#ospbb 2022

[isthisadrawingiseebeforeme]

The X-Philes

Phil is a psychic. Dan is a detective. When Phil is visited by the ghost of his brother, he knows something isn't right. Can he and Dan solve the case, or will they become the next victims?

Rating: M

Author: @unorthodoxsavvy

Read the prologue here!

Notes: my contribution to the @oldschoolpbb for 2022! pls give the fic a read and send Savvy all ur love, she worked real hard on this ✨ psychic!phil is such a treat and i know you'll enjoy this!!

[anironsidh]

Coming tomorrow to Ao3, this year's old school phandom big bang fic!

Keep an eye on this page for the official post, and enjoy this teaser 👀

@oldschoolpbb

[succubusphan]

A Rose of Winter - Chapter 1

Summary: All Daniel wanted to do was escape the stifling life as a Stark of Winterfell and travel the world. Between the looming threat North of The Wall and the den of lions in the capital, he unexpectedly finds love in the midst of a war set to tear Westeros apart. Caught between loyalty to his family and duty, he is torn in a thousand directions that all point to one man: Philip Flowers.

Rating: E (There are only a few smut scenes but it's an M for battles, war, and other adult topics)

Tags/warnings: I removed most triggers (no R or SA, no minors involved in sex, no gore). It does include: Deaths either written without details or in a poetic way if it's an important character (Dan and Phil, Ghost and Balerion will live but everyone else is fair game). Strangers to lovers, Slow Burn, missing each other. The prophecies and stories foreshadowed are fulfilled, a satisfying ending to the entire story without plot holes. Extreme canon divergence. Dan and Phil are not replacing characters, they were written in. GAME OF THRONES AU

Author's Note: This is my OSPBB 2022, Couldn't have done it without my betas @effingmeteors and @filisaceaf.

Word Count: Each chapter will be around 15k and have at least one Dan or Phil pov. The total wc is about 210k.

Read on Ao3

DAN

Winterfell, North of Westeros. 

Dan got lost staring into those piercing blue eyes; they were calling to him, luring him out, trying to drag him to the abyss below and claim his soul. He tried to resist but he was defenceless against the creature, so he took a step forward, letting himself be consumed little by little, giving in, gasp-

Suddenly, the covers were pulled from his body, a cool draft making him shiver. Dan bolted upright and saw his brother smirking with all of his bedding in his hands.

“Get up, father is looking for you. You should be teaching Bran already,” Jon said.

“Where is Robb?” 

Jon shrugged. “I’m not his keeper, little brother. Now hurry, before Lord Stark comes looking for you.” With that, he walked out of his room, leaving the door wide open. 

Dan groaned and climbed out of bed, pulling his breeches and coat on, along with his leather armour and boots. He didn’t bother with any more layers because he knew he would be sweating in no time. He rushed down the stone staircase and out the door of the Great Keep in search of his brothers. 

The shooting ring was already set up across the courtyard, Bran standing off to the side, an arrow already resting on the bow, the string drawn. Just as he was about to shoot, Dan smiled and shouted: “Posture!” 

Bran was startled by his voice and missed the shot horribly, nearly hitting the blacksmith who was not even close to the target. “Dan!” he said, stomping his little feet, “I was about to hit the target!”

“No, you weren’t,” said Dan and Robb in unison. 

“Your posture was all wrong,” Dan insisted, coming to stand behind him and correcting his angle as well as poking his back. “You are slouching. Stand up straight.” 

Bran huffed and positioned another arrow. He drew the string, took a deep breath, and shot, missing the target but hitting the head of the dummy. 

Robb snorted and looked at Dan. “You are late.”

“I overslept, but here I am.” 

“Wars don’t wait for you, Dan,” his father said from the bridge connecting the Great Keep and the Armoury. He was watching them closely along with their mother.

Dan paled. Was he going to be in trouble for being late again? He didn’t want to disappoint his family, but he had the feeling that if war broke, he would. He was a skilled swordsman but he lacked discipline most days. “What better way to part from this world than sleeping? War may find me in bed and keep me there forever.”

“Daniel!” His mother admonished him. “I have told you to not joke about that. Death is not a laughing matter, not to Winterfell, not to our family.”  

“Sorry, Mother!” Dan’s stomach turned. She was right. The Starks had once been a big family but that was no more. His grandfather and uncle had died at the hands of the king - the Mad King - and his aunt at the hands of his son. This had scarred the family and put Winterfell into such grief that it lasted even to this day. 

The northern families were used to sacrifice and loss, but never like that. 'Summer children' every old man Dan ever came across called them. The longest summer that had ever been, but come winter he knew every man would struggle to protect their families, and to give them a chance to survive the famine that accompanied it all. When the temperature dropped and the ice descended from the heavens, a mouth less to feed would be a worthy sacrifice, leaving the supplies for those who stayed behind to rebuild. 

Bran huffed at the exchange and shot another arrow, still missing the target but not by much.

“Enough of that,”  their father said. “Come along, we are riding for the hills.”

Dan blinked in confusion but nodded. He threw his heaviest furs over his shoulders, readied his horse and waited for the rest of the party. The bannermen rode ahead, carrying the Stark house sigil, the direwolf, announcing who followed. His father and Theon Greyjoy, his ward, led the party. Then came Robb and Dan as they were the eldest children; Jon and Bran followed closely behind.

The ride was slow and silent. A man had been found wandering, speaking nonsense. He was a man of the Night’s Watch; a deserter. 

His destiny was sealed. Deserters were executed. Dan looked to his side, his eyes meeting Jon’s. They were the same age, mere months apart. Sons of the same father but different mothers. A lady and a tavern wench. Dan’s heart ached for Jon, who had never gotten the love of a mother; or of most people, to be honest. The most his bastard brother could aspire to be was a man of the Night’s Watch, much like the one they were about to see depart from this world. 

The prisoner waited for his sentence without a fight, held only by two brothers of The Watch. He seemed to be a few years older than Dan himself, which surprised him. For some reason, Dan had been expecting him to be a young and inexperienced boy, but he was not. 

Lord Stark dismounted and approached the man, speaking to him without malice or judgement. “Why did you run?” He asked calmly.

“White Walkers.” The man said, shaking. “I saw them - beyond The Wall .”

His father shook his head, venturing a look at the captors.

“I know what I saw!” He defended himself. “It is alright, I accept my fate. Just - please. Tell my family. I want them to know that I am not a coward.” The man was dragged to kneel before a block of stone, bending over it until his chest was flushed to the rock and his head stuck out, awaiting his sentence.

“Do not look away, he’ll know you did,” Jon said to Bran, standing beside him, pressing a comforting hand to his shoulder; Dan stood on the other side, wishing he could look away, dreading what was to come.

Unsheathing his sword, their father passed the sentence. “In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard of the house Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die.” 

With a swing of the sword, the man was no more. Their father turned to them and addressed Bran. “Do you understand why I had to be the one to do it?” 

“Because it’s the old way?” he asked.

“The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If we do not carry that responsibility, we may make that decision too easily, forgetting that a life is cut short by people following our orders.”

Bran nodded in understanding. “Is that true? Are the White Walkers real?”

“The White Walkers have been gone for thousands of years.”

“But he saw them.”

“A madman sees what he sees.”

Dan pressed his lips into a line, not knowing what to think. Nobody had seen White Walkers in many, many winters, but this man had seen something, something that scared him so deeply that he chose to flee to a certain death rather than stay at The Wall. 

Then, he looked at Robb, who seemed undisturbed about the execution, and Jon who had his dark eyes trained on the body. Dan had to briefly wonder if their father would think the same way if it was his son’s neck on the stone. Would he execute Jon if he deserted? 

Getting back on their horses, the men slowly began the ride back through the woods, the spirits low, pondering on what they had just witnessed. The party came to a stop when they found a stag. It was lying dead in the middle of the road, its belly fully open by some sort of beast. 

