And House Stark will record that fact after this affair is completed, the North will not doubt
your position in the North,” Cregan said.
Desmond frowned a bit. “This will bring a stain on our House, my lord.”
“It will, but it will also be a mark of service to the North and House Stark,” he pointed out.
“And the Southron folk coming North?” Desmond asked.
“They will be investigated, and their loyalties tested, I am entrusting that investigation to
House Manderly. It will be important to ensure we have only the loyal, we do not have time
for petty Southron games, but if they wish to play, I’ll play,” Cregan shrugged.
“And what do you want us to say to the South?” Desmond asked.
“Send one of your sons, entrust the messages with them, I will first speak to Prince Aemond
and Sansa, learn what they know, and then we shall begin,” Cregan smirked. “I want
informants in the South, I believe we should send some loyal Septas and Septons South, and
perhaps a few students for the Citadel, there will also be a few… trusted defectors,” he
decided.
“You want spies?”
“I have spies,” Cregan stated. “I want to lull the South into a false sense of security, let them
be suspicious of open spies, I will leave my covert workers to feed me information.”
“You’re intending to distract the South…” Medrick sputtered.
He smirked. “It is but a game of smoke and mirrors, they want war, I’ll give them a war.”
Chapter 43
Chapter Notes
Sorry, this is a repost, I was trying to fix some errors and they weren't cooperating so I
am reposting.
5th Day of the 8th Lunar Cycle, 128 AC
Daemon watched Rhaenyra, her breath was deepening, and though she was still ashen in
color, she was looking better. He trembled while he watched her, he tightened his grip on
Dark Sister, he wanted Rhaenyra to wake up, he wanted her awake now. Bouncing his knee,
he looked at her as the midwives checked her over, then he was left alone again. There was a
knock, and he looked up as Rhaenys and Corlys walked in. Luke was with them too, and he
bit his lip painfully as he immediately turned his gaze back to Rhaenyra.
“How is she?” Rhaenys asked softly.
“It is not worse, she is breathing steadier,” he muttered.
“They tried to kill her,” Luke whispered softly and he snapped his gaze over to his step-son
and blinked a few times.
“Who?” he snarled.
“The Greens,” Luke answered. Daemon was rising to his feet, he’d kill those fucking Greens!
He’d make Otto watch as his precious pawn was fucked and killed, and he’d string her head
up so Otto could watch it rot for eternity, then he’d turn and burn down Oldtown! A hand
pushed him back into his seat as Dark Sister was jerked from his grip.
“There is more, and you cannot act rashly!” Corlys snarled furiously, his bulking size
trapping Daemon.
“They tried to kill Rhaenyra!” he roared.
“And Princess Sansa! And others!” Corlys stated.
Daemon blinked a few times. He remembered his nephew’s haggard appearance, the
glittering sapphire. The boy had looked battered and tired, but Daemon couldn’t remember
seeing Sansa…
“It appears Prince Aemond has uncovered a rather cynical plot from not the Hightowers, but
the Citadel and Faith, though the Hightowers might fund it, but it is not simply embezzling
funds,” Corlys said. “It appears that there has been a long term ‘breeding program’ amongst
the Noble Houses to assimilate Westeros to the Andal standards, utilizing the Faith and
maesters as agents of that agenda,” he explained.
“What?”
“They have been tracking traits and matches they consider of importance, the assimilation of
the line is done through the paternal side, arranging matches with the natural ability to
eliminate women who are a threat with the covert cover of birth, pregnancy, and other
complications of the birthing bed. They have long since been arranging these matters, and
enforcing them,” Corlys said.
“Gods save us,” Rhaenys whispered as her hand pressed against her stomach.
“They… they what?” Daemon sputtered.
“It is a breeding program, and it is far too wide spread to act against it now. At least, from
what I overheard.”
“Overheard?” Rhaenys muttered and Daemon blinked a few times as he rose.
“Aemond is in cahoots with Vaemond and is effectively limiting the information we are being
fed, he’s controlling the investigation, or so it appears, I do not believe him to be a Green
agent if he’s working with Vaemond.”
“Does it matter?” Luke sneered.
“It matters because Aemond is holding all the cards, and we need him to obtain the Green
dragons on our side,” Corlys stated.
Daemon looked at Rhaenyra and frowned, he wanted nothing more than to demand answers,
but he didn’t even know where to begin with that. If this conspiracy was as large as Corlys
was making it sound, burning Oldtown would not save his family, or his wife, he wanted to
though. He desperately wanted to.
“Has anyone spoken to the maester?” Daemon rasped. If he got near Maester Gerardys he’d
kill the man, he’d destroy him, he’d tear out his heart and shove it up his arse, and then he’d
rip out his guts and flay his skin. He’d inflict every bit of pain he knew possible upon the
maester to get information. Gods knew he had learnt ways to make men scream in the Step
Stones.
“Aemond is speaking to his wife before speaking to the maester,” Corlys stated.
“Not that it will do anything, she’s a girl, it’s not like she’ll know anything,” Luke muttered.
“Why is Aemond involving his wife in this matter?” Rhaenys asked. “She is going through
her own miscarriage, and her health is precarious.”
“What?” Corlys rasped.

“I heard the midwives speaking about it, apparently Lady Sansa is suffering a miscarriage
due to the beating she took,” Rhaenys stated. “Her health is very precarious at this moment,
she has lost a lot of blood.”
“Is she recovering?” Daemon asked warily as he walked over to Rhaenyra, his fingers tracing
over her arm. He expected her to reach up and grab his arm. She did not even move.
“Yes, the midwives are certain she will recover, and be able to bear another child,” Rhaenys
answered.
“He did not mention this,” Corlys stated.
“I doubt that fool boy would know,” she huffed as she folded her arms then. Luke came over,
sitting beside his mother. Daemon watched the boy brush his mother’s hair back and he
looked at Corlys and Rhaenyra. Given how Aemond had arranged his match, and he hid how
much he cared for Sansa, if Aemond had not retaliated or made moves to, at this moment, it
was dangerous. Aemond knew something they didn’t, he would need information before he
retaliated.
“He knows something,” Daemon rasped as he looked at them. “You know part of whatever
he knows, and he’s working with your brother, he knows something we don’t and it’s keeping
him at bay,” Daemon murmured as he looked back at Rhaenyra. “His wife knows whatever it
is, we need to get closer to them,” he decided. “There… there were teas, take them, perhaps
they will help.”
“Or you could question him,” Luke said.
“I’ll kill him,” Daemon growled lowly. “No, let Aemond and Sansa get the information,
whatever they know, it’s why Aemond has not acted or retaliated against those who hurt his,
so either he knows something, something we do not, or there is something we are not
seeing.”
“But what?” Corlys seethed.
“We must cease acting as two families and act as one, I will speak with Aemond later,”
Daemon murmured as he looked at Rhaenyra. “Keep an eye and ear on him.”
Sansa was trembling in Aemond’s arms as they sat there, and she closed her eyes as she
listened to his heart. The steady beating of the heart was comforting as she sat there. The
resounding ache of her body just made her want to cry. Sansa still didn’t know how to feel
about the loss, she didn’t know what Aemond felt about this loss. Aemond’s quieter nature,
and his mask were ever unreadable, despite how comfortable they were with one another.
“Sansa?” She shivered a little as she opened her eyes again as she tilted her head slightly
back to look at him. His sapphire was glittering a bit in the weak light of the morning. “I am
sorry,” he rasped.
“I…”
“I need your aid, and then we will arrange going North,” he murmured. “And there, I will do
whatever is necessary to make certain you are safe and content,” he promised. “But I need
your aid.”
She blinked twice and nodded slowly.
Aemond hugged her a little tighter and she trembled a bit. “I need your aid, when… when
Lady Arra died, you… and Cregan… with the maester, you knew how to get him to speak…
and…”
“You want me to interrogate the maester?” she inquired as she sat up a little.
“If you are comfortable with it, at this time,” he admitted with a grimace. “I… I do not know
how to ask, or bring forth answers,” he murmured.
“You think this is similar to Arra?” Sansa asked carefully as she examined him.
“Rhaenyra suffered a hard labor, but bore five easy labors previously, and this is after
Aegon’s died. Something’s changed. And Lord Corlys has pointed out the script my
grandfather has created for this bit of drama he’s been spreading; Daemon as Maegor the
Cruel, Rhaenyra as the usurper, Jaehaerys as the second coming of King Jaehaerys,” he
murmured. Sansa stared at him then and he looked down. “Sansa… I always knew I was to
die young,” he whispered softly. “I always knew it, I’ve known it since before I lost my eye, I
always knew I was going to die young, and it would not be surprising if it was in a battle of
some sort. My mother has lived in terror of Rhaenyra coming to kill us since before I was
born, Aegon was the opposing heir of Rhaenyra and by Andal law he is the heir.
“My grandfather encouraged Viserys to name Rhaenyra heir over Daemon because he had
long since cast Daemon as his Maegor the Cruel. When Rhaenyra was named heir, my
mother was sent to seduce Viserys, you’ve pointed out all that is wrong with their marriage.
And obviously she bore him a son, Aegon, and the line of succession should’ve shifted,
technically, legally at least, by Andal standard, but Viserys never corrected his assigned heir.
“My siblings and I had no matches, Aegon and Hel only wed because Rhaenyra attempted to
arrange Jacaerys and Helaena’s match. My mother insisted Aegon name his son Jaehaerys,
she would not cease chattering about how a good kind King’s name would bring Aegon’s son
good fortune. Aegon didn’t give a fuck about his father’s right for naming the children, so I
agreed to the name.”
“And Jaehaera?” Sansa asked.
“I was thirteen! I didn’t know how to name a babe!” he sputtered. She snorted as she reached
up and traced his scar, how was this kind, loving man only remembered as a monster? He
loved his niece and nephews like they were his own, he loved his sister and mother, and he
respected Ser Cole, and it saddened Sansa greatly that all of these traits, all of these facts
which made him Aemond, they disappeared and all that was remembered was the viscious,
bloodthirsty, monster.
“You named Jaehaera?” she mused.

“Yes, it sounded like a good name,” he huffed.
“It’s a beautiful name,” she promised.
“I’ve known myself and my siblings have no future, but the plans of the Hightowers were
hidden in plain sight, and given both your knowledge of history, and your era, and your
ability to… converse easily with people, perhaps you would know how to get this maester
speaking,” he murmured.
“I can try,” she murmured.
“Thank you,” he whispered as he kissed her brow. She closed her eyes as she just breathed in
his scent, the crisp scent of the ozone, with something spicy, she rather liked it.
“I… I will have to look presentable,” she muttered, grimacing as she felt a cramp rolling
through her as she shifted. He nodded as he helped her up. When getting ready, Sansa winced
a little at how sore she was feeling, the bruises were making themselves known, but she’d
done this song and dance before. A maid helped Sansa with her hair as they wove the red
mass up, and around her head like a tiara, and then she added a few pins to hold it all in
place. The dress was one of Hazel’s, it was a muted blue, long, and the laces were carefully
done. The belt loaned to her was a simple chain with sme pearls around it, not a single
precious jewel; it was rather similar to the ones she would wear in the North.
Once she was cleaned and dressed, she waked out to Aemond, and he was also dressed. He
wasn’t wearing his eyepatch, and looked uncomfortable without it.
“What happened to your eyepatch?” she asked carefully.
“It’s too tattered to wear,” he groused irritably.
“You look very handsome,” she nodded with a smile as she swiftly braided his hair. Aemond
blinked a few times, and she tugged on the braid lightly, he pulled her into him, and she
hugged his waist as he pressed a kiss to her brow.
“Sansa, this, is what was found in Arra’s murder from Maester Garrett, or as close as I can
mimick it, if it is serving as a code for the maesters to act, perhaps it will be utilized against
Maester Gerardys,” he said as he produced a slip of paper, it was small for a raven’s missive.
‘It is vital that the blight be cut out of the garden by any means necessary from the root to the
seed, else the stock shall perish.’
She blinked reading it over and then looked at Aemond. “How do you know this is what was
written from two years ago?” she asked.
“I remembered it, and I have been hunting for this turn of phrase for the past two years to
understand it,” Aemond answered her. “If it is a code to force Maesters to act, it means
nothing innocuously, but if faced with it, it might mean something if inquired about
correctly.”
“I remember from Arra’s trial,” she murmured.

“I believe this phrase was important to making Maester Garrett act if there is truly a
conspiracy to cull the women of the Houses,” he murmured.
“That would make sense, I will see what I can learn,” she decided as she slipped the missive
in her pocket.
“This one came from the Riverlands, I think, there is an unaccounted missive from a
Riverlands raven, the records have confirmed it.”
“The Riverlands? Any particular region?”
“No, I cannot find a true origin about it, though I am tempted to release the bird and follow
it,” he admitted.
“Don’t, not yet,” she decided. “If it is a maester involved we must find them, but if it is a
House, then we will have to act more carefully.”
“I will heed your advice here,” Aemond murmured as he released her and she nodded as they
walked out of the room. She winced a little at the cramps and aches as they walked to the
dungeons. She tensed seeing Lord Corlys, Prince Vaegon, and Ser Vaemond there.
“Princess, you are looking as if you are recovering,” Vaemond said.
“I feel as if I am,” she admitted with a wince, leaning a bit against Aemond.
“You intend to interrogate Maester Gerardys, correct, Prince Aemond?” Corlys cut off.
“Yes,” Sansa answered before the men could counter.
“Prince Daemon has given me these, he claims they were in Maester Gerardys’ custody, I
know these are for blood thinning, they have been given to King Viserys, I do not recognize
this,” Corlys presented Sansa with the herbs from the tea. She picked up the unidentified one,
and trembled, her aunt Lysa had screamed in fury at this one, burned it every time it came in
her castle. It was the rare abortion agent in moontea, Sansa trembled, after a painful birth,
moontea could kill a woman, as it would encourage bleeding, and in heavy doses, it would
kills a woman. This particular herb though was found in the Vale and Riverlands, it was not
wide spread in the South, it needed colder and wetter regions to grow, and given how lethal it
could be, it was not exported throughout the Realms either.
“Do you recognize it?” Corlys asked in an eager tone. “Daemon said they gave her these
during her labors and to start her labors.”
“No.” she lied as Aemond scowled.
Before Corlys could speak more, Aemond brushed past him, leading her to the dungeons, she
was unsurprised when Vaemond followed them, he was armed with a short sword, a dagger,
and another knife. Sansa looked at Aemond who nodded, and she inclined her head as she
pulled away to step away from Aemond, removing herself from his hold. There were a
Targaryen guard, wearing gold cloaks like the City Watch. Sansa remembered part of Robb’s
minor obsession about the operations of the City Watch and how Daemon built it up. Daemon
had been famous for his method in building the City Watch, and creating a cohesive unit of
men to keep King’s Landing safe, even long after his death his methods were studied.
She walked through the guards carefully, looking them up and down as she walked past them,
she noted the tense holds on their weapons. She glanced once behind her at Aemond and
Vaemond and then at the guard as she came before the cell.
He was an older man, long, greying brown hair, dark eyes, a haggard face, he looked
harmless. Garrett had looked harmless, Sansa thought as she remembered the maester who
had killed her goodsister. Gerardys slowly raised his gaze and Sansa tilted her head a little as
he met her gaze. She pressed her hand to her sore stomach and winced a little as she felt
another cramp.
Sansa wracked her brain for information and lessons about Maester Gerardys. He’d replaced
Grand Maester Mellos. He’d amputated two of King Viserys’ fingers, saving his life but
insulting the Grand Maester. Rhaenyra was famed for her trust and faith in him, having past
over tradition and custom to name Gerardys as Grand Maester to her Council during the
Dance. He was later fed to Sunfyre by Aegon II. He had been trusted with power and a close
advisor of Rhaenrya’s, Sansa partially wondered if he was the person to push Rhaenyra on
the brink of madness, or if he played another sinister role. Or perhaps he truly was innocent,
not a part of the conspiracy; she doubted all maesters would be involved with the conspiracy.
Still, she would be cautious.
“Maester Gerardys,” she gave him a small incline of her head as she stood there. “I am sorry
to meet you under these circumstances.”
“I’m sorry, but I do not presume familiarity with you,” he said politely as he looked at her.
“Forgive me, I’m Lady Sansa Stark,” she answered as she looked at him.
“You married young Prince Aemond,” he said.
“Aye, I did,” she confirmed. “Pardon me, might I have a seat?” Sansa asked the guard,
wincing a little as she felt another cramp. There was a moment where the guard stared at her
and then he walked off, and reappeared with a stool.
“Thank you,” she murmured as she sat down, grimacing a little as she arranged her skirts a
little and crossed her ankles as she looked at the maester. “I am sorry about your treatment,
perhaps there is something we can do to make you more comfortable at this time.”
“I am innocent, Prince Daemon has been ravaged by madness over his wife,” Gerardys said.
“Targaryen men are very passionate about their women,” she pointed out.
He snorted. “Their women, always about their women,” he sneered.
“Do you object to this?” she asked. “Should a husband not adore their wife? She will bear
him his legacy after all.”
“Yes, but that is a legacy arranged by objective men,” he countered.

“Aye, men do have the louder voice in arranging matches, but they are pursued with the
intent of legacy, it should be of some importance that the man finds the woman suitable, do
you disagree?” she asked.
“No, it is of importance, just as it is of importance to discourage unsuitable matches,”

Gerardys offered.
“Mmm, and do you think Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra are an unsuitable match?”
she asked curiously.
“I believe I have no opinion on the matter.”
“Surely it must be a vexing thing though, to be an advisor and not have the ability to be
truthful about your opinion?” she inquired.
“Whoever said I’m not truthful?”
“No one, just… you do not seem to voice your opinion,” she shrugged.
“Opinions and advising are not the same matter,” he countered seriously. “If you have not
learnt that, your education is lacking.”
“Then I will seek to learn from you,” she offered. He peered curiously at her then. “Still, you
seem to hold some disdain for Prince Daemon at this moment, is it his match to Princess
Rhaenyra? Or his Targaryen passions?”
“He has put me, the man who could save his wife, in the dungeons, because he’s mad,”
Gerardys snarled.
“Mmm, I’m told he put you here with the belief you harmed Crown Princess Rhaenyra,”
Sansa countered carefully.
“I would never harm a lady in my care! It is against the maesters duties!” he stated.
“That is what Maester Garrett told us after he murdered my goodsister Lady Arra,” Sansa
said softly. Gerardys sputtered, staring at her with wide eyes.
“That was an unfortunate tragedy,” Gerardys started.
“Was it?”
“Yes. And you have no authority to question a maester about their expertise!” he snarled.
“Don’t I?”
“You don’t, you are nothing but a Lady with no mind worthy of the finer and higher
education the maesters undergo, women of your status are of a delicate constitution, unfit for
the roles of power your husbands fill,” Gerardys stated.
“That is an interesting stance,” Sansa mused. “Do you feel Princess Rhaenyra is unfit to
rule?”
“I never said that.”
“You said women are of a far more delicate constitution and unfit for the roles of power our
husbands fill, so do you believe Princess Rhaenyra unfit to rule?”
“She is a strong willed woman, with a reasonable understanding of her place and role, she is
to listen to her advisors,” he said.
“So her duty is to listen to you?” she inquired.
“Yes.”
“I thought a woman’s duty was to listen to her husband.”
“It is.”
“So, does Prince Daemon listen to you? To the other maesters?”
“Prince Daemon is aware of where his education is lacking, though his passionate impulses
have made him mad in this error of judgement. Men should never be ruled by passions, it
makes them weak,” he said.
“Do you believe Prince Daemon to be weak?”
“Yes.”
“How so?”
“I’ve already said, he’s passionate.”
“Passion has never been a bad thing,” Sansa pointed out. “It leads to art, evolution, change.”
“It leads to war, ruination, destruction. It leads men to be akin to women, foolish, and stupid.”
“War is inevitable, and all things break, all things end, to seek to prevent that is foolish,” she
pointed out.
“And what do you know of war, destruction, or ruination.”
“Nothing truly, I’m just a stupid, foolish girl,” she said softly as she looked at him.
“At least you are aware of your short comings,” he mused as he examined her.
“Is Prince Daemon stupid, or foolish?” she asked. “Given his passionate nature, and love of
his wife.”
“It is an unnatural passion and obsession he possesses for his wife,” Gerardys stated.
“How so?” she asked.
“He is not reasonable, a man should not be so enthralled by a cunt to not be reasoned with,”
Gerardys stated. “Rhaenyra’s sway on a reasonable man is intolerable.”
“You believe her to bewitch Prince Daemon?” Sansa asked.
“Yes.”
“Would you want to remove that threat?” Sansa asked.
“If she posed an actual threat, it would be important to do what is best for the Realm,” he
shrugged.
“And how would you judge that?” she asked carefully.
“I would not, it is not in my position to make judgements,” he stated.
“Mmm, so… perhaps you can explain this,” she pulled the missive from her pocket. “‘It is
vital that the blight be cut out of the garden by any means necessary from the root to the seed,
else the stock shall perish.’”
“A friend of mine asked about a blight plaguing his garden,” Gerardys said.
“Mmm, that is a very good answer, except this missive was received, Maester Gerardys, your
records are so detailed,” she said.
He paled then.
“It means nothing, I was inquiring about a problem in my gardens, it was nothing more,” he
stated.
“A moment ago, you said it was a missive you sent to a friend about their gardens,” she said.
“An honest mistake,” he dismissed.
“What blight?” she asked. “There are several, fungal blights are most vexing, but there is also
the rots, the invasive weeds, root strangling, what kind of blight requires tearing out the roots
and seeds but leaving the stock?”
“A rot,” he stated.
“Mmm, I’ve never encountered such a blight,” Sansa said with pursed lips.
“And what would you know of blight?” he asked warily.
“Oh… more than you’ll know,” she mused. “Who sent the missive?” she asked.
“I said, a friend.”
“Yes, but which friend?” she tilted her head.

“It does not matter.”
“You see, it does though,” she admitted as she looked at him. “Because this particular missive
is similar to the one found in the North, in Maester Garrett’s quarters. The missive was the
order to kill my goodsister,” she held it up between her two fingers so he could see it. He
trembled slightly as he stared at it. “So, which friend?”
“Maester Garrett never intended to kill Lady Arra,” he started.
“But he did, he even confessed to as much, if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t be dead.”
“You Northerners are so reactive, he very well might have been killed regardless of the
truth,” Gerardys countered.
“I do not think you comprehend how wrong you are, for if the Starks just killed everyone,
regardless then we would not retain power in the North.”
“And yet you wiped out an entire House very recently,” he sneered.
“Aye, Prince Aemond gave them his word on how he’d act and was forced to uphold it; for if
he did not the North would not respect him as either a new Lord or member of the Crown. He
told the House Bolton that if they persisted in their antics, he warned them that if they should
move against my brother and the North, he would return to burn their House down, and cut
them down. And they acted against my brother, in an attempt to take Winterfell, which is the
very heart of the North, and my ancestral home. It was a self-fulfilling prophocey,” she
pointed out.
“That is not how it happened,” he stated.
“And how did it happen?”
“Lord Bolton was denied aid by Lord Stark, and in his quest to see your brother, your brother
ordered a second Harrenhal to be made as a statement to his power. Your brother is seeking to
usurp the Crown,” he stated.
Sansa snorted. “You don’t know Cregan at all if you believe that,” she mused.
“Your brother must be tempered, a good match would do that,” Gerardys shrugged.
“And how would you propose tampering Cregan?”
“A tempered bride, young men need a release.”
“He had that, with Arra,” she pointed out.
“Lady Arra was a wildling, no Highborn Lady would behave in such manners,” he sneered.
“Would you say the same about Princess Rhaenyra? That she is a willful, unmannered
Highborn Lady?” Sansa asked.
“Yes,” he rasped. “Her father named her heir, then proceeds to have three sons, and she
expects her claim to be uncontested,” he sneered.
“Would you harm her for believing the Throne is hers? Because legally, it is,” she pointed
out.
“And what do you know of law?” he asked.
“Not much, but I would like to understand,” she lied as she looked at him.
“You must think me a fool if I explain,” he muttered.
“I think you’re a fool not to explain this missive,” she said instead. She knew the Andal law,
and how it had preceded through Westeros, and she knew the historical record of the disdain
regarding Princess Rhaenyra and her claim on the Throne. Cregan had put that to an end
though, and it had only ended in tragedy and the Hour of the Wolf.
“The missive is nothing,” he assured.
“You received it near a fortnight before Princess Rhaenyra went into labor, and then she does,
and now she’s plagued with blood fever and heavy blood loss. Why is that?”
“The birth was difficult.”
“Aye it was,” she agreed. “Twins are a precarious thing, and House Targaryen seems to have
healthy sets of twins frequently, so why was this different?”
“The afterbirth came first.”
“Yes, that is nature’s doing though, so you’re not at fault there, nor are you at fault with her
son’s birth, no, it’s the contents of the teas you gave Princess Rhaenyra which are suspect, in
accompaniment with this missive.”
“What teas?”
“Do not act the fool, Maester Gerardys, Prince Daemon says you brought his wife these
herbs, or had them prepared, and gave her a few to start her labors, and through her labors.”
“They are aids for pain, and labors, women’s herbs, everything I gave her had purpose.”
“Mmm, this one?” she held it up.
“For pain and nausea.”
“And this one?”
“For the blood and heart.”
“And this one?” she held up the damning herb then as she looked balefully at him.
“To relax the mother and ease the birthing process.”

“Amusing you would say that, for it is one of it’s purposes. This is one though is not
widespread, or even advised for common use, it’s a well-known poison, and inflicts lasting
damage on the mother and babe,” Sansa said. “It’s called motherless, it’s found primarily in
the Riverlands, and the Vale, but it does grow in the Neck. It grows delicious black berries
with it, which are complimentary with lemon cakes, the berries are harmless, but the leaves
and roots…this particular herb needs cold water, and lots of it, it’s famous for killing mothers
who need to abort a babe but do not know how much to use, they’ll over use it because the
dosage of this particular herb is rather difficult to gage. Too much and it kills the mother, too
little and it has no effect, but if it should work, it will expel the babe, but it will also inflict a
blood fever which is frequently just as lethal as the bleeding and if the mother should survive,
it has left lasting damage. Difficulty conceiving, carrying to term, even troubles in labors, it’s
known to ruin women’s fertility, no respectable maester ever recommends, or even offers this
herb to mothers.”
“I… I…”
“You’ve admitted to giving her this, correct?” she asked.
“I…”
“You’ve admitted to attempting to kill Princess Rhaenyra,” Sansa stated.
“You tricked me!”
“Only once,” she admitted as she held up the missive. “This came from the North, this was
the message used to kill my goodsister, yours was never found, but given you’ve attempted to
account for this false one, that means you did not burn yours. And when we find it, that will
damn you.”
“You witch!” he snarled.
“Hardly,” she replied as she rose, shaking out her skirts. “You have the information to give to
Prince Daemon, correct?” she looked at the guard, who hid Aemond and Vaemond in the
shadows.
“Yes, my princess,” the guard snarled.
“Good, the record will be written about this account,” she said swiftly.
“You set me up!”
“But I’m nothing but a stupid, foolish girl, I do not understand the complexities of the roles
maesters serve,” Sansa said as she folded her hands. “I have learned much though, thank you
Maester Gerardys for your many lessons,” she turned as she walked away from him. Aemond
held out his hand, and she took it before her knees gave out.