Their father dismounted to take a better look at it and try to determine what could have possibly attacked him. The rest followed suit, too curious to look from a distance. 

A noise coming from the bushes alerted them. Drawing their swords, the men ventured off the road to check for a dangerous animal. Dan’s jaw fell as he saw a wolf as big as himself, lying dead on the ground, an antler piercing its body, a litter of pups howling around it. 

“What will they do without their mother?” Bran asked, holding onto Jon’s cloak for reassurance. 

“Nothing. They will starve to death.” Their father said.

Theon unsheathed his knife and picked one of the pups up, putting the blade to its throat. “We should kill them.” 

Bran gasped, his face stricken by horror. “No! Father, please!” 

“It is what’s right,” he said. 

Stepping forward, Jon grabbed one of the small wolves. “My Lord, there are five pups and you have five children. There is one for each of the Stark children and the direwolf is your house sigil; you were meant to find them.” 

Dan let out a sigh of relief as his father gave him an all black beauty, a grey one to Robb, and a white and orange one to Bran, who accepted it happily. 

“You will raise them yourselves, feed them, train them, and if they die - you will bury them yourselves.” He gave the other two to Dan to carry home for his sisters. 

Just as they turned back to their horses, Jon heard something, stopped short and ventured back past the trees, and even further. He kneeled and brought a white ball of fur close to his face, smiling. Then, he held it up, showing it to Dan. It was another direwolf pup, white as snow but with piercing red eyes. 

“That’s the runt of the litter,” said Theon playfully. “That one is for you, Snow.”

Unbothered by Theon’s provocations, Jon walked back to his horse and mounted it. 

“How did you find it?” Dan whispered.

“I thought I heard someone calling my name,” Jon said.

The ride back to Winterfell felt quick and easy, Dan’s mind already focusing on his pup and how he was going to raise the small beast. He wondered if it would be a good companion and he certainly hoped so. 

As soon as they crossed the gates, Dan got off his horse and walked inside in search of his little sisters. He tried The Great Hall, but it seemed he had missed not only breakfast but lunch as well. He sighed tiredly and made his way to his bedroom to leave his pup on the bed before dragging his feet to the sewing room and knocking on the door. 

Septa Mordane opened the door and gave him an unimpressed, yet fond look. “Daniel, to what do we owe the pleasure?” she asked.

Dan opened his satchel and carefully pulled the two sleeping pups. 

Sansa and Arya rushed to him, their needlework carelessly abandoned on the table. 

“By the gods, where did you find these?” Sansa asked with a wide smile as she grabbed the fairest of the two. 

“They were in the woods. Their mother was killed by a stag.”

“A direwolf on this side of The Wall ?” Arya asked curiously and wasted no time grabbing the other. “Poor girl. Don’t worry, I will be your mother.”

“You are eleven, you cannot be a mother,” huffed Sansa. 

“You are not much older than me so if I can’t, you can’t either!” Arya replied and walked away without a glance back. 

Dan shrugged and left to tend to his new companion, but first, he needed food for the both of them.

---

Life continued as usual, the northern days grey and wet. Most days he had trouble getting out of bed to fulfil his duties: training Bran, learning to be a Lord, a future leader, and a man. The sheer responsibility of it made his head spin, made him want to ride into the night, to never be seen again, but he loved his family and couldn’t picture life away from them, from his home. Dan was not made to be any of what was expected of him and he knew that was a great disappointment to his parents, but they had Robb, their perfect child, and thus, Dan could allow himself to be imperfect, to be as much of himself as he could be. 

He sighed tiredly and snapped his fingers, calling Balerion over, and made his way out of the Great Keep and into the Godswood. He looked at the white tree that had stood undisturbed in the centre of Winterfell for thousands of years, witnessing its history, watching the Starks come into this world, grow old and die. Would it remember Dan? Certainly not. Balerion chewed softly on his fingers, trying to get his attention. “Alright, alright. I’ll cheer up. Now,” he said, picking a small branch from the ground and giving him a half-smile, “run!” 

Balerion chased after the branch, catching it midair and staring at him expectantly. “Give me that!” Dan said, trying to make his wolf return with the stick but to no avail. Still, he laughed and walked over, petting him and congratulating him on his hard work. “I don’t believe your training is working, but that’s ok; neither is mine.” 

Dan heard someone walk over and peeked from behind a tree. His father sat under the weirwood tree and pulled out his sword, washing it on the pond. His mother followed shortly after. 

“My love… a letter came in the night. John Arryn is dead.”

“Your sister?”

His mother shook her head, her long brown hair flowed in the wind. She laced her fingers before her. “Fever; he was gone in a matter of days. I’m sorry, I know he was like a father to you.” 

His father let his head hang. 

“That is not all. The King rides for Winterfell - with his Queen and children and all the rest of them,” she said, her tone dripping with disdain. 

His father’s head snapped. “You know what that means. The hand of the king has passed.”

“You don’t have to say yes. You don’t owe him anything.”

“He is my King. I owe it to him to listen to his proposal.” 

Dan gasped. He couldn’t hear anymore, the noise in his ears muffling anything else. He turned to Balerion and hugged him tightly, trying to take a deep breath. The King

wanted his father as his closest advisor. This was not a job one could easily decline or retire from. For all Dan knew, if his father accepted the offer, he would die in King's Landing. 

Ever since the last war, which ended months after his birth, his parents had made it a point of keeping every single family member in Winterfell, and now they were about to be tossed to the wind. Would his father want him to join? Would he be assigned to protect Robb?

He needed to think, and fast. The King would be at Winterfell in a matter of weeks. 

----

News had broken that the King was near. Nerves consumed Dan as he sat with the barber, getting just a haircut since he’d never been able to grow a beard like the rest of his brothers. 

“One day you will grow to be a real man, little brother,” Jon teased. “You will get a nice beard like mine.”

“I should be the one to call you little brother. You may be a few months older but I am much taller than you,” Dan said, thankful for his brother’s attempt to distract him. 

“You shouldn’t speak to Dan like that, bastard. Lord Stark will not stand for it. Better focus on loving women more than you love that long hair of yours.”

“Oh, shut up Theon!” Dan said, standing from the stool and allowing Jon his turn. “This is a conversation between brothers and it does not concern you.” 

“That is true,” Robb finally said. “But it is also true that Jon has never loved a woman more than he loves his hair.”

“I am cutting it for the King’s visit, isn’t that enough?” Jon asked, letting the barber slide the knife against his cheek.

“Well, I guess it depends on if you plan to cut it again before the next King comes to visit,” Dan smirked.

Jon threw a dirty rag at his face, making him laugh. 

He stepped out to the Courtyard and immediately saw Bran standing on the wall. His heart skipped a beat as he watched his little brother jump from section to section of the wall, onto the side of the broken tower, hanging from stone to stone and jumping to the ground. 

“I saw him! I saw him!” Bran said, running towards him. 

“Who?” Dan asked, playing coy. 

“The King!” Bran said, “There are hundreds of people with him, and a red carriage too!” 

“Well, of course! He’s the King!”

Their mother rushed to them. “Brandon! I have told you time and time again. No climbing!”

“But, Mum!” 

“I said: no climbing!”

“Yes, mother.” Bran let his head hang, trying to look remorseful but Dan smiled knowing he would do it again as soon as their mother looked away. 

“Now go get your sisters. I expect you all to be on your best behaviour!” 

Dan let out a deep sigh, regretting it the moment his mother gave him a reproachful look. He smiled and stood off to the side, watching everyone rush to form and wait for the King to ride into Winterfell. 