Their true King was gone, and he was done. The debauchery of this place was too disgusting.
Stalking through, he found the bakeries. So many people were moving out of this
godforsaken city, these disgusting, queer people, these monsters, who dared to be a mockery
of the Seven. He would aid their meeting the Stranger, he would pray to the Father and
Mother to forgive him for this transgression, but this queerness was not going to infect
Westeros. They were packing, loading ships, if he was to act to cure this blight he would have
to act swiftly. With that decided he looked at the septons, and nodded as they saw his sigil.
They knew his purpose, though they could not aid him at this moment. No, they would have
to move, leave, their divine purpose was to go back to Oldtown, spread the word of what he
would do.
The Warrior Sons were rising again, this was their purpose. Walking into the market squares
he looked around.
Spicetown was an unusual city, but their queer Valyrian ways would burn. The Valyrians
worshipped fire, so he would burn them away. The market place housed many warehouses,
for spices, and other items of trade. The Velaryons were swindlers, he would burn their wares
down, but to ensure the village burned. He saw the distilleries and bakeries in the same area,
and nearly smiled. It would be so easy, he’d set up the distillery to burn first, then the
bakeries, he’d tie sugar bags to horses, and caskets, let the streets of Spicetown burn.
He saw the tavern which was merry and laughing, their debauchery would need to be made
an example of. After he burned this wretched city down, he would make it the shining
example of what happened to those queer, unnatural folk. The Valyrians should’ve accepted
their Doom for their unnatural ways, and their queer customs.
Kicking in a heavy door he looked around, and started getting to work. He’d burned a few
houses in his time, it was how he had come to be employed by the Faith, his gifts with fire
and affinity for burning the impurities of this world away. He started preparing to ignite the
candles to burn the ditillary down, he’d have to move swiftly, set the sugar of the bakeries to
burn, and then, finally, break the oil caskets in the wares to start those fires. Timing would be
everything, given the late hours, he would have to work swiftly, and to get the fires stoked
even greater, he’d have to burn a few taverns, if everything timed correctly, then he’d make it
to the ships, and watch those burn too. If not, the winds would aid him.
Stepping out into the cool night’s air, he looked up, the winds were fair, and he walked for the
bakeries, men jeered and laughed, and soon this wretched city would be gone. He would be
praised for this, his name would be recorded as a true hero of Westeros, for now, he would let
these monster jeer.
Gahaeraenar was chuckling with his younger brother Taegarys as they sat in a mostly packed
up tavern. Many of the people were following their uncle, and he found it amusing how eager
the people seemed. They’d been overseeing the loading of ships for over a cycle, and they
had been looking at where to purchase ships, Gahaeraernar had had a few prospects in
Braavos. Now they were celebrating as a raven had arrived at the rookery for them from
Uncle Vaemond confirming the purchase of Uncle Corlys’ fleet, and it was a victory.
“Do you think it wise, to move?” Taegarys asked. Honestly, Gahaeraenar was more worried if
they stayed at Driftmark with Uncle Corlys being their overlord. Corlys was not what they
needed, and he was tired, he had not been promoted in a long time, and by now he should be
a first mate at the very least, and he knew Rhogar and Malentine should be commanding
fleets by now, and they were mere captains. The navy was in disarray with less people
renewing commissions and even less being recruited, and if the navy was falling apart, then
the merchant trade was undoubtably worse off. And there was also the matter of they had not
gotten promoted; Gahaeraenar was honestly bitter about that. He’d been fighting pirate and
thieves for the better part of three years without recognition. It wasn’t as if he was seeking
glory or something, but recognition from his Uncle Corlys would also aid him in being
promoted. Uncle Vaemond was unable to make the promotions, else Gahaeraenar would’ve
been a captain earlier this year.
“The North will be a land of new opportunities,” Gahaeraenar chuckled as he thought of his
cousins and uncle’s arguments as well. The treatment Uncle Corlys had given them was
unsettling, as if they were nothing to him, not even members of his House. And Uncle
Vaemond had been gesturing to all of them. Gahaeraenar had felt the very violet urge to
punch his Uncle Corlys out, and roar in his frustrations, instead, he had followed his brothers.
They did not deserve what their Uncle Corlys was doing.
“Do not tell me what our cousins and uncle have been preaching, I want your honest
opinion,” Taegarys sighed.
“I think staying here is foolish, especially if our House is in such dire straights,” he sighed.
He did not expect much in his life but a steady commission, he was the third son of a third
son, he’d fade into obscurity, and he was fine with that.
“Do you think uncle is being dramatic about it?” Taegarys asked.
“No, Uncle Vaemond is always serious about business,” Gahaeraenar sighed. “Daemion
would exaggerate slightly, but he also wouldn’t lie, and Daeron, I know he loves the Harte
girl, but she’s far beneath his standing, and ours, and we’re the lowest of the family’s
standing,” he admitted.
“Fuck, that’s bad.”
“It is, but, uncle also would not mislead us about our prospects,” he admitted.
“I know, I just, I am wary,” Taegarys admitted.
“Mmm, but just think, those Northern lasses, carved of ice, us Valyrian folk made of fire, it’ll
be a ball! And they’re supposedly beautiful,” Gahaeraenar chuckled.
“We’re going to have to work to keep Vaevon out of trouble,” Taegarys mused as they
snickered. Gahaeraenar was certain his brothers would get up to all manner of antics, given
the Dustin brothers were a rowdy bunch. He rather liked the Dustin brothers, they had been
an interesting mixture of lethal warriors, and playful fathers, they were men who treated the
children well, and the people. He’d spent endless hours asking them questions, and they’d
been answering them. He was excited about this change, the more he learned about the
Northerners he was more inclined to move with his family.
“Gods help us, these people like war, and he’ll start one,” Gahaeraenar laughed.
“It’ll be a bit difficult to keep him out of trouble,” Taegarys chuckled.
A hood figure walked in, holding an oil lamp, and Gahaeraenar didn’t reply to his brother as
he raised his brow at the figure. the figure stalked past them, and Gahaeraenar watched him
as other patrons chatted.
“Gahaeraenar?” his brother said.
“Hm?”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know,” Gahaeraenar admitted. Something was screaming in his head something was
wrong.
The explosion rocked the island, and knocked him off his feet, throwing him over a table, he
rolled, gasping for air as he pulled himself up on a table, he saw Taegarys struggling to regain
his footing. There were screams, shouts, and he turned, looking out the window as people
were running down the street. Taegarys staggered up slowly, and Gahaeraenar turned back to
see the figure breaking caskets. The figure raised the lantern over his head, and Gahaeraenar
moved.
“DON’T!” he shouted as he rushed the counter then, the rush of fires had him burning as he
staggered away from the flames, a blade slashed out, cutting his throat, and he staggered,
staring at the man.
“GAHAERAENAR!” Taegarys shouted. He stumbled a bit, catching the burning counter

then, gripping his throat, his blood was hot and thick in his fingers, he couldn’t breath!
The figure rushed past him, knocking him down, and the last thing he saw was Taegarys
being cut down as other patrons rose to fight. He fell to the ground, the world dimming
around him as he watched the flames burn, he couldn’t feel anything now.
Daeron was standing at the helm, and he scented the smoke, which had him frowning, they
were in the open waters… nothing should be burning, not for miles…
Gods…
“Full Sails!” he shouted. Barking orders the men were falling over themselves as they sought
to follow orders. Fighting the winds, which were against him, Daeron used every bit of
memory, and energy, catching the steady currents that went towards Driftmark. They slowed
over the dark horizons.
“Gods…” Reince whispered as they saw a glow lighting the skies. Daeron’s own eyes
widened, they were still leagues from Driftmark, and they could see the glow.
There were ships on the waters, and he heard the bells ringing as they neared, the winds and
currents carrying them efficiently. He twisted around, and they continued for the docks.
“Get as close to the docks! Get survivors!” Daeron shouted to his men who were preparing.
Reince leapt off the ship, and Daeron heard the shouts and screams. Other ships were taking
on people, and Daeron rushed to work as he helped secure the ship.
“Talaegel! Watch the winds! Signal if they shift, get the ships away from the docks! I want
every woman and child secured, every able-bodied sailor at the ready, every ship is a life
line!” he shouted as he stepped onto the chaotic docks, the other members of the Velaryon
navy falling into step with him as the commands were carried on their grapevine. People
were running, screaming. Daeron worked swiftly. There were some people, futilely trying to
put out fires, some people were rushing around, grabbing objects of Valyrian value. He
caught a few children handing them onto ships, Reince rushed past him.
Daeron felt a blade whistle past his head as he was shoved into the docks, and metal rang out.
He pulled his own short sword then, catching the blade as he twisted around, and Reince
rushed into the fires. The other members of the navy were catching the civilians, putting them
on ships. There were horns, and Daeron looked as ships left the docks, the night was bright,
dawn was far off.
“REINCE!” he shouted as he chased after the big man. Other Velaryons were shouting
orders, and he pushed through the bodies after Reince. The Northerner disappeared in the
crowds.
Daeron staggered as he looked back, and stared at his people, they were escaping now.
Reince was after someone, and the Northerner was more dangerous hunting than Daeron was.
Sheathing his sword, he grabbed a child as a heavy arch caught fire, he ran for the docks. He
caught a few dogs, pushing them onto the ships, grabbing their masters, and children, he
grabbed up a cat which made it to the docks. A horse screamed as it raced off the docks on
fire. The people were being pulled onto the ships. He winced as he looked up, the embers
were coming towards them.
“CAST OFF!” he roared, the winds were shifting, he watched as one ships sails caught fire,
he was cutting lines, and looked at Spicetown, there were more explosions, and he flinched as
the searing heat blazed, and splinters hit his cheek and arm, he snarled in pain as he looked
back, there was a burly shadow figure rushing towards them. Daeron reached over as Reince
reappeared, the man grunted as he caught Daeron’s arm, and they pulled him up, the ship was
cut from the docks as they moved from the docks. Reince was breathing hard, and Daeron
looked at the Northerner, he staggered, collapsing to his knees, coughing. Something thudded
onto the deck, and Daeron looked down as a head rolled over the deck and Reince dropped
something else as he coughed.
Aliandra stood on the bow of her ship, shivering as there seemed to be a chill seeping into the
air. Her sailors were moving through the icy waters with care, and she trembled as she
hugged the thin fur to herself. They had officially reached Northern waters according to her
cartographer, and the captain was a bit more wary, Northern waters were unknown territory.
“What is he like?” Coryanne asked as she shivered beside Aliandra.
“Who?”
“Lord Stark!” she chuckled.
“He is very serious,” Aliandra answered. “But he is a good man, stern, he loves his people,
and his men seemed to love him as well, he’s very gentle with his sisters, but he’s a warrior,”
she explained.
Aliandra shivered a little as she hugged the furs a little tighter, the sun was already setting,
and she frowned. The darkness and cold seemed to go hand in hand, and it was unsettling.
“Father is seeking a match,” Coryanne stated.
“Perhaps, but perhaps it will just be a good alliance,” she shrugged.
“Would a match be so terrible?” Coryanne asked.
“No, but I would have to renounce my position as heir, and simply be a Princess and marry
him, move to his lands,” Aliandra said.
“What if he marries me instead?” Coryanne asked.
“You are the same age as his sister, perhaps a little older, you are a child,” Aliandra stated
firmly.
Coryanne stuck her tongue out and they looked out at the seas. “Would a match be worth it?”
“We shall find out,” Aliandra muttered. No matter what the results of this envoy, she would
have to make a more equal trade with the North, and she would also have to seriously
examine a match. Yes, Qyle would not be a bad heir, but she was uncertain if she wanted to
give up her position. On the other hand, Dorne needed strong allies, and the North would be a
strong ally, and trade partner. She’d have to be careful about this.
Chapter End Notes
I think I fixed the missing thing that made me hate this chapter initially. I will be posting
the next chapter sometime next week. Still not pleased with this chapter, but it's better
now I think.
Chapter 44
Chapter Notes
Sansa had asked to return to their quarters, and Aemond hadn’t hesitated to take her back to
their rooms after obtaining the confession. And after that, she just curled up against him on
their bed, because she didn’t want to manage the Targaryens, war plans, or anything else. She
didn’t remember falling asleep, but she remembered waking up.
She was pressed against Aemond’s chest, and he was stretched out along her back, his arm
was her pillow, she hugged it to her, his other hand rested on her stomach, lower stomach, her
feet were tucked between his calves. She remained still, feeling his breath against her neck,
and she just tried to breathe, the tears burned in her eyes as she slid her hand against the one,
he had resting on her stomach. Biting her lip, she curled towards Aemond, and squeezed her
eyes tightly. Aemond’s hand on her stomach shifted, catching hers as he tangled their fingers.
“Sansa…” he rasped her name softly. She shifted a bit, trying to hide as she tightened her
own grip on his hand.
“I… I didn’t know,” she whispered. “I didn’t know.”
He didn’t say anything as he seemed to pull her closer.
“I… I need you to say something…” she whispered.
“What?” he asked quietly.
“Anything… something, I didn’t know…” she whimpered. “How could I not know? Arra
knew, my mother knew, my aunt knew… am I just… not meant, not good…?”
“No,” he cut off, and she was startled as he shifted, and she found herself forced to look at
him. “No. You are good.”
“I didn’t know about the baby,” she muttered. “Perhaps I’m not meant to be a mother…”
Aemond touched her cheek. “Sansa…”
“I’m a terrible mother,” she whispered as she choked on the sobs. “I don’t want to live with
this,” she admitted. She felt like a terrible, painful, horrid failure. This was the worst feeling,
nothing compared. Not Rickon’s death, not her father’s, not her mother’s, not Robb’s, not
even knowing Arya’s death, and Bran’s… Gods, she was unfit, unable to keep anyone she
loved alive, and a child… how could she be a mother when she couldn’t even keep her own
family alive!?
Aemond shook his head. “No, no you are not,” he murmured. “I am relieved you are alive,”
he said desperately.
She sobbed as he held her again, he kissed her crown as she buried against his chest. She
cried, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t move, the agony of her failure was crushing. What
sort of mother didn’t know she was expecting her own child!?
“Sansa…” Aemond whispered as he ran a hand along her back, hugging her tightly. Her
knees tangled with his as she curled up tighter.
“I wanted it… I didn’t even know I wanted it until it was gone…” she whimpered. “Do… did
you…?”
“Want it?” Aemond asked bluntly.
She nodded, unable to look at him at this moment.
“No.” Her heart started sinking painfully as she flinched, trying to pull away, but Aemond
held her firmly as he kissed the top of her head. “I will not lie to you, it will not make this
easier, or less painful. I… I am aware you are a child of love, and a happy family, Sansa, you
speak of your father and mother with love, and you adore your siblings, including your new
ones,” he spoke softly. “I envy the love you have experienced, I envy the affections and
safety you had with your family, because I always wanted that.”
“I did not want the child, not now, and I am uncertain if I wish to have children,” he admitted
softly. “It is expected of me, but I find myself reluctant to want it for myself at this time. I
love Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, Baelor, and Maelor like my own, because I believed they’d be all
I’d receive in this life, and I would take comfort in them. And I was content with what I
believed was all I’d received, if I ever married it’d be a loveless affair, and I’d take comfort
in the children provided in that union, but I have never actively wanted to have children
until…
“Until you,” he murmured. “Do you remember the night in the Glass Garden after Arra’s
death?”
“You made me laugh,” she whispered hoarsely.
“I did,” he muttered. “I saw you holding Rickon, and… I want that reality,” he confessed. “I
wanted you, and a future, and it made me ache wanting that, watching you be happy, content,
safe with your family, and your family be a true family, it is everything I have ever wanted,
and I dare not ask for it. I have never had… friends, Sansa, and I find it… challenging, to
connect… with… people… I am selfish, I do not wish to risk losing the friend I hold dearest.
I was terrified you were dying when we woke up with all that blood, I was terrified I’d lose
you if the midwives did not attend to you, if your Stark stubbornness had you ignoring your
own suffering to avoid a healer, I was terrified I’d be alone again, and I am selfish, Sansa.
“I have witnessed Hel’s labors, and endured the terrors of uncertainty despite her good health;
Baelor nearly killed her though, and I had, until recently, never been so terrified. I witnessed
the aftermath of Arra’s death, and I am not strong enough to withstand that grief. I will
always prefer you alive, and with me, healthy, than dead,” he confessed.
“I… I,” she started.
“I am sorry, Sansa,” he whispered softly.
“Do… Do you not want a family?” she whispered.
“At the cost of you? No. But, I am aware you want one, and I swore before your Gods and
mine, that I’d make you happy, and I’d give you a family, so, in time, I will uphold those
vows, but I just… I am selfish, Sansa, I do not desire to lose you,” he whispered. “I am sorry
we lost this child, it would have been very loved, and cherished,” he murmured.
“You said you did not want it.”
“I didn’t,” he admitted. “It does not mean I would not have loved and cherished the child, I
just would’ve been very worried that the Faith, maesters, enemies of the Targaryens,
Wildlings, Winter, life, it all would’ve been a threat, and then there’s the risk to you, and I
have already said I am selfish, I will not apologize for that, I cherish you more alive, and
here, with me, than dead,” he murmured.
She trembled a little as she rested against his chest.
“In time, Sansa, I will give you the family you desire, but I want us safe, and out of reach of
our enemies, I also… I want time with my friend,” he murmured the confession.
She slowly slid her arm around him so she could hug him tightly. Squeezing her eyes tightly
shut, she bit her lip as she choked back sobs.
“You promise we can have a family?” she whispered.
“Yes,” he answered softly. “I will give you the family you desire.”
She nodded slowly. “I want a big family,” she whispered.
He just tightened his hold on her as they lay there. She didn’t want to move, or try to move,
she ached, and she wanted to cry. Aemond had not deterred her from weeping, he just held
her as they lay there.
It was when she felt like there were no more tears and nothing but a resounding headache that
she just lay there with Aemond. Aemond never stopped running his fingers along her side or
back, and he never stopped hugging her against him. She shivered a little as she looked up at
him then.
“I want our sons to have Northern names…” she whispered. He blinked a few times as he
looked down at her then. “And our daughters to have Valyrian names,” she said.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“Tell me when you’re ready for a family,” she pleaded.
“Sansa…”
“I… I have always wanted one,” she whispered desperately. “It’s always been a comfort to
me, no matter what hell I found myself in, and even if I found myself trapped in a loveless
marriage, I would take comfort in the prospect of a family… I’ve… I have given up on the
idea of falling in love, or being loved… My parents were very in love, and it took them time,
but they were very in love. And Cregan… he was lucky, his first wife was a love match, his
second is to be just as much a love match, and he will always love Arra, he does know how
blessed he was. It’s part of why he is so devastated, even now, by the cruelty of her being
murdered, and taken from him. If she had simply died, like she was supposed to in history
having their second child, then I think he would not be so devastated, it leaves him a gaping
wound knowing their time was stolen from him. And Cregan… Cregan finds comfort in
Rickon, and there is a solace in having Rickon. Children are… solace, Aemond, and you get
to love them… freely, and fiercely, and… no restrictions, and they’re a blessing,” she rushed.
“Sansa…” he tucked a stray strand of her hair back. “I vow to you, that in time, I will give
you a family, I just… I’m selfish,” he traced her cheek softly. “I find I enjoy your company,
and I value our time. I, I do not… wish, to risk that for a child… After… everything we have
learnt, I do not wish to risk you.”
She blinked a few times, tears blurred her eyes as she nodded in true understanding then.
“When we are safe, I will… in time, give you the family you want,” he promised her.
She nodded a few times. “I failed… I’m so sorry,” she whispered desperately. “A mother is
supposed to protect their child,” she pressed her hand against her empty stomach, the tears
slipping her guard. Aemond reached up, brushing them away.
“No, you did not fail,” he said softly. “You did not know, and… I am sorry, I am sorry for this
Sansa.”
“Why?” she looked at him, trying to understand. Aemond hadn’t done anything wrong.
“I should’ve protected you better.”
She burst into tears again as she hid in her chest. His arms were strong as they wrapped
around her and they were pulled up to the headboard, she cried as she completely sagged
against him. “Would you… have loved it?” she gasped between sobs.
“Yes.”
She cried harder as he held her tighter.
“I would love any child of mine, even if I am not prepared for them,” he whispered honestly.
“But you said you didn’t want it,” she cried.

“I will not lie, now is not the time for us to have a child,” he said softly. “And who am I to
entrust your health to if you are to have a child, Sansa? Here, in the South? Until the
Hightowers did what they did, because we were on a campaign through the Realms we’d
have been here to the point of your quickening, and if anyone found out then we’d be trapped
here until the birth; because my mother would summon us to the Red Keep by Royal order,
and she’d even utilize Viserys’ power if needed to do it, and I cannot break a Royal order,
Sansa, and then we’d be trapped! We’d be here in the South, you’d be miserable, and in
danger, and we’re trapped here through the Winter, you would not go North, and I wouldn’t
either, not without you or the child. And who am I to entrust your health to!? A maester!?” he
demanded. “You and the child would be hostages to keep me under my grandfather’s thumb,
and given the bit of drama Corlys laid out, I suspect he’d try to kill you, or the Green faction
would, you and that child would be dead. I prefer you alive!
“Then there is the succession crisis, and I do not know what the Greens will do, but I do
know I want us to be in the North by the time they’ve thought up a plan, I want us North and
out of their reach, and in the control of Cregan’s lands. Cregan holds the largest military
force, that is trained, in Westeros, I want his army between you and whatever zealots my
family has evolved into. I want you safe. I want Helaena safe. I want Daeron, Jaehaerys,
Jaehaera, and Maelor all safe! And that means keeping all of you out of Green grasps. A
child, between you and I, at this time, is the opposite of safe, Sansa, that is leverage against
me, and I do not want that weakness at this time. I do not want to risk you with the plot
we’ve uncovered; I do not trust my grandfather not to do something against us until we are
out of his sphere of control. And further, I do not want the Blacks to have leverage over me,
or you. I understand your family is sworn to them, and I accept that I will have to fight for
them because of that fealty, but I do not want you used against me, and if you were pregnant
here, and now, Daemon and his men would lock you in a tower and have my compliance to
keep you and a child safe. It is stressful enough with Hel and her children here, I cannot
handle it if it was to be you used against me.
“So, no, I did not want the child at this time, I want you, and I want you safe, right now is not
safe,” he explained in a sound of soft fury. “I am only sorry you are suffering, and I am sorry
we have lost this gift, but I did not want it when the threats against us are so numerous.”
She blinked a few times as she tried to calm her sobs.
“I… I do not want a child, not right now,” he murmured. “Perhaps in time that will change,
but regardless of my sentiment regarding children, I will give you a family, in time.”
“Promise?” she whispered.
“I give you my word,” he assured.
She nodded as she laid down under his chin again and closed her eyes. Her fingers curled
against his chest as she clutched his shirt. His arms were around her again, and his fingers
tracing over her spine. The sobs returned as she clung to him. Aemond pressed his lips to her
crown again. “I wanted it,” she admitted. “I understand now is not the time, and I did not
know, but I wanted it… I want to be a mother.”
Aemond hugged her a little tighter, and she just clung to him.
Vaemond was walking to the docks, he had a ritual of doing this when his sons were at sea, it
was a daily affair just to make sure he had not missed them. And this dawn was no different.
Yesterday had been a most taxing da for Prince Aemond and Princess Sansa, but that
interrogation was artfully and masterfully done. Vaemond had witnessed many interrogations,
even done a few himself, the fact Princess Sansa could and did do the interrogation was
impressive. He did not think he’d ever witnessed an interrogation that was elegant, but that’s
what Princess Sansa had done, she had very elegantly obtained the information, never
breaking or cowing or reacting, despite the near constant insults hurled at her.
No, she had not reacted, and Aemond’s restraint was commendable. Vaemond did not think
he could standby if his own wife had been the one being insulted. He would admit th Valyrian
temper would’ve gotten the best of him if anyone dared to insult his beloved. Aemond had
watched, and waited, very quiet and patient. Vaemond was impressed. If that interrogation
was any indication for what sort of trial Cregan had given the maester who killed his wife,
then that maester had never stood a chance. The sheer elegance of such an interrogation,
which had not utilized an ounce of pain, torture, or blackmail, or even false information, it
was impressive. Sansa had trapped the maester entirely on the maester’s own thoughts and
confessed actions.
It was a rather interesting technic too, rather unusual. But the cunning of the Starks was very
clear, and Sansa’s skill at being an interrogator made him wonder if that was one of the tasks
she had learnt in her conscription into the North’s military. Perhaps she was not only the
political mind of the North. A terrifying thought, but her skills were undeniable.
He looked up at the bells, and looked out at the horizon, he blinked a few times seeing the
sheer amount of ships, it was an armada! He nearly dropped to his knees as he recognized the
emblem then, the stattered, singed emblems. Trembling for what felt like an eternity, he
watched as ships embarked, and he watched as they started sailing unnaturally close to
Dragonstone, but he watched as one came to the docks, others did too. Dinghies were in the
water, men roaring to the shore, and he gaped in horror as he saw people disembarking then.
“Ser Vaemond!” he whipped around to see one of the Velaryon Captains walking off a ship.
“Daeron…?” he rasped uncertain what more he could said.
“Father!” he turned and saw his son, he was striding to Daeron, grabbing his son in a fierce
embrace.
“Spicetown is gone,” Daeron coughed as he released his son and took him in. the singed coat,
cuts, smoke.
“What?”
“We need all the healers! We have wounded! Ser Vaemond, my apologies, we tried to save
the fleet, we tried to save as many as we could,” the Captain said suddenly.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Daeron admitted.
“Get the healers, get every able body person to aide in setting up triage tents, we’ll take the
western shore, get as many ships over there, we’ll create an encampment,” he stated.
“And the cargo?” one of the other captains asked.
“It is not as important as our people,” he stated. “I’ll retrieve the healers, meet us on the
western shores, we’ll assess the damages there, then take stock of the cargo. Move!” he
ordered. Sailors were scrambling. Rushing off the docks, he ran the loose sands, and stopped
as he saw the people in the moored dinghies, and he gagged back the bile rising in his throat.
The burns smelled horrendous, and looking at these people, he could see why they were
brought here directly.
“Don’t let them on the sands, get stretchers, go to Dragonstone, see if they can spare a guard,
these patients need to be kept in Dragonstone out of the elements, we’ll get healers,” he
stated as he looked at the severe burns. He briefly wondered what the hell he was to do, but
he needed to get people moved and safe. They were swift to run in the direction of
Dragonstone. Vaemond had never seen burns this bad, not even in the Step Stones. He looked
at one person who hardly looked like a person now, their skin was black as charcoal, but their
wide blue eyes were bright and terrified.
“Get the priests,” Vaemond said softly to one sailor. “To ease their sufferings if they should
pass,” he murmured.
“Ser,” a sailor coughed, and he looked at the young man, slightly singed and suffering hard
breathes from the smoke. “There’s supplies, on ships…”
“Perhaps we have the correct trade herbs, we will break that store, use whatever is needed,”
Vaemond decided.
The young man nodded, gagging and coughing. Vaemond looked as a guard came, and they
looked stricken at the sight as they slowed. He trembled as he nodded. They immediately
started moving people, not letting them touch the loose sands as they took them to
Dragonstone. Vaemond aided in carrying the stretchers. He saw Corlys standing there, openly
horrified, but Vaemond brushed past him. He needed to get his people safe.
“We’ll put them in the Great Hall, the midwives have healing skills!” a guard shouted over
his shoulder.
Vaemond just followed. It took six more trips to get all the critical patients up to
Dragonstone, and a few were already deceased. He had the deceased wrapped in proper
shrouds to the Valyrian customs. The midwives had slowly filled the halls, and were bustling
about. Vaemond went to get a horse, he saw the other healers, or people with healing
experience and knowledge, he was surprised seeing Princess Sansa there with his
gooddaughter and Princess Helaena, Lady Rhaena and Lady Baela, on horses too. Swinging
up he spurred the horse into action as they raced for the western shores, he heard Vhagar roar
overhead and saw her flying, Aemond was with her.
Corlys was horrified as he rode out to the tents that were being hastily prepared, Princess
Sansa was in command of setting up the tents, her calm orders melded seamlessly into the
men running around. She had structured the tents, commanded planks for walkways, and got
to work. Vaemond was unloading ships of people, and as Corlys walked amongst his people,
he was horrified. Luke was beside him, Rhaenys too, and not a single person reached for him,
asked him for aid, no they screamed, and cried, and talked to Vaemond, Daeron, Rhogar, and
Vaevon, even Hazel before they even noticed him. Vhagar landed, looking alert, and ready
for action.
“We are in Cannibal’s territory,” Rhaenys whispered as they walked through the
encampment. “That is why Vhagar is on guard,” she observed.
“I can’t find Gahaeraenar,” Vaevon said as he rushed towards Vaemond.
“We’ll find him,” Vaemond stated. “Focus on moving ships, we need to offload as many
survivors as possible, then return to Driftmark, check the shorelines for stragglers and
survivors.”
“We already went to the landsides, entire island was engulfed in flames, all of Spicetown is
gone,” Daeron panted.
“All of it?” Corlys demanded. Vaemond, Daeron, and Vaevon turned to look at him then.
“All of it!” Daeron shouted. “It’s all gone!”
Corlys blinked.
“Focus on survivors, we will identify people, collect families, siblings shall stay together, if
we can find their families we will keep them together, we will do head counts. When the
flames are dying down we’ll return and see if we can find survivors,” Vaemond cut off.
Daeron turned to snarl at his father, but his wife appeared, and Daeron rushed past them to
hug Hazel.
“I… What happened?” Corlys stammered as he looked at his nephew.
“It burned down,” Vaevon snapped. “Not that you care!” he huffed.
“Vaevon, go, guide the ships,” Vaemond ordered. “Corlys, you can either aid us or leave, but
you do not get to stand here interrogating our people while I’m trying to save them.”
“I am Lord of Driftmark,” Corlys stated.
“Then Act It!” Vaemond roared. “These are our people, and these are the very people you’ve
neglected in your pursuit of the Throne! We do not have time for your games or false
sympathies! Either aid us, or remove yourself from our presence,” Vaemond ordered.
Corlys was stunned as he blinked a few times. “Yous should have dragon riders in the air.
Keep Cannibal at bay, and there should be ships sailing back to monitor the fires.”
Corlys watched men scrambling to comply, they had bandages, splints, and were all covered
in smoke, soot, and debris, but they scrambled to comply. He walked for a ship, he wanted to
go see the fires himself. He looked back at Luke.
“Come on,” he barked as he grabbed the boy’s shoulder. Luke yelped as he stumbled along
with Corlys. They took the first able ship out, and he saw Luke turning a little grey.
Sansa had been swift to aid in setting up the tents of triage, Rody, Rogun, and Rolan started
barking more efficient orders. There were a few Valyrians who came up, slightly singed and
burned, but they were carrying stretchers as they ran. She was startled when she saw Reince
being carried. Rody sputtered and she saw Rogun and Rolan look a bit stricken, Sansa
grabbed up her skirts as they ran for the tent Reince was taken into. Sansa came over him,
looking at his bloodshot eyes, he was struggling to breath, and coughing.
“Fuck, fucking smoke,” Rolan muttered as he came over his brother, undoing Reince’s armor.
Reince screamed as they all carefully peeled the leathers that were seared to his chest away.
Sansa grimaced as she aided in the removal, Rody and Rogun were holding him down as she
and Rolan stripped Reince. The burns weren’t too bad, primarily on his back and shoulders
had suffered the burns. His hair was singed. There was a nasty few gashes on his arms and
hands, and Sansa examined his legs as they worked on cleaning him out.
“Sans…” she looked up when Reince rasped her name as he seemed to be drinking water
from a waterskin.
“Hm…?” she walked up, looking at his face, the blood was covering half his face, and he was
a bit burned, his right ear was melted and mangled.
He weakly pointed to the armor they had peeled off him, it was then Sansa noticed the sack,
and something else. Carefully she walked over, her heart slamming painfully in her ribs as
she knelt down to pick up the bag. A questioning look at Reince had him nodding tiredly, and
she carefully picked it up, there was an empty cot set up, and she undid the bag. A head
rolled out, causing her to stifle a yelp as she slapped a hand on her mouth, leaping back.
“Sorry,” he coughed.
“I’m fine,” she rasped as she rubbed a hand over her heart. She stepped towards te head
again, and bit her lip. She wasn’t really certain where to pick it up… kneeling down, she
rolled it so it was face up. the face had milky, terrified blue eyes, his soot stained, singed hair
had probably been brown, he had a beard, but what startled Sansa was the Star of the Seven
carved into his head, like the sparrows.
Sansa hadn’t been around for the unleashing of the High Sparrow and his Sparrows in King’s
Landing, she’d thankfully escaped before that bit of idiocy from Cersei, but she had heard
about them. They were fanatics of the Seven, like the Warrior’s Sons of the past, and they
were brutal. Sansa knew they had been operating in secret before they were openly turned
into a militant force, probably with aid of a Lannister or two in their ranks. King Jaehaerys I
though had outlawed the Faith Militant after he and the High Septon had come to some sort
of truce and everything had gone… underground, sort of. The assembly of the Faith Militant
in King’s Landing under Cersei’s reign had been suspiciously quick, and Sansa wouldn’t
have been surprised if the Faith Militant was not disbanded within the actual Faith. It was
surprisingly easy to conceal an elite force when no one was looking for them, and with how
the Faith worked, Sansa wouldn’t be surprised if the Warrior’s Sons remained in plain sight.
Examining the wound on the man’s brow, it had to be a brand, it was too neat, and clean to
just be a knife; people trembled. It was something Ramsey always complained about, how
human hands tired, and how much force it took to cut someone. It was always startling to
Sansa how delicate humans were, even for as strong as they were. Regardless, this was too
clean, the scar was old to, looking at the man’s face she would wager he was in his forties
possibly. He’d probably been employed by the Faith for a good portion of his life. Wincing in
disgust, Sansa carefully pried his jaw open, the teeth were bad, but she blinked twice, the
tongue was cut cleanly…
Turning, her heart fell as she saw something else, it had soot covering it, and looked battered,
but the colors were vibrant. Leaving the head behind, she walked over to the second object.
Picking of the onyx shield, she brushed her hands lightly over the plate and blinked twice in
horror as the rainbow appeared. Turning back to the head, she leaned over, tilting him to face
her, and staring at the seven pointed star. This… this wasn’t right, this wasn’t… Warrior’s
Sons did not mutilate themselves, did they?
She looked up when the tent flap was opened and found herself looking at Aemond. He
looked between her, the head, then at Reince.
“Let’s not lose our heads now,” Rody quipped. She bit back the snort as Aemond blinked
twice and shook his head.
“Aemond…” she motioned for him to come to her, he walked around the brothers caring for
Reince, and he peered over her shoulder. “In my time… they were called Sparrows,” she
murmured as she pointed to the scar on his brow. The seven pointed star in the circle.
“They’re Faith militants, I think this is a Warrior’s Son though.”
“Why?”
“Because the man who formed the Sparrows is not yet born, and that sect of radicalism
came… later, because of Cersei,” she explained softly.
He nodded. “The tongue is recent,” he stated.
“How do you know that?” she sputtered as she turned to look at the man’s tongue.
Aemond frowned. “I have a lot of knowledge, it’s best not to explain this,” he murmured
honestly.
“He’s right,” Rogun stated after he came over looking at the mouth. “I’d say something like
shears, didn’t do it right, that scent, that’s infection, rot. Fucker would’ve been in pain…”
Sansa blinked as she looked at the head then. “This is so much worse than what we’ve simply
found,” she admitted as she looked at Aemond. “I don’t need to tell you how bad it would be
if the Warrior’s Sons have resurfaced.”
“They’re outlawed,” Aemond pointed out.
“I don’t think so,” Sansa whispered. “I think they’ve just been hidden within the Faith,
disguised so none would notice them if they looked at the surface.”
“Why do ou say that?” Aemond asked as he pulled her away from the Dustin brothers.
“In my era, it was very easy for them to reform,” Sansa murmured. “It’d have to be
something already in place to reform that quickly and aggressively.”
“How did it end in your era?” Aemond asked her.
“Poorly,” she whispered. “Queen Mother Cersei Lannister utilized something called Wild
Fire, and she blew up the Sept, or so I’m told, with heads of the Great Families in it, and
other Heads of State, she essentially decapitated her own government and seized power. It
lead to the suicide of her last living child, King Tommen Baratheon,” she explained. “It did
not cease the Faith though, or their Sparrows, no, it radicalized most of Oldtown, the
remaining Great Families with heads turned against her, and she created the downfall of
Westeros, a year later Daenerys Targaryen came to Westeros, and shortly after, so did Aegon.
If the Faith’s Militants are resurfacing, we’re all in danger, Aemond, they could be dispersed
throughout Westeros like moles in a garden, and we’d be none the wiser, they could be
anyone.”
Aemond stared at her as they looked around the camp with the Velaryons running their
people around.
“That is troubling,” Aemond murmured.
“If the Warrior’s Sons are back, so are the Poor Fellows, and if the Maesters are the
intelligence network for the Faith, they’re already ahead of us in this war, they’ll have
information, and plans prepared, they’ll have Families to seek alliances with, and to
eliminate… No one is safe,” she whispered as they looked around at the victims. This would
not be the last attack like this, and Sansa shivered. “Spicetown… in history, it burned,” Sansa
stated.
“What?”
“In history, it burned… during the Dance, I think, after Lord Corlys’ death, it never
recovered… Arra, Arra died before Winter, but she didn’t die the same way… she died
because… Aemond…” she looked up at him in terror.
He blinked. “You’ve changed some things…”
“But somethings are inevitable,” she whispered in horror. “What… What if the inevitable
aspects are… are things in motion not because of the Targaryens but because of the Faith?”
she asked. “Everyone has a motive, they all have moves, and intentions. So what if they hid
their moves in the mess of my history? If we can figure out what was Targaryen, Great
Houses, and what is Faith and Maesters…” Sansa proposed.
“That’ll take a long time.”
“The longest Winter in this century, the next winter will happen in 150 AC, after the Storm
Autumn in 145 AC, which is the longest Autumn of this era, though 166 AC’s Autumn is
argued to be more brutal for the storms,” she said.
Aemond stared at her then. “How well does your brother know his history?”
“Probably as well as I, though he’ll know more about the North and Beyond the Wall,” Sansa
said carefully.
“We’ll figure out what is and is not Faith events, and see if there’s a way to isolate the
threat,” he said carefully.
She nodded and he reached up, tracing her cheek.
“For now, we need every healer, and I know you are a very good herbalist, can you aid an
apothecary?”
“Yes,” she stated.
“Good,” he nodded. “I’m going to go patrol for Cannibal,” he said carefully.
“Aemond,” she grabbed the lapels of his coat, and he seemed startled, she rose on her toes,
kissing him hard. Aemond caught her as he caught his balance, and she pulled away before
he could react. “Be safe. I can’t lose you too,” she whispered honestly.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured. She shuddered at the ache in her heart at his
conviction and closed her eyes as she stepped back, he kissed her brow. “I’ll return, I give
you my word.”
She nodded as he left her there, moving through the triage. She trembled as she watched him
walk away, and then she turned and went to find an apothecary.
Rhaena had stared in horror, tears burning her eyes as she looked at these people crying, in
pain, calling out for their loved ones, and she was overwhelmed. She’d never seen such
devastation, Morning chirped beside her, and she stood there, frozen.
“Lady Rhaena,” a soft voice had her turning to look at Princess Sansa and Princess Helanea.
“I am going to the apothecary, it is where we’ll be of most aid, come,” Sansa jerked her head
and Rhaena felt herself stumbling after the other woman, because she didn’t know what to
do. The rank scent, and rotting flesh, as well as the scent of burnt flesh was acidic and harsh,
she trembled in horror as she caught up to Princess Sansa. Sansa looked unphased, though
Princess Helaena looked just ashorrified as Rhaena felt.
“We will divide the injured, those with the most critical and fatal of wounds are to be treated
with care, but do not waste resources on them, we are to do our best, not everyone will be
saved,” Sansa stated.
“What do the tent colors mean?” Rhaena asked.
“How injured someone is,” Sansa answered as she walked to an apothecary. “How may I
assist?” she asked as she washed off her hands. Rhaena followed suit.
“My apprentice is collecting the stores, and herbs, but… preparation, dosage,” the herbalist
stated.
Sansa nodded as she started working. Rhaena looked around, uncertain, then carefully walked
over.
“Just do what I do,” Sansa murmured. Rhaena saw Helaena was doing the same thing, and
they started working.
Daemon was sitting quietly in his seat, too tired to go aid in the Driftmark survivors. He
didn’t know what to do, the world seemed to be crumbling around him. He could only sit
here, and stare at his wife. Looking away might have him missing something. And he didn’t
want to miss a thing. The door opened and he tilted his head back to look at the guard.
Steffon Darklyn, Daemon thought.
“My Prince,” Steffon bowed lowly and rose. “Given everything that is happening, I felt it
pertinent to come and give you a verbal report as well as the transcripts of what happened
during the interrogation of Maester Gerardys.”
“So my nephew has completed that already,” he sighed.
“No, my prince,” Steffon answered. Daemon twisted around and blinked a few times.
“Aemond was the one to be conducting the interrogation,” he stated.
“Prince Aemond did not have a hand in the interrogation.”
“Then who the bloody hell interrogated him!?” Daemon roared as he rose.
“Princess Sansa conducted the interrogation.”
That stopped Daemon cold in his tracks.
“Princess Sansa has gotten Maester Gerardys to confess to the poisoning and attempted
murder of Princess Rhaenyra, Princess Visenya, and Prince Baelon, he has also confirmed to
treasonous intentions through means of control and manipulation,” Steffon stated.
“And a woman obtained this confession?” Daemon sputtered in disbelief.
“Yes, my prince, Princess Sansa very masterfully obtained the confession.”