The banners entered first, a black stag on a yellow background representing house Baratheon. The King followed, sitting proudly on his horse. He was nothing like Dan had imagined him. A tall man in his forties, black curly hair down to his shoulders and robust body; too robust to match the fame he’d received as a warrior decades before. He descended from the horse with great difficulty, shouting and cursing as he gave the reins to one of his soldiers. He walked over, standing in front of Dan’s father. “Ned! Nine years. You’ve gotten fat”

Dan wanted to snort when he saw his father look the King in the eyes and pointedly at his wine belly, but he resisted. 

The King threw his head back and laughed, pulling both Ned and Catelyn into a fierce hug. “And you, you look strong!” The man said, looking at Robb. “Your name?” 

“Robb,” he said with a charming smile.

“A fine name!” He walked over to Dan who was nervously resting his hand on his sword. “Ah, an alert man! You’ll make a good warrior,” he laughed and continued. 

Dan let out a sigh of relief as the King greeted his sisters. “Who may this young lady be?” 

“My name is Sansa, Your Grace.” 

He looked to Arya, who was wrapped in a coat too big for her and wearing a helmet, and nodded at her. 

“How old are you?” he asked Bran. 

“Ten!” he said. 

“Show me your muscles!” King Robert said, flexing his arm.

Bran flexed his arms, making the old King laugh. 

Then, the red carriage crossed the gate. It was quite beautiful and adorned with golden lions; there was no doubt about who was inside. The doors opened to reveal the Queen, Cersei Lannister, long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, a beauty to say the least. Her three children followed her, all three of them as blonde as their mother. She walked to the Stark family with a tight smile as she dragged her beautiful red dress through the mud. Her distaste was evident. 

Dan frowned as he saw a soldier ride with a helmet shaped like the head of a dog; that couldn’t possibly be comfortable or useful in battle. Perhaps it was a fear tactic. 

A tall blonde man approached the Queen with a smile. It was Jaime Lannister, the Queen’s twin brother. Dan had to admit that he was looking at him so intently he lost track of what was happening around them. 

Arya’s voice pulled him from his musings. “Where is the imp?” 

Dan’s eyes widened at the term and looked around in search of the third Lannister sibling, but he was nowhere to be found. 

The Queen looked at them but didn’t mention Arya’s transgression; instead, she offered her hand to his father and greeted his mother as she gave her a once over. 

“Is this the first time you ride north, My Queen?” 

“Yes,” she said. “It is quite an interesting country. I hope to see more of it.”

His mother made a curtsy and the unnecessary display was over. The king and his father descended to the crypt to visit his late aunt Lyanna leaving everyone else to do as they pleased.

Dan finally relaxed and went in search of Jon; he had no interest in sharing more time than necessary with the King or the others. 

--

“What will you wear for the banquet tonight?” Dan asked.  

“I am not invited,” his brother said, looking away in shame. “Your mother said my presence would insult the Queen.”

“That’s nonsense!” Dan huffed. His mother was incredibly resentful towards Jon for the sins of their father. What fault of his own would a child have for being born from a tavern wench?

Jon shrugged, pretending not to be affected by it, but Dan knew him better than that. 

“You will join us. We will sit out back and nobody will disturb us. Mother doesn’t even have to know.” 

“You are being ridiculous, Dan. They would spot us in a second, and if they didn’t Greyjoy would point us out to our father.”

“Well - then, I am not going either. I would be incredibly bored!”

“You could speak to Robb…” 

“I love Robb, but the only thing we have in common is our father.”

“And swords.”

“He is better than me in that too, like in everything else.” 

Jon laughed. “He’s prettier too.” 

“Shut up. It is true but you should not mention it,” Dan said, unable to hold a laugh in.

“Someone had to be taller than you. Your ego does not need that kind of boost.” 

Dan stood closer to Jon and looked down at him with a smirk. “I am sorry, I cannot hear you from up here.” 

“Boys,” a voice said. Dan turned on the spot and watched a cloaked figure emerge from the dark. The man removed his hood and Dan threw his arms around him. 

“Uncle Benjen!” 

“Dan! You have grown!” he said. 

“One of us had to,” Dan laughed and stepped back, allowing Jon to greet their uncle. 

“I’ve grown in muscle, little brother, that’s where it matters,” Jon said, pulling uncle Bejen into a hug and patting his back loudly. 

“Why aren’t you inside?” 

“We don’t belong there,” Dan rushed to say. 

Jon looked at him in wonder. “I am taking the black, you cannot come with me.”

“I can - but I will not,” Dan said. “I will ride with you before making my own destiny.” 

Jon nodded.

“If you join the Night’s Watch you will never marry or father children. Are you certain that is what you want?”

“Yes. I am a bastard. What future could I give them? I will never inflict this curse, this shame upon a child.”

Uncle Benjen looked into his eyes. “I will stay for a few more days. You have until then to decide if you want to ride back with me. Once you have sworn your oath, there is no turning back.” 

“I know. I want to join The Watch and protect the north, as the Starks have always done.”

Benjen nodded and walked to the Great Keep. 

“I will talk to Father about it,” Dan said and turned to follow their uncle, his pace slowing as he saw Tyrion Lannister exiting the Guest House with a cup of wine in hand. Dan took a right and entered the halls, hiding in the shadows to better listen to their conversation. 

“Aren’t you Ned Stark’s bastard?” he asked Jon. 

“Lord Stark is my father. Aren’t you the imp?” 

“I may be known by that name, yes. People lack imagination,” the Lannister said. “I may have overheard that you are taking the black, is that correct?”

“Why is it of any importance to you?”

“Because you could come to King’s Landing instead. Join the guards, meet the town, fuck a girl. Here everything you are is a stain on your father’s reputation, but in the south, you could be so much more. You could have a life.”

“The north is my life. I will gladly man The Wall before I guard the likes of you.”

“Don’t be offended, bastard. I meant no harm. You should not let the name bother you, they will always use it against you if you give them that power; instead, wear it like armour and reclaim the term for yourself.”

“What do you know about being a bastard?”

“Every dwarf is a bastard in his father’s eyes,” Tyrion said with a half-smile. He nodded and made his way back to the Guest House.

--

Dan attempted to get his father’s attention and discuss his future with him, but he was Lord Stark first and his father second. He told Dan in no uncertain way, that he was to sit with Robb at the banquet and behave like the man he wished to be treated as. There would be no concessions unless he joined the rest of the family in honouring the King. 

Feeling defeated, Dan changed into a more formal outfit and mentally prepared himself for a long and boring night, trying to disappear into the background. He gave one last look at Balerion, wishing that he could stay back with his friend and made his way down the stairs. 

Wine and ale were running rampant already, the music was loud - too loud - and the food was plentiful. Out of those three Dan only cared for the latter. 

He walked to the raised dais where the main table was situated and sat beside his older brother with a tight smile. 

“I was beginning to worry that you would not come.”

“I was not going to but Father strongly suggested that I did, and here I am.” 

Robb poured wine into a glass and passed it on to Dan. “Well, if you are going to be here, at least you can make it so you don’t remember the night.” 

Dan briefly considered it but caught his mother staring intently at him. She was sitting by the Queen, which made the woman turn to him as well. He smiled as widely as he could, inclining his head in respect and looked away, finally taking a sip from his glass. 

There was pork near him and bread, he shrugged, tearing bits of the meat with his fingers and making a sandwich. 

“Will you bring someone into your room tonight?” Robb asked.

“I believe feeding someone to Balerion would be frowned upon.” 

Robb rolled his eyes at him. “That is not what I mean and you know it.” 

Dan shrugged. His brother didn’t need to know that he had never invited anyone into his quarters. He followed Robb’s line of vision and found one of the King’s Guards looking at him. He was very young, perhaps two or three years older than Dan himself, handsome, blonde and had green eyes, but what melted Dan’s heart was the devilish smile he was giving him. 

The man raised one eyebrow at him and looked to the door leading to the courtyard. 

Taking another sip of wine, Dan considered it and nodded once. He focused on eating, for the time being, he would have to inquire about the man’s intentions later.