“How?”
“I… I don’t quite know, but we have the transcripts of the interrogation, Ser Vaemond
Velaryon and Prince Aemond and myself had signed as witnesses to the truth an authenticity
of the confession, and the transcription,” Steffon held out the roll of paper, and Daemon
grabbed it before looking it over.
“How is Princess Rhaenyra?” Steffon asked.
“Leave, now,” Daemon ordered as he watched the other man bow and leave. He turned to
look at Rhaenyra who was struggling to breath before he sat by the candles and started
reading over the interrogation transcript. It appeared Princess Sansa had not used any means
of torture, or incentives, but rather had a… conversation?, with the man. Daemon leaned back
in his seat, rubbing his eyes, and tilting his head back.
A small sound had him leaping to the bedside as he stared at Rhaenyra, she flinched a little,
her eye sliding open and he trembled.
“Nyra,” he rasped as he carefully reached up, tracing her hairline. She whimpered a bit and
he waited, biting his lip as he stared at her. Rhaenyra finally looked at him, and he smiled
softly. “You’re back…” he whispered.
“Babe…” she rasped out soundlessly.
“Two,” he said with a smile, tears burning in his eyes. “Two, Visenya and Baelon,” he
murmured as he ran his fingers through her sweaty hair. she closed her eyes as she nodded.
“Here, have some water,” he said as he picked up the water pitcher and poured some. He was
careful dribbling it against her lips. She was weak, but he grabbed her hand, feeling her
fingers twitch, she was alive, and with him again.
Vaegon worked steadily beside Princess Sansa once he found her at the herbalist tent,
preparing salves, ointments, and herbs, she was working tiredlessly. Vaegon though watched
her carefully, she was still healing. Working beside her, he watched the other two Princesses
here. Thus far he was unimpressed with Princess Helaena and Lady Rhaena, he did not
dislike either of them but they were not impressive.
Princess Helaena reminded him greatly of Daela, which was unsettling. Obviously Helaena
was more intelligent, but the resemblance was uncanny, and Vaegon was unnerved by the
sight.
Lady Rhaena was not impressive at all, though she appeared to have Vaegon’s mother’s
demeanor. She was soft spoken, gentle, but there was an unnerving glare of steel from the
young woman.
Neither woman impressed Vaegon though, he worked quietly with them and watched them
carefully. Princess Sansa retrieved him a stool and had him sit as they worked.
“Why aren’t you out there helping!?” a voice snapped. Vaegon turned, raising his brow at the
new young woman who appeared, her curly mass of silver hair marked her a Targaryen. He
was guessing this was Lady Baela.
“And what do you propose I do?” he asked dryly.
“Be a maester!” she snapped.
“Please inform me this one is not inline for the Crown,” Vaegon looked at Princess Sansa.
“This is Lady Baela, she is betrothed to Prince Jacaerys,” Sansa answered. “Lady Baela, this
is Prince Vaegon, he is not a maester any more, and he specialized in economies, given
Maesters pursue knowledge, and they specialize in different areas of knowledge, not all
maesters are healers,” Sansa said as she moved about.
“I knew that!” Baela snapped.
“Then utilize that mind of yours, act as a member of House Targaryen, and get to work, your
sister has proven to be of reasonable skill despite her lack of education,” Vaegon stated.
Baela looked livid but stalked over to her sister and started working. Vaegon shook his head
as he looked at the recipes and started preparing another bought of salves. He knew that with
this many injured, it was vital everyone aid in assisting these people. Vaegon did not think he
knew of any mass casualty event this big, even in times of war…
He shivered as he worked and looked at Princess Sansa when she caught the table, flinching a
little, her knuckles were white, and she pressed a hand to her lower stomach.
“Are you well, Princess?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she answered softly. “Thank you,” she nodded as she forced herself to stand and
work. Vaegon frowned, but he did not press the matter as they worked. He was a bit
concerned, though he knew she had concealed the bruises, he was concerned she had suffered
wounds too great to be concealed.
Vaegon continued his work though, he did not like how the plans were sticking to his fingers;
he was remembering why he hated healing arts.
Chapter End Notes
I cut part of this for the final chapters, so it's not as long as I expected.
Chapter 45
Cregan had handed Rickon off to Domeron just to be safe when the saffron sails of a Dornish
ship was escorted into White Harbor. Cregan had walked the docks, followed by Lord
Manderly, Bryan, Mederick, Torrhen, and Domeron, followed by Daemion and Malentine,
the entourage was a bit irritating but Cregan understood the diplomacy aspect, he gestured for
everyone to stay back, uncertain of what sort of greeting he’d be receiving, but if it involved
daggers, he didn’t want to have anyone else harmed.
He saw the plank be lowered, and he didn’t react as something whizzed past his head, he
blinked and looked over his shoulder as it plopped into the frigid waters.
“You Missed!” he shouted.
“I never miss,” Aliandra was standing there, wrapped in bright oranges, whites and yellows
billowing around her. He raised a brow at her standing there, attempting to not shiver. The
other young woman who appeared beside Princess Aliandra looked very similar to Princess
Aliandra, but about Sara’s age.
“Are you fucking mad!?” he demanded as the girls walked down the plank, he took the first
one’s hand, steadying her on the docks, jerking off his cloak and dropping it around her
shoulders. She was Sara’s age, and trying to hide her chill.
“Maderly, we need furs, and cloaks, someone get them to a seamstress, trying to die of the
chill of Autumn on a Northern sea!?” he sputtered as he caught Princess Aliandra and pulled
off his outer jacket, pulling it around her. Both the princesses looked startled as he herded
them to the Northerners.
“We’re fine…”
“You’re mad,” he informed Aliandra as she shivered. “We’ll talk at New Castle, Lord
Manderly, the Princesses of Dorne, get them into New Castle, quickly and warmed up, same
with the guard and the crew, we’ll need seamstresses,” he stated as he turned back, motioning
for Bryan and Domeron to follow him, he would need their aid in unloading the ship, helping
the Dornish crew, he was surprised when Malentine and Daemion walked with them,
Medrick and Torrhen were to be expected, but the Velaryons was a surprise.
The Dornish seemed surprised as they walked onto the ship. Cregan was horrified seeing
these men and women so underdressed, and he sighed.
“Everyone, to White Harbor, Medrick will take you to seamstresses and tailors, get warmer
furs and clothes. Captain, you remain, we’ll have you keep inventory, Medrick, get a
Northern crew, unload the ship, prepare the warehouses for Dornish trade. You can look over
the inventory and keep stock over it but first, everyone needs warmer clothes,” Cregan
ordered. He was not going to have a bunch of frozen Dornishmen on the first true diplomatic
envoy North ever.
Cregan assisted as much as he could in the unloading of the ship, but he had never really
worked the docks, so he was careful to take direction from Medrick and Torrhen as they got
everything unloaded and put in wares, luggage being sent to New Castle, and
accommodations for the Dornish crewmen and handmaidens sorted out.
Aemond was tiredly sitting with Sansa, quietly assessing the Blacks, who sat at the war table,
Rhaenyra had been brought to this meeting, and she looked very ill at this time. He’d spent
the better part of two hours conveying everything he had learnt and found to the Blacks and
now just sat there. However, he didn’t know how to explain the final piece of this meeting
and just stared at it, uncertain what to say, given the sigil told them everything.
Aemond felt Sansa’s finger’s tangle with his own beneath the table, as he looked balefully at
his uncle. Helaena, Vaemond, Daeron, Hazel, and Vaegon sat around himself and Sansa.
Vaegon on Aemond’s left, Sansa on Aemond’s right, Vaemond beside Vaegon and Daeron,
Hel and Hazel sat beside Sansa. Aemond looked over the Blacks, warily, Sansa’s fingers
squeezed his softly, and he curled his with hers then. Rhaenyra sat there holding her daughter
Visenya, looking ill, but alive, weak and feverish too, on her right was Daemon who was
holding Baelon, her left was Lord Corlys. Beside Daemon was Baela, Rhaena, Aegon the
Younger, and Viserys the Younger. Rhaenys sat beside Corlys, and beside her was Luke and
Joffrey. Then there was Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor between Joffrey and Hazel, who was
holding Daenaera. In Aemond’s opinion, there were too many people here, but he didn’t
speak to it, the Northern brothers were taking care of Reince, and other survivors of
Spicetown, and Driftmark.
The past week alone had been harrowing, and horrid, Aemond would never get over the scent
of burnt flesh, and he didn’t think he’d ever forget the screams of pain when healers were
attempting to clean the exposed remains of flesh. He would not get over the horror, or fear in
the eyes of children clinging to dogs, cats, or even chickens, unwilling to release the animal
that was their last connection to their families lost in the fires. He could never forget the
agony and fear of wives, mothers, fathers, husbands, all seeking their families out, and some
never finding them. The weeping cries of agony were haunting, and worse, they made his
ears ring. Aemond wanted to fly to the Reach and burn it all, but refrained.
The shield Reince had recovered from the Warrior’s Son, long since deceased, was in the
center of the war table. He had spent the past week, when he and Vhagar were not keeping
Cannibal at bay, reading about Maegor’s war with the Faith and everything he could find
about the Warrior’s Sons, the Poor Fellows and writing everything Sansa remembered about
the Sparrows down. He was careful about gathering information, because he had honestly
never truly delved into Maegor’s war, or the Faith’s Crusade. He had never had a need to.
Aemond performed his duties as his mother’s son, and nothing more, he had never delved
into the Faith of the Seven and did not know their history as well as he should. Admittedly he
had smuggled much of his work into those lessons so he could stay ahead of the work, it was
also easy to make the septons believe he was devotedly writing their teachings down because
they were of the opinion he was a half-wit who needed aid of writing to remember things. So
long as Aemond had a deeper understanding of the Faith’s teachings, beliefs, and Gods, then
he was safe, their history was not something he had cared about.
He regretted that now.
Maegor’s writings were… unappealing. Aemond was struggling to not throw the journals
into the fires and let them all burn.
Now he sat here, staring at the shield.
“What is this?” Rhaenyra rasped.
“It’s a Warrior’s Son’s shield,” Aemond stated.
“I know, but where?” she asked weakly.
“Spicetown, it was retrieved by Reince Dustin,” he stated as he looked at the shield. “Along
with a Warrior Son’s head, or a Poor Fellow, we are not sure yet.”
“They’re back,” Corlys whispered in horror.
“No, a fanatic is attempting to emulate the old enemy,” Aemond said firmly. “The depth of
corruption is unknown, if this was a lone agent, or if there were others, or are others, it is
unknown. What is known is that the assailant is dead. If there are others, more, or other
intended attacks is unknown, until we know more, there is nothing more to be done.
“The Citadel’s intentions, both the embezzling and the arrangement of suitable matches is
now known, and it is to be treated with care. There are more involved than not, and it will
take careful investigating to uncover more information, I would suggest looking at how to
make contacts in the Reach. The Beesbury family is a loyal supporter of the Black’s claims,
perhaps Lord Beesbury will be of aid,” Aemond said.
“What?” Corlys rasped.
“Lord Beesbury, the Master of Coin, he has the ability to navigate the political situation of
the Reach,” Aemond explained.
“You speak as if you are no longer involved,” Rhaenys said.
“I am going North,” Aemond said.
“You can’t,” Rhaena sputtered.
Aemond raised his brow then. “I am not an heir, not in line for the Throne, and have to
establish a new House in the North before the start of Winter, which the North believes is
coming sooner rather than later. Further, my wife would like to return home after a harrowing
assault on her personage, and I would prefer her to be safe while she heals. Further, in
preparation of House Velaryon joining my lands, I will go North to prepare hospitals, and
accommodations necessary for my surviving vassels, so they might heal.”
“You’re not leaving,” Daemon snarled.
Aemond frowned. “If you attempt to detain me and mine, I will burn this godforsaken keep
down.”
“Prince Jaehaerys will be in danger, he is safest here,” Corlys informed him suddenly.
“My nephew is accompanying his mother and I to the North, Princess Helaena is to be my
first guest at Lenton as she is aiding in overseeing the construction, Prince Jaehaerys,
Princess Jaehaera, and Prince Maelor will be safe in the North, and further, I will be filing a
formal petition of abdication for my nephew, in light of recent events, the Crown is Princess
Rhaenyra’s, that is all,” he said.
“That is Not All,” Daemon ground out. “You and your siblings will be remaining here, at
Dragonstone in the protection of House Targaryen, Jace will be recalled from his squiring in
the North, and brought here, and you will remain here until our enemies are all dead. I will
also be recalling Prince Daeron from his squiring with Lord Lannister, and he will be here as
well.”
“You. Will. Not.” Aemond snarled between clenched teeth. “If you attempt to interfere with
my brother’s education and attempt to utilize him as a hostage I will utilize Vhagar, who will
outclass Meleys and Caraxes in a fight, and burn this place to the ground. Vhagar can also eat
Syrax, Arrax and Moondancer if you persist on attempting to detaining me and mine. Further,
if you threaten my brother, again, I’ll gut you here and now.”
“It is not a threat!” Daemon snarled.
“It is,” he countered. “Me and mine will be leaving, and Daeron is to remain where he is
squiring for Lord Jason Lannister, breaking of that order will incur my wrath and I don’t
mind burning this place to the ground.”
“Do you honestly think you’ll be safe in the North?” Daemon sneered. “Lord Stark is
benevolent only so much, and his loyalty only goes so far.”
“He’s my brother,” Aemond stated. “We will be welcomed, and safe. The North is
notoriously isolationist, with wariness to outsiders, further, they aren’t practioners of the
Faith, which is primarily located in… Lord Manderly?” he raised his brow to Sansa.
“Lord Manderly,” Sansa confirmed softly.
“And those lands are under Cregan’s control,” Aemond stated. “If there is going to be a safe
region in Westeros where the Faith Militant are not able to have influence or standing, then I
want to be there. I want my wife, my sister, my nephews, and niece there, and they are not to
be your hostages.”
“They aren’t our hostages Aemond!” Daemon snarled furiously as he rose. “Like it or not,
you are the son of my brother, Viserys, and despite whatever grievances we have had in the
past, they have no standing now. You are a part of this House, this Family, MY family,” he
stated.
“We have never been family,” Aemond growled.
“Enough!” Daemon roared. “You are a part of House Targaryen and a part of my family, and
whatever grievances were held do not matter. You will now act it!”
“Act it!?” Aemond sputtered as he rose up and sneered. “Act it!? I have not been a part of
this family since my conception, because Princess Rhaenyra has held a grudge against my
mother for being manipulated into a marriage she never wanted to be in! Because you are too
temperamental to even see the blatant manipulations and arrangements, and insults from the
actual Great Houses of Westeros to realize that the match between my mother and father was
odd to begin with because We Are Not A Great House! These Houses are outmaneuvering,
outthinking, and longer standing than us! This is a culture, a people, and a nation we have not
bothered to learn about or assimilate or adapt to, we sit here and act like Dragon Lords of Old
Valyria and these Houses manipulate, manuver, and plot out our intend us to tear each other
apart from the inside without us even noticing because despite how we view ourselves, a
Great House of Dragon Lords, We Are Not A Great House!
“I have never been a part of this House, this family, I have never been wanted, welcomed, or
even included in your precious family or House. Nor has Hel, Daeron, Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, or
Maelor. None of you attended Hel’s wedding, and you only attended mine to irritate my
mother, and believe me, I know you and my mother were at war, because it’s all I heard about
when I wasn’t working, planning that fucking wedding, or attending to my family. You have
been a thorn in my arse!
“You have been a looming threat, and problem on my life and my family since before I was
able to walk, and once you actually attempted to kill me! To kill me for wanting a dragon!
Something all of Rhaenyra’s brats and yours had, something that is a part of our heritage.
Something that was my birthright moreso than your bloody daughters or the brats Rhaenyra
had, I was born to the King, not as his heir, but his son! Your brats all have received eggs in
the cradle, and they shouldn’t, it should not have even been an option, not before the King’s
own children, but that did not matter to you, no. So, when I got desperate, and desired to
bond with a bloody dragon, after years of false promises of even getting an egg or dragon,
and when I did bond with a dragon, instead of anyone respecting the bond, I get accused of
stealing Vhagar! Baela had a dragon, Rhaena had an egg, Lucerys, Jacaerys, Joffrey all had
dragons! Even Aegon, Helaena, and Daeron had bloody dragons!
“You have all made it clear that I am not Targaryen enough to be a part of your family,
despite riding the largest war dragon in the world! And all I ever wanted was to be a part of
this miserable family and House, but instead you have all enforced that I am not Targaryen
enough for you. So do not attempt to remedy your false claims that I am a Targaryen, I am no
longer a Targaryen, I am a Drekaúlfur, you and yours can fuck off. My wife, my sister, my
nephews, and my niece are going North, you can have your Throne, your Crown, and the
Realm. Come for me and mine, and I’ll burn you all to ash, and let Vhagar enjoy her war,
she’s been aching to be unleashed on an opponent.
“You have gained your greatest desire, Nuncle, sister, I am not a Targaryen,” Aemond snarled
as he glared at Daemon who seemed stunned. “Now, let me be clear, I am going North, I am
taking my wife, sister, nephews, and niece with me, and if anyone threatens my brother, I’ll
return to unleash Vhagar’s wrath upon you and anyone who threatens mine.”
Aemond glared at them. “We have told you everything we have learnt, and you wish to rule
the Realm. Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor are abdicating, I have no claim, and neither does
Daeron, your Throne is secure, Rhaenyra. That is all there was to discuss, by the end of the
day me and mine will be leaving. Vaemond, we’ll discuss the arrangements for travel for
your people, and securing their passage, if needed, I will return with more supplies from the
North, if the North can provide.”
“The North can provide,” Sansa assured softly.
“I will also be going North, there is no love loss between myself and King’s Landing, and the
company here is stale,” Vaegon said.
Aemond stared dumbly at Vaegon, uncertain of what to say then.
“It would be a pleasure to have you accompany us North,” Sansa smiled softly.
“We shall see,” Vaegon said grimly. Aemond just looked at Sansa, she smiled and he shook
his head.
“Then we shall begin discussing the move North,” Vaemond said as he rose. “I believe that
concludes what we have to discuss,” Vaemond assured.
Aemond left swiftly, taking Sansa with him. Aemond looped his arm around her waist, and
let her lean on him, she was still sore and slower to move. He felt her head against his
shoulder.
“Are you well?” he asked softly.
“Fine,” she murmured as she looked at him. “I stopped bleeding,” she murmured.
He glanced at her, she was still very pale, but the bruises were purple-green colors, making
her look very ill and fragile. But she was still strong.
“Are you…” he stammered.
“I’ll be fine, Aemond,” Sansa promised. “There’s more pressing matters,” she reminded him.
Aemond didn’t argue with her about this matter, because he disagreed, he preferred his wife
alive and healhy, and he didn’t like knowing she considered her health of minor importance.
“When we are at Winterfell, you’re going to speak to a healer, and rest, and heal,” he
murmured firmly.
“I’m fine, Aemond,” she assured.
He paused, forcing her to face him then. “Sansa, between the Hightowers and the Spicetown
fires, you’ve been ceaselessly working to aid the Velaryons, and you were beaten. You’re in
need of rest and a healer,” he said firmly.
She sighed as she looked down and bit her lip, trembling a little as she wrung her hands. “I…
I will try,” she mumbled.
“Thank you,” he breathed as he kissed her brow as they started walking together. She leaned
on him, and he held her closer.
“By the way, I’m happy to be a Drekaúlfur, with you,” she smiled and he glanced at her
again.
“I… I didn’t, you’re still a Stark… if you want…” he stammered out.
“Aemond,” she paused. “You’re still a Targaryen, I’m still a Stark. We are Drekaúlfur
though,” she explained.
“Did she throw a dagger at him?” Malentine sputtered as Cregan aided in unloading the
Dornish goods, he was surprised at the ease in which the Lord took orders, and directions…
Malentine could not remember any Lords ever taking his direction.
“Yes, the Dornish and Northerners seem to be intent on seeing who will flinch first,”
Daemion said as they worked.
“He’s a Great Lord…” Malentine sputtered.
“Yes…” Daemion raised his brow in confusion. “She’s a Princess, Mal.”
“What if she kills him?” Malentine sputtered.
“She keeps fucking missing,” Cregan said, and Malentine jumped as he turned and looked at
the young Lord then. “My wife actually shot me with an arrow, Princess Aliandra is just
amusing. We’ll see who flinches first.
“She’s going to kill you, Cregan!” someone shouted.
“She keeps missing!” Cregan shouted back. “We’ll go up to New Castle,” he decided.
Malentine looked at the young Lord and Daemion who shrugged. Malentine shook his head
as they watched Cregan walk off. He truly did not know what to think of the Starks, he hadn’t
even met the rest of the Clan, but given how much the North loved and respected their
paramount lord, it was startling. He hadn’t expected Cregan to be so… hands on and not
Lordly… he didn’t know how to describe how Cregan was.
Malentine had dealt with many lords, of various status, but while Cregan was commanding
while also being… humble. Malentine looked warily over the young Lord who walked off
with ease.
“You’d think he would be more unsettled about having daggers thrown at his head,”
Malentine said.
“I don’t think Northerners comprehend that that act is dangerous,” Daemion said. “And
Dornish finds it amusing. Warrior cultures clashing in a violently… friendly matter, it’s odd.”
“This started at the wedding?” Malentine inquired in disbelief.
“Yes, apparently Lord Stark and Princess Aliandra insulted the other and it became a
challenge of wills rather than a diplomatic incident, which it could have been a diplomatic
incident.”
“Good humor is good… Northerners seem to enjoy humor…” Malentine muttered in

disbelief. They were gruff, surly people, fast to smile and laugh, and brutal, but he would
expect them to have offense with their Lord being in danger, and having daggers thrown at
his head. They worshipped the Starks with a reverence that was akin to the love of gods.
People acted like the Starks were everything to the North, and the idea that the Starks could
in good humor, endanger themselves, and not offend the North with that casualness. And
surprisingly, it hadn’t started a war between the North and the Dornish.
“I understand that they are a paradoxical, strange bunch,” Daemion started.
“Cousin, it’s the startling casualness in which Lord Stark endangers himself, I would think
that casualness would offend the Northerners,” Malentine said firmly.
“Ah, that, yes, it is odd,” Daemion agreed with a confound expression. “Starks endanger
themselves a lot, and Northerners don’t bat an eye…”
“It is odd, and concerning,” Malentine admitted.
Aemond was packing what few possessions he had, and Sansa was sleeping soundly now.
Aemond had put Sansa on the bed, and before she could protest, she was sound asleep. He
wanted her North swiftly, he wanted her safe and secure. Helaena was packing for the move
North, and Aemond was also arranging to travel with the Dustin brothers with himself and
Helaena. Vaemond would be coordinating the transport of survivors, Sansa was certain the
North would have more supplies to aide them.
He looked up when there was a knock on the door, glancing at the bed Sansa was sleeping on,
he frowned before he left the room to walk into the solar. Shutting the doors behind himself
he stalked out and opened the doors to the suite and glared at Rhaena then who stepped back,
looking nervous, wringing her hands. Her pink dragon Morning was on the ground beside
her.
“What?” he snarled.
She bit her lip as she stared at him. Aemond was about to slam the door in her face when she
finally spoke. “I’m sorry,” she whispered and he glared at her, his lip curling back. “I… I
understand, better than they do, being dragonless, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry, because I always
had Morning, and you… I’m sorry. Vhagar clearly loves you, more than anyone, even
mother, and I’m sorry, I’m sorry for the night at Driftmark, we were awful, and I’m sorry we
hurt you.”
He just stared at her, not willing to speak anything to her.

“And… congratulations on your union, I do hope you and Lady Sansa are happy and build a
happy House,” she stammered out as she bit her lip. He said nothing, stepping back into the
rooms, and shutting the door in her face. He had nothing to say to her. walking back to the
room Sansa was sleeping in, he paused, staring at her for a moment, before he started packing
up some more of his remaining things, Maegor’s journals, his other notes, and shoving them
in the packs. Sansa moaned a little as she rolled over to get comfortable, and he held his
breath; she needed sleep, he willed her not to wake up. When she did not rouse, he returned
to packing.
Satisfied he had everything, he walked out of the room, making sure Sansa was still asleep
before he left the suite to find the Velaryons, Helaena and the Northerners. It was easy to find
them, they were in the Velaryon solars.
“Prince Aemond,” Vaemond greeted with a smile. “We were just discussing the move to the
North.”
He nodded as he walked into the solars, he caught Maelor who trotted up to him, Helaena
smiled as she held Jaehaera on her lap.
“Is Nuncle Daemon bad?” Jaehaera asked him.
“No,” Aemond answered. “I will fly with Helaena, we’ll bring the Northerners with us,”
Aemond said.
“Could you also take Hazel and Daenaera with you?” Daeron finally spoke startling Aemond
then. He looked at Hazel and Daenaera then, and then at Vaemond. “I… I want my wife safe,
and given the current state of our House, I would just like to ensure they were out of Corlys’
reach.”
“I can arrange for her to come with us, as Helaean’s lady in waiting?” he offered warily. “Or
Sansa’s new Lady,” he offered.
“Yes,” Daeron nodded as he pulled Hazel closer.
Aemond nodded as he looked at Vaemond then. “The ships?”
“Still ours, we’ll transport people to the North over the next lunar cycle, perhaps purchase
ships from Braavos at this time. Some of the ships are damaged, but not irreparable, the
purchase stands as the contracts Corlys signed were in my custody here, the copies were sent
to Driftmark though. I will move the ships that are in best condition to the North, and send
words to the contracts and merchants of this tragedy and our delays, and then I will send the
repaired ships North. I will go North last,” Vaemond explained. “Daeron will act as head of
the Velaryon family in my stead, he will be with the first survivors North.”
“Very well,” Aemond nodded. He understood the need to move swiftly, Sansa had warned
them that Autumns were unpredictable in the North, and f they wanted to be in the North then
they had to move swiftly. Vaemond motioned for him and Daeron to walk with him, Aemond
set Maelor down, following Vaemond to a quieter part of the solar a little ways off from the
other occupants.
“I have not heard back about Lord Beesbury, but I have received a report that Honeyholt was
burned to the ground, and many tenants were missing, as were the Beesbury family,”
Vaemond said softly.
Aemond blinked a few times as he looked warily at Vaemond. “Do they know who burned
Honeyholt down, or where the Beesbury family is?”
“No, there has been no confirmation as to who burnt Honeyholt down, the Hightowers have
made no claim to it, and they have not mentioned the passing of Lord Hobart or Lord
Ormund, or even if another Hightower has passed; my sources say that Oldtown is locked
down though, the port is closed, as is the city, and the banners were summoned to Oldtown.
Which brings me to the next bit of information, no one knows where the Beesbury family is,
or many of their tenants.”
“Find them,” he murmured desperately. “Lord Beesbury has been a great aid to me, and I
would like to confirm his health and life, and if not him, then we should locate his and
confirm they are safe, I owe Lord Beesbury much.”
“Understood,” Vaemond nodded.
“If Lord Hightower is dead, and his heir, then why haven’t the Hightowers announced it?”
Daeron asked softly.
Aemond blinked, uncertain what to say to that.
“It is suspect, but there could also be a crisis we are unaware of,” Vaemond said. “Something
of this magnitude, two Lords dying, under suspicious circumstances, and with Prince
Aemond fleeing with Princess Sansa on Vhagar’s back, with Prince Vaegon…”
“Has there been any word from them about why I left?” Aemond asked warily. He had a bad
feeling in his gut something was off. He would’ve expected stories about him being a
kinslayer, heretic, or something to that effect to be released. He doubted anyone knew Vaegon
was alive, and those who had seen Vaegon and knew him were dead, at least from Aemond’s
understanding. So why was Oldtown silent about the affair? What was the narrative they
would be spinning?
“No,” Vaemond admitted.
“We should say something, or spread word about why you did leave, now, whule we have the
advantage,” Daeron said.
Aemond didn’t disagree, but he couldn’t agree. He didn’t want to move until he knew what
the Hightowers were going to do.
“Focus on moving North,” Aemond ordered softly. “I’m leaving this evening,” he informed
them.
Vaemond nodded and Aemond walked around to Helaena leaning over he kissed her crown
and she smiled up at him. “I’m leaving this evening, I’m going to speak to the Dustin
brothers about this.”
“Shrykos and Morghul won’t be able to make that journey,” she murmured.
“They’re riding with me, I’ll take Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor, Vhagar is larger, and
stronger, and the new saddle will be more secure for the journey,” Aemond said.
“Then you’ll take Daenaera as well,” Helaena decided. “I’ll take Hazel, and Rody, Reince,
and Rogun on Dreamfyre.”
“I’ll take the rest of them with me on Vhagar,” he murmured.
She nodded and he rose up, walking out of the rooms. He would go make certain that they
could leave.
Daeron looked at his father then and scowled. “The Hightowers not saying what has
happened, summoning their banners, nothing good is going to come of this. we should get
ahead of them now.”
“Villainizing them is dangerous, but we shall spread word now, we leave out information
about the Faith Militants, let us not antagonize the Faith, I would like to be able to speak to
the bards we corrdinated with about Aemond’s union to Sansa, and Cregan and Arra’s
tragedy, I want us to have the people’s hearts even if the Hightowers smear Aemond and
Sansa,” he said softly.
“I think that would be wise,” Daeron admitted. “Aemond abdicating his nephews and niece
will put him in a precarious position though.”
“For now, we do nothing, let him establish his life and lordship in the North, we will leave
our intentions aside,” Vaemond decided. “For the good of the Realm, we will let him grow
into his own, let us see how he fairs a Winter in the North, and aids us in establishing in the
North. Lady Sansa and Prince Aemond have endeared themselves to us with their aid in the
face of this tragedy, let them continue to do so, the Realm will soon have Rhaenyra revealing
her nature,” he said softly. “Let Prince Vaegon teach Prince Aemond, the Realm will suffer,
but we will have our desired heir educated and building his reputation.”
Daeron nodded and they continued packing for their journey.