A ball of food flew right in front of his face, nearly hitting him, but caught Sansa instead. His sister, visibly upset by this, yelled Arya’s name and turned to her friend, asking for assistance to clean her skin as soon as possible. Of course, the damage was already done. Sansa was in that sweet age in which a lady found herself embarrassed at most things, and the fact that Prince Joffrey was looking at her intently made it so he’d seen what happened. 

The Prince in question did not seem… agreeable, but he had the courtesy of not mocking his sister for the incident. He smiled at her instead. 

Princess Myrcella and their younger brother, Tommen found the display incredibly funny and cheered Arya on. 

Dan looked to his parents; they were too busy entertaining the King and Queen to pay attention to anyone’s comings and goings. This was tremendously upsetting because it meant, his presence at the banquet had never been essential; nobody would have noticed his absence, but on the other hand, he could still slip out and find adventure. He finished his meal and wine and asked Robb to cover for him if anyone noticed he was gone. 

His brother snorted but encouraged him to go. 

Staring into the guard’s eyes and cocking his head, Dan stood from the bench and walked out of the Great Hall without hesitation or rush. He had almost made it past the armoury when someone pulled him into a dark corner, pressing him against the wall. 

“What is your name, beautiful?” 

“Dan. Yours?” 

“Nathar. How old are you?” 

“Eighteen,” Dan said, a bit dumbfounded by the whispered conversation. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but a talk was definitely not in his plans.

“Good. May I kiss you?”

“Please,” Dan said, leaning closer into Nathar's space.

Dan was extremely happy that he had not drunk much wine, he wanted to remember this night. Nathar pressed his entire body against Dan’s, closing the distance between them into a desperate kiss, his tongue making Dan’s legs shake. He then thrust his hips against Dan’s leg, letting him feel his excitement, driving him mad. 

For a moment, Dan thought he was ascending to the heavens, but Nathar decided to focus on his neck and that pulled him back to the pits of hell. Smouldering heat rose through him; no man or beast would be able to pull him away from Nathar if they tried. Digging his nails into his backside, Dan let out a choked moan and was left gasping for air.

“So pretty,” Nathar said urgently, panting into Dan’s neck as he snapped his hips. 

Dan took pity on him and bit his neck, perhaps a bit too hard and felt him shake.

“Daniel,” he moaned. “If you ever come to King’s Landing - find me.” 

Dan laughed at how unexpected this night had been but nodded nonetheless. He had no idea if he’d done anything wrong, but given Nathar’s reaction, he assumed not.

Stepping back into the Great Hall for a moment, Dan picked some meat from an abandoned plate at the banquet and headed to his room. Balerion would be waiting. He climbed into bed and let darkness lead him to another world. 

---

Having decided that his time at Winterfell was coming to an end, Dan decided to speak to his father, man to man. 

He found him standing on the bridge, staring out into the courtyard where Arya and Bran were playing with wooden swords. 

Dan stood next to him, putting his hands behind his lower back in a vain attempt to look more like him and cleared his throat. 

Ned turned to him and smiled. “You finally rolled out of bed?”

“I have been awake since sunrise, actually.” 

“I didn’t see you at breakfast.”

“No, I was packing and spending time with Balerion.” 

“Will you be joining us then?”

“No,” he said, hesitating, bracing himself for his father’s reaction. “I will be riding with Jon - to The Wall .” 

His father’s smile vanished and was replaced with a frown. He was looking at him as if it was the first time they were meeting. “Dan, I don’t think you would be a right fit for the Night’s Watch.”

Dan snorted despite his nerves. “I am not taking the black, Father. I just wish to go out and see the world; to have an adventure.”

“Why would you start such an adventure by visiting The Wall ?” 

“Are you really asking me why I want to visit an ice wall as high as one hundred men and as wide as Westeros, created thousands of years ago to keep White Walkers from descending to the rest of the continent? Why do I want to meet the men who vow to protect said wall for life under the penalty of execution?”

Ned shook his head. “You are much too young to be frolicking around Westeros; you belong in the North!”

“I am only a year younger than you were when you married mother,” Dan said, frowning. 

“Dan,” he sighed, running his fingers through his long brown hair. “I am leaving for King's Landing with your sisters. Your mother needs you, Winterfell needs you. Winter is coming and I do not want you away from the family.”

“Mother has Robb, as well as Winterfell. You know that nobody here needs me. I am not like him, I am not a leader, nor I am as good with the sword as he is. I want to make a life of my own; to become someone.”

“You are someone, you are Daniel Stark of Winterfell - you are my son.” 

“But I want to be more than that.”

“Where would you go?”

“Wherever life takes me.”

“I do not like this. I will not allow it.”

“I am not asking for your permission, Father. I am a man. You can’t protect me forever.”

Ned looked at his youngest children. Arya had disarmed Bran and was pointing at him with her wooden sword, a triumphant smile on her face. “Will you return to Winterfell if they need you?”

“Always,” Dan said. He loved his siblings, he would always come to their aid. His loyalty was first and foremost, to house Stark, to Winterfell. “I will not abandon them.”

His father let out a long sigh and looked at him. His eyes softened as he brushed a curl from Dan’s face. “Very well. You are a man now. I will not stand in your way.”

“Thank you,” he said and Dan realised at that moment that he had never thanked him for anything.

--

Dan would have loved to say that his last days at Winterfell were uneventful, but the gods had other plans for the Starks. Two days before he was due to leave with Jon, he had a strange dream. 

He was running through the hills right outside the castle, panting, much closer to the ground than usual. Then, he looked down and saw his black paws as he ran back home, he was a wolf. As soon as he crossed the gate, he saw summer standing by the Broken Tower, curiously looking up at her little master. He came flying down to them, landing near them with a thud.

Summer howled as loudly as she could, calling for help. 

Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. He sat up, gasping, staring straight into Balerion’s eyes. He whined and bit his hand softly, trying to drag him away from bed. 

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” Dan wrapped himself in his thickest coat and ran outside, nearly falling down the stairs, Balerion following close. His heart dropped when he saw his mother kneeling on the floor, Maester Luwin standing beside her. Bran’s body - no. Bran was laying on the ground, unconscious. He was alive - he had to be alive.

“Mother!” Dan said, kneeling next to his brother. He put his fingers next to Bran’s nose and felt that he was breathing. 

Maester Luwin checked his neck and his chest and looked at her. “He is alive, but badly hurt. We need to put him in his bed to rest.”

“Will he be alright?” Dan asked, looking at his mother out of the corner of his eye. She was not answering, simply caressing Bran’s hair as tears fell from her eyes.

The old man pressed his lips into a thin line. “Only time will tell.” 

--

Time seemed to slow down after. Dan was starting to second guess his decision to travel, but he had always heard that Castle Black was not so far away. He could return and see Bran when he had recovered before continuing on his way. It still made his chest heavy, but he was going mad, waiting and waiting for anything to change but Bran did not wake up, he did not move or moan in pain. Still, his mother did not leave his side at all; she wanted to be there, to make sure she was the first person Bran saw when he opened his eyes. 

Dan took to drinking on the bridge and watching people go about their lives as if nothing had happened. The King was honoured every night, the dwarf spent day in and day out in the brothel and the rest of them, barely offered any help or support for his family. 

He followed Nathar with his eyes, he was guarding Prince Joffrey for the night. Dan almost snorted when the imp slapped his nephew and then slapped him again. He could only hear them faintly, but was sure that the little brat deserved it. Then, he heard it. “You will go and pay respects to the boy’s parents! Their youngest child nearly died!”

“I do not care! I am the Prince!” 

Tyrion slapped him again.

“I will tell mother!” 

Another slap. “Run along then, run along and tell her, but before you do that, make sure to pay your respects to the Starks.”

Dan followed the youngest Lannister sibling to the Great Keep, curious to see what he was up to. He sat far enough that he could hear them but not be noticed right away. He grabbed a piece of meat and poured himself a glass of wine, nearly freezing when the Queen asked about Bran’s health. Contrary to what anyone would think, she said that it was cruel to let him live if he wasn’t conscious, even if he had been in bed for a week alone. 

Taking a long sip of his wine, Dan pondered what exactly were the intentions of the Lannisters with his family. He decided that none of them was trustworthy, which made the King fall under the same category. 

Before retiring to bed, Dan stopped by Bran’s room and kissed his forehead, whispering that he should hurry back to them to see him off, promising to take him on adventures. He petted Summer, who was laying next to him, watching Dan intently. “Good girl,” he said. With a kiss to his mother’s cheek, he returned to his room, crossing paths with the Queen and bowing before her. He crawled into bed and fell into a fitful sleep. 

---

Dan walked into the great keep and made his way up the stairs, trying to reach Bran, worrying for his safety. He stood by his door for a moment but saw the queen standing by his bed. Wondering why she was there, he stepped inside as silently as possible and sat very still, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. 

The woman noticed him nonetheless, freezing for a moment. “What is that beast doing here?”

“My apologies, Your Grace. That is Balerion, he is harmless.”

“I would not be so sure of it. You should not keep them as pets.”

“My children have trained them. I assure you they mean no harm.”

His mother pressed her lips into a line before smiling at the queen. “Balerion, leave.” 

He let out a high-pitched whine, but she raised her eyebrows at him. “Leave,” she said, firmly. 

Dan lowered his head and walked out of the room, looking over his shoulder, but finally exiting when she gestured to him to continue. Still, he sat right outside where he could still hear their conversation.

“A handsome boy, isn't he?” She paused. “What has the Maester said?”

“They have done everything that was possible; now we must wait until he decides to return to us. I pray every day for his recovery.”

“A mother’s love knows no limits. I understand your pain, my first child died shortly after birth. A black-haired beauty. Robert only let me hold him for a moment before they took him from me. I never saw him again, never visited the crypt. It is just too painful.” She sighed. “I will pray to the mother that she returns him to you.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. You are most kind.” 

Hearing footsteps approaching, Dan made his way down the stairs and returned to his room, his last thought was how odd it was to watch himself sleep.

--

Dan’s last day at home was bittersweet. He made a point of spending time with each of his siblings. 

First, he went in search of Robb. He found him at the Great Hall, having an early breakfast, already preparing to take on the role of his father in his absence. Dan watched him from afar at first, trying to burn Robb’s face in his memory; exactly how he looked the last time they saw each other until the next. There was a big chance that this would be the last opportunity all the Stark children would be together in quite a few years. 

Robb sat strong and tall, his curly hair shining with hues of red with the sunlight coming from the window behind him. His handsome face and gentle smile were his most recognizable features. Dan knew that he would never be as good as Robb, but he didn’t hate his brother for it; he admired him. 

“Will you be joining me or continue lurking from the shadows, Daniel?” He said, staring straight ahead, extending his hand to the side to feed Greywind a big piece of meat.

Dan laughed. “One can learn a lot by watching people from the shadows.” He walked over and sat across from Robb.

“What have you learned from me?” He asked, smiling proudly. He absentmindedly grabbed another piece of meat when the wolf chewed on his fingers, demanding another treat and offered it to him. 

Dan considered teasing him, making a mean joke, but deep down, he would rather say something more genuine, something he had never said before. “That you would make a good king,” he whispered. “You have the soul of a kind leader.”

Robb’s eyebrows rose and his smile widened. “You will get us both executed with that kind of comment.” 

“It is the truth, I am merely stating it,” Dan said, biting into a piece of bread and tearing a good chunk out of it. 

“I can see where Balerion learned to eat like that,” his brother said with a smirk. Sighing heavily to Greywind, he gave him a pork’s leg and let him run with it.

“Not all of us can be as perfect.” 

Robb’s smile disappeared and Dan knew he had said the wrong thing again. “You are perfect. Just the way you are, Dan. You are a good man and a Stark of Winterfell - and you will always be, no matter what happens.” 

Dan’s eyes filled with tears. He nodded, clearing his throat. “Thank you.” 

“If you get bored of your little adventure, just come home. I will be waiting for you,” Robb said and Dan knew he meant every word. 

He ate as fast as he could and went out to the courtyard. Jon was speaking with the Queen’s brother; the Kingslayer. What a wonderful family they had: a heartless woman, a kingslayer, and an imp.

“You will enjoy the Night’s Watch greatly!” the Kingslayer said, his voice carrying loud enough for Dan to hear the conversation and decided to rescue Jon.

“It is my honour to take the black and protect Westeros.”

“A crowd of thieves, murderers and abusers protecting us from what exactly? From Ice demons that nobody has seen in thousands of years? From the wildlings? They cannot cross The Wall .”

“I would rather devote my life to fight for what I believe is right than betraying those I am supposed to protect,” Jon said and Dan’s eyes widened. 

It was true. Jaime Lannister had been the King’s guard of Robert Baratheon’s predecessor. He had stood by his side, swearing his loyalty to the king but in the end, he had stabbed him when his back was turned. Yes, the King had gone absolutely mad but he could have at least looked him in the eye as he took his life. It was easy to become an acclaimed swordsman when you had no honour. Nevertheless, Jon’s honesty could easily put him in a complicated situation, especially being a bastard, so Dan walked faster.

“Brother! We should visit Bran,” Dan said, looking at him intently. 

“Daniel, is it?” the Kingslayer said. 

“Yes. You are the Queen’s brother,” Dan said with a wide smile. “How can we be of service?”

“I was just wishing your brother good luck,” the man said, giving him both the most charming and coldest smile Dan had ever seen.

“Thank you,” Dan said, looking at him expectantly.  

He extended his hand to Jon for him to shake and Dan prayed to the Old Gods that he did. Luckily, his brother looked at Dan out of the corner of his eye and shook Jaime’s hand. 

“Thank you for protecting us with your life,” the Lannister man said sarcastically and turned without waiting for a reply. 

“What did he want?”

“To berate me, like everyone else,” Jon said, unfazed. “I have already said goodbye to Bran. Or I tried my best. Your mother asked me to leave shortly after.” 

“Would you like me to distract her so that you can visit him again?”

Jon shook his head. “Our little brother needs rest and my heart cannot bear to see him like that. He belongs outside, climbing, running free.” 

“He will recover and do all those things again; I am sure of it.”

“I hope so, Dan.” Jon turned to the blacksmith and grabbed a small sword, long and thin, with a grip covered in brown leather. “Thank you,” he said, sliding it into a brown leather sheath and wrapping it in a piece of cloth.

“That is an unusual sword for you.”

“It is not for me.”

“Who is it for then?” 

“Walk with me,” Jon said, making his way to the Great Keep and climbing up the stairs. He knocked on Arya’s door and waited to be called. 

“Yes?” 

They walked into her bedroom and watched her move about, gathering clothes for her journey to King’s Landing as Nymeria watched her curiously. “Have you packed yet?” she asked. 

Jon nodded, and Dan shook his head. 

“Always waiting until the last minute, Dan.” Arya rolled her eyes. “This is my second time, apparently my things weren't properly folded the first time.”

She grabbed a tunic and folded it, placing it on her chest. “Watch this. Nymeria, Shoes!”

Nymeria cocked her head, clearly recognizing her name but not comprehending the request. 

“Nymeria, Shoes!” Arya said, but her wolf laid down and rested her head on her paws. 

Dan snorted. 

“Impressive,” Jon said.

“Shut up. She did it last night!” Arya grabbed her favourite pair of boots and put them in the chest along with her never used ribbons.

“Alright, alright,” Jon said, putting his hands up in surrender. “I have something for you.” 

Arya turned to them with a smile. “What is it?”

Pulling the wrapped sword from behind his back, Jon presented it to her. Upon unwrapping the cloth from it and unsheathing the blade, Arya squealed happily. “Thank you!” 