Chapter 46
Jon was sitting in the solar watching Barba as she played with Ghost, who was gently
nudging the child around. Barba wasn’t so bad; for a Bolton, she was just a babe, none of her
overt Bolton traits were showing, and she just seemed to be a happy babe. He didn’t know
what to think about that. Honestly, he was expecting her Bolton traits to be manifesting now,
and he half expected her to kill everything near her, but instead she was just a babe. He
wondered if Little Robb would’ve been like this; happy.
For the better part of a fortnight, Jon had been walking around, showing the Winter’s Council
his ward, and the other Bolton vassals, they could see their Lady was in good health, and well
cared for. She was looking better in his care than she ever had in Lord Bolton’s care
according to a couple of reluctant vassals. Jon was inclined to agree because she’d been a
greasy baby before she was in Winterfell. Jon had assured the Bolton vassals, who grumbled,
snapped, and snarled, and swore fealty to him and his line to protect Lady Bolton that he was
going to take care of them and Lady Bolton. He was unsurprised at the hatred that rolled off
the Bolton vassals but he didn’t do anything to dissuade it, he would just have to show them,
in time, like with the Free Folk, that he wasn’t some horrid Stark coming to eradicate them.
The darker side of Stark history reared its head when looking at the people who had
vehnamently fought to remain outside of Stark control, Stark lands, Stark power, it was
obvious they were terrified of House Stark. Not that Jon could blame them, House Stark had
now mercilessly wiped out two Houses in the North; the Greystarks, who served as a warning
to most the North that the Starks would not tolerate usurpers, and now the Boltons. Yes,
Prince Aemond had done the eradication, and many reluctantly respected Prince Aemond for
that because he’d warned House Bolton of the consequences of their actions, and Prince
Aemond upheld that warning fairly. Cregan might’ve ordered it, or plotted it out, but Prince
Aemond executing it as a new Lord of the North had cemented it as Cregan’s doing.
Cregan sparing Lady Barba Bolton though had been an act of mercy and kindness, and
preservation. And Jon becoming Lord of Lonely Hills as Barba’s regent had secured his
starting rule. Jon was wary about all of that.
“You are being suspiciously quiet,” he jerked around to look at Mira. She was standing there,
her wild red hair was pulled back, she was wearing a nice dress; green, it complimented her
eyes.
“I’m not,” he huffed as he turned back to watch Barba and Ghost.
“You’re sitting here being all mysterious and brooding,” she chuckled.
“What are you doing?” he sighed.
“Getting to know my betrothed,” she mused. “Such a brooding, serious man, thusfar.”
Jon scowled as he glared at her. She chuckled as she came to sit in the chair beside him.
“What is on your mind, Jon Norstark?” she mused.
“Why would you want to know?” he demanded suspiciously.
She snorted and smiled as she sat back. “Well, you’re scowling, looking all sad and
heartbroken, perhaps I want to relieve you of your troubles.”
“You can’t.”
“No, I can’t, but I can offer support, that’s what a woman does for her man,” she informed
him seriously. “Bryan told me you lost your wife and son, I’m sorry, truly. It’s a terrible
agony to experience.”
Jon looked down at his hands then, he looked up to watch Barba then. “His name was Robb.”
“That’s a good name.” she looked at him then. “For your brother?”
He tensed as he glanced at Mira then. She was sitting there watching Barba and glanced at
him.
“I know Sansa’s truth, and yours,” she informed him.
“If you know that, why would you want to participate in that forgery?” he asked warily.
“It’s not really forgery, is it? You and Sansa are Starks, as Stark as Starks can be, both in
looks and attitudes, so there’s no doubt you’re Starks,” Mira shrugged. “I only know the truth
because Bryan informed me when I inquired about Sansa’s oddities. We Stanes can feel the
old magic, Sansa’s steeped in it, you are steeped in different magic.”
“You… feel magic?” he blinked twice as he looked fully at her.
“Aye, wargs, skinchangers, Children of the Forest, Others, it all has a feeling,” she shrugged.
“You, Jon Stark, like Cregan and Sansa are a skinchanger, a warg, you even have a touch of
something… fiery in your blood,” she explained. “Like Prince Aemond’s blood, almost, but
not… awake. You also have a touch of death on you. But regardless, you and Sansa both feel
like you were entangled in the weirwood’s roots and something else… something I don’t
know.”
“You know…” he blinked a few times.
“That you’re a warg? Aye, so is Sansa, Sara, Cregan, even little Rickon,” she shrugged.
“You’re connected to Ghost, as Cregan is to Ice, Sansa to Frostfyre, Sara to White Fang, and
Rickon is to Timber. Cregan and Sansa’s bonds are… blooming, their blood awakening,
slowly, Rickon’s blood and bond is fully awake, and Sara’s grows as well.”
“How?” he stuttered in disbelief.

“We know our own kind, Jon Stark,” she shrugged. “So, do you wish to speak to me about
why you’re brooding?” she inquired.
“I’m not brooding!” he groaned as he slumped back in his seat. “Knowing the truth, why
would you want to marry me?” he demanded.
“You’re pretty, intelligent, and a Stark, what is not to want?” she mused. “Jon a union
between us will be good, I also do not desire to go to Skagos, I have had a persistent suitor,
and I’d rather not have to cut his balls off and tie them around his throat. He’s good, but
misguided to think he could steal me.”
“Steal you?”
“Aye,” she smiled. “So, I’ll steal myself a husband and escape his persistence.”
“You’ll steal me instead?” he ventured.
“Aye, you’re pretty enough,” she mused.
He snorted.
“Ah! So you do have humor,” she giggled.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Jon admitted.
“Oh, probably not,” she mused. “But it’ll be fun!”
“I… I’ve been married thrice before, do you want to be the fourth wife of a man doomed in
every marriage I’ve entered?”
“Fourth time is a charm,” she mused. “Do… do you wish to tell me the truth about your
wives?” she asked.
“I… you’re vexing,” he muttered. “The first two were wildlings, I didn’t understand until
after they were both dead, but apparently stealing their women is as good as marrying them, I
stole two women, so two wives. The first died because of my hand after I betrayed her, the
second died in battle.”
“You betrayed her how?”
“I was a Night’s Watchman,” he murmured. “I acted as a spy, and in the end I remained with
the Night’s Watch, much to her fury, she tried to kill me. She was killed by my squire.”
“Mmm, that’s tragic,” she murmured.
“The second died in the siege of the Wall.”
“And the third?”

“I killed her, I got her pregnant, she never wanted children, we never wanted to marry, she
was my sister, we were forced to wed, forced to bed, and I killed her, I got her pregnant.”
“So, are you certain you want to be wed to a doomed man?” he inquired.
“You’re in luck, Jon Stark, I’m a very sturdy woman,” she mused. “I like you, I like your
face, I find you a bit grim, but what’s to be expected of a Stark, you lot are a grim, stubborn
lot, but you lot are idealistic, honorable, and selfless, I don’t mind. I find you as a person,
tolerable, and thoughtful, you’ve been patient with Barba, though you clearly dislike Boltons,
you are not cruel, nor are you so idealistic you’re blind to the realities of the North, I like
how you’ve treated the Winter Council, even the Bolton vassals who dislike you’re patient. I
see you’re a kind man, Jon Stark, and a kind man is a rare thing. Starks produce very kind
people, particularly your men, I know you won’t hit me, hurt me, or force me, so yes, I am
certain I’m comfortable marrying a man thrice married; I’m very sturdy,” she assured.
He sighed.
“Do you not like me, Jon Stark?” she mused.
“I… you’re kissed by fire, you’re clever, vexing, strong willed, stubborn, and have proven to
be a skilled tactician because I still can’t figure out how you trapped me into a betrothal; and
you’re highly independent. I do… like you,” he muttered. “As a Lady, you run a House
impeccably, and you’re good with Barba, and… Stanes have a neutral history with Boltons
and Starks,” he finished.
She smiled. “Then you accept the match?”
“I… I do,” he said warily.
“I knew you would catch up to me,” she informed him.
“You’re still vexing.”
“I try,” she promised.
Rhaenyra was sitting beside the hearth, she winced at the pain in her body, as she held
Visenya. Baelon was sleeping in the cradle beside her, and she just watched the flames. She
wanted to cry, scream, fight, but she felt too weak to move, holding Visenya took so much of
her efforts, she didn’t know why. She hated feeling this weak! She hated that her family was
torn asunder, Aemond was not being reasonable. But she could not fight the boy on the
matter. He had brought up that the tear in their family was truly, at the heart of the matter, a
fight between herself and Alicent.
For a long time, Rhaenyra had bemoaned her powerlessness of her matches, envious of the
men who could fuck whoever they want, have as many children as they wanted, and never
suffer consequences of their act. But women, women were ruined by the same action men
were applauded for. She had bemoaned her marriage tours, her father’s attempts to marry her
off to insufferable men who wanted her for her dragon and her cunt, nothing more. And she
bemoaned how helpless she felt about her options in life. She had hated feeling so powerless,
so she had fought and screamed and struggled every step to the altars, because she knew that
being married was as good as renouncing her claim to her Throne in the eyes of Westeros.
She had hated being a woman, being forced to married, forced to be nothing more than a
broodmare for some arrogant arse.
Never had Rhaenyra thought of Alicent being in the same position. Her friend had always
seemed to have choices, more freedom than Rhaenyra had ever felt she had. Alicent who was
favored by Jaehaerys, and the Court, Alicent who was smarter, prettier, and more enjoyable,
she was who most women wanted. And when Alicent had married Viserys, Rhaenyra had
wanted to feed her friend to Syrax. The anger she felt about her friend’s betrayal, and then
worse, how Rhaenyra was pushed aside for Aegon, it infuriated Rhaenyra.
Now though, now she was terribly sorrowful, she’d lost her friend, a friend she’d adored like
a sister, she’d hurt her friend’s sons and daughter because they were a threat to Rhaenyra’s
desires. She had hated them because Alicent should’ve said no to marrying Viserys. But as
Aemond pointed out, Alicent should have had the power to say no, she did not, so Alicent
had made do. Something Rhaenyra had never been able to do.
Looking up, she smiled slightly as Rhaena walked up to her, Aegon and Viserys holding her
hands.
“We… we thought you’d like the company,” Rhaena said softly.
“Of course,” Rhaenyra nodded. Rhaena released Aegon and Viserys’ hands, the boys went to
play, Rhaena though sat in Daemon’s chair carefully. The younger woman looked over at
Visenya, smiling softly.
“She’s very pretty,” Rhaena whispered as she sat back then.
“Yes, she is,” Rhaenyra agreed softly with a smile. “And Baelon is very handsome.”
“He looks like Father,” Rhaena admitted. Then she bit her lip as she wrung her hands,
Morning flew to sit on Rhaena’s chair.
“Is something the matter?” Rhaenyra asked as she shifted a bit. Rhaena reached over, taking
Visenya before Rhaenyra could drop her daughter.
“I… Aemond…” Rhaena started. “I… that night, when he claimed Vhagar…” she looked
down at Visenya. “We were always mean to him, and cruel,” she whispered as she bit her lip.
“Do not fret about it,” Rhaenyra started.
“This is all our fault!” she cried out. “All of it! We were so mean!”
“You were children!” Rhaenyra stated.

“That does not excuse what we did! Aegon was cruel, but we… we helped, we were cruel,
and mean, Aegon hated Aemond! And so long as Aegon was not cruel to us, we did whatever
it was to have him be cruel to Aemond so Aegon left us be, and we were so mean. And you
kept promising him a dragon! I heard you, you kept promising him an egg from Syrax’s
clutchs, but… you gave me… Morning, and… why? Why would you do that?”
“I…” Rhaenyra started.
“It hurts… not having a dragon, it hurts, here,” Rhaena whispered as she held a hand over her
heart. “It’s like this aching limb is missing, it’s like there’s something missing, and you want
more than anything to have that connection, and it hurts… I felt… I felt Morning in the
egg… I wanted Morning, so much, I didn’t want Vhagar, I wanted my mother… why,
knowing how much it hurts not having a dragon, why would you promise him a dragon with
no intention of giving him one?” Rhaena asked.
“I… I was angry, and harsh,” Rhaenyra whispered shamefully.
“He’ll hate us, he’ll always hate him, because we hated him,” Rhaena whispered. “Baela
doesn’t see him as family, nor does Luke, and I… I wanted to hate him, I’ve always wanted
to,” she whispered honestly.
“We will make amends to them,” Rhaenyra assured softly and smiled at Rhaena. “It’s not
going to be simple, but we will make amends, we are of the same blood, they are of our
blood, it just… it took us longer to remember that,” she confessed.
“Why would you promise him a dragon?” Rhaena whispered.
Rhaenyra grimaced. She never had a good answer. Every clutch Syrax had, she dispersed the
eggs through her children carefully. Syrax’s first clutch had been for Jace, the second
dispersed between Luke, Baella, Rhaena and later Joffrey. The third had been for Aegon,
Viserys, Visenya, and Baelon. She had wanted Alicent to know her children weren’t
replacing Rhaenyra as heir.
She just had never anticipated how it affected her family even now. She looked at the eggs
Daemon had collected for Visenya and Baelon, as a father’s right in Valyrian families. Why
had Viserys never done this? She wondered. Her father had been the most fanatical about
Valyrian history and culture being preserved, but he had not honored Valyrian tradition, why?
Cregan was lounging in Merman’s Court, his head propped up on his fist, as he watched the
hearth, he raised his brow when Desmond walked over to him, holding out a horn of ale.
Cregan accepted it and looked back at the flames.
“I accept the stain on my House, my Lord, in service of the North,” Desmond said.
Cregan nodded as he sipped the ale and looked at the flames again.
“Good.”
“Princess Aliandra of House Martell, Princess Coryanne of House Martell,” someone

announced. Cregan grimaced; it was so Southron to announce people for coming to a Hall.
Standing though he turned to look at the Princesses. Both looked warmer, they were a bit
more flush now, which was good. The past few days the Dornishmen had all been under
watch of healers, and being kept isolated so they could warm up without stresses of the
diplomatic aspects of this envoy; Cregan wanted the Dornish Princesses to be warm and
healthy before they conducted any further discussions. So he was pleased, seeing them now,
standing there, looking warmer.
“Princesses,” he said as he looked them both over. “You’re looking warmer,” he said as he
looked at them. They were clad in warmer furs, white furs.
“Yes, it is nice to be warm, we did not anticipate such a chilly autumn in the North,” Aliandra
admitted as they smiled at him.
“Well, Autumns are unpredictable in the North,” Cregan admitted.
“We haven’t thanked you for the furs, the seamstresses have begun working on our
garments,” Aliandra said.
“We’ll have you properly dressed in no time,” Desmond said then.
“Thank you, Lord Manderly,” Aliandra said with a smile as she looked at him. “For hosting
us, we did not anticipate such an unpredictable time.”
“Few do,” Desmond chuckled. “It is a pleasure to host House Martell, it’s been a long time
since our House has hosted a Southron family, or Dornish,” he chuckled.
“I did not think the North hosted many from the South,” Coryanne blurted out.
“We don’t, House Manderly and their families are from the Reach, a thousand years or so
ago,” Cregan said. “They were the only immigrants up North from the Andal regions before
Prince Aemond and my sister wed to create a new cadet branch of House Stark,” he said.
“We’ll soon have an influx of Valyrians in the North.”
“The North is very gracious to those they adopt,” Desmond stated with a smile. “Come, we
have a small feast, forgive us, Princesses, but we are still rationing supplies.”
“I have heard you suffer a famine, how is the North faring?” Aliandra asked as she took
Cregan’s arm.
“With Dornish trade, very well, the North has been granted enough grain from the Reach to
sustain us for a few years, if this Winter is long and harsh perhaps we will be fortunate that it
will kill this blight and spring will produce healthy crops for us,” Cregan explained.
“That is hopeful,” she agreed. “I have come to learn how Dorne can be of better service to the
North, we have found a profitable trade partner, and would appreciate the ability to have open
and fair trade. We will of course retain Ser Vaemond Velaryon’s trading company to continue
our trade, but in order to better understand what the North needs, I have come to expand my
education so I might make informed decisions on Dorne’s behalf.”
“The North would be pleased to assist in educating you,” Cregan said warily. He saw the
Princess smile then. “We’ll be returning to Winterfell soon, when you have enough garments
for safe travel, we’ll leave White Harbor.”
“DADA!” Cregan dropped Aliandra’s hand as he twisted around to see Rickon there, Timber
and Ice flanking him. The wolves let Rickon hold himself up on them, he walked to catch his
son.
“These are the dire wolves?” he heard a voice whisper behind him.
“They’re bigger than last I saw,” Aliandra said as she walked forward, Ice sniffed her fingers.
Cregan hoisted Rickon onto his hip.
“We think they’re done growing,” Cregan admitted. “Rickon, this is Princess Aliandra of
House Martell, she’s from Dorne, this is Princess Coryanne, her sister. Princess, this is my
son, Rickon,” he tugged on Rickon’s sweater a bit, and his son plopped his head on Cregan’s
shoulder while sucking his thumb.
“I’m sorry my lord, he slipped out of the nursery when I wasn’t looking!” a frazzled
nursemaid appeared.
“I’ll keep him,” Cregan waved the nursemaid off as he rubbed Rickon’s back. “Forgive my
son, he’s awake well past his bedtime.”
“He’s a very handsome young lad,” Aliandra said with a smile.
“He’s been cursed with the Stark looks, but he’ll grow into them,” Cregan chuckled as he
bounced Rickon a little.
“That’s a horrid thing to say!” Coryanne gasped.
“Why? Starks are notoriously ugly!” Domeron chuckled as he appeared.
“You’re one to talk!” Cregan snorted. “Ignore Domeron, I do,” he assured his sleepy son as
they walked for the dining hall.
“Princess, it has been some time, pleasure to see you and your sister warm,” he mused.
“Yes, I admit, I did not expect Autumns to be so cold,” Aliandra chuckled.
“Autumns, like Springs are unpredictable, the only truly predictable season in the North is
Winter,” Domeron chuckled as they walked.
“Is summer not predictable?” Coryanne asked.
“Not particularly predictable, but ever reliable, Winter though, those are predictable,” Cregan
mused.
“Ah, the young lord will join us,” Desmond said as Cregan walked in with Ice, Timber,
Rickon, Domeron, Aliandra, and Coryanne.
“He escaped his guard,” Cregan chuckled.
“Ever a young Stark,” Desmond chuckled as they all seated. Cregan leaned back, hugging
Rickon to him as he looked at the servings he had. He noticed the Velaryons there too.
Rickon grumbled as he hid in Cregan’s chest, he rubbed his son’s back.
“What fur is this? It is so soft,” Aliandra asked then.
“That is seal,” Cregan admitted.
“Seal? Like the beasts in the harbor?” Aliandra asked. “I did not know they have pelts… I
thought they had skin.
“Their pelts are very dense, good for the seas, and soft, if cured correctly, the furs are even
waterproof,” Cregan explained.
“Is the fur trade common here?” Aliandra asked.
“It is one of our bigger internal trades,” Cregan explained.
Sansa held onto Aemond tightly as Vhagar and Dreamfyre flew through the air, Shrykos and
Morghul flittered overhead of Vhagar, resting on her back frequently through the endless
journey. Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, Maelor and Daenaera had tired a few days ago, but they were
steady in their travel. They’d crossed over White Harbor, but didn’t stop, and they continued
to Winterfell. Sansa was exhausted, she wanted to just be home. They flew through the mists,
the snows, and a few light storms. Vhagar had started lowering herself though, and Sansa
tensed as Vhagar seemed to weave expertly through the mountains, barely above the tree
lines. Aemond’s hand squeezed hers and she forced herself to look over his shoulder as she
gasped.
Winterfell stood tall, imposing, and daring in the wide hills of the glen, Winterfell sat perched
in the center of the glen at the highest point looking like a mountain in and of itself.
“We’re still hours from it, but this is an impressive sight,” Aemond shouted over the winds.
She stared in wonder at the way Winterfell was bathed in the beginnings of vibrant, dying
greens, bright reds, golden yellows, and fiery oranges, even in the distance, the imposing
grey castle which seemed to be the embodiment of winter, looked like a golden jewel of the
North, she had not expected it. She could see the King’s Road which came through to
Winterfell, the only obvious road. They broke the forest line, Vhagar let out a roar, and Sansa
smiled a bit. Dreamfyre roared, swooping ahead of them, Vhagar rose, the toddlers screamed
in delight, and Aemond glanced over his shoulder. Sansa just stared at Winterfell as they got
closer.
She stared in awe as she looked down at Winterfell when they circled it. She always knew her
home was big, but seeing it from here, she was in awe, it looked so beautiful, and alive. She
could see the people coming out on the walls, the courtyards, fields, and shouting. She smiled
a bit as they came to land in the fields. She saw the horses and Stark banners, and a new
banner; very Stark but not, a white wolf with red eyes on black. Aemond aided her in getting
off Vhagar, then he helped Hazel, and Sansa aided in bringing down the children. The
Dustins had jumped off, helping Reince, who was heavily bandaged still. Sansa held Maelor
on her hip as Aemond came down. Helaena came around to them, pulling off her riding
gloves, Shrykos and Morghul took to the air, and seemed to be playing.
“What’s that smell!?” Jaehaera asked, wrinkling her nose.
“Fresh air,” Aemond answered as he came down. The thundering hooves of the horses could
be heard, and Sansa handed Maelor to Helaena as she walked past their party. She spotted
Jon.
“JON!” she shouted, grabbing her skirts, running as quickly as she could. Jon leapt off his
horse, rushing her, and she cried as he caught her, swinging her around as she sobbed into his
neck.
“Sansa,” he huffed, pulling her into him tightly as he spun them, she gasped as she was set
down, and he examined her. “Fucking hells, Sansa…”
“I’m fine,” she promised as she felt the tears pouring down her cheeks, she wiped her nose
and tried to wipe the tears away.
“Did he…?” Jon started.
“No!” she grabbed his cloak before he could go beat up Aemond. “No, Jon, Aemond saved
me, he didn’t… it’s a long story,” she whispered.
Jon paused, and she sniffled a bit.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “Please tell me, you’re never going South again!” he pleaded.
She laughed weakly as he pulled her into him for another hug, kissing her temple as he
swayed a bit. “I never want to go South again,” she muttered honestly.
“Thank the Gods!” he shouted and she snorted as she hugged him tightly. “Let it be known,
Sansa, nothing good ever comes from a Stark going South,” he decided.
“Oh, I know,” she assured. “Jon, be nice to Aemond, I really like him,” she said as Jon started
walking with her towards their party.
He scowled.
“Ser Jon,” Princess Helaena said as she looked at him, he bowed to her slightly and Sansa left
Jon, slipping beside Aemond then.
“It’s Lord actually,” Jon said as he rose. “Meant to tell you, I’m now Lord Jon Norstark, I’ll
be Lord of the Lonely Hills,” he grimaced. Sansa just stared at him and surged forward to hug
him again. He hugged her just as tightly. “I am also Lady Barba’s Regent, and when I have a
son, they’ll wed,” he sighed tiredly.
“So you’ll be wed!?” Sansa asked eagerly. As she pulled away from the hug.
“To Lady Mira Stane,” he sighed, looking very tired. “Come on, there’s more of you than I
anticipated, let’s get back to Witnerfell for proper greetings, and then we’ll take the time to
speak,” he assured.
“Where’s Sara?” Sansa asked.
“We fought about who was coming to greet you, I won.”
Sansa frowned. “How?”
“I cheated; and I’m taller, for now.”
Sansa snorted as she felt Aemond picking her up, putting her on a horse. She winced a little,
but didn’t protest, she was exhausted. Aemond handed up Jaehaera, then Maelor. She saw
Hazel and Helaena mounting the other horses, and Rody handed Jaehaerys to Helaena, then
Daenaera to Hazel before they started heading for Winterfell. Sansa watched Aemond and
Jon carefully, they were both speaking quietly, Aemond turned, glancing at her, and she
smiled at him, he raised his brow.
She looked at Hazel and Helaena both stared at Winter Town and Winterfell with wide eyes.
Sansa looked down at Maelor and Jaehaera, who were both staring as well and smiled a bit.
She did enjoy how people could stare at Winterfell.
Otto stared at the missive, Aemond’s bold script was sprawled on the message, his new seal
had been in the wax, and the petition was… threatening. The abdication of Prince Jaehaerys,
his line and future heirs, the abdication of Princess Jaehaera, her line and future heirs, the
abdication of Prince Maelor, his line and future heirs. Rhaenyra’s seal was at the bottom to
officiate the official Royal declaration. Otto wanted to tear this apart.
Aemond had played this very smart, he was foolish not to see his grandson’s intelligence.
Otto had underestimated Aemond, and Aemond had come out in a superior position. Married
to a Stark, secure in the North with fertile lands, founding a new House. Daeron squiring with
the Lannisters, so pulling Daeron to be the successor was not possible, the Lannisters would
be more inclined to back Aemond as heir, given Aemond hadn’t abdicated. Aemond’s lack of
abdication and lack of declaration for the Throne was a threat in and of itself.
Rhaenrya would be Queen after this nightmare was over, Otto wanted to kill her.
Further, there was a crisis at Hightower, Otto had been recalled for it by command of the
Lord Hightower, Lord Lyonel Hightower, which was startling. Otto had expected the news to
come from his brother, or his nephew, but his great nephew sending the summons was
unexpected.
The private, encoded report sent to Otto had been unsettling. The intended plan to obtain
Aemond a true bride, and rid them of a wild wolf, had gone array and ended with Hobart and
Ormund and Martyn dead. Bethany was beside herself with grief at her husband fleeing
Hightower amidst some of the worst storms Oldtown had seen in a century. The Tarly-
Hightower alliance was in a precarious position, the High Septon and Seneschal were also
concerned but for a different reason. A far more worrisome reason.
Vaegon Targaryen was alive.
Before Martyn had died, he had said Vaegon Targaryen had appeared and cut down Hobart
and Ormund, it was indisputable. Despite the attempts and intents to blame Aemond, it
wasn’t plausible without admitting the intent of ridding themselves of Sansa Stark. The plans
foiled were infuriating Otto, years of work gone, all because of Targaryens being
unpredictable.
They needed to regroup, the Father’s Council was summoning him, and it was vexing. He
could not turn the order away, given the succession issues, and alliances with House Tarly, if
they wanted to maintain footing for their power. The alliance was needed. If they could
maintain their control of the Reach, they had a firm footing, but they would also need other
alliances. House Lannister and House Baratheon had a surplus of daughters, Otto would
speak to making such an alliance between those Houses so they could maintain hold on other
regions.
The Blacks had won, for now, he would speak to the Father’s Council so they could
restructure their plans. He would not permit the Targaryens to ruin the Realm.
Sansa looked up when Aemond walked into their room, she bit her lip as she curled up on the
pillow, lounging against Frostfyre as she rubbed Frostfyre’s ear. Aemond sat down at the
chair, and she watched him. Frostfyre curled against her and she scratched behind the ear on
Frostfyre.
“I’m flying to White Harbor, Cregan’s on the way to Winterfell, I’m going to White Harbor
though to arrange hospitals, and warehouses for the Velaryons. Jon and you will have to
speak with Cregan about the everything else, I will go back South,” he sighed as he rubbed
his brow tiredly. “I sent a message to my grandfather before we left Dragonstone, abdicating
my nephews and niece.”
“I… I understand,” Sansa said softly as she laid her head on Frostfyre’s shoulder.
Aemond hadn’t remarked on the room, the past few days was Aemond informing the
Winter’s Council about what had happened to the Velaryons, and they had all been arranging
for a course of action. Sansa understood their sentiments perfectly, she was certain that a
course of action had to happen, and she was unsure in the wake of such a tragedy what was
fully needed. The Northerners though had not disappointed, Sansa had been unsurprised
when they started arranging supplies, sending ravens for supplies, and healers, they’d agreed
White Harbor would be the best place first. Especially with Winter coming.
“Are you feeling better?” Aemond asked her.
“Tired,” she admitted and smiled softly as he came down to sit on the floor beside herself and
Frostfyre. “Happy to be home, safe, I feel safe, and sad,” she whispered.
Aemond nodded as they sat there. “This room… it’s nice,” he murmured. “I never got to
thank you for that,” he confessed.
“I… I wanted you to like it,” she smiled as she watched him.
“I… I do, I, after the night you told me, I was an arse, but when I came here, this room… it
was very kind, thank you,” he said softly. “I… I had never killed anyone until Lord Bolton…
being here that night, after, it was… safe. Thank you.”
She smiled softly. “We’ll have this at Lenton,” she promised softly.
He nodded.
“Thank you, Aemond,” she murmured tiredly. “For bringing me home.”
He nodded again and she reached over, catching his hand, tangling their fingers as she closed
her eyes. Just sitting there, she felt safe, Frostfyre’s steady heart beneath her ear, warm fur
and body against her, Aemond here. She felt him picking her up.
“I’m comfortable…” she murmured.
“It’s time for bed,” he replied as he put her on the bed.
“Stay, for tonight, leave in the morning,” she asked.
“I’ll be right here, with Frostfyre,” he promised as he stretched out beside her, his knees
brushed hers, Aemond’s arm draped around her waist. She felt Frostfyre stretched out beside
her back as he pulled her closer. She sighed as she scooted into Aemond, his lips pressed
against her crown. Aemond was warm and safe.
Vaemond watched as Daeron sailed off with the first wave of survivors, primarily the
children, their animals, belongs, and guardians to keep them safe. If they could get the
children in the North, secured, then moving the rest of the survivors would be easier.
Vaemond was wary to leave the children here, moving the children, and most likely to
survive, and then the critically injured. This would give time for the critically injured to
stabilize, or die; whichever was their choice.
He looked over when he saw Corlys walk up to stand beside him.