“Do you know how to use it?” Jon asked.

“Yes. I stick them with the pointy end.”

Both Jon and Dan laughed. 

“How will you name it? A mighty sword needs a name.”

Arya looked at it carefully. “Needle!”

“Alright. You must train and learn to use it responsibly.”

She nodded and placed the sword between her clothes. “And you, Dan? What did you bring me?”

“Nothing, of course. You are a little brat and need to learn to earn things instead of expecting presents.” 

Arya pouted. 

Dan pulled a beautiful and very small dagger with a leather holster from his pocket. “I’m only joking, Arya. Keep this hidden in your clothes at all times. You can never be safe enough.”

She grabbed the knife and ran her finger on the details engraved into the grip. The weirwood tree on one side and six wolves on the other. “It is beautiful!” 

“Never forget where you belong, no matter how much the capital tries to change you,” Dan said. 

Arya left the dagger on the bed and ran to hug him, jumping to compensate for the height difference, Dan catching her in the air. “I will miss you and think about you every day,” she said. Then, she kicked her small feet and hugged Jon just as tightly. “Jon, you are my favourite brother, don’t let Dan convince you otherwise.” 

Jon snorted, rubbing her back and placing her back on the ground. Dan flicked her nose gently. “Brat.” His smile faltered. “Listen to Father down there. They are not our friends.”

“I know,” she said. 

Dan was glad that Arya was such a smart girl. Always focused on the world around her, observing, planning her little schemes to tease her brothers, but also a good person. She would grow to be a good warrior, if their father allowed it. If women could be knighted, she would be a knight; he was sure of it.

---

Dan returned to his room and crouched next to his bed, looking for the velvet pouch he had hidden there. His fingers finally made contact with the soft fabric and he smiled as he pulled it out, lifting it to his face. He opened it and checked that everything was alright. 

A wet nose came in contact with his hand, startling. “Balerion! You always take me by surprise, boy.” 

Balerion wagged his tail, rubbing his face on Dan’s hand. 

“Are you ready for our trip?” 

The direwolf whined softly, demanding more pets. 

Dan patted his chest and let him rest his paws on his shoulders, staring right into his black eyes. “Silly boy, you still think you’re a pup.” He ran his hands on the sides of Balerion’s snout and turned his face with a laugh when he tried to lick him. “Behave! We have a long way ahead and I have already taken a bath. Now come on, we need to say goodbye to Sansa and Lady.”

Upon hearing his litter mate’s name, Balerion ran to Sansa’s room howling softly all the way.

“Oh, hello, Balerion!” Sansa said. “Have you come to play with Lady?” 

Dan watched from the door. “I’m afraid we’ve come to say goodbye.”

Her smile faltered. “It is not a goodbye, just an ‘I’ll see you later,’ right?”

“Well, you will soon be engaged to the Prince and our father is the Hand of the King. I assume your move to King’s Landing will be rather permanent.”

“You could still visit me.” 

“I’m sure I will in the future, but the capital is not a place I would stay in for long.”

“I see.”

“I will always make time to assist your coronation, of course. Wouldn’t want to disrespect my Queen.”

Sansa smiled shily. “Do you think I will be Queen?”

“Yes. But not too soon, I hope. You are much too young to be married and his majesty will only be crowned when his father dies, which we hope will be much longer.” He wasn’t sure Robert Baratheon was the picture of good health, but he was the King and he had access to the best care anyone could desire. Dan hoped the man would live long so that his sister didn’t have to take the throne until she was an adult. It would be a great responsibility.

“Of course!” Sansa said, but her mind seemed far away all of the sudden. “Do you think I would be a good monarch?”

“You have a caring soul and a kind personality. Any kingdom would be lucky to have you. I do hope that you still have time to learn the other parts of the job.”

“What other parts?”

“Hosting for important guests, trying to advise your husband on what is best for your subjects, being informed about the needs of the people, and always looking beautiful. That last part, you have achieved already, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, shut up, Dan!” She laughed. 

Dan gave her the pouch. “This is for you. A small gift to remember me by.”

She opened it to find a delicate ring. A thin silver band with a blue stone, as blue as her eyes, an S carved into it. “It’s beautiful.”

“That is why I bought it; it reminded me of you.” 

Sansa slipped the ring onto her finger and looked at it in wonder. “Thank you,” she said, her smile soon turned into a frown when a choked sob escaped her. “I will miss you!” 

Dan pulled her into a tight hug, trying his best not to cry, rubbing her back gently. Sansa was a gentle girl, sometimes a little spoiled but he knew she would grow to be a strong woman. She would take after their mother. 

They heard a howl to the side and turned towards their companions. They were jumping and softly nipping at each other. Perhaps they knew it was goodbye. 

---

With the King’s caravan ready and leading the journey and the Winterfell carriage following close, Ned, Jon and Dan rode away from home in the direction of ‘The Kingsroad.’ Only the first part of the endeavour would keep them together. With the first fork in the road came the time to bid their father goodbye. 

“Dan, be careful out there. It is a dangerous world that we live in; don’t stray too far away from home,” his father said, his eyebrows burrowing into a frown, letting Dan know that even though he still didn’t consider him a fully fleshed man, he was willing to give him an opportunity to carve his own destiny. Nevertheless, Dan appreciated the fact that his father respected him enough to let him learn from his own mistakes.

“I will. Thank you, Father. I wish you success and peace in King’s Landing.”

“Thank you, now go. Make me proud.” 

Dan nodded once and looked in Jon’s direction, quietly riding away to allow his father and brother some privacy. They had a short exchange and even though Dan could not hear what they were saying, he could tell that it was loaded with emotion. 

Jon nodded to their father and watched as he rode away, trotting to catch up to the caravan.

Uncle Benjen was far ahead, riding alongside Tyrion Lannister and followed by Ghost and Balerion. The wolves were a part of their group but lagged behind, looking back at their masters. 

It would be a few weeks until they arrived at Castle Black, but Dan knew the trip would be worth it. He would finally see The Wall and be able to witness his brother’s oath, see him become a ranger and commit his life to a cause he believed in. Dan could only hope to find such an inspiration for himself one day, something to live for - something to die for.

DAENERYS

Pentos, across the narrow sea. Essos.

Daenerys ran around in the front yard of the house with the red door. She laughed and laughed and she climbed the biggest tree she could find and hid from her best friend, a kind boy just around her age. 

“Danny! Danny!” he laughed. 

A feeling of sadness overcame her as she began to stir. Daenerys opened her eyes and found herself still in the house of the Magister, the sun coming through the window and landing directly on her legs. She rubbed her eyes and found she’d been crying in her sleep. 

She couldn’t help herself; even after all these years, Daenerys still remembered the house with the red door as the only place she had ever been happy in. She’d been cared for and loved, she’d had a modicum amount of freedom and she’d had a friend. The boy would probably not even remember her at all, but she would never forget him and all the adventures they’d had together. 

Sometimes she wished she could go back in time and be a child again, to not know what it meant to be her, to be the True King’s sister, to be a Targaryen. 

“My Lady, your bath is ready. Please don’t take too long; your guests will be here shortly and your brother has requested that you look your best before then.

Danny sighed. She walked to the room next to her own and started to remove her nightgown when Viserys walked in without announcing himself. 

“Not ready yet?” 

“No, but I will be ready by the time they get here. I promise,” she said, trying to keep herself from shaking. 

“Well, then. Go ahead,” he said, running his eyes down her body.

“I will take my bath now.”

“I am not stopping you, am I?”

“Viserys, please.” 

“Do you want to wake the Dragon, little sister?” He asked, caressing her cheek before dragging his hand to her neck and wrapping his fingers around her throat.

“No, but - I am sure this warrior will want an untainted bride, and we cannot let our passions get the best of ourselves,” Daenerys said, trying to keep him away without angering him. 