“Brother,” Corlys rasped.
“Lord Corlys,” he replied.
“Please, Vaemond… not today,” Corlys rasped in a broken voice, Corlys looked over at his
brother and frowned. “I… I wanted to speak to you, as brothers.”
“About what?”
“I… I want to wish you well,” Corlys said softly.
“Do you now?”
“Vaemond, it was never my intention to have us be at odds with one another,” he said softly.
“And it was never mine, either,” he murmured honestly. “I do not hate you, Corlys, despite
whatever you think. I just cannot fight you anymore.”
“I saw our people, they did not see me,” Corlys admitted. “They all called out for you,
Daeron, they did not even recognize Lucerys as my heir, and they did not ask my aid or
service, they asked for you. I see our people, and I am sorry.”
“As am I,” Vaemond replied as he looked at Corlys then. “I truly am,” he assured softly.
“I do not wish for us to part on bad terms,” he admitted.
“Neither do I.”
“Then can we be brothers again.”
“No,” Vaemond murmured. “We cannot, because being brothers has lead to where we are. I
do not wish for us to be filled with falsities about this reality we find ourselves in.”
“Then what are we?” Corlys asked.
“We were brothers, now we are not,” Vaemond shrugged. “I am sorry about Spicetown, you
built something beautiful, and stunning,” he murmured honestly.
“I…” he choked then as he seemed to be struggling back sobs. “I am sorry, brother,” he

whispered.
“I am as well,” he clasped Corlys’ shoulder then. “I am as well.”
He was startled when Corlys embraced him, and he hugged his brother back. They stepped
back and he looked at his brother before giving a grim nod and walking past Corlys to look
after the others here. The injured were still suffering and healing.
Aemond watched Sansa sleep, and quietly slipped from the room as Frostfyre slept beside her
mistress. Grabbing up warmer socks, his travelling pack, and a warm jerkin, he pulled on his
boots after he was out of the room and left to ride out to Vhagar. Aemond had to move now,
swiftly, he knew that the survivors at Dragonstone needed supplies and to be moved. The
Winter’s Council had agreed to that, and Aemond wanted everything to move smoothly. He
also wanted to know if Vaemond heard anything about Beesbury.
Lyman sat beside the fire, they were on cliffs of the Westerlands. Fleeing through the very
heart of Westeros had seemed a poor strategy, and thus they had decided to go to Ocean
Road, and then on River Road, they were almost to the Riverlands now, having not been
noticed by any bandits thus far. The Westerlands were rather safe though, the Lannisters were
severe Wardens, and probably as revered as the Starks, but they needed to keep moving.
Moving to the North was their only option.
Trembling, he dragged his hands through hair.
"Grandfather! Grandfather!" he looked up when he saw Alan running towards him.
"What is it?" he asked, sitting up a little straighter; they hadn't been creating actual camps in
their rush to move through Westeros, and rarely did they go near villages. Yes, these roads
were well travelled, but in Autumn most ceased their travels in preparations for Winter. And
heading north Lyman could feel the chilling bite of Autumn as they moved through Westeros.
"Riders, from the South, we need to move," Alan said.
Their people scrambled, calvary men were riding off to head off the threat, while the carriage
drivers were re-harnessing the horses, and setting off to move. They needed to get to the
North.
The news of Spicetown burning to the ground had been spreading, but also, the unsettling
lock down in Oldtown persisted. No news about what had happened. Rushing through the
forest, they headed for the Riverlands; which were the closest thing to lawless; but their
chances of survival were greater there than on King's Road, he reminded himself.
Chapter 47
Osric rode into Winterfell, he’d been delayed coming to Winterfell by hunting renegade
Bolton loyalists who were wreaking havoc on the North. It hadn’t mattered, he’d rounded up
and executed most the menaces who had been upstarts, dragging them behind his horse to
Winterfell. It helped that they were mostly untrained menaces, though Osric was still
infuriated with having a broken arm or dislocated shoulder; he was not entirely sure which,
but his arm was on fire. Winter Town was a welcoming sight as he pulled his prisoners, seven
of the higher ranking men of the bandits he’d been fighting and killing. The Winter’s Council
banners were hung outside beneath the Stark banners, announcing their gathering to the
North, it was flown as a warning and welcome to the Northerners, he was unsurprised seeing
them. What did surprise him was the new banner, he didn’t recognize it but it was hung in
place of the Bolton banners, he would venture that that was the new regent of the Lonely
Hills.
Riding through Winter Town, he pulled his prisoners along, then through the gates of
Winterfell itself, the stable hands and soldiers came to greet him. Carefully he slid off his
steed, greeting Veron as he walked forward.
“Lord Commander, we were not expecting you,” Veron stated. “Who are these folk?” he
gestured.
“Traitors to the North. Bolton loyalists,” he grunted as he walked forward. “I’ve been delayed
coming to Winterfell because of these dogs,” he sneered as he glared at the men.
“Lord Norstark and Lord Stark will be pleased,” Veron said. “They’ll be sent to the dungeons
Lord Stark can sentence them when he returns.”
“Where is the Wild Wolf?” Osric grunted in pain.
“Returning from White Harbor, he had to collect the Dornish envoy,” Veron said.
“Dorne?” he sputtered.
“Aye,” Veron nodded. “What happened to your arm?”
“An upstart broke it,” Osric groused.
“Let’s get you to a healer then, Princess Sansa will receive you after a healer’s checked that
arm over, your prisoners in the dungeons, Lord Stark will manage the trials then.”
“Who’s the new banner?”
“Lord Norstark, Jon Stark’s new titles,” Veron explained.

“Mmm, he’s fucking love the prisoners then,” he muttered sourly.
“What’s brought you to Winterfell?”
“Not Bolton upstarts,” Osric stated firmly. “I have come on Lord Commander of the Watch
business, disturbing reports that need to be given to Lord Stark.”
“I’ll alert the Starks,” Veron said.
Osric nodded as he grimaced as they walked into the halls of Winterfell and headed for the
healing halls. He knew that this conversation was going to be a horrid affair, but he accepted
that this conversation needed to be had, the Wildlings were being unpredictable, and he didn’t
like when Wildlings were unpredictable. He didn’t like when people started behaving
unpredictably, especially when his opponents were predictable. The Wildlings were always a
predictable lot, which made countering them routine, and he didn’t like when things broke his
routine.
He was led to a cot and winced as he sat. A woodwitch approached him then.
Alicent was quietly sitting with Viserys, it was a good day, she had received a letter form
Daeron about his squiring, which had her smiling quietly. There were reports from around
Westeros which had been grim and unsettling, but she wasn’t going to dwell on them.
Aemond’s actions had been unsettling but worse, no one knew what he was doing, he had
flown to Dragnstone, and then North, he had sent no missives, warnings, or apologies. He’d
been rumored to aid Spicetown in the aftermath of a horrendous fire; which was speculated to
have started in a bakery or distillery, which thanks to unfavorable winds had completely
burned Driftmark to the ground. There was no news at present if Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, or
Maelor were survivors, and she dreaded what was happening, the lack of news on her
grandchildren had her terrified. The reports on survivors, and the dead were not looking
good. Many of them were going North, with Ser Vaemond’s branch of House Velaryon, with
the promise of being received there favorably because of their fealty to Lord Stark, and
Aemond. Then there were reports that Honeyholt had burnt down, with all the hives and
fields, which was unsettling, as it was close to when Aemond had fled the Reach, though it
was in the wrong direction. Something was asunder in the Reach as well, Oldtown in lock
down, the port closed, all of the Hightowers and their banners being recalled. Alicent had had
to wave her father off earlier this day as he was recalled by Lord Hightower. She was
surprised, but she didn’t want to pry, but the last time this had happened was under Maegor’s
rule.
Then there was the news of Helaena, Helaena had been at Driftmark, but at Dragonstone at
the time of the fires. Dreamfyre had been seen flying North with Vhagar, but there was no
further elaboration on her daughter’s health or her grandchildren. Helaena wanted to demand
information, but Lord Larys had assured her he had no information to give. Which had her
fighting every instinct of panic.
Daeron’s letter had come though, and Alicent poured over it, she was so relieved to hear from
one of her children, and knowing Daeron was well was everything to her right now. She
smiled at his writing, and tales, she trembled a bit as she read over them. He was admiring
Lord Lannister, but also growing close to Lady Jocelyn Lannister. Daeron wrote of jumping
the cliffs of Casterly Rock, which had her stomach filled with dread, though she felt the
exuberance of his writing and enjoyment of the jumps. Daeron the Daring was what Lord
Lannister called him, and she wanted to cry. She wanted to cry because she wanted her son
here, with her, safe, and that was the last thing he wanted. She did not think she had ever read
a letter from Daeron that was quite this happy.
She looked up when she heard someone enter. Viserys’ rattling breaths were a constant
sound, and she saw Cole enter the room, he looked at her and she bit her lip as she sat there.
“I was just reading my husband a letter from our son,” she said as she looked at Viserys. He
was sleeping.
“I’m certain he likes that very much,” Cole said softly.
She nodded as she rose. “Daeron is very happy squiring for Lord Lannister,” she sighed as
they started walking into the solar, she hated this room so much, but it was her duty to be
here to support her husband at this moment.
“There’s been news, from Dragonstone,” Cole said.
“What?”
“A royal missive arrived, Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra celebrate the birth of
Princess Visenya Targaryen, Second of Her Name, and Prince Baelon Targaryen, Third of His
Name, Crown Princess Rhaenyra is reported to be in good health, and Prince Daemon in high
spirits, they have presented their new children with eggs from a clutch from Syrax and
Caraxes. The delay in this report was due to the tragedy of the Spicetown fires,” Cole read
the missive to her, and she stared at the fires.
“Twins…” she muttered in horror. Only one other House seemed to be so consistently blessed
with twins, House Lannister and House Targaryen shared this unusual affliction. “The Gods
even favor her!” Alicent grabbed a stone dragon, hurling it into the unlit hearth as she
collapsed in a seat. “We’ll never be safe,” she whispered. More dragons, more dragon heirs,
more Targaryens… she did not wish ill upon Rhaenyra but she wanted this to cease. Tears
burned her eyes as she carefully rubbed her temple. “Is there anything more?” she rasped.
“No,” he murmured as he looked at her.
She closed her eyes, tears burning down her cheeks. Opening her eyes she looked up at Cole.
“Has there been any word from Aemond?” she asked warily.
“No, nor have there been reports, he made it North, that is all anyone seems to know,” Cole
said.
She nodded as she looked at the unlit hearth with the broken dragon.
“You should write him,” Cole said.
“Are you commanding the Queen?” she demanded him.
“No, I’m advising a friend, I have written him, I sent the letter North, to Winterfell. I worry,
everything I’ve heard is not favorable, and in his worries, it might be good to hear from his
mother,” Cole said.
“I cannot…” she whispered.
“Alicent, please,” he breathed softly as he sat across from him. “He is your son, and he loves
you, whatever you two have said is not enough to sever that connection, and if my mother
lived, I would want to speak with her,” he said.
She stared balefully at Cole and frowned.
“I cannot write him, he has made it clear I am his queen, nothing more anymore, and I
disowned him,” she whispered. “I cannot protect his immortal soul anymore. That is the duty
of his wife, and she holds me in disdain.”
“As you hold her in disdain,” Cole countered. “I do not like the Stark’s politics, but the gil
made him relax Alicent, she was not evil or cruel, she was patient, I watched her here, both
times, and she’s very patient with Aemond. She is a good match for him, even if the politics
are unfavorable,” he explained.
She looked at her lap, unwilling to say anything on this matter. She didn’t know what more
could be said. Alicent sighed as she leaned back in her seat, rubbing her brow, she was
exhausted, she was exhausted having to deal with this, it was ever endless.
“I… send our congratulations for Princess Visenya’s and Prince Baelon’s addition to House
Targaryen, and we pray for their continued good health, we wish Rhaenyra a speedy
recovery, the Realm celebrates her good fortunes,” Alicent dictated even as a sour bile filled
her mouth. She hated every word she said, but she knew it was pointless. Rhaenyra would be
Queen, it would be important that Alicent at least create enough standing between herself and
Rhaenyra again so she might be left in peace, and her sons left alive.
Standing she walked over to the hearth, picking up the broken pieces of Viserys’ dragon and
sighed. “I will need a stone mason, see to this being repaired.
Cole nodded as they walked out of the King’s quarters. She nodded to the Cargell twins as
she walked through them and returned to her apartments.
“I will see it done,” Cole said as he left her.
Alone with Daeron’s letters again she sat down and looked them over. Reading her
youngest’s words made her smile softly, her fingers trailing over his sloppy script. Daeron
should’ve never been squiring for the Lannisters, she hated that Aemond had arranged that,
but she couldn’t deny that Daeron sounded so happy in the Westerlands. Much to her
surprise. Those heretics though, they would teach her son to value nothing but the gold they
reaped, and to be covetous in the names of the Gods…
Sighing, she closed her eyes as she rubbed them.
It no longer mattered, the Gods were punishing her for her father’s ambitions, and her family
was torn asunder, she hated it. She was punished for being a good daughter, for being a loyal
wife, for being a mother, she was punished by the Gods for her father’s ambitions, she could
see that now. The ambitions of her father had torn her family apart, and now her eldest,
though a created monster, was no dead, her daughter missing and mad, her second son
married to an enemy, and her third son in the hands of heretics, while her grandchildren
might be dead. She cried now as she hid her face in her palms, she wept for having done
everything demanded of her, and it destroyed everything she’d come to love. She cried as she
hugged herself, she cursed the Gods for punishing her for her father’s ambitions.
Winterfell was a welcomed sight for Cregan as he rode with Rickon, he saw his son perk up
as the wolves loped ahead of him. The Dornish had been riding, the wagons and carriages
came after them, but Princess Aliandra was riding beside him. She was surprisingly stubborn
and determined to do this ride beside him, not as his equal but as the Princess of Dorne. He
was impressed at her resolve. He smiled as he rode ahead, Rickon squealed in delight, and
Cregan glanced over to see Aliandra racing beside him, a wild grin on her lips as he race.
There were shouts from the Dornish guards, but they were too far behind to catch up, and
Cregan heard the horns blowing for his arrival. Racing through the road in Winter Town,
rushing up the drawbridge he turned to see Aliandra laughing as she rode in behind him.
Sansa appeared, and Cregan chuckled as he stilled the horse.
“That was delightful!” Aliandra rushed as she sat upon the horse. “I’ve never ridden such a
large beast, he is very agile,” she observed with a smile as the horse turned with her in a
circle.
“CREGAN!” he turned in time to see Sansa and Sara rushing the steps to the courtyard, he
smiled as he pulled Rickon up, his son shouting in delight at the sight.
“He’s one of Rody’s,” Cregan said as he handed Rickon to Sansa who laughed and smiled as
she spun Rickon around as Cregan swung down from the horse. He walked around to
Aliandra, helping the princess down as he turned to Sara. Catching Sara he swung her around
as he chuckled as he kissed her temple. Then he looked at Sansa, she was smiling as she held
Rickon securely as she looked at him.
Cregan had seen Aemond briefly, Cregan had been startled at the sight of the dragon until
Aemond landed. Aemond had spared him an hour of time, speaking what happened to in
Oldtown, handing a satchel off with promises to explain the notes, then he mentioned
Spicetown had burnt down, and he would be arranging for the survivors to have places to
stay, and supplies, he would be back in a lunar cycle. And then Aemond was gone, nothing
more, nothing less, and Cregan hadn’t gotten to ask about Sansa, but was confident she was
safe if Aemond was moving around on his own, then Sansa was safe.
Finding Sansa here was a relief, she looked so fragile, and battered, and Cregan walked over
to his sister, catching her in a tight hug, she smiled as he kissed her temple.
“It’s good to see you here,” he murmured.
“I’m happy to be home,” Sansa breathed softly as she leaned on him.
Sansa shivered a bit, against him. “You’ll tell me everything,” Cregan said as he held her up.
he would venture that the last bit of Sansa’s strength had been something holding her up in
the form of joy, now her energy was gone, and he had questions, but seeing her like this, he
couldn’t ask them here, or now.
“Of course,” she nodded.
“Good, Sansa, you remember Princess Aliandra?” he gestured.
“Of course, it is a pleasure to see you, and host you,” she smiled as she looked at the
princess.
“I am officially the first Dornishman to travel this far North,” she smiled ruefully. “I have
been enjoying the wilderness, I have never seen such beautiful forests,” she mused. “If what I
have seen thus far is anything in comparison to the rest of the North, then it is surely a beauty
without compare.”
“I’ve heard the same about Dorne,” Sansa said.
“Just as I was unprepared for the cold here, I believe you to be unprepared for the son there,”
Aliandra mused.
Sansa chuckled. “You’re undoubtably right, the sun is very harsh to me,” Sansa mused.
“We want to welcome you and yours to Winterfell, Princess Aliandra, might you accept guest
rights and enjoy the security of Winterfell,” Cregan said as a servant appeared with the salt
and bread.
“I thank you for your hospitality,” Aliandra said as she accepted the bread and salt. Cregan
nodded as he guided her into the Great Hall, her party would be behind them by enough time
that being outside for her was unwise.
“We shall settle her in the Southern wing, it gets the most sunlight,” Sansa said as they
walked.
“Aye, the Dornish will enjoy it,” he nodded in agreement as Aliandra followed. Her eyes
were wide as she looked around, looking up at the high vaulted ceilings.
“Sansa, you should go rest, I’ll settle our guests and Rickon, I’ll speak with you tonight,” he
promised as he took his son from her.
“But…”
“Go,” he ordered. “You look ready to collapse,” he sighed as he nudged her towards Mira,
who nodded at him as they walked off. Sansa shot him a glare and he shook his head.
“Your sister… she is looking very unwell,” Aliandra remarked as they walked through
Winterfell. “I will pray for her good health to return to her,” she said wisely.
He nodded as he led her towards the Southron Solar.
“Cregan!”
“Afi!” Rickon leapt from Cregan’s arm, rushing Lucan then.
“I haven’t been gone long, you wee pup,” Lucan caught Rickon then and smiled at his
grandson.
“Lucan,” he smiled as he stopped before his goodfather. “Princess Aliandra, this is my

goodfather, Lord Lucan Norrey, Lucan, this is Princess Aliandra of House Martell of Dorne.”
“I see why the world fusses about Dornish beauties,” Lucen decided. “It is a pleasure to see
our biggest aid in survival here, in the North.”
“I am here to learn how to be a better trading partner,” Aliandra said with a smile.
“That will be appreciated,” he replied. “We’ll speak later, for now I’m stealing the wee wolf
pup!” Lucan disappeared.
“Rickon is very loved,” Aliandra stated.
“Aye, I never get him to myself,” he muttered.
“You have hoarded your son with you for the entire travels,” she pointed out.
“As I said, I never get him to myself,” Cregan repeated.
“If you persist on spoiling him, he will grow up a little father’s boy,” she pointed out.
“I’ve already arranged his fostering at the appropriate age, and promise of him spending time
with my newest vassals to learn to sail,” Cregan sighed.
“Oh, I did not anticipate the North to be so committed.”
“Of course, I’m committed to my son’s education; he’s a Stark,” Cregan pointed out.
“In Dorne we do not foster our heirs,” she informed him. “I am surprised to hear the North
does.”
“Rickon’s a Stark, and being a Stark means serving the North, being a part of the North and
to do that he has to travel the North and learn our people,” he said.
“That is… wise, I often envied my brother for being fostered by the Daynes, and Coryanne
has travelled more of Dorne than I,” she sighed.
“Well, you’ve travelled North, and haven’t created a diplomatic incident, so… I believe thus
far, whatever the Dornish have done to raise their heir is working,” he said carefully.
She smiled brightly.
“Rest here, some of my sister’s Ladies will come to keep you company, I have some matters
to attend to, when your party has arrived, I’ll have your sister brought here, and your guard,
and ladies in waiting, for now, rest,we’ll bring some twa. I’d offer food, but the North is still
rationing.”
“I do not expect special treatment, Lord Stark,” Aliandra stated firmly. “If the North is
rationing then Dorne will ration as well, we will not perish,” she assured.
“Thank you, rest, enjoy thesun, it will be setting soon,” Cregan said as he left her in the solar
to get some of the Ladies so Aliandra wasn’t alone. He walked through the halls, seeing the
other Lords, Ice loped beside him.
Aliandra was surprised as she watched Cregan retreat into the halls of Winterfell, but she was
unsurprised as she looked around. Cregan had many things to attend, no doubt. Looking
around the Solar, she was surprised at how warm it was, the large windows looked out at
Winterfell’s courtyard of some sort, there were large forestry in the center of the castle. The
castle itself had been the size of a mountain, and imposing, sitting in the rolling green hills,
she was surprised at the sight. She looked around solar a bit surprised.
Winterfell was massive, it had endlessly tall vaulted ceilings, the chandeliers that burned
above scented of something she didn’t know, something inviting and sweet. The keep was
surprisingly warm, she was actually feeling hot in all the furs she was wearing.
This solar was massive too, four hearths, and shelves of books around the room, the furs on
the floor were soft, the large, plush chairs were well worn but beautiful. She looked around at
the homely nature of this castle, and sat down on the chair, it was so soft, warm, she looked at
the hearth. She’d seen many different castles in Dorne, and even seen King’s Landing, she’d
been impressed. Winterfell was just as impressive, ancient and beautiful, a melding of ages,
she could see, and she was surprised at how inviting it was once she was inside the castle
walls. Looking around the solar, she basked in the heat of the sun, and the warmth of the fire,
and smiled. Getting up, she started exploring the shelves, very curious what more was here.
Sansa was sitting, curled up against Frostfyre as she watched the flames, in her solar, she felt
so tired. There was a knock, and she turned, looking up to see Cregan entering as he walked
into the room.
He walked over, scratching Frostfyre’s ears, Ice came over and sniffed Frostfrye before
plopping beside Frostfyre with a dramatic groan. Cregan caught Sansa’s chin, forcing her
head a bit to the side, and he wince.
“Who…?” he started.
“They’re dead,” she murmured as she pulled herself from his grasp. Sansa was relatively
certain her attackers were all dead. Vaegon was certain he had killed them. Thinking of her
husband’s great-uncle reminded her that Cregan didn’t know about Vaegon.
“How certain are you?” Cregan demanded as he took a seat on the ground beside her.
“Very, Cregan’s great-uncle, Prince Vaegon killed them, and saved me, and Aemond,” she
murmured.
“Prince Vaegon?”
“Aye, he’s not dead,” Sansa snorted a bit as she looked at the fires.
“Not… what?” Cregan sputtered.
“Aemond and I found an alarming, disturbing amount of Targaryen deaths, in a short manner
of time,” Sansa said softly. “First King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne lost Prince Aegon,
Princess Daenarys, Prince Gaemon, Prince Valerion, Princess Daella, Princess Alyssa,
Princess Viserra, Prince Aemon, Septa Maegelle, Princess Gael, Prince Baelor, all before
King Jaehaerys perished. Aegon, Gaemon, Valerion, all died before their first year, which is
suspect, Daenarys in a Shivers pandemic, Daella, Alyssa, and Gael all died due to
complications in the birthing bed; though Gael committed suicide after her child’s birth, it’s
an unsettling pattern, do you see it? Then there’s Queen Aemma, Princess Daella’s daughter,
she died in the birthing bed, but she also lost six children all before they drew their first
breath or made it through their first year, Princess Rhaenys’ labors apparently rendered her
infertile, the labors were horrific from what I uncovered; something about her womb turning
inside out within her… Then there’s Princess Rhaenyra’s recent labor which nearly killed her.
“There’s an alarming number of women with smooth pregnancies and horrid labors in House
Targaryen,” Sansa explained.
“Sansa…”
“Well, further,” she winced as she sat up straighter then. “There’s a plot from the Citadel, and
Faith, sort of a breeding program, unfavorable matches, which eliminates women, and
children in the childbed. I don’t understand it entirely but Prince Vaegon knows more the plot
than I do. But there’s a whole plot for the assimilation of Westeros, and I believe House
Hightower is the one funding it, but I don’t know if this is to be dated all the way back to the
Andal invasions,” Sansa said warily. “Arra was a casualty in this plot…”
“Sansa, I don’t care about that,” Cregan stated as he sat there looking at her. “How are you?”
“I did get to speak to Aemond, Sansa, he’s told me everything that you just told me, I don’t
care about that, I care about how you and he are faring. He looked about as exhausted as you
do, but less battered,” Cregan said.
“I… I…” she trembled.

“How are you?”
“I didn’t know,” she whispered. “I… I was pregnant… I lost it… and I...” she whimpered.
Cregan pulled her into his lap, and she burst into tears, sobbing against his chest. “I didn’t
know…”
He held her tightly, his arms firmly around her, and she cried as he rocked her back and forth
a bit, holding her tightly.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured as he kissed her temple and rocked back and forth, she held him
tightly.
“I wanted it,” she confessed softly. He tightened his hold on her.
“Have you told Jon?” Cregan murmured against her crown.
She shook her head; she couldn’t talk to Jon about this. He’d either kill Aemond, Vaegon, or
attack the South, she didn’t know what he’d do, but it’d be bad, and she didn’t know if she
could handle that. She just wanted to cry, she wanted to cry and never leave her room, she
wanted Aemond, but he had to go attend to their people. Aemond was doing the right thing
for their people. But she selfishly wanted Aemond here with her, she wanted him holding her,
not Cregan. Still she was relieved to be here with Cregan; he was safe.
Sara stood outside of Sansa’s door, and trembled, Sansa hadn’t been the same since coming
back from the South. It wasn’t just how injured Sansa was, but also had this sadness in her
eyes. Sara didn’t know how to help Sansa, though she spent a great deal of time sitting with
her sister, who was both too tired, and too injured to be up and about according to
woodwitches. Sara didn’t know what to Sansa either, because whatever had saddened Sansa it
wasn’t something she was speaking about. Sansa would smile, laugh, talk with everyone, and
she seemed normal, despite her exhaustion and pain, but she was so sad. Sara saw it, she was
sad how Cregan would be for hours at a time after he visited Arra’s crypts.
Something had broken Sansa’s heart, and the only thing Sara was certain of was that Aemond
had not broken her heart. Nor had that cantankerous old man that had accompanied them.
Leaving the door, Sara walked through the halls of Winterfell, she would manage the guards
while she gave her brother and sister a moment to cam down.
Heleana chuckled as she sat with Dreamfyre atop the glen watching Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and
Maelor rolling in the tall grasses, playing gleefully. She smiled a bit as she breathed in the
fresh air. Rody was hunting for herbs he needed, he was looking for something to ease his
brother’s lungs that grew in the glen; apparently it was something that always grew,
everywhere, and was good at relaxing the lungs when smoked. Which sounded very
paradoxical to Helaena, but she would not question it.
She watched her children, the breeze tugging on her furs as she felt the cold burning her
lungs. It wasn’t truly cold, not yet, but it was grim, damp, wet, there was heavy scent of
petrichor was dancing through the glen.
“Got it!” Rody shouted as he reappeared she turned, Dreamfyre rousing a bit. Shrykos and
Morghul flittered on the winds in the hills as they played.
“What exactly does it do?” Helaena asked as he walked towards her.
“Well, I don’t rightly know but Sansa said it’d help, and the woodwitches are also keen to use
it.”
“How is Reince?” Helaena asked him.
“Oh, he’ll recover. I wrote his wife,” Rody winced a bit.
“Is that bad?” Helaena chuckled.
“No, but it’ll be tumultuous when she gets here. Barbrey is not a woman to be crossed, and
she’s terrifying, she’ll scare the dragons,” Rody informed her.
“You believe her to be that terrifying?” Helaena chuckled.
“Aye, I’ve seen her cleave a man in two with her kitchen knife, and then heave an axe into
another’s head, she’s terrifying,” Rody informed her.
Helaena blinked rapidly, she couldn’t tell if he was serious or not.
“Barbrey will be here soon enough, and if I don’t have Reince on the mend, she’ll have my
head,” Rody grimaced. “How are the wee dragonlings enjoying the North?” Rody asked as he
sat beside her.
“Oh… we’ve never been anywhere so…”
“Clean, hospitable, comfortable, wet?” Rody supplied.
“Open,” she chuckled as she looked at her children. “The beast beneath the boards trembles,
but is quiet here,” she breathed in the fresh air.
“That’s because the beasts here are far more terrifying,” Rody predicted.
“Which direction is your home?” she asked as she hugged her knees, resting her cheek on
them as she examined Rody.
“It’s a bit south, and to the west,” he pointed. “Barrowton is perhaps the oldest village for the
First Men in the North. We have old, long houses. We dug into the grounds a bit, the thatched
roofs nearly touch the grounds, they’ll touch the heathers when it’s a proper summer in the
North. I need a knew roof now that I’m thinking about this, we have smaller windows than
the ones here at Winterfell, ancestors like our homes warm, thus a lack of windows.”
“And your house…?” she stammered.
“Oh, nothing fancy, I own a farm, I breed horses. The House is long, and I dug into the hill I
claimed, the stables are what I’m most proud of, they’re big, clean, I have stoned floors, and
wooden planks for walk ways, there’s many warm stone walls, it get’s heat, even in Winter,
because of the Southron sun, and in the garden is there; though I think that’s fucked if my
goodsisters didn’t attend to it…” he grimaced. “I also have a sitting area, outside, wooden
planks and a stoop, I’ve set a shair there, Southeast sun is what I receive there, it warms the
bones,” Rody chuckled. “In spring with the heather, the entire fields are violets and blues, it’s
very pretty. I’ll have the elk right about now competing with the horse; but the fucking
Boltons slaughtered my horses, few years back, I haven’t been home long enough to work on
rebuilding my horses again.”
She blinked a few times as she smiled, she could see it.
“I would like to visit.”
Rody snorted. “Forgive me Princess, but my humble abode is nothing compared to what
you’re used to, it’s not like Winterfell, the Red Keep, or Dragonstone, not even that fancy
manor Ser Vaemond had. It’s just a hut, two rooms, and a living area, I made the second room
because my mother was always visiting; I live near Rogun and his brood, they don’t have
space for mother, so I always host her,” he chuckled. “I built the room after losing my bed too
many times,” he mused.
“Mmm, I do believe it would be lovely,” she mused as she looked at him. He just watched her
children, sitting back with his legs before him, she just enjoyed watching him. The way the
sun was hitting him right now he had a golden halo around his head, and a mischievous
smile. She snorted as she watched him raise up to his feet and then he rolled the hill, catching
Jaehaerys and Jaehaera who squealed, Maelor laughed as Rody rolled with them through the
grasses. She chuckled as she looked at Dreamfyre, her dragon watched on warily, and
Helaena sighed.
“Why couldn’t we have come here sooner?” she asked Dreamfyre.
No response even as she stretched out, her head resting against Dreamfyre’s flank. She
watched the children and Rody until the air started chilling and she shivered.
“Let us return to Winterfell,” Helaena called out. She watched as her children raced Rody up
the hill, he let them win, she caught Maelor, hosting her son up onto her hip as she smiled at
the babe.
Rody chucked as he grabbed his bag, which was full of herbs, and she climbed onto
Dreamfyre’s saddles. Securing Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor, Rody climbed after her. She
smiled as Shrykos and Morghul flew ahead, playing gleefully as they rolled through the air.
Dreamfyre chortled before rising, rushing through the glen, flapping her heavy wings as they
took off. Helaena laughed as she heard Rody yelp and her children squealed with laughter at
Rody’s yelp.
Daeron stared as White Harbor came into view, the cold winds lashed out brutally against his
face, and he shivered as they neared. White Harbor, it’s name did it justice, the white cliffs,
and rocks, it was barren, he could hear the seals, and gulls as they sailed towards the harbor.
As they neared, he watched the docks explode with life. The harbor was impressive, two
harbors, an inner and outer harbor. The outer harbor seemed to be for fishing vessals, he
noted, for many were working, and then a flag ship caught his eye, he had his men signal to it
as well that they were following. Slowly he followed this ship to a dock, and they were tied
off, he was surprised seeing the Northerners there, they had stretchers, furs, and blankets. He
was more startled when he recognized Malentine there, aiding in tying off their ship. When
the planks were lowered, Daeron walked towards the docks, and down.
“It’s good to see you,” Daeron gasped as he hugged Malentine.
“Aemond informed us what had happened at Spicetown,” Malentine said as they stepped
apart, arms still clasped. “I returned with Lord Manderly’s heir to oversee the welcome and
aid of our people here in White Harbor.”
“That’s… a relief,” Daeron admitted. “Father sent me first, with the healthiest and children.
And livestock.”
“Good, I’ve arranged a place of stay for your children and people at the Septs,” Daeron
blinked a few times sing the new man. The man was a robust, barrel chested brunette, he
wore a thick gold necklace, white furs, and pale blue. He looked very… Southron, but also
very Northern. “I’m Torrhen Manderly, no Ser,” he stated as he walked forward.
“Captain Daeron Velaryon,” Daeron said as he accepted the man’s hand. He’d seen the
Northerners do this arm clasp many times in greeting.
“Welcome to White Harbor, we’ll get you settled,” Torrhen said.
“We… thank you,” Daeron rasped.
“I’m aware you’re Valyrian, we have an understanding you’re misgivings of the Seven, but
the Septs are the best place for masses, it’s warm, large space, and safe,” Torrhen said.
Daeron nodded as they started to unloading people. He aided in the unloading. He was
surprised at the sight of White Harbor, he followed the Northerners and stared at the
buildings, which were all very close together, there weren’t many colors, but the ones that
were, were along the canal. He stared at the septs as they neared, blinking, they weren’t as
ostentatious as the other Septs he’d seen in cities.
The septs were surprisingly warm. He was startled at that.
“We’ll settle the children here,” Torrhen said.
“Thank you,” Daeron breathed as he looked at the other man.