“Quite right, you are. I will leave you to it - for now. Once you have married him and gotten me my army I will claim you. There is no greater love than that between Targaryens. It is our way; we must not stray from tradition.” 

“Of course,” she tried her best to smile. “I will be your queen, as we have always known.” 

Viserys smiled widely and Daenerys would have loved to… no. She needed to focus on the task at hand. She would handle her brother eventually. 

As soon as he had walked out of the room, Danny dropped her garment and slipped into the warm water, feeling the heat lap at her body pleasantly, making her groan. She submerged her head and opened her eyes, holding her breath until she felt as if she was going to faint. Then, she saw one of her servants rush to her and yell in distress. 

Danny sat up and gasped, letting the air burn as it made its way inside her. “I am alright; I was just wetting my head.” 

“Aren’t you burning yourself, My Lady?” The girl asked. 

“No, it is nice. I appreciate the flower petals you added; thank you.” 

The servant stuck her hand in the water and promptly removed it screaming in pain, the skin in her hand becoming redder and redder by the second. Danny looked at her own skin, white as marble, unscathed. 

“You must keep it in cold water until it stops hurting or it will get worse. Go, I will be alright.” 

The girl nodded and ran out of the room.

--

Danny raised her arms, letting another servant help her into the soft purple dress, made out of three thin layers of fabric that flowed like water, shimmering but barely covering her modesty. She ran a hand on it and smiled as they attached two silver dragon pins to the straps on her shoulders and clasped a necklace with the Targaryen sigil to her neck. 

“How do I look?”

“You look most beautiful, My Lady,” the servant said. “The colour of the dress matches your eyes and compliments your silver hair.” 

“Do you think they will like it?” 

“Any man would have to be crazy not to like you, My Lady.” 

Danny made an effort to smile again. Even though she knew the girl would never tell her if she looked awful, her smile looked genuine - or perhaps she was a fool for asking someone who could not tell her the truth. The smile finally slipped from her face.

She felt alone; alone and terrified of what the future would bring but she hoped that it would be better than this: hiding at a stranger’s house. Fearing for the day he finally decided to turn them into the usurper’s army or sell them in exchange for gold. Danny had no memory of her home, of Dragonstone. They had been on the run ever since she could remember, trying to survive in a world that wanted them dead. They’d had to start again and again one too many times and this was the last attempt she would make. She would make it home - whatever it took. 

As she made her way out the front door and stood beside her brother and Illyrio, she felt herself shake slightly, Viserys hand gently running down her arm. She pretended not to notice and took a small step away from him. 

“Where is he?” Asked Viserys impatiently. 

“He will be here soon, Your Grace.” 

Danny gasped as she saw a few men riding towards them. They looked nothing like what she had imagined. They had extremely long, black hair, their eyes darkened with paint and wore only trousers. Their horses were the most beautiful and impressive she had ever seen.  

They finally stopped before them. The tallest and more handsome of them looked at her as the others stayed a bit further away. He rode back and forward, evaluating her from hair to toe, from side to side. She tried to smile, hoping it didn’t come off as a pained expression although that would have been accurate to how she felt. 

The man did not say a word at all; not to her, not to her brother and before long, he rode away as fast as he’d arrived. 

“Well, did he like her or not?” Viserys asked. 

“He liked her, Your Grace. If he hadn’t we would’ve known immediately.” 

“Do you really think this man will give me an army?” 

“The Dothraki wear their hair in long braids as a sign of pride. When they are defeated, they must cut their hair. That is why his hair is so long; Khal Drogo has never been defeated, Your Grace.” 

“How will we ever get the damn army to King’s Landing then?”

“By conquering cities that have a fleet, of course! By the time you get to Westeros, you will be unbeatable and everyone will receive you with open arms as the true heir to the Iron Throne.”

“But first… first I need my army.” 

“And you will have it, Your Grace.”

---

Weeks after Danny’s eighteenth name day, the wedding ceremony took place. She could barely remember any of it, not that she understood, but the celebration after it was quite… eventful. She sat in a big wooden chair beside her now husband, Khal Drogo, and watched the display in front of her. Couples danced to the beat of drums all around her; the faster the beat was the more erotic the dance became, until one of the men simply took the woman he was dancing with. Off to the side, men were fighting each other for the attention of another woman until one of them cut the other’s braid and killed him. 

Daenerys blinked repeatedly and looked at Drogo out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to be enjoying the show, a big smile on his face. She briefly wondered if he would take her like that when they were alone, the thought alone made her nervous. She had never seen someone die, or someone naked other than herself. All she could do was hope for the best and try to conquer the love of the man her future depended on.

A man well into his forties in westerosy clothing approached them and bowed. He did not look like a peasant, nor like a noble. “Jorah Mormont of Bear Island, I would like to congratulate you on your wedding,” he said, presenting a chest to her and opening it to show three dragon eggs. “I bring these dragon eggs from the Shadowlands for the new Khaleesi.”

She leaned forward in her chair, extending her hand to touch the scales softly. “How could this be?”

Illyrio Mopatis stepped in and observed the eggs. “Time has turned them into stone, but their beauty still remains, Daenerys.”

She was at a loss for words; her lips moved but no sound came from them. 

“I also bring books on the tales of Old Valyria and the Dragon Wars. With these gifts, I pledge my allegiance to you and House Targaryen.” 

Danny lowered her head, humbled by the man’s generosity. “Thank you, Ser. You are very kind.”

The man finally smiled and took a step back; coming to stand beside Illyrio so that they could chat. 

The rest of the day went by in a blur; the only thing on Daenerys’ mind was the dragon eggs. 

As the sun started to set, Khal Drogo stood from his seat and offered her his hand without a word. He led her away from the crowd and into his tent. It was big and beautiful and had all sorts of leather decorations and a comfortable-looking wooden bed with linens that she knew were specifically acquired for her since they matched nothing the Dothraki wore or cared about. There was incense burning around the bed, leaving the air smelling like sweet apples and myrrh. 

Drogo placed his hands on her shoulders and she trembled. “No?” he asked. 

Daenerys took a deep breath and looked into his eyes, trying to decide as he fiddled with her dress without pulling it open. They didn’t speak the same language and communication would be quite complicated unless she took the time and effort to breach that gap. 

He looked at her curiously, still waiting for her reply. “No?” He repeated. 

When she didn’t reply, he stepped away and nodded. 

He seemed nothing like she had imagined; not to her at least. She offered her hand to him and guided him to the bed, where they sat next to each other. Daenerys was a woman now, and this was her husband. She looked into his eyes, hesitating and pressed her hand to his cheek, slowly leaning in for a kiss.

Drogo let her take the initiative, handling the pace in which things progressed until she was comfortable enough to let herself be loved. He was sweet and passionate and took good care of her, making her feel that this marriage was the first good thing to happen to her in years; even if she hadn’t been the one to choose it.

She lost herself in the strong arms of her husband, where she felt that nothing and no one could harm her. For the first time in her life, she felt safe. 

---

As the khalasar rode away from Pentos and in direction of the Dothraki sea, Daenerys fought to adjust to her new life as the Khaleesi. She wore the same clothes as the women from the hoard - a pair of trousers with a short leather top and riding boots, she rode her horse day in and day out without complaint although her legs ached and her hands bled; she ate the dry horse meat they provided for her as best as she could, but eventually, the language barrier, the solitude and the monotony caught up to her. 

“Is there anything to eat?” She asked Jorah, who promptly opened his satchel and offered her a piece of horse meat.

She took it still. “Is there anything else other than horse meat?”

“No, Khaleesi. The Dothraki only have slaves and horses. I’m afraid this is all there is for now.”

Daenerys nodded and took a bite, sighing in disgust. She had been eating nothing but horse meat for months and the ride ahead was months still. “How do they acquire their slaves? Do they buy them?”