Torrhen nodded. “I live in service of the North,” he smiled as he gave a nod of the head. “By
the way, Lady Hazel Harte is safe at Winterfell with Lady Daenaera, Prince Aemond said
you’d understand what that meant,” Torrhen said.
“Thank the gods…” Daeron breathed softly as he closed his eyes.

Chapter 48
Chapter Notes
The next Lunar Cycle of the year was exhausting as the Winter’s Council convened.
The first bit of news was a bit odd, and no one knew what to make of it as they hadn't dealt
with it in their lifetimes. But Sansa understood Jon's immediate trepidation about the news.
Lord Commander Osric Snow brought new to them that the Wildlings were gathering behind
a man they named King Beyond the Wall, and he had amassed at least five thousand
Wildlings behind him. According to Jon that was at least twenty Clans, and Jon was not
entirely sure what the Wildling numbers were in this era, but if he was basing it off their era,
he'd say this man was mimicking what Mance did. Jon wanted to go North of the Wall,
Cregan threatened to nail Jon's feet to the floor if he left Winterfell for the Wall. Mira
promised to hang his balls around his neck if he persisted in going North of the Wall. Sansa
thought it all rather amusing how they threatened Jon into submission. It wouldn't work, she
knew Jon would do what Jon thought was best, but for now he would comply.
The acceptance of Jon Norstark as Lord of the Lonely Hills was only solidified by the agreed
upon union of Jon and Mira. The stipulation though was that the wedding be at the end of the
month. Which was easy to have Cregan agreeing to. Jon scowled at the news. There were
discussions for a new Keep in the Lonely Hills, which Cregan agreed would be needed, it
would be structured in the Spring, but at this time, because it was lacking, Jon would travel to
the Lonely Hills to attend to them, and reside in Winterfell, Cregan would also oversee the
management of the Lonely Hills to ensure Jon was managing his lands.
Aemond had finally returned, with the news of what had happened to the Velaryons and their
vassals he promised to pay an expense tax for the Winter if they could reside in White
Harbor, as originally intended, but the need for medical aid and medical supplies was what
had changed. Lord Manderly had countered that with the population being a third of what
was originally planned that Aemond pay the same tax, the surplus of that tax would be used
for covering the medical expenses of the people; which was very gracious.
The Velaryon House had suffered a heavy blow, they confirmed the deaths of Gaehaernar and
Taegarys Velaryon. Vaemond had delivered the news after a careful census of their people,
recording as many survivors and tallying the dead and missing up. Of the once bustling
population from Driftmark; some eight thousand souls, only a mere two thousand five
hundred nineteen souls had survived. Over a thousand were lost after being saved from the
flames. Sansa was heartbroken at the loss, but the survivors were being well tended to.
Vaemond’s business was given grace because of what had happened to Spicetown with the
understanding that he’d pay back for the cargo undelivered, and the cargo lost in the fires.
The trade company was secure in it’s future though, given the Skagosi had agreed to aid
Vaemond at this time, and would be good sailors to aid Vaemond. There were also local
fishermen who had agreed given the coming ices that they’d be able to aid Vaemond in place
of the healing sailors.
Sansa heard that Corlys Velaryon was suffering the business loss, but she couldn’t predict
what he would do. It was said that the fires of Spicetown had burnt for a week straight, Sansa
thought it’d been longer, but she had been so busy she had not paid it mind. Corlys’ business,
reputation, and position had all taken massive blows with this fire, leading him to supposedly
sail for Braavos, according to Vaemond. Sansa didn’t know exactly the Blacks next moves
would be.
No one had reports on the Beesbury family, Sansa knew that Aemond was despertate to gain
some scrap of information, some hint as to where his mentor was. Vaegon was increasingly
agitated as well as they hunted for Beesbury. Sansa would say it was impossible for a group
of Beesbury’s size to just vanish, but she knew how Cregan could move an entire army
without his opponent catching where they were going, so it was plausible but finding them
would be difficult.
A letter from Ser Criston Cole informed them King Viserys was reportedly still alive, which
tracked with what Sansa knew of history. The Red Keep was not in a disarray though
Aemond’s formal filing of abdication on behalf of Jaehaerys’, Jaehaera’s, and Maelor’s lines
from the line of succession, retaining Rhaenyra as the legal heir of the Iron Throne. Cole also
reported that Alicent was grieving deeply, he pleaded with Aemond to write Alicent. There
were also Cole’s grumblings about the training of new recruits, a few bits of gossip regarding
Court affairs, as well as some tidbits of vital information. The Greens were fracturing though,
they were falling apart. Particularly with the announcement of the new Lord Hightower.
Lord Lyonel Hightower had succeeded both Lord Hobart Hightower and Ser Ormund
Hightower had passed aiding the Hightower ships leaving from Hightower into port at the
peak of a storm. Lord Lyonel Hightower had married Lady Samantha Tarly in a ceremony by
the High Septon at the Starry Sept.
However, it appeared that this was not stopping the bards or the rumors, especially in regard
to Vhagar’s departure. The bards had started singing tails of the Hightowers attempts to trade
out Aemond’s brides They sang of it as a great strife between Prince Aemond stealing his
wolf maid from the Hightower and disappearing into the storms above at the false bride being
brought to him in place of the wolf maid. Aemond hated the bards songs as much as he had
when they were singing about their marriage and ‘love story’, which amused Sansa; Vaegon
and Aemond shared a great distaste for bards. Sansa thought that a rather plain and pale story
in comparison to what had happened to her and Aemond, and what had happened that night.
the rumors painted a different story, that Aemond and Sansa fled after accusations of
attacking Lady Bethany Hightower in a fit of jealousy. Sansa thought that utterly
preposterous, she didn’t attack Lady Bethany, nor had she felt any form of jealousy for that
woman.
This though had created a massive fracture between the Greens. Lord Lannister had spurned
the union proposal of Lady Cerelle to Ser Garmund Hightower. The match had been
proposed by Lord Lyonel Hightower, it was Lord Lyonel’s first act as Lord of Hightower.
Lord Lannister had spurned the proposal publicly, before Court and the Hand of the King at
King’s Landing. He declared that such a union would be unfit for the House Lannister, Lady
Cerelle was a great beauty and she would be given to a Lord, not a second son. He declared
the promise of union between the future Lord Kermit Tully a fine example of forethought and
leadership. And same for any and all of Lord Lannister’s beautiful daughters. This
declaration though was the start of the Greens fracturing.
And other Greens had started breaking from the Greens, wearing their own attire again.
Apparently the Blacks were not fracturing though. Lord Borros Baratheon had officially
declared for the Blacks, even forming a business relationship with Lord Corlys. Which was
startling, but when Sansa slowed down and thought about it, House Baratheon was, despite
their ancestry, the youngest Great House. They could only claim being a Great House
because of their ancestry, not anything they’d done on their own, they stood on the shoulders
of a dead Great House of Durrandon. But the Baratheons did have a firmer grasp on how the
game was played, and likely knew that they had to declare sooner rather than later given how
the Greens were fracturing.
Sansa’s healing was a slow affair, she would admit it, when she had finally slowed enough to
focus on healing and getting her health.
There were announcements of unions, which Sansa focused on. The union of Lord Lyonel
and Lady Samantha meant the Hightower-Tarly alliance was set in stone; the fact the groom
did not matter to the Tarlys was unsettling. This also meant that there’d been an elevation of
this alliance as well. Lady Sam was not the second wife of an ailing older Lord, but rather the
Lady of a young Lord, there’d have been incentives for that union to continue to be pushed
through.
Lord Tyrell passed, but his heir, Lord Lyonel Tyrell was born a cycle prior, the babe dropping
all of House Tyrell’s minimal powers to essentially nothing. His mother was supposedly his
regent, as were a few stewards, but Sansa knew how that would go. Houses Tarly and
Hightower would be the powers of the Reach, House Tyrell was scrambling for position now.
Lady Cassandra Baratheon was arranged to marry Ser Gyles Morrigen. Her sister was
promised to Ser Joffrey Arryn. This arrangement would give the Blacks the eastern coast of
Westeros, as well as a firm footing in the Vale and Crownlands and Stormlands. They would
be gaining a tax from traders and merchants to utilizing those waters and ports. Sansa knew
Corlys was relying on those taxes and ports to save their treasuries. Sansa would see the
power of these arrangements, and no doubt it was only brought on because of Princess
Rhaenys’ relationship to the House. Securing two Great Houses was admirable, and Sansa
applauded that now, even if she hated the building wars. The Blacks were still banking on the
Starks, but Sansa was comfortable with their position now. The Greens fracturing, the Blacks
actually securing other alliances, it would no doubt change the course of the war, but Sansa
was certain the war would be delayed now.
The coming Winter would probably aid in securing Rhaenyra’s reign. Sansa was confident
that this would be an odd period of history. She didn’t know if her records would be enough
aid or not.
Prince Jacaerys completed his squiring as Cregan felt a need to send Jacearys South to his
family, declaring the young man should be ready for knighting. The North didn’t do
knighthoods, so Cregan declared he could not do whatever was needed to finish Jacaerys’
knighting, but he said he’d taught the young prince everything he could. Which was
understandable, especially when Sansa heard Cregan lecturing the Velaryons and Martells on
Northern titles, the fact that many Northern Lords were in fact chiefs and not Lords how the
South knew them was entertaining in Sansa’s mind.
Sansa now stood on Aemond’s arm as they watched the wedding between Jon and Mira
Stane. The Stane cloak was carefully removed from Mira’s shoulders as the new Norstark
cloak was carefully wrapped around her shoulders. The misting rains were welcoming as the
first frost had yet to touch the North at this time. She smiled as she leaned her head onto
Aemond’s shoulder, watching her brother marry, she was certain her father would be
delighted at this moment, Robb would be here teasing Jon about it, Bran would… say
something about how he knew this was to be, Rickon would probably have something
unusual to say, and Arya was probably pleased for Jon. Sansa just held Aemond’s hand softly
as they watched. He squeezed her hand lightly as he turned, pressing a kiss to the crown of
her head, she smiled as she squeezed his hand softly in turn.
They clapped softly as Jon kissed Mira, and Cregan nodded in approval. Barba trotted up to
Mira, who grabbed Mira up gently. The babe was delighted as she was lifted, and Sansa
chuckled as they walked together. After the new Lord and Lady Norstark out of the
Godswood. Aemond slid his arm around her waist, and she leaned into him as they walked
together. Vaegon scowled as they walked up to him.
Vaegon Targaryen’s acclimation to the North was… interesting. Cregan though Vaegon to be
a riot, and Rickon always trotted after Vaegon in curiosity, as did Maelor, Daenaera,
Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Barba. Vaegon was a bit irritated about this.
“Another union,” Vaegon sighed as they walked by.
“It’s a good thing, it gives everyone hope,” Sansa mused as she looked between Vaegon and
Aemond.
“Oh yes, great hopes with the conspiracies in action,” he sneered as he held his cane firmly.
“What are we to do about these enemies?” Vaegon asked.
“Not to worry, Prince Vaegon, I’ve already begun hunting them,” Cregan said as they stood
there watching the couple walk into the Great Hall. Vaegon blinked a few times. “For now,
we’ll let Winter keep our enemies at bay, we’ll prepare the inevitable. For now, we’ll live,
which is more than our enemies are anticipating. I have to leave tomorrow for taking the
Dornish to White Harbor, excuse me this evening,” Cregan nodded as he left them. Sansa
waved Cregan off after he kissed her brow, gave Sara a hug. The celebrations were about to
begin.
Everyone cheered for Jon and Mira as they started the first dance, joined by Princess Helaena
with Rody first, then Sara and an Umber boy, Vaemond with Hazel, and Daeron snatched up
Daenaera to dance. The celebrations were loud and Sansa smiled as she leaned on Aemond.
“Care to dance?” he asked her softly.

“I’d love to,” she assured as she walked out onto the floor with him.
Rhaenyra smiled as Jacaerys came home, she reached out to hug him as he came rushing up
the steps. She caught her eldest in a tight embrace as she smiled and held him tightly.
“Oh, it is so good to see you,” she breathed as he rose a bit.
“You’re looking well,” Jace said as he smiled.
“Mmm,” she hummed a little. Nearly a full two lunar cycles since the birth of her twins, and
she was still exhausted, weak, she hated it. She did not feel as though she was recovering at
all, she still felt terribly weak.
“You finished your squiring with Lord Stark early,” she mused as she settled back in her seat,
he sat across from her then. He was so handsome, fifteen namedays old now, and he looked
very like Harwin had. She smiled as she reached up, cupping his cheek before dropping her
hand.
“Cregan didn’t want me around for the Winter, and felt there was nothing more he could
teach me, the North doesn’t have Knights,” he said softly.
“We’re going to King’s Landing,” she sighed. “I believe it is important we be present there,
and I want to present Bealon and Visenya to the Court, properly,” she murmured. “And…
we’ll have to plan your wedding to Baela,” she predicted.
He smiled and nodded. This was more than he anticipated, but he knew that this was
important to his mother. His mother looked so frail, weak, and he glanced up as Daemon
walked in.
“Jace, it is good to see you,” Daemon smiled brightly as he bounded over to Jace. Jace
eagerly hugged his stepfather, tightly as they pulled apart. “You’ve grown well, and strong,”
he observed as he looked Jace over.
Jace winced at the term strong, but smiled. “I am pleased to be home again, and I see mother
is healing well, her health will hopefully be restored.”
“She is getting stronger by the day,” Daemon said as he kissed Rhaenrya’s crown. Jace
smiled at his mother’s bright smile. “Baela and Joffrey are in the dragonpits,” he said.
“I know, I saw them when I bedded Vermax down. I see Tyraxes is getting big,” Jace
admitted.
“Yes, Joffrey will begin riding lessons soon,” Rhaenyra said.
“Viserys’ egg has hatched,” Daemon said as he sat. Jace sat as well.
“That’s wonderful news!” he smiled brightly. “Has he named it?”
“Raelarr,” Daemon rolled his eyes.

“It’s a lovely name,” Rhaenyra said sharply.
“It is,” Daemon sighed. “Not a terrifying name though.”
“At least it is Valyrian,” Rhaenyra mused.
Jace snorted at his parents bickering. “I’ll go get settled, then I’ll find Rhaena,” he said as he
excused himself.
Sansa chuckled as she sat with Aemond in their quarters, her feet were in his lap, tucked
under his thigh, he was reading, and she was sewing. Frostfyre was sprawled out content at
the hearth. The exhausting months, she was very content sitting here, watching Aemond just
be here.
“Has there still been no word from Beesbury?” Sansa asked as he tossed aside his letters,
rubbing his eye as he winced a bit.
“No,” he breathed, picking up her feet as he slouched, stretching out his legs onto the hearth.
Sansa shifted, pulling her feet from his lap, and shifted so she was snuggled into his side,
pulling his arm around her shoulders as she continued her sewing.
“I trust you,” Aemond said suddenly, jolting her out of her thoughts. “I trust you,” he
murmured as he turned to her. His scar made him look menacing in the dancing shadows of
the firelights. “I meant to tell you months ago, but we have not had time like this… to speak,”
he murmured. Sansa lowered her sewing onto her lap as she shifted a bit and smiled.
“Truly?”
“With my life,” he answered honestly.
She kissed him softly, and he caught the back of her head pulling her onto his lap. His mouth
slanted over hers, she gasped as he kissed her hard and passionately, robbing her of her breath
as he seemed to pull her closer. A moan escaped her as she curled her fingers into Aemond’s
shirt, he pulled away and they were both panting, trying to catch their breath. Trembling a bit
as she watched him lick and bite his lip a little, she bit her own as her brow rested on his.
“I’m glad,” she whispered. “I’m glad I earned that trust back,” she confessed softly as she
reached up, tracing his jawline and smiled softly. “I missed it,” she admitted.
“I think… I hurt more than I didn’t trust you,” he murmured as he caught her hand and stared
at it for a moment.
“I’m sorry for that hurt,” she murmured.
“I hurt you,” he pointed out bluntly. Sansa flinched as his gaze flicked to her. “I am not sorry
regarding my sentiments, Sansa, but, I’m sorry for the pain it’s caused,” he murmured.
“You… you were honest,” she tried to pull away as he held her firmly on his lap.
“Yes,” he admitted. “You have been honest with me,” he pointed out.
“Then there is no point in apologizing.”
“I hurt you,” he pointed out again. “For that I’m sorry.”
Sansa stared at him for a long moment. “Why… why did your sentiments…”
“I had never been more terrified than waking to you bleeding and terrified, and I was
confronted with the reality you could die, and I’d rather have you than not,” he murmured
honestly.
“Do… do you think you’ll want a family?” she asked in a broken whisper.
“I don’t know,” he replied as he moved her hair aside. “Sansa, Starks are fortunate, your
families are built on love, affection, trust, respect. Targaryens have never been so fortunate. I
do not know if I am capable of being good with family.”
“You’re good with your nephews and niece,” Sansa pointed out.
“I have spent a lifetime taking care of my family Sansa, I do not know if I would be good
with my own family or not,” Aemond murmured. “And further, when we were South,
knowing everything we know about the maesters, Hightowers and Faith, the idea of having
you there, with my child on top of everything else, it would have killed you. It would’ve
killed you if only because we know that the Hightowers were so desperate to rid me of you
that they’d break guest rights, the crusade on other beliefs outside the Faith, and then
knowing how the maesters attacked Rhaenyra, in her own home, nearly killing her as you
learnt. Why… why would I ever want a child in their sphere of influence?”
“But… here?” she asked.
“In time,” he assured. “In time,” he promised softly as Sansa’s brow came to rest upon his.
“Will you tell me when?” she asked softly.
“Yes,” he promised. “I just, I want time, Sansa,” he explained. “With you. I have never had a
friend, and I value you, greatly, but I will give you a family,” he assured again.
She smiled tightly as she reached up, tracing his jaw and closed her eyes.
“Hopefully Jon and Mira are having a better night than we are,” Sansa sighed.
“I would expect more noise,” Aemond admitted with a wince.
Sansa snorted as she rested her head on his shoulder. “When my Aunt Lysa decided to marry
Littlefinger, she screamed, so loudly, the entire fucking Eyrie could hear her. but it wasn’t
those… pleasurable screams, she just screamed.”
“Pleasurable screams?”
“I’ll remind you my mentor ran a brothel, I heard some of his whores’ auditions, apparently
there’s a difference,” she shrugged.
Aemond snorted as he hugged her tightly into his chest. She smiled as she closed her eyes.
“I think we can wait, have time, like you said,” Sansa murmured tiredly.
Aemond kissed her temple then and she hugged him a bit tighter. “I trust you, Aemond, more
than anyone.”
He trembled a bit and she just sat there, clinging onto him. It was surprisingly comfortable
sitting like this. Squirming a bit, she pressed herself securely to Aemond, closing her eyes.
“What are we going to do about the South?” Aemond sighed.
“I don’t know, we’re in the North,” she murmured. “They’ll have to sort it out themselves, I
guess,” yawning a bit she turned. “We should go to bed.”
“Mmm,” he hummed tiredly, his fingers traced her spine and she smiled softly.
“The bed is warmer, and more comfortable, and we don’t have any duties for the next few
days,” she pointed out.
“I do like that bed,” he muttered as he stifled his own yawn, she chuckled as she got up,
pulling on his hand.
She sat quietly, reading over her summons, scowling. The dragoness lived, which was
vexing. But the fires of a dragon burned hot and bright, she’d have to take care extinguishing
the weakened flame now. Sighing, she leaned back. Summons to King’s Landing. Standing
she tossed the summons in the fire as she watched them burn.
She could only be summoned for one thing, and she would have to make plan to manage it.
Trembling against the chill of Harrenhal she looked at her table and frowned. Her dragon was
making himself at home with the red wolf, she would have to see if she could stoke that
flame a bit. She needed her dragon’s blood. There was a fluttering at her window, and she
walked over to the raven. It squawked and she reached up, tracing it’s beak, it’s fragile head.
The bird squawked again, she resisted the urge to twist it’s head off as the third eye blinked.
“I see you too,” she rasped. “You have thwarted me, but it will not stop me. I will have my
dragon,” she snarled. Grabbing the bird, she twisted it’s head, it fell lifelessly on the floor and
she kicked it aside for the rats. She would have her dragon.
Walking towards her tables she looked in the mirror, her dragon was embracing the red wolf,
and she snarled at the sight before shoving the silver away from her. Going to King’s Landing
would give her a divine opportunity and she would be able to attend to the dragons
personally. She needed to finish her first task of extinguishing Rhaenyra’s fires. She looked at
a bit of gold, and stared into it at the rogue and delight, they were talking, and holding their
babes.
Scowling she thought about how best to do this.
Death by Rhaenyra’s worst fear was inevitable, and it would be the death to destroy Daemon
Targaryen. Yes… they would be easier to manage, she would go to King’s Landing, and
they’d probably come; given the ailing state of the King, and the Greens fracturing. She
would take advantage of this opportunity. Of course it would be no simple task, but she was
playing the long game. She looked at the reflective bronze where she saw the foolish
dragon’s life dwindling.
Her dragon would have to attend his father’s funeral… that gave her a deadline, and she
smiled.
She could ensure Rhaenyra’s death before 130 AC, but getting her hands on Aemond, or
Aemond’s bloodline, that was vital. She started moving to pack her materials, she would go
to King’s Landing, act as her brother’s servant, and work her own spell. It was vital she
obtain her dragon’s bloodline, but in serving Larys, the Realm would be in so much chaos it
would never see her claiming her dragon.
It was a stifling morning on the bog from the views of Greywater. The boggy lands of marsh
were stilling, the first frost had come, and he knew that soon they’d be still, Winter had a
tendency to freeze them in place. The death of his daughter, in protection of Lady Sara, was a
painful blow for Howlin as he stood there, watching the lands. He was proud of her,
immencely so, but the pain of her loss was an ache in his soul.
He trembled a bit watching the horizon, he wanted to weep, but his tears were long since
spent.
There was a flicker of something, he heard the thundering hooves and frowned as he walked
the Greywater watch wall, and stared out. The banners… he didn’t recognize them as they
approached. Two thin black stripes, for thin yellow stripes, a thick black stripe in the center
with three… hives? He blinked a few times as he motioned for the anchors to be dropped,
still the Greywater.
The banner’s approached, but he saw the party remained far behind the banners riding ahead.
“Halt!” one of Howlin’s guards shouted as arrows were notched, bowstrings drawn.
“I am Ser Alan Beesbury! I come in peace!” he shouted.
“Beesbury? I ain’t never heard of a fucking Beesbury!” Howlin shouted down at the man.
“We are fleeing the Reach, we come with information for Lord Stark, and a plea for
sanctuary!” Alan shouted. “Please! Help us!”
Howlin blinked twice; he could only remember one other time in history this situation had
happened, and it was with Lord Manderly’s House a thousand or so years ago. He stared at
the banners, then looked behind them. There was a hundred or so people, not soldiers, there,
with a caravan of wagons.
“Send a raven to Winterfell. We won’t act until we have word,” he ordered.
Chapter End Notes
Final Chapter! Next chapter is the family tree and fan casting.
I wanted to thank EVERYONE for your patience and commitment to this story, it means
a lot!
A special shout out to Deer Shifter, for your fabulous reviews but mainly for the typos
lists, it really helps, and I'll be going back this month to edit both Wolves Amongst
Dragons and Winter is Coming so truly, thank you! Thank you for everything, I do
greatly appreciate it!
To everyone else who pointed out typos and mistakes, Thank You! I really appreciate it!
I love how involved everyone is with this little series, and I love your reviews! Thank
you for your time, insight, and kindness, I really appreciate everything you guys have to
say!
As to the next story Wings of Dragons will be posted in October sometime, so I hope
you enjoy! =)
Chapter 49
3rd Day of the 2nd Lunar Cycle, Year 129 AC
In the Year 129 AC, King Viserys’ health took a turn for the worse.
Crown Princess Rhaenyra moved to King’s Landing with her consort, Daemon Targaryen,
and their children, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, Prince Joffrey Velaryon, Lady Baela Targaryen,
Lady Rhaena Targaryen, Prince Aegon Targaryen, Prince Viserys Targaryen, Princess
Visenya Targaryen, and Prince Baelon Targaryen. Their move to King’s Landing was as
much for Rhaenyra to cement her claim to the Throne as it was to spend King Viserys’ final
days comforting him. The Black’s victory was assured and their place cemented in the Court.
Especially when copies of Prince Jaehaerys, Princess Jaehaera, Prince Maelor and all of their
lines abdicated.
Aemond had been careful about filing the abdications. He was aware his grandfather would
claim some trickery or another. Sansa had been the one to suggest that he send copies of the
abdications to the other Great Houses. He sent word to Houses Lannister, Tully, Arryn,
Baratheon, Tarly, Hightower, Tyrell, and Greyjoy informing them of the abdications. He had
been thorough about the process, ensuring his nephews and niece were safe, but it had been
tricky. Aemond felt himself and Daeron were removed enough from the line of succession
that he didn’t feel the need to work on abdicating for them. Neither Aemond nor Daeron were
a threat to Rhaenyra. So long as they remained that way, there was no need to contest her
claim to the Iron Throne. The lack of a clear candidate for the Greens to support had
fractured their party dramatically. The Lannisters were back to wearing red openly in Court
and, surprisingly, blue. Blue quickly became popular when it was not black or green.
Queen Alicent retained her dignity and pride through the fracturing of the Greens, even when
she lost her standing within the faction. She persisted on wearing her house color, but her
open hostilities with Crown Princess Rhaenyra had ceased for the most part.
Crown Princess Rhaenyra’s health was returning slowly, though the reports of her good
health were far spread. He had seen her post birth of Visenya and Baelon and doubted she
was as healthy as she claimed. Still, he did not dispute the reports nor spread his own rumors,
though he wanted to. He had promised Sansa he would cease antagonizing the Blacks, so he
had. He kept his thoughts on the matter to himself.
Prince Daemon was reportedly possessive of his wife and children. He was rarely seen far
from them and had not reported anything different about his wife’s health. Daemon had Jace
knighted, not that Aemond gave a fuck, and there’d been a celebration. Daemon was
reportedly temperamental and terrified anyone in the Courts who dared question any aspect
of his family.
Prince Jacaerys was announced to marry Lady Baela in the start of 130 AC, after Lady
Baela’s sixteenth nameday. The prince was reported to be in good spirits about the match.
Sansa’s memory was correct, the North would be engulfed in Winter and that would be good
excuse not to attend any fucking weddings, especially those little shits’. It left Aemond
gleeful in delight. He wouldn’t have to deal with the fucking Crown. He was free.
Prince Lucerys was announced to marry Lady Rhaena in the following year, year 131 AC,
after Prince Lucerys’ seventeenth nameday. Prince Lucerys, future Lord of Absolutely
Fucking Nothing. Hide Tide was decimated after the fires. Aemond knew that Spicetown, the
Hull, and Driftmark was no more. It would take decades just for the vegetation of the island
to recover, which meant no crops, livestock, or people. Nothing could be sustained on the
island without massive import and export trades, and even then, with no ports or established
docks, the island would fall to smugglers and pirates as an outpost at most.
Prince Joffrey was arranged into a match with Lady Ellyn Baratheon, according to rumors
and speculation. The Blacks marrying a Baratheon meant nothing to him, and, as far as he
was concerned, they could all hang. He pitied anyone arranged to marry Joffrey. It was said
that Prince Daemon was arranging for Joffrey to squire with Lord Baratheon, but that was
rumor at this time.
What really irritated Aemond was that fact that Daemon and Rhaenyra had sent him a
petition of marriage. They proposed a match between their son, Prince Aegon the Younger,
and Aemond’s niece, Princess Jaehaera. Aemond had not yet brought this to Sansa and
Cregan to ask for their advice. He was still furious and inclined to tear up the proposal and
burn it. He didn’t want Aegon near Jaehaera. He had carefully kept her out of everyone’s
reach and was not inclined to hand her over, but, if he wanted to keep his word to Sansa, he
would have to think this over carefully. He wanted her account on history before he
condemned Jaehaera to be bound to the Blacks.
There was also an offer for Jaehaerys’ hand, a match between Jaehaerys and Visenya, which
had Aemond snarling. He didn’t want the Blacks getting both his niece and nephew. It was
the last thing he wanted. However, as his great-uncle Vaegon had pointed out, King Jaehaerys
had not done many smart things regarding House Targaryen, but he kept the dragons bound to
House Targaryen. He did not give his daughters dragons, which stopped other houses from
acquiring them through marriage. There were merits to attempting to contain the dragons to
House Targaryen. Aemond knew that Rhaenyra and Viserys had made this particular issue
difficult. He would have to figure out, but wasn’t going to decide anything until he spoke to
Sansa about the fates of his niece and nephews.
Another petition arrived, this time for Maelor’s hand. Lord Reyne had a daughter recently,
Lady Rohanne Reyne, and the match had the possibility of being fruitful. Aemond still
hesitated, given he didn’t want to betroth Maelor before he was yet five years of age. He was
concerned about the petitions he was receiving, when the additional proposal came soon after
Maelor’s.
The last and most surprising petition came to him later. In one with Daeron’s letters, Lord
Jason Lannister mentioned he wanted to propose a match between Prince Daeron and Lady
Jocelyn Lannister. Daeron listed many pros; Jocelyn and Daeron got on rather well, their
temperaments were well suited for one another, and they would have a home at Lannisport,
which was safe. Daeron’s aid against the Ironborn had proven infallible. Tessarion had
proven a good areal defender. Daeron’s letters insinuated he liked the Lannisters, he was
friends with Jocelyn, and he liked Lannisport.
Thus far, there’d been no proposals for Hel’s hand, but she was still in mourning Aegon’s
passing politically. It would require time for her to ever be proposed to, if any ever did
propose. Aemond wanted his sister to have peace, so he prayed she’d be left alone unless a
man’s intentions were genuine.
It was odd how the Westerlands were attempting to form matches with Aemond’s family.
There were probably other proposals he wasn’t aware of yet. Why they wanted this
connection was beyond him, but it made him suspicious.
Aemond was not entirely certain why he was getting the proposals for his brother, nephews,
and niece. They should’ve been sent to his father or Rhaenyra, or someone higher ranked in
House Targaryen than him. Granted, he understood why he was getting proposals for
Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor. He was their regent, legally, since he was their uncle, but
even so, Rhaenyra could be seen as their regent. Hell, even Daemon or Viserys could be, but
given the lengths Aemond had been going to keep the children out of their grasp, it was
probably reasonable to assume the houses thought he was their regent. But he most certainly
was not in charge of Daeron.
Since coming North, Aemond was surprised that his great-uncle Vaegon had decided to
remain with Aemond and his family, especially with the arrival of the Beesbury family and
their tenants, who had all sworn fealty to Aemond’s new position as Lord Drekaúlfur. He still
remembered the raven Cregan received from Greywater. The look of absolute surprise on
Cregan’s face was confusing to Aemond until they went to the neck.
The Neck was a deep bog, which was dense and wet. There were few paths through the Neck
which were safe, and no true settlements in the Neck which would permit people to live
there. The Crannogmen did though. They lived on floating structures which shifted and
moved through the Neck. Their massive boats, barges, and floating cities were a different
engineering marvel. They had floating gardens and villages. Greywatch was a rather unique,
yet beautiful structure. It was a floating fortress. Apparently, it was very rare for Greywatch
to be stationary; it didn’t really set anchor. The ravens could never find Greywatch because it
was always moving.
Greywatch had the entire Neck essentially to hide in.
The Beesburys arrived at Greywatch, having fled the Reach shortly after Aemond. Cregan
had been so startled seeing them, and Aemond was equally surprised when Alan Beesbury
marched up to him and handed him a bag of Aemond’s notes while drawing his sword,
dropping to his knee and swearing fealty to Aemond as both Prince and Lord Drekaúlfur. He
then proceeded to swear fealty to Lord Stark. Cregan and Aemond hadn’t known how to
respond, but they’d gained their wits quickly as they arranged the Beesburys to move to
Winterfell.
Lord Lyman Beesbury’s health was failing him as the weather shifted to colder temperatures,
so they had moved swiftly and surely to Winterfell. The Beesburys had trekked all of
Westeros in their fleeing of the Reach. They were terrified, hungry, cold, and had suffered
heavy losses. Ser Ben Beesbury and his lady wife, Lady Elinor, died in the Westerlands when
bandits set upon the Beesbury caravan. Ser Alan’s wife, Lady Jeyne, died after falling into a
river. The currents crashed her into the rocks. Ser Humfrey died in the Riverlands, where he
had been caught by Faith Militants. Ser Braxtan and Ser Humfrey held the rearguard as the
Beesburys fled. Their party started as a few hundred people, and now they were only one
hundred seventy-three strong; many had died getting here.
Vaegon spent long hours with Lyman when he arrived at Winterfell. Whatever transpired
between the men had Vaegon declaring he’d remain as a member of Aemond’s House. He
said he would seek to educate Cregan and Aemond about economics, and aid in dispersing
food, and services. Aemond hadn’t been able to say no, given Vaegon was as domineering as
any Targaryen. Aemond hadn’t been able to negotiate with that trait, yet. Sansa found
Vaegon’s addition amusing and delightful, she rather liked the old man.
Vaemond settled in White Harbor temporarily. The Velaryon’s suffered a heavy blow, but the
Northerners were aiding in healing the survivors. The North had proposed erecting a
memorial for the Velaryons, and Aemond agreed. Vaemond was touched at the kindness.
Daeron and Hazel were well thought of by the Velaryon people as well. Daenaera remained
here at Winterfell with Lady Hazel at this time. Daemion was taking his duties, learning to be
a steward for Aemond, very seriously. His education had Daeron and Daemion travelling
through the North to learn from different houses. Malentine, Rhogar, and Vaevon began
teaching the Northerners how to sail, as they traveled to Braavos to place an order for ships in
the name of House Stark.
Aemond was surprisingly delighted at Lenton’s placement on the eastern coast. It was in the
glacier mountains, but also located in a fjord. It was a very defensible position, near volcanos
for Vhagar, but also in the center of a connection for a lot of rivers. The fjord was steep and
beautiful. It had waterfalls, mountains, and a forest. He took Sansa and she had been thrilled
to show him around, despite the cold snows.
At Winterfell, life, despite the hardships, was peaceful and rather welcoming.
The shock of something cold and wet smashing into his face had him stumbling back to the
present. There was nefarious giggling as he righted himself, wiping the snow from his eye as
he whipped around to see his wife and niece attempting to feign innocence. Sansa’s blue eyes
were glittering with mirth and she smiled impishly. He glanced at Jaehaera who was giggling
hysterically. Those little menaces.
“This. Means. War.” He growled. Jaehaera squealed and Sansa laughed as they took off. He
was fast to grab up snow, compacting it into a ball as he threw it after them. The girls
squealed.
“Save us!” Jaehaera laughed as he tore after them. Jaehaera threw a few more snowballs at
him, which had him diving behind a tree to evade. She squealed again as she ran. Morghul
swooped overhead, playfully chittering as the dragon protected Jaehaera from snowballs.
Aemond didn’t slow though as he tossed a few more balls; catching his wife, who laughed.
Frostfyre and Ice appeared and joined the chase. They were thwarted when they skidded over
the hall’s ice. Aemond rushed them and Sansa laughed in defeat as he caught her waist.
“Save yourself Jaehaera!” Sansa shouted as he and Sansa both toppled into the snow. Sansa
was laughing hard and he struggled to push himself up off her in the soft snow. She was still
laughing as he shook his head.
“Do you surrender?” he demanded.
“Yes,” she giggled. She laid there in compliance. Her bright red hair was a stark contrast to
the white snow, her icy complexion was flushed from her laughter, and her lips red. Aemond
gave into the impulse to kiss her gently as their breaths mingled on the cold air. Sansa kissed
him back in tandem, and he pulled away, lifting her up with him.
“Prince Aemond!” they both turned when they saw the rookier master, Bran, appear. “It’s
from the Crown,” Bran stated.
Aemond nodded as he accepted the letter and they continued walking into Winterfell.
In the past lunar cycles, Aemond was pleased to see Sansa’s spirits returning to her. His niece
and nephews had taken to the North rather well, though they had cried when Rody and the
Dustin brothers had departed for Barrowton. The Winter’s Council had dispersed rather
rapidly after they had concluded their business. They were enchanted by Princess Aliandra
and Princess Coryanne, and had been delighted to educate the Princesses. They had said their
farewells before the weather turned. Aemond had been relieved at the Dornish aid to the
Velaryons. Aemond flew between Winterfell, Lenton, and White Harbor rather frequently,
but he was more relaxed here in the North.
Even though Sansa was healing well, she had moments of melancholy. He knew her spirit
was wounded far more deeply than anyone understood. They would speak about their loss in
private. Sansa vehemently kept the information about the loss from Jon and Sara, and her
Ladies. Cregan would on occasion speak to them both about it, but he did not press for
information.
Aemond looped his arm around Sansa’s waist as they walked after Jaehaera.
They saw Lady Mira Norstark as they entered Winterfell’s hall. Mira was rounding with
child. Her small frame remained slender, but the child was swelling her rather dramatically
despite being a mere four moons into the pregnancy. No one was more surprised than Jon
about Mira’s pregnancy. Aemond remembered the pain in Sansa’s eyes the night Mira
announced the pregnancy. He remembered her smiling and congratulating her friend, and
holding her that entire night as she wept in envy, grief, and agony while she hid against his
chest. There was nothing he could say to aid her, so he merely held her tightly and cursed the
Hightowers for hurting her so deeply. He knew that this would be a wound that would never
heal for them, but they did take joy for Sansa’s brother and his expanding family. Aemond
and Jon had formed a truce when Jon learnt Aemond had aided in saving Sansa from the
Hightower plot.
“Mira, you should be resting!” Sansa huffed.
“I’m fine!”
“You are not,” Sansa stated as she walked out of Aemond’s grasp. He nodded as he grabbed
up Jaehaera as Sansa herded Mira off to rest.
“That’s grandma’s seal,” Jaehaera stated.
He nodded.
“I miss grandma,” Jaehaera confessed.
“I do to,” he assured as he went to find Helaena. The Northern nursery for the children was a
bit more hospitable than the one in the Red Keep. Rickon always had Timber with him, and
Jaehaera, Jaehaerys, and Maelor had their dragons. Maelor’s egg had hatched earlier than
Aemond had anticipated. It was a creamy gold with flakes of blue beast that Maelor had
taken to calling Sȳndor. Daenaera also stayed in the nursery, as did Barba Bolton.
Helaena was giggling with Daenaera, Maelor, and Barba as they played some game.
Jaehaerys and Rickon were playing as well, but separately. Lady Hazel was knitting and she
smiled as he entered.
“Prince Aemond,” Hazel smiled.
“Lady Hazel,” he acknowledged. “Umbagon rūsīr aōha muñnykeā,” he said to Jaehaera as

Morghul flew up to the rafters. Soon Morghul and Shrykos would be too large to remain
indoors, which Aemond was certain would relieve many of the Northerners. He knew the
dragons unsettled them. He gave Helaena a nod before leaving her and walking out of the
nursery. He opened the missive as he walked. He wanted to read whatever his mother wrote
in private without Jaehaera asking him about her grandmother.
Aemond looked over Alicent’s script and scowled a bit as he read. He eventually found
himself in his suite and sat before the fires of the hearth after pulling off his boots and cloak,
as well as the heavy jacket.
Reading the missive again, he sat there trembling. He hadn’t spoken to his mother since his
wedding, which was nearly a year ago.
Sansa found him there. He felt her slender hand trace his shoulders and turned to look up at
her.
“You are looking grim,” Sansa said as she sat in her seat beside him. He held out the missive
for her, and she frowned as she accepted it. The frown pulled deeper on her lips as she read
the missive.
“I’ll…” she started.
“You are to remain here,” Aemond cut off before she could volunteer to go with him. “You,
Helaena, Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, Maelor, you will remain here. I’ll speak to Cregan, but I’ll
probably take Vaegon, if I take anyone with me."
"Aemond, I’m your wife,” she started.

“That’s right, you’re my wife, Sansa!” he snapped furiously. “My wife! I will not endanger
you, again. You will remain here, I will return, and we will continue building our life here.”
Sansa blinked.
“Aemond, I am not weak…” she started.
“Sansa, I do not think you weak,” Aemond cut her off. “I do not trust my grandfather and his
family not to do something if you are there, and I want you safe. I will do this alone, and I
will return.”
“Aemond...”
“No,” Aemond cut her off. Sansa stared levelly at him.
“If you don’t return, I’ll track you down myself and drag you back here,” she warned
seriously. “I want ravens, daily, and I want you to promise me you’re returning.”
“I give you my word, I’ll return,” Aemond assured softly. “I’ll speak to Cregan and leave in
the morning.”
15th Day of the 2nd Lunar Cycle, Year 129 AC
It was the roaring of Vhagar which alerted King’s Landing to the Dragon Queen’s return. She
watched from the balcony as Prince Aemond dropped from the cloudbank, circling the Red
Keep. It was a truly magnificent sight to behold. Vhagar’s load was clearly light as she
circled the entire keep before sweeping for her landing area. She’d always known that the
Dragon Queen’s rider never forced his dragon to be tamed. Glancing around, she walked out
of her room and watched the castle clamber to greet the prince’s return.
It was a few hours later that she spied him in person for the first time in her entire life.
Prince Aemond Targaryen, her dragon. His blood was raging with power and an inferno of
rage and untapped potential despite his icy demeanor. His long, pale silver hair, like platinum,
fell well past his shoulders long and loose, though there were odd braids holding it back off
his long face. He had a long, sharp nose, long chin, sharp jawline, high cheekbones, strong
brow and piercing eyes. She was staring though at his mouth though; his lips were red, and
they curled back in a dangerous smile. The long scar over his eye, hidden behind the
eyepatch, only emphasized the length of his handsome face. She was a bit startled when he
lifted his gaze and saw her.
The youth of his features disappeared as he assessed her. She trembled feeling his power. His
bloodline would hold more power than any other dragon she had ever felt; even her brother’s
dragon progeny could not compare to this power.
She had always kept an eye on the dragons. She could feel their power still seared into the
halls of her father’s home, and she knew that power like that was everything she would ever
need. But not just any dragon’s blood would do, no, she needed the one who’s fires burned
the hottest. She had, for a long time, considered Prince Daemon her dragon, but that had
changed when she felt Prince Aemond’s birth. Even in the Riverlands, long before her
brother sent the announcement, she could feel him. She felt his pull and now he was here.
Securing his bloodline would be of the utmost importance, even if Larys did not see it. She
did not care who bore his children, but his firstborn was to be hers.
She had not noticed she had moved until she stood beside Larys and watched him approach.
Aemond paused before them, clearly not by choice as Larys stopped him.
“My Prince, it is so good of you to return. Your mother will be so pleased. Is your sister by
chance accompanying you?” Larys asked.
“No.” Aemond’s gaze flicked to her. She trembled and held her ground; the dragon’s power
was immense.
“Ah, my sister, Lady Alys Rivers,” Larys introduced. “Alys, this is Prince,” he started.
“Prince Aemond Targaryen,” she finished as she gave him a small smile, along with a low
and proper curtsy.
Aemond did not respond as he looked her and her brother over. He turned when his name was
called by the brutish Kingsguard and walked off. She watched his retreating form and
softened. Yes, she would obtain his first born. The power raging in his blood, it was so
immense!
“Find out why he is here,” Larys ordered.
She did not need to. She knew he was here to seal fate even if he did not know it yet.
Aemond was surprised when he was shown to his old quarters, which were freshened up a
little, but exactly as he had left them. He was startled when he found one of Sansa’s dresses
folded up neatly amongst his own things. Carefully, he pulled it out of the drawer, staring at
the simple gown, shaking his head in amusement. Sitting in his chair, he rubbed his fingers
over the embroidery and sighed. He missed his fucking wife. Vexing woman! Part of
Aemond wondered if she purposely left the dress here to annoy him and remind him that he
wasn’t home. Sansa would do something like that.
He rose as he started unpacking his satchel. He would not be here for more than a fortnight.
Aemond would not stay longer. He wanted to go back home to his wife and be far out of the
South when his father finally died; which would be the 3rd day of the 3rd lunar cycle. He had
about a week before he’d leave, but a fortnight at most.
Aemond finished unpacking and was surprised at the knock on his door. He frowned a little
as he opened it.
“Aemond,” his mother said tersely.

“My Queen,” he stepped aside, giving a low, formal bow which was required of all in her
presence. He didn’t see his mother flinch, but as he rose he saw her displeasure.
“I…” she bit her lip, wringing her hands.
“Princess Helaena is well. She decided to continue overseeing the construction of Lenton in
my absence. Prince Jaehaerys, Princess Jaehaera, and Prince Maelor miss you. They sent me
with messages for you,” he stated as he walked to where he had unpacked the letters. Holding
them out to his mother, he watched her hands tremble as she accepted them.
“When… How long do they intend to stay as guests to Lord Stark? Certainly, given the
famine there is a strain on resources.” Alicent asked.
“Indefinitely,” he answered firmly. “Their abdication has been sent to all the Lord Paramount
of the Realms, and they are now members of House Targaryen. They have decided to remain
in the North. Lord Stark has welcomed them as guests of my House, and has graciously
permitted them to remain for as long as they please.”
He saw his mother flinch as she tightened her hold on the letters. Part of Aemond wanted to
reach out, pull his mother in close and hold onto her as if he were a mere boy, but he did not.
He saw her gaze flick to where he’d left Sansa’s dress and saw her purse her lips.
“How is your wife?” she asked in a neutral voice. He stared levelly back.
“She sends her regards,” Aemond answered.
“Is she…?” Alicent started.
“Aemond,” Vaegon appeared, and he saw his mother flinch as she turned.
“Prince Vaegon, it is a surprise to see you here. I was informed of your good health,” she
said.
Vaegon scowled. “Queen Alicent.”
“Uncle, is there something I can do for you?” Aemond asked. Vaegon strode in, leaning on
his cane as he sat on the chair.
“These buffoons put me in my old room, and are ceaselessly pestering about like a flock of
headless hens,” he sneered.
Aemond raised his brow.
“You are a Prince of King Jaehaerys’ line,” Alicent started.
“As I am ceaselessly reminded. Now, I have business to discuss with my great-nephew,” he

stated.
Aemond nodded and saw his mother flinch before she walked out of the room.
“Never did like your mother,” Vaegon stated dryly. “Intelligent girl, but skittish and under the
thrall of her family.”
“What is it, Uncle?” Aemond asked as he picked up Sansa’s dress, folding it neatly as he
rolled it to be at the bottom of his satchel.
“It’s about your grandfather, what are you intending?” Vaegon stated.
“Nothing,” Aemond admitted as he looked at his uncle then. “There is nothing to be done.
Cregan cannot prove beyond a reasonable doubt that my grandfather took my father’s knife
and arranged Aegon’s stabbing, nor can he prove who stabbed Aegon.”
“You would permit him to continue in his schemes?” Vaegon challenged.
“Yes, it is no longer a concern of me nor mine as we’re in the North,” Aemond stated. “The
throne is Rhaenyra’s, which is what Viserys and Daemon want, and it is no longer a concern
what my grandfather does. We will return North, the matter is settled.”
“Even knowing what you know?” Vaegon inquired.
“If I had it my way, no, but the Crown is Rhaenyra’s and Daemon’s. We’ve told them all we
know. It is for them to figure out what to do next,” Aemond said tiredly. He’d been arguing
with Vaegon for weeks about revenge against the Hightowers. The only reason Aemond did
not go to the Reach and burn it all to the ground was because he knew, he just knew, that
would end badly. Moving openly against the Faith, or even destroying anything at this point,
would drive more common folk to be radicalized and to seek revenge. It would just
perpetuate and continue. Aemond didn’t know how to move forward, but he knew how not to
move forward, and he had his own concerns. Running a House, whilst not as stressful as a
Realm, was still a time-consuming task. He and Vaemond had to work out how to aid the
survivors of Driftmark. Then there were surveyors learning the lands in the Gift, which were
now known Dhachaidh. It was some Northern dialect, and no one was bothering to tell
Aemond what that translated into, though Sansa would smile and say he’d like it.
“Mmm,” Vaegon hummed.
Aemond raised his brow at his great-uncle. “If I had it my way, we would do something, but
it is not my way, it’s Rhaenyra’s Crown and Throne. We will return North, unless you desire
to remain here to advise Rhaenyra and her consort.”
“I should’ve remained dead if that was even an option,” Vaegon sneered.
“And yet you persist on bothering me,” Aemond muttered.
“I have found few of our family tolerable. You are of moderate intelligence,” Vaegon
quipped.
“Mmm,” he hummed as he assessed his uncle. “I think you persist on being a pain in the arse
so everyone else will not tolerate you.”
“Sansa finds my company enjoyable.”

“My wife has peculiar tastes. She wed me willingly,” Aemond countered blandly.
“And they dare say you do not have humor,” Vaegon muttered.
“It is you they say have no humor, I’m the mute,” Aemond countered.
Sansa tilted her had back when Cregan walked in. He held missives from Dorne. She smiled
at her brother as she knit a sweater for Jon’s unborn child.
“Very cute,” Cregan chuckled as she held it up.
“Remember when Rickon was small?” she mused and smiled.
“Aye, he’s growing like a wolf pup,” Cregan snorted and sat beside her. “I’m having Jon go
to the Lonely Hills. He’s going on a campaign dispersing supplies. He’ll be back in two
moons, provided the weather doesn’t turn.”
“That’ll do him good, he’s trying to sneak off to the Wall though,” Sansa sighed.
“Bryan is keeping him south of the Wall,” Cregan stated. “He’ll not have his goodbrother
haring off North of the Wall,” Cregan mused with his own wolfish smile as he flopped
around in the seat beside her.
“Out maneuvering Jon already?”
“Aye,” Cregan chuckled. “Jon’s learning, but out-training his bad habits is vexing. Lone wolf
tendencies are not to be tolerated.”
“That’s good,” Sansa sighed as she lowered her knitting into her lap. “He’s restless.”
“Memories, we all have them,” Cregan murmured tiredly. “Mira’s good for him, patient. He’s
remembering Arya and it’s too much for him,” he murmured.
“I miss Arya,” Sansa admitted. “She and I could not get along to save our lives, but… we
figured out how to work together. She used to be so… threatening and angry.”
“You’re no dainty maiden yourself,” Cregan snorted.
“Mmm, she used to scream ‘fire’ whenever she saw me walking around Winterfell as
children. I hated that. Robb, Jon, and even father thought it was amusing. I used to hate
having such red hair,” she sighed. “I miss her, not the her that returned from the Faceless
Men, but the her that loved her Water Dancing lessons from that… oh, what was his name…
Syrio, Sario? She loved those lessons, and chasing the cats… I miss the Arya who was
defiant against Queen Cersei… not the Arya who came back from the Faceless Men, so
heartless and cold, untouchable and judgmental,” she sighed. “Jon and Arya always loved
one another. I know he won’t speak about their marriage or their lives together, but I wish he
would, I miss her. I miss talking about her with someone who knew her,” she looked tiredly
at Cregan.
“I’m sorry,” Cregan murmured.
“It isn’t your fault. I’m here, Arya is not,” she shrugged tiredly. “What is that missive?”
Sansa asked.
“It’s a bad idea, but one that needs to be examined,” Cregan held it out for her. Raising her
brow, she accepted the letter and pursed her lips as she read it over.
“What do you think?” Sansa asked.
“I think I’m a fool if I say no,” Cregan sighed. “But another part of me is flinching at this,
because it is not our way. Starks wed the North, we always have, and until you, we always
would,” he murmured. “But I cannot deny that there is something to be examined with this
proposal. Dorne is our strongest trade partner and wedding them cements diplomatic
connections and allies between our Realms. It also landlocks the Reach, if we could secure
the Riverlands and Westerlands that is. Given the new that the Vale and Stormlands have
declared for the Blacks, that’s a third of the Realm. The Reach is losing hold. Surrounding
and containing them is appealing. But you married Aemond. If I marry or Sara marries
Dorne, then the Starks have weakened their stance in the North by not marrying the North as
we have for generations.”
“That is true, but you already have an heir through Arra Norrey, Rickon,” Sansa countered.
“Jon has married Mira Stane, and Aemond and I’s family will wed the North, and remain
North. Most of our tenants are Northern, with exception to the Velaryons and Beesburys, who
will in time marry the North. That is a good portion of our House still connected to and
wedding the North,” Sansa stated.
“Aye, but if I accept this, Sara goes South to wed Prince Qyle, and I wed Aliandra. We’ve
established that the North and Dorne are equals. Our partnership is for both our Realms, but it
also has the last two viable Starks connecting to the North wed to the Dornish.”
“Aye, it would be a statement that the North and Dorne are equals,” Sansa sighed.
“In… in history, I know I have not asked, but I need…” Cregan looked at his hands.
“You need what?”
“Information, I need to think over the possibilities,” he murmured.
“I…”
“I do not blame you for Arra,” he cut off fiercely as he looked at his hands. “And I hold no
grudge about her death, but I need to know. I need to know so I can weigh my options, and
make the best decision. In history, did I wed again?”
“Aye, you did. You wed thrice, Cregan, you had ten issues…” Sansa murmured as she looked
at her lap. “Marrying Dorne might save Rickon, but it would end those nine other children,”
she informed him.
“Ten?” he whispered as he looked at his lap.
She nodded slowly.
“Who…?” Cregan rasped.
“Who what?”
“My wives, who were they?” he looked at her with a steely resolve.
She bit her lip as she looked at the missive. “Lady Arra Norrey was your first wife, you had
two children with her. The second never survived and Rickon grew to be heir of Winterfell,
even a hundred and fifty years later the North laments his death. He died in 161 AC, when a
Targaryen decided to conquer Dorne. He died in one of the final battles. Lady Alysanne was
your second wife, you had four daughters with her. They died in the Shivers epidemic in 141
AC. Lady Lyarra Stark of Barrowton was your last wide and you had your final children with
her, five children.”
Cregan stared at the flames of the hearth for a long time, he seemed to be thinking this over
carefully. “Did… did I love either wife?” he murmured hoarsely.
“I… yes, I suppose you did,” Sansa murmured. “Your union to Alysanne Blackwood was
legendary. There were songs written about it. Your final union was said to be a gentle one,”
she answered.
He nodded as he leaned back. “If I accept this, then I would not have those nine issues,” he
murmured.
“No, you wouldn’t,” Sansa admitted. “Without the Dance you won’t meet Lady Alysanne
Blackwood, and perhaps there won’t be an epidemic following this famine. Perhaps you
won’t marry Lyarra Stark either,” Sansa murmured.
“What would you do?” Cregan asked.
“I… I think securing Dorne will save us all heartbreak in the future. Rickon can grow into
Lord of Winterfell, it is his birthright, and he won’t die in Sunspear,” she pointed out.
Cregan took a sharp inhale then as he leaned back in his seat. Closing his eyes, he seemed to
be lost in thought. “Your very existence has changed history, for you wed a Targaryen. I do
not need to make a pact of Ice and Fire, nor do I need Prince Jacaerys to be a friend. Sara will
not be entangled in that legend either,” he muttered. “I have much to think on, thank you
though.”
Sansa nodded as he rose.
“And Sansa… those… those other nine issues…” he turned to look at her. “I don’t want to
know anything else about them. I asked because I needed to know, but I don’t want to know
anything more about them,” he said softly. “It isn’t fair.”
“I… I understand, Cregan,” she whispered softly. Cregan nodded as he came over kissing her
crown before he left her be. She looked at her lap, trembling as she closed her eyes, her hand
rubbed over her womb… biting her lip hard she kept the burning tears back.
23rd Day of the 2nd Lunar Cycle, Year 129 AC
Over the course of the next week Aemond observed the Courts carefully. He was a bit
surprised at the lack of black and green, given the Blacks should by all accounts be
celebrating. They had secured the Throne. Houses Arryn, Velaryon, and Baratheon all reveled
in wearing black, but surprisingly many of their banners did not. Aemond didn’t understand
the colors. Yes, there were Greens still prominent. Hightower, Tarly, Tyrell, Peake, and
Redwyne were still wore Green, but there was a clear sense of victory from the Blacks.
Houses Lannister, Tully, Blackwood, Royce, Morrigan, and Wylde were all blue… blue and
red. Aemond thought it odd. Yes, they wore their own house colors, but there was something
underfoot, and Aemond didn’t know what to make of it. Blue was a common color theme of
those he saw.
The introduction of Vaegon Targaryen to Court went as well as one could expect. It was
rather surprising to Aemond how well Vaegon could insult everyone. The Lannisters laughed
it off, embracing Aemond eagerly, inquiring about Sansa’s health, and if they were expecting
yet. The Tullys did not know what to make of Vaegon, though they seemed to mostly ignore
him in favor of speaking to Aemond. House Blackwood was one Aemond had never
encountered, but he knew about Alysanne Blackwood from Sansa and her recounting of
Cregan’s prospective future. Aemond felt rather neutral when it came to House Blackwood,
they seemed to be an extreme of the other end of the Faith, they were stout believers and
practitioners of the Old Gods and Old Ways. The Blackwoods sought him out, with the
Tullys, which had Aemond suspicious. House Royce was another House Aemond that kept
seeking him out. Vaegon’s acid tongue kept them away from him, thankfully.
There were other Houses, but they weren’t worth Aemond’s time.
Vaegon and Daeron’s introduction was a sight to see. His enthusiastic brother and Vaegon’s
sour disposition made them get along like a house on fire. Aemond found it very amusing,
given the insults they would hurl at one another. Vaegon had remarked that Daeron was very
creative and witty, then insulted him by saying he was brash, impulsive, and vexing. Daeron
found Vaegon to be annoying, demanding, and elitist. While the insults were entertaining,
they were both annoying when they got into one of their arguments.
The best part about being married, in Aemond’s mind, was that the fear of insulting the
Starks, after what was known as the Hours of the Hunt, kept all of those women out of
Aemond’s bed. Which meant that even when he was stuck here, he was left alone in his
quarters. Aemond was certain if he had to deal with another woman sneaking into his bed,
ever again, he’d kill them. Sansa wouldn’t be here to save her if she crossed him.
Rhaenyra’s Court was rather vexing. He didn’t dwell upon it and refused to engage. He’d had
to suffer through nightly dinners with the Targaryen family, which had him reminding
himself that he’d be free soon. Daeron hated those dinners as much as Aemond, though they
now had a more somber tone.
Rhaenyra’s health was improving. She did not seem as strong as she once had been, but
Aemond knew that Daemon was protective of her. She had a tired, haggard look about her.
She had lost a lot of weight, but she still had a flush, healthy look about her too. She was
recovering, he could see that. Not as swiftly as the world needed, but it was not Aemond’s
concern.
Daemon was looking less manic; more kept and back to himself. The last time Aemond had
seen his uncle was when he was half crazed; mad with grief and worry. Aemond knew that
Daemon’s sanity was now tied to Rhaenyra’s life and wellbeing. Daemon had always been
this imposing, dangerous man in Aemond’s eyes, and seeing how much of a vulnerability
Rhaenyra was to Daemon’s own wellbeing, stunned him. His uncle had never been
monogamous to Rhaenyra like Rhaenyra had been to Daemon, but apparently emotional
fealty was what Daemon practiced. Not that it mattered to Aemond really.
Jacaerys was as idiotic as when Aemond last encountered his nephew, though he had grown
up a bit. While mainly leaving Aemond the fuck alone for a change, he took delight in
watching Jacaerys look like a floundering imbecile or a fish out of water. Aemond rather
enjoyed watching Jacaerys make a fool of himself. Even though Cregan had trained Jacaerys,
Cregan was raised essentially to be a King, to rule a Realm, to be a Great Lord, he had
always upheld and managed his duties. Starks were born to uphold their duty. That wasn’t
something that could be taught, and Jacaerys was drowning now that he was being forced to
actually swim. Aemond reveled in it, especially with how irritated the Small Council seemed
whenever Jacaerys was there.
Lucerys was now struggling under the thumb of Lord Corlys, and it had put a cease to a great
many of Lucerys’ antics now that Aemond was around. Aemond was actually left alone. The
quiet was peaceful, was suspicious. He still kept his eye open, but he enjoyed being left
alone.
Baela and Rhaena were something Aemond didn’t know what to make of. Baela glared at
him every time they were in the same room, but she didn’t speak to him. He didn’t mind that
lack of conversation. Rhaena on the other hand was what Aemond didn’t understand. Yes, she
had apologized to him, but her attempts to converse with him were annoying. She was too
sweet when she spoke. He didn’t trust her and he hated her attempts at kindness, he didn’t
need her pity, but he remembered his promise to Sansa and was civil to her and the rest of the
Blacks.
Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys left Aemond alone, so he ignored them. He didn’t bother with
Visenya or Baelon either.
There were times Aemond was quietly cursing his promise to Sansa, because she was right, if
he wanted to be left alone in the North then he had to make peace with the Blacks.
Aemond’s entire peace was shattered by King Viserys. Fuck his father, fuck the Greens, fuck
the Blacks. Aemond wanted them all to hang. But mostly, fuck Viserys.
Somehow, in his senile father’s head, Viserys remembered Aemond’s wedding and wouldn’t
leave him alone! Viserys was fixated, and it had him constantly summoning Aemond to speak
to him. Viserys’ incessant ramblings about marriage and having a wife made Aemond miss
Sansa immensely. He was unsurprised honestly, he had loathed being apart from Sansa when
they’d been in Hightower and now was no different, but instead of being separated by a few
rooms he was several Realms away from her. The only solace Aemond had was that Sansa
was safely tucked away in the North. But if Aemond had to listen to Viserys’ incessant
babbling about what made a good marriage, Aemond might smother his father with a fucking
pillow. Viserys was a pain in Aemond’s arse, and he could not die soon enough! Aemond
found himself biting his tongue and enduring the meetings. Tonight, was no different.
Aemond sat and was preparing to leave. He’d received a raven from Sansa which had him
smiling slightly. Sansa’s lovely script was not much solace when Aemond wanted to be home
rather than here. His hours were spent absently listening to Viserys ramble on while he reread
Sansa’s letter.
“Are you… listening, Aemond,” Viserys rasped. Aemond’s eye flicked to his father.
“Yes,” he lied shamelessly as he returned to rereading Sansa’s letter.
“You… you look so like… Daemon,” Viserys rasped. That had Aemond sitting up straighter
as he blinked rapidly, looking over at his father. The comment had thrown Aemond off guard
entirely. “I… guess the resemblance… between us… is stronger now,” he smiled a bit.
Aemond frowned, he did not dare to speak at this moment. He had never spoken much to
Viserys and did not view Viserys as a father, but at this moment, he honestly did not know
what he should say that wasn’t scathing or cruel. He glared at his father as he shifted a bit,
pulling his letter closer to him.
“I… I am sorry,” Viserys rasped. “The wedding… it was… lovely.”
Aemond bit his tongue as he glared at his father. He was uncertain what his senile father was
thinking or what he was remembering but Aemond sincerely doubted it was Aemond’s
wedding.
“Do… do you… love her?” Viserys asked with a smiled.
Aemond snarled then, bristling at the pointed questioned as he glared at his father.
“I… I wish to speak… with you, my son… Do you… love her?” Viserys persisted weakly.
“Does my King demand an answer?” Aemond countered with a growl. “No matter what
truths I speak, you will forget them this evening or on the morrow.”
“Aemond… we’re… we are… family,” Viserys rasped.
“Unfortunately, it has never meant anything to you before,” Aemond snapped as he rose.
“Have… have you… no… mercy for… this dying… man? We are… blood,” Viserys
whispered. “I wish… I w-wish to know ho…how my… my son is… I ask… to speak to
you… as your… father,” Viserys whispered. “I… I wish… to impart wisdom… for your
union… to your bride, Lady Sansa…”
Aemond saw red at Viserys’ saying Sansa’s name. There had been a time when Aemond
would’ve done whatever it took to get Viserys’ attention, but he never attained it. He was not
the Realm’s Delight, the Crown Prince, or a bastard Strong, he was Aemond. He did not have
a father; he had a King. To hear Viserys even saying he was speaking to Aemond as a father
was enough to have Aemond’s blood boiling and fury peaking as he clenched his jaw, biting
his tongue.
“Do Not Ever Speak My Wife’s Name,” he snarled fiercely. There was something vile about
Viserys speaking of Sansa, and it had Aemond wanting to hoard Sansa further away. So far
away that none would ever be able touch her. They would build a home, they would live a
life, and Viserys was to have no part of it. Aemond relished that knowledge, but he would not
have his father ever speaking her name.
“Aemond… I wish… for us to… speak,” Viserys started. “A union… is… a-a good
blessing… Your wife…”
“I do not have time for this,” Aemond snarled as he leaned over his father, letting his hatred
show as he glared at this decrepit old man.
“Aemond!”
“You Do Not Get To Speak To Me About Marriage!” he growled lowly as he glared at his
father. “You, who condemns a wife to death after forcing her to carry your progeny endlessly
until it killed her, at your order no less. You, who would rape and torment your first and
second wife without regards to her health or desires! You killed every single one of Queen
Aemma’s stillborn children. You condemned them to death because you are weak, fallible,
and nothing. You could not protect your woman and you do not deserve to speak to me about
marriage. You condemned my mother to misery and pain, you scoff at Westerosi traditions
and customs, and you inflicted yourself upon those who desired nothing from you. You are
the last man I would ever speak to for advice on my marriage! I’d sooner ask a maester or
septon for advice!”
Stalking out of the room, he went to his own apartments. He paused when he saw a willowy
redhead. She turned her large green eyes on him and he ignored her. He went into his
apartments, Sansa’s letter still in his hand, and he sat down in his seat, trembling violently.
He wanted to go home.
One more week. One more week, that’s all he’d give them, and he’d head home. Looking at
Sansa’s letter again, he started rereading it.
Vexing woman, he missed her, but he was relieved she was tucked away in the North.
Chapter 50
Chapter Notes
Aemond was lounging reluctantly at a dinner, the party was in full swing, and he was being
forced to sit at the Royal table close to his mother; a constant reminder of why he wanted to
go home. At least Lucerys, Baela, Rhaena and Jacaerys were leaving him alone. Vaegon was
thankfully between Aemond and his mother with Daeron on Aemond’s other side. His fingers
were toying with the stem of his goblet, and he contemplated leaving right then. He knew
Vaegon would leave with him, but he was also enjoying this time catching up with Daeron.
Daemon kept side eyeing him, which made Aemond wary, while Rhaenyra gave him soft,
tired smiles. Rhaenys shot him a look he couldn’t decipher while Lord Corlys was glaring.
Aemond ignored them all. He spoke to the Nobles that approached him, but put no more
effort than that.
Sansa’s declaration of when Viserys would die was set. That wasn’t the Faith, or plots, that
was a date set by Fate. Aemond fully believed in fate, he accepted free will, but he had come
to agree with Cregan’s views on Fate as a whole. There were inevitable events that, no matter
the choice, would be the outcome, and it sounded like King Viserys’ death would be a point
of Fate. Aemond wanted to be as far North as he could so he might not tempt his own. He did
not want to become the monster Sansa’s histories remembered him as, she deserved better
than that.
“Ladies and Noblemen, for tonight’s entertainment, I present the lovely Lady Alys,” someone
announced. Aemond looked at the base of his goblet, turning it between his fingers. He
would leave either tonight or tomorrow. He’d tell Vaegon and they’d leave before everything
could go wrong.
“Good evening,” Alys walked out. Aemond’s eye flicked to her, and he blinked a few times;
the red hair, it was impossible to look away. She was a beautiful woman; vibrant red hair,
sharp, unique features, her eyes were rather kind, and he tensed as he noticed her approaching
him. “For this evening’s entertainment, I thought I might deliver the futures of our esteemed
Royals for us to have hopes for a prosperous future!”
There was a roar of clapping and Aemond slowly pulled his hands away from the table top.
Alys smiled as she curtsied and approached the tables. She pulled a needle and held out her
hand to Vaegon first.
“Prince Vaegon, it would be an honor to read the life of King Jaehaerys’ last surviving son,”
she purred.
“No,” Vaegon stated firmly.

“Perhaps, I shall offer first. Uncle Vaegon has never been one for magic,” Rhaenys said as
she smiled and held her palm out, palm up.
“Perhaps he just needs to see the magic,” Alys mused. The crowd clapped as she walked
over. Alys pricked Rhaenys’ finger before smiling, Aemond watched her lick the needle. Her
green eyes seemed to glow as she looked at the crowd and she smiled wickedly before
looking directly at him.
“One question you get,” Alys mused.
Rhaenys pulled her hand back, clasping it beneath her chin, as she looked levelly up at Alys.
“Whatever shall I ask. We have wealth, power, and dragons. What could I possibly seek to
know?” Rhaenys asked dryly as she leaned back. “Will my granddaughter be Queen?”
“Yes, for a time,” Alys smiled.
“Then I have nothing more to ask,” she shrugged daintily as she sipped her wine and leaned
back in her seat.
“My turn,” Rhaenyra mused as she held out her hand. Aemond watched as Alys repeated the
process. There was something unsettling about the way her eyes glowed as she looked at
them.
“Ask your question,” Alys purred as she licked the needle.
“What will my legacy be?” Rhaenyra asked in an amused tone.
Alys seemed to ponder this for a moment and the Court sat with a baited breath. “You will be
Queen, for that is fated, to change and mark history. Your legacy will be secure, a lord, a ruin,
a soldier, a philosopher, a Hand, a hostage, a night, and a maiden. A legacy of Seven.”
The room applauded then, and Rhaenyra frowned.
“Nonsense,” Daemon mused.
“Oh, do you believe me a hoax my prince?” Alys chuckled.
“Yes,” Daemon answered. “Tell me something I don’t know. Tell me how I die,” he mused as
he held out his hand. She smiled wickedly as she pricked his finger before licking off the
blood from her needle. Aemond shifted uncomfortably as he watched her again.
“A heartbreak, my prince. Not to worry, it will take a few years to kill you, but once your
heart is broken, you’re amongst the living dead,” she assured. There was a chuckle and
Damon shook his head.
“And what of me? What do you foresee?” Jace asked in amusement.
“Give me your hand,” Alyse purred. She pricked Jace’s finger and licked his blood; she
smiled sharply.
“Ask your question, my prince?” Alys asked with a gentle smile.
“Will I be a just king?” Jace asked with a smile.
“Before the eye of Gods, who stare upon you in judgement, stand strong to break the curse
and restore the lands for the children.”
“God’s eye,” Lucerys sniggered as he leaned back. “Me next! What is my fate?”
She repeated taking Lucerys’ blood, and smiled. “The storms come for all of us, but
embracing it, you never could.”
Lucerys sat back, scowling as he slumped in his seat.
“What about me?” Joffrey asked.
“A guard you shall be, cloaked in honor, chivalry, and justice. You shall be the guard against
the corruption of the darkness,” Alys said as she toyed with her needle and smiled.
“What’s Baela’s fate?” Jace asked as they looked at one another. Aemond resisted the urge to
roll his eye at these two. Aemond looked at the stem of his goblet again, turning it carefully
in his fingers. Baela held out her hand, and Alys priced the young woman’s hand.
“A mother of a strong line, dance upon the moon and winds,” Alys said with a soft smile.
“And my sister?” Baela asked. Rhaena held out her hand carefully as she let her fingers
tremble. Alys moved swiftly as she pricked her finger.
“What do you desire to know, my lady?” Alys asked as her tongue wrapped around the
needle.
“Will I have a family?” Rhaena asked.
“You shall, six daughters, each more beautiful than the last, their beauty will be legend,” Alys
assured. Rhaena smiled softly.
“ME! Me next!” Aegon shouted gleefully.
“Oh, and what do you desire to know, my prince?” Alys chuckled.
“What will I be known for!?” Aegon asked with a rueful smile.
“The fires are black but they will not consume the House of the dragon, but rather spark a
new light within the House,” she smiled with a malicious smile. “But be careful, my prince,
the dragon’s bane is not something to be proud of.”
Aegon blinked a few times, slowly sitting back.
“And for me?” Viserys asked quietly. “What will I be known for?”
“A Hand, my prince, but never a King, you’ll aid the House of the Dragon,” Alys said with a
smile.
“What of the Queen, Lady Alys, how will my friend’s future unfold?” Rhaenyra asked with a
smile. Aemond tensed as he saw his mother frown, but slowly put her goblet down.
Everything in his mother’s face screamed how much she did not want to deal with this
nonsense.
“Ask your question, my Queen?” Alys asked with a gentle smile.
“My family, will… will they continue to thrive?” Alicent asked gently, her gaze was on him
and Daeron. Aemond tensed under his mother’s gaze, which had him reaching for the wine as
he went to take a massive gulp. He had to leave soon.
“You will have a grandchild soon enough, a beautiful grandson, and your family will grow
and thrive rather beautifully,” she looked at Aemond as she spoke. No one said anything. No
applause or cheers at her statement. No, Aemond felt all their eyes landing on him as he was
sipping his wine. He gulped his wine slowly and leaned back in his seat, not reacting at all as
he kept his gaze level on Alys. Aemond was well aware that Sansa’s health and spirits were
still fragile, and he and Sansa were not intimate. They were still learning to be together.
Aemond had no doubts Sansa was not the one pregnant. That left Helaena, and he stressed
about what his sister could be doing. He knew she and Rody were close, but he didn’t think
she’d actually have a bastard child. No matter what Helaena’s flaws were, she had scrupulous
morals and Aegon’s cruelty had her wary of male affections.
Alys walked to stand before him. He glared at her as she held out her hand to Daeron. He saw
his brother give her his hand. Alys moved first, and Aemond set his goblet on the table,
toying with the stem again. He was leaving tomorrow at first light he decided.
“Will I marry someone I love?” Daeron asked curiously.
“I foresee much love and sorrow in your future, my prince, two loves, one a golden beauty
and one a quiet union to heal the rift,” she said as she dropped his hand. Daeron smiled a bit
and Alys returned to standing before him. Aemond frowned as he glared at her. She held out
her hand rather expectantly.
“My dragon,” she smiled softly, and Aemond looked around the Court. People were cheering,
demanding his future, and he looked up at her as he slowly extended his hand. He saw no
harm in indulging the Court for a bit of amusement. He knew this woman to be a charlatan
already, her false promise to his mother was enough to prove to him that she was. She pricked
his finger, and before he could jerk his hand away, she wrapped her lips around his finger.
Startled, he froze in disgust as she pulled away, smiling as she liked her lips. He yanked his
hand away, grabbing a napkin as he wiped her off his fingers. “Ask your question, my
prince.”
Her voice was low, seductive even and he frowned as he leaned back in his seat. “I have
lands, I have a House, a home, a wife, and a family. I do not seek love, nor power, my future
is secure, I have nothing to ask.”
“You are no doubt curious, my prince,” she chided as she rose, looking at him with a smile
rather like a fox.
“Not particularly,” he admitted with a shrug. “But to amuse this Court with your game,
perhaps I will ask one question.”
She smiled softly.
“You claim my mother will have a grandson soon,” he said.
“Yes,” she purred.
“Will Sansa and the child be healthy?” he asked blandly. He watched her face fall and she
looked momentarily disappointed.
“Lady Sansa and the babe will be healthy,” she stated flatly.
“Then that is all I have to ask,” he said firmly. “Take your charlatan act to those who believe
in this nonsense. I will be leaving in the morning,” Aemond stated as he rose and walked
away.
Sansa looked up when Cregan walked into the solar again. He sat across from her as she was
still knitting for Mira and she waited. Cregan rubbed a hand over his mouth before he leaned
back on the seat.
“A union with Dorne makes sense,” he stated. “An alliance between the North and Dorne
would make Vaemond’s business ventures expand well past just aiding the North, which is to
be expected. He’s a cunning business man, and should have full range to build his trade
empire up again. Cooperation with Dorne past just trade is important. There is going to be a
war in the South, Sansa, it is inevitable and I accept that, but what kind war is going to be
more challenging to figure out. The succession crisis has been resolved. Rhaenyra will be
Queen, how long is unknown, but there’s other tensions; the Faith, the maesters, Targaryens,
the Reach, there are too many elements to disregard the reality that there will be war.
“I know you do not like my stance on the Blacks, but we are Starks, and we have fealty to
Rhaenyra, no one else. We serve the Crown, the Realm, and we serve the North,” he pointed
out firmly. “But by being Black we have the Vale, Stormlands, and Crownlands, that cuts off
much of the Reach’s trade and control. If war erupts in the South, securing Dorne would aid
in landlocking them, but we need to secure the Westerlands and Riverlands if we truly want
to landlock the Reach.
“A union would also show the value of Dorne to the North as an ally and aid in our survival
and recovery. It is important that we acknowledge and reward that fact because without their
aid, we’d die or have worse consequences than what we’re enduring now. So, a union is
important,” Cregan admitted.
“Despite you telling me my unions,” he looked up at the ceiling. “The future is not set in
stone. I might never meet this Alysanne Blackwood, and I might never have those other nine
issues. Even if I do wed those women, it’s not a promise those nine issues would be the ones
history promises. You’ve wed Aemond and Jon has wed Mira. Jon and Mira are expecting
their first child and he is lord of the Bolton lands. History, as you know it, is changing,”
Cregan rubbed his temple as he sat there. “We have the New Gift back in the control of the
North, and you and Aemond will have your own family, so… history has already been greatly
altered. My future has altered with these connections, no doubt. A union with Dorne is
important to consider.”
“I agree with everything you’ve said,” Sansa murmured.
“If I accept, Dorne loses their heir for her to move to the North, and we lose Sara to be
Princess of Dorne,” he said softly.
“Sara was bound to marry one day and leave, I’ll leave after Winter,” Sansa pointed out.
“I know,” Cregan murmured. “But you’re still in the North,” Cregan pointed out.
“I am,” Sansa agreed.
“Regardless of my own personal union or if I accepted Aliandra, I know that Sara and Prince
Qyle make sense and it would secure us as allies,” he stated as he pinched the bridge of his
nose.
“Yes, that would secure us an alliance. Wedding two Princes of powerful dynasties, neither of
whom are heirs in their own rights doesn’t make the North look power hungry.” Sansa said
firmly.
“But if I wed Aliandra, Dorne loses the heir that was groomed and raised for that position in
favor of the second son,” Cregan sighed. “There would be consequences and it would weaken
Dorne. I don’t know Dornish politics, but I know removing an heir groomed to rule weakens
the power structure of any Realm.”
Sansa leaned back in her seat as she looked at Cregan. “Denying Aliandra’s proposal would
cause great offense.”
“And that is the other problem,” he sighed. “I can’t marry Princess Aliandra.”
“Is this because of what I told you?” Sansa murmured softly.
“No.” Cregan rubbed his eyes as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “No, it’s
not, despite knowing about Alysanne and Lynara, they are not Arra, and they are just a
possibility of what you know. They are not mine. If they are truly meant to be mine, then
perhaps the fates will return them to me. If not, then I will find solace in the future I forge for
myself.”
“Then… why would you turn down the proposal?” Sansa asked as she leaned her head on her
fist.
“Because wedding Princess Aliandra strengthens the North but weakens Dorne. She came to
have a fair, equal trading partnership and alliance with the North, and weakening a potential
ally for this union is not a conducive start of such.”
“I am in agreeance,” Sansa murmured, she rubbed her hand over her abdomen then as she
shifted a bit.
“How are you feeling?” Cregan asked softly.
“I miss Aemond,” Sansa conceded, as she dragged her hand through her hair. “The midwife
says I have mostly recovered. The pain is more… in my heart, not my body,” she confessed
as she drew up her feet onto the couch, biting her lip. “I just… I mostly miss Aemond
though. I know, I know in my heart Winterfell is safe, but he just… he helps keep me safe,
and I miss him. I really miss him, Cregan.”
“He’ll be home soon,” Cregan promised.
“Marrying Sara and Qyle is a smart move for an alliance, but if the match is to be of true
value they must figure out if they are compatible with one another,” Sansa said. “Many
alliances of this importance fall apart because the couple cannot get along. I suggest, instead
of accepting the union, sending Sara south to Dorne with her Ladies. Let her and Qyle meet
and get to know one another for a year. If they do not get along then you shall wed Princess
Aliandra, consequences be damned, and we have the alliance you want. But if they do get
along, Sara and Qyle wed, and Dorne keeps Aliandra,” Sansa supplied.
“That would be a good compromise,” Cregan agreed. “And it would give us time to think this
over, move carefully.”
“You think so?” Sansa asked.
“I think so,” he winced.
“You came to that conclusion yourself, didn’t you,” Sansa mused.
“I did,” he muttered seriously. “I wanted confirmation on the opportunities presented to me,”

he sighed tiredly as he rubbed his temple.
Sansa nodded as she sat there.
“You’ve changed things, Sansa. The players and the board are changing, and we will change
with them,” Cregan said firmly.
Sansa smiled a bit as Cregan took her hand and they sat there quietly. “Have you and
Aemond discussed…?”
She shook her head as she felt the tears burning her eyes. “I… I’m not sure about right now,
Cregan, I hurt so bad, and I... it’s like there’s this hole, and I… how can someone who never
was, how can their presence be so painful and missed?” Sansa asked him.
“I don’t know,” Cregan admitted softly as they sat there.

“I just… I miss Aemond, and I miss the baby. I really miss the baby,” Sansa whispered. “I’m
not… I want children but I’m not yet. I’m not yet ready,” Sansa admitted softly as she rubbed
her abdomen and looked out the window of the solar. “The midwives say I could… but I
just… how do I live with this pain?”
“One day at a time,” Cregan offered her weakly as he reached over, tucking a strand of hair
behind her ear.
“I just… I agree with Aemond, we’ll need time,” she murmured meekly. “I just… I failed as
a mother, and I… I don’t know how to live with this,” Sansa whispered.
“You did not fail, Sansa,” Cregan cut her off fiercely. “You took a brutal beating and were
lucky to survive. I know you’ve told me your past, and how you endured those beatings, but
this is different. This nearly killed you. Aemond doesn’t exaggerate and the midwives
concurred. You’re lucky to be alive. You’re alive and here, the child is not, that is not a
failure on your part,” Cregan assured.
“Aemond says the same thing,” she muttered tiredly.
“Aemond is intelligent,” Cregan informed her.
She smiled weakly as she closed her eyes. “I miss him,” she admitted again.
“He’ll be home soon,” Cregan assured as she sat there. They both just remained in each
other’s company, comforting each other. Sansa didn’t understand, entirely, why she missed
Aemond so immensely, but she ached to have him here, and she really wanted him home.
“I just worry whenever anyone goes South,” she sighed honestly.
“Worrying about your loved ones is natural,” Cregan said.
Sansa’s eyes snapped open as she looked at Cregan; fuck… she loved Aemond.
He was reading on the bed, and she was humming as she was knitting by the fire. He let his
gaze trail over her long, bare legs. They were distracting. Her snowy complexion was rather
ethereal in the firelight. Sansa’s long red hair glowed in the night. There was a small smile
curling her lips as she worked on whatever she was knitting. It was now that he was noticing
she was wearing his shirt. Sansa glanced up at him with soft smile.
“Ao sagon sylugon naejot laodigon issa,” Aemond muttered as he forced his gaze back onto
his book.
“Did you say something?” Sansa asked as she looked up, sitting up straighter.
“Kessa, yn nyke daor ivestragon ao,” he said blandly.

“What are you saying?” she rose up. He looked her over as she walked forward. He licked
his lip as he bit it. She was always an enticing sight in his shirt.
“Daorun nyke vestragon isse quptenkys Ēngos,” Aemond informed her as he forced himself
to keep reading his book.
“Aemond…” she crawled up on the bed and he raised his brow as he watched her. Fuck, she
was distracting. He stared at her bright blue eyes. They were so mischievous as she bit her
lip. He shifted a bit on the bed, gripping the book a little tighter. “You’re being vexing.”
“Nyke daor, ao issi,” he stated as he watched her crawling towards him. “Keligon jurnegēre
sīr gevie!”
“Aemond, whatever you’re saying, I don’t know!” Sansa stated as she nudged his thigh as
she bounced on the bed.
“Bona's skoro syt nyke vestragon ziry,” he muttered as he looked her over. She sat up and
frowned. He surged forward, tossing the book aside as he kissed her. She gasped as she was
pushed back, his fingers tangling in her air. Sansa groaned as she kissed him back. It felt like
a battle of wills. Something moved against his hand as he slid his hand over the swell of her
hip to her stomach, touching the hem of the shirt, as he trailed his fingers up the hem about
to tug it off.
He grunted as he woke up, uncomfortable, hot, and aching. Sitting up, he dragged his hand
through his hair. He fell back into his pillows as he stared at the ceiling. He was definitely
going home.
That bloody witch had toyed with his mind, thinking about her foresight of his mother’s
promise to have a grandson… it was ridiculous. Other than the wedding night, Aemond had
never had relations with Sansa. Getting up, he walked to the pitcher and basin. The cold
water helped as he washed his sweaty face caused by his dream and looked up at the
reflection. Inhaling sharply, he frowned. Sansa’s health and recovery were all that Aemond
cared about. They could wait for a family.
The beating Sansa had taken was severe, the midwives and woodwitches were honest about
how fortunate Sansa was that she hadn’t been killed; the beating, the miscarriage, she needed
time to heal. Sansa was still struggling. She had not had a regular cycle since then. The first
cycle she’d had had had her crying and panicking all over again, and Aemond spent most of
her cycle just keeping an eye on her. Aemond and Sansa were also… still wary of what
normal relationships required. They were affectionate, but Aemond was careful with her, very
careful. Her heart was still fragile despite them carefully working on healing her health and
mind.
Unless Daeron was sowing bastards right now and Helaena had done something foolish like
being intimate with Rody, then it was more probable that Alys’ false promise for
grandchildren would be him and Sansa.
Shaking his head, he decided he would leave and go home. Closing his eye, he rose up, and
grabbed his possessions. Packing everything up, he shoved everything in the bag, and started
dressing up in his own riding tunic. There was a knock on the door, and Aemond opened the
door to Daeron.
Raising his brow, he frowned at his brother.
“You’re leaving?” Daeron sputtered.
“Yes,” Aemond answered as he grabbed his packed bag as they walked into his apartments
again.
“Is this because of last night?” Daeron asked.
“No, I need to go home,” Aemond answered as he continued packing.
“Do you miss Sansa?” Daeron asked mischievously as he walked around to sit on the bed.
Aemond didn’t reply. “Lord Jason says to send you his congratulations,” Daeron stated.
“That is very kind of Lord Lannister,” Aemond said. “But we are not having a child,”
Aemond stated firmly.
“But Lady Alys said…!”
“Lady Alys is a charlatan, entertaining and beguiling, but a charlatan all the same,” Aemond
pointed out blandly. “Sansa and I are not expecting a child,” Aemond reiterated as they
walked out of his apartments.
“Are you sure? Lady Alys hasn’t been wrong about anything so far.”
“So far?” Aemond raised his brow then.
“Yeah,” Daeron chirped.
“About what?” Aemond sputtered.
“Lord Lannister said you said yes to the proposed union between myself and Lady Jocelyn,”
he said with a smile.
“I did,” Aemond sighed. “I want you content, and it appears she makes you happy.”
“Even if I’m only fifteen?” Daeron chuckled.
“You’ll not be wed until you’re twenty, Lord Lannister agreed, but if you still are amicable to
the match, I will agree to it. For now, it is an arranged proposal. Do not do something
foolish,” Aemond warned. “If you give mother that grandson, I’ll kill you myself.”
Daeron blinked a few times. “I still think it’ll be you, not me, to give that grandson Lady
Alys foretold.”
“Sansa and I are not having a child,” Aemond countered flatly.
“I enjoy being an uncle.”

“Still not having a child,” Aemond repeated as they walked into the main hall. Vaegon sat on
a bench, gripping his cane and scowling as he had a bag on his shoulder.
“We. Are. Leaving. This cannot take any more of this nonsense, we are leaving,” Vaegon
snarled.
Aemond blinked a few times as he looked between Daeron and Vaegon as he folded his arms.
“You two will drive me insane,” Aemond snarled as he brushed past both. Stalking for the
stables, he ignored their bickering.
“Aemond,” he paused seeing Daemon calling for him. Groaning, he looked at the skies. Can
he not leave in peace?
“I’ll get the horses,” Vaegon muttered as he limped off with Daeron. Daemon walked towards
Aemond, and he tightened his grip on his satchel as he waited for a moment, unwilling to
move forward, but unwilling to step back.
“We never spoke at Dragonstone before you left,” Daemon stated.
“You threatened my wife, my brother, sister, niece and nephews,” Aemond stated flatly.
“I never threatened them, we are of House Targaryen, and of the same blood,” Daemon stated
firmly.
“Then what do you desire? Your wife’s throne is secure,” Aemond stated. “We have nothing
further to discuss.”
“Aemond, we have to learn to be of one House,” Daemon said.
“My stance has not changed,” Aemond stated. “We have nothing further to speak of. I will go
North,” Aemond walked away.
“Aemond,” Daemon started.
“We have nothing further to say,” Aemond repeated.
“Good fortunes, nephew, I hope your House is fruitful. Perhaps eventually you’ll see you’re
still a part of mine,” Daemon stated.
Aemond said nothing more as he walked away from his uncle. He walked to the stables,
seeing Daeron and Vaegon bickering.
“Mon,” Daeron smiled as he handed Aemond the reigns of a horse. “I wish you were
staying,” he said softly.
“Come North when you’ve finished squiring, Hel would like to see you,” Aemond said as he
grabbed his younger brother in a tight hug. “Lord Lannister is doing good work with you,”
Aemond praised. Daeron’s grip tightened on Aemond, and Aemond pulled away smiling a
little to his brother before he pulled himself onto his own horse beside Vaegon.
Aemond looked at Vaegon as they rode through the streets of King’s Landing.
The morning was just beginning for many of the small folk. They were preparing their shops
for the day. He would be relieved to leave here and be home. It didn’t take them long to ride
through King’s Landing and reach the gates. After that, Aemond rode past the Dragon Pits
where he saw Vhagar. She was rolling in a field, very content and pleased with herself. She
shook the grounds as she rolled, stretching her wings out. He slowed the horse as they came
near. The horse gave a nervous snort as it backed up. Swinging off the beast, Aemond helped
Vaegon down, and then walked for Vhagar. She let out a sharp chirp sound, which shook the
ground, rattling Aemond’s chest.
“Good morning to you, Vhagar,” Aemond greeted as she raised her head high above the rest
of them, her eyes bright and dangerous.
“Let’s go home,” Aemond stated as they walked to the saddle.
Chapter End Notes
Ao sagon sylugon naejot laodigon issa. -- You're trying to seduce me.

Kessa, yn nyke daor ivestragon ao. -- Yes, but I'm not telling you.
Daorun nyke vestragon isse quptenkys Ēngos. -- Nothing I'll say in the Common Tongue
Nyke daor, ao issi. -- I'm not, you are.
Keligon jurnegēre sīr gevie! -- Stop looking so beautiful!
Bona's skoro syt nyke vestragon ziry. -- That's why I'm saying it.
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Winter Is Coming

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Winter is Coming

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/46912876.

Let it be known, no good ever came from a Stark coming South.

13th Day of the 7th Lunar Cycle, Year 127 AC

“Lord Corlys Velaryon is here,” the steward said.

“I’ll deal with him father,” Daemion said as he stood.

“Brother,” Corlys greeted as he walked forward, leaning heavily on his cane.

“Yes, it has, now is not an appropriate time brother,” Vaemond stated.

“Is there something amiss?” Corlys asked.

“We are family.”

“You will need a business partner no doubt,” Corlys smiled slyly.

“Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey are my blood brother!”

“I am trying to do what is best for our House!”

“A little girl!” he smiled as he came over to the pair.

“Would you like to hold her, father?” Daeron asked.

“What business do we have, father?”

“He is not going to like this,” Daemion chuckled.

“Hm?” He looked around the library.

4th Day of the 1st Lunar Cycle, Year 128 AC

Her eyes widened as the eyes of the shadow opened.

However, the dreams with the boy… those were different.

“You’re looking rather unwell,” Elissa stated.

14th Day of the 4th Lunar Cycle, Year 128 AC

“I came to congratulate you,” she said.

“Boys will be boys, Aemond,” she sighed.

“Aemond, I did not come to fight,” she sighed.

"Aōha valyrio eglie iksos olvie sȳz," she observed.

“Mmm,” he hummed as he looked back at his book.

He wasn’t going to survive this bloody wedding at this rate.

He really wanted to speak with his mother again, he missed her.

1st Day of the 4th Lunar Cycle, Year 128 AC

Nothing Good Ever Came From A Stark Going South!

There was irony in this, she bitterly mused.

“We always seem to be saying goodbye,” he said softly.

“Aemond is good, Jon,” she said gently. “As are you.”

14th Day of the 4th Lunar Cycle, Year 128 AC

“That is good,” Daemon said.

“How is mother, and Luke, and Joff…” he started.

“I am to have another sibling!?” he asked excitedly.

“We have not shared the information,” Daemon informed him.

He looked at his hands then.

“Surely your bride will understand!”

“No,” Aemond sighed tiredly. “I cannot give that to you mother.”

“She is a Black Aemond!” Alicent hissed.

“You are a Hightower; you practice the Faith!” she started.

“You should always honor your mother!” she hissed.

“She should honor her husband!” she snapped. “I did!”

“I… I would never leave you, Aemond,” she said swiftly.

Chapter End Notes

Skoro syt? - “Why?”

7th Day of the 5th Lunar Cycle, Year 128 AC

“It’s a shithole, forever,” Cregan decided.

“That is King’s Landing, Sara,” Cregan informed her.

“It’s not that small.”

“How? Prince Aemond is marrying Sansa!” Sara sighed.

“Very well,” Sara said softly as they rode forward.

“Mmm, I can live with it,” Cregan snickered.

“Mmm yes, horse face Starks, we’re cursed,” she mused.

She laughed now.

The whispers never came.

“You are safe,” he promised.

“I’m nervous,” she confessed.

“I will not let anything harm you,” he assured.