“No. The Dothraki don’t believe in money.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“The horde rides from city to city, taking ransom for not destroying everything. Sometimes if there are few men or the women are ugly, or if the Khal considers that his men haven’t had a good battle in some time, they will ransack the city and take whoever is left standing.”

Her eyes widened at the information. She would not stand for that. “Tell them to stop?”

“What, Your Grace? Stop the entire Khalasar?” 

“Yes!” She said, jumping from her horse. She needed a break. She needed to stop and take a moment to breathe and collect herself. 

“What should I tell them is the reason?”

“That their Khaleesi ordered it.” 

Jorah looked at her proudly. “Of course, Khaleesi.”

She rushed between the tall plants growing at the sides of the road and only stopped when she saw a clearing. She leaned forward, placing her hands on her knees and took a deep breath. It was nothing; she had survived many hardships, she would survive this one too.

Danny saw the plants in front of her rustle and heard a horse approaching, her stomach twisting into knots as she tried to see who it was. When Viserys emerged on his black horse, his purple eyes filled with rage, she took a step back and looked around, trying to determine the safest escape route. 

“You dare give me orders!” He yelled, unmounting his horse and wrapping his hands around her throat. “You are nothing! You are no one! I am The Dragon!” 

“I am Khaleesi!” she said, her eyes rapidly filling up with tears. His hands tightened around her. She tried to speak but she realised that she couldn’t. 

“I don’t care for the savages or their stupid whores! I am your King and you will respect me!” 

Suddenly, Viserys' hands were no longer around her; she could finally breathe again. One of the riders had snapped his whip and wrapped it around her brother’s neck. He was slowly choking him. 

Her servant came running after her, holding onto her hand.

“Please, don’t hurt him!” Danny yelled. 

The girl translated for her but the man frowned. 

“He was hurting you, Khaleesi!” Her servant said. 

Daenerys shook her head. “Please, he’s my brother!” 

They looked at each other and then her quickly suffocating brother and shrugged, letting him go.

She kneeled in front of him and said: “Never put your hands on me again, Viserys. You don’t want to wake the real Dragon.” Then, she turned and left without a glance back. 

A grateful smile appeared on her lips when she saw the rider that had saved her return to her side on her brother’s horse with him following on foot, close behind. Maybe this new life was exactly what she had needed to blossom into herself, into her womanhood. She would work to be the best Khaleesi that ever was, accepting their culture and showing them hers. She would bring them glory; she would bring them land and acceptance in Westeros. Their story would be remembered through the ages.

NED

Kingsroad, near King's Landing, Westeros.

Ned groaned, getting up from his bed and rushing to dress for the long day ahead. If he never had to sleep at an inn again, it would be too soon. He made it out the door, greeting the keeper on his way out and went in search of his daughters. He walked down the main road until he spotted Sansa in the distance. She was trying to carry Lady with a leash but the pup was not following her instructions. 

Just as he was making his way to her, Prince Joffrey extended his arm to her and she took it with a shy smile, leaving Lady behind. Ned sighed; not only was Sansa already neglecting her direwolf, but she was also walking alone with Robert’s boy. 

Sansa seemed enamoured with him and this notion of being a queen, but there was more than one reason Ned had been hesitant to accept Robert’s will. It would put a target on her back, keep her away from Winterfell for good and potentially cause her to have to decide between her family and her husband, and Joffrey would not give her that choice. On the other hand, if he rejected the match, Sansa would hate him and Robert would be very angry with him, perhaps not as angry as to break their friendship, but it would not be pretty. 

Ned let out a deep sigh and called the wolf. “Come on, Lady!” He snapped his fingers and she trotted behind him. They walked to the edge of town where he knew Robert would be enjoying his meal away from his subjects. 

He approached the table where his friend was already drinking wine and cursing loud enough to be heard all through the seven kingdoms. 

“Why do I even bother hiring killers when they can’t even find a stupid little girl!?” 

“I see that you have opened the wine early, Your Grace,” Ned said, raising his eyebrows at him with an amused smile.

“It’s that Targaryen WHORE married a Dothraki Khal and they are trying to gather an army to retake the throne!”

“She’s in Essos and has no power, let her be. She was a babe when her father died.” 

“Doesn’t matter, Ned! She will soon be popping little Targaryen bastards that will come to take the throne from me!”

“How would they possibly come?”

“They are gathering forces! They have a thousand Dothraki riders!”

“They have an army in Essos and no ships. They are no threat to you.”

“What if they get ships?” Robert grumbled.

“Then, we’ll crush them. All of Westeros will unite to fight them.”

“You forget that many called me a usurper, and many still think that way.”

Ned shook his head. “Not anymore, you have won the heart of your subjects.”

“No - I don’t think I have. But at least they are not afraid that I may burn them alive.”

Lady chose that moment to put Robert’s hand in her mouth and chew on his fingers softly. 

“Oh, you little beast,” he said with an amused smile. “What are you doing?”

“She just wants some royal pets.” 

Robert laughed, downing his glass of wine and patted his lap, letting her climb on him as he scratched her fur. 

There was a scream in the distance; it sounded like Joffrey. Ned stood and looked around. 

“Oh, what now?” Robert huffed, already in a bad mood again. 

“Stay here with your guards.” Ned ran North and followed a path between the trees, leading to a small river. There he saw Prince Joffrey grabbing his hand and crying, he had bite marks on his hand and arm as Sansa tried to comfort him. His sword lay on the ground beside him. 

“What happened!?” 

“That beast! It attacked me!” He wailed.

Ned looked to Sansa, waiting for her to explain. 

“Arya was here, with the butcher’s boy and Nymeria. She attacked the Prince out of nowhere!” she said.

“Where is she? Where is your sister?” 

“I don’t know, she ran. That way!” Sansa said, pointing in the Direction Ned came from. He ventured into the forest, trying to find his youngest daughter. Nothing made sense, Nymeria had never attacked anybody, but still, he needed to find Arya and make sure she was safe. Her involvement in the Prince’s injury would not go unpunished. Soon, the forest was full of soldiers, searching for her, trying to capture her and her wolf. 

By nightfall, Ned was so worried, he feared he would never see her again. He didn’t dare think about what could have happened to her to make her run for so long, to make her hide; or had someone found her and killed her for such a silly offence? If they were under Cersei's orders, he did not doubt it.

“Lord Stark!” said one of Robert's guards. “They found her!”

Ned let out a sigh of relief and followed the man back to the biggest tavern in town. As he walked in, he knew the fight was not over. The place was packed to the brim with people watching the spectacle. Arya was held by two guards while Robert and Cersei sat at the dais waiting for him. 

“What is the meaning of this? Release my daughter!”

Robert nodded at the guards. “I didn’t mean to scare the girl,” he said in a dismissive tone. 

Arya pulled her arms free and came to stand with her father.

“What happened?” Robert demanded.

“I was playing with Mikah, we were fighting and he tried to hit him!” Arya said, pointing to Joffrey. 

“That is a lie! I defended you from the boy!” The Prince said, his sickly pale face twisting in disgust. 

“You did not! And then you attacked me! That is why Nymeria bit you!” 

“Lies again!” Joffrey yelled, already turning red with anger. “That beast is wild and needs to be put down!” 

“Where is your other daughter?” asked Cersei.

“In bed, sleeping,” Ned said, hoping to spare Sansa from this.

“Sansa!” Cersei called. 

The crowd parted and in came Sansa, wearing the blue dress she had made herself in Winterfell but she had a velvet cloak on her shoulders. A clear gift from the Lannisters.

“Can you tell us what happened, little dove?”

“Prince Joffrey and I were walking by the river and he tried to save Arya but Nymeria attacked him,” Sansa said, tears falling from her eyes. 

“If I may, Your Grace. It seems this is a quarrel between children. I would like to discipline my daughters myself.” 

Robert nodded and got up from his chair with a huff. Ned put an arm around each of his daughters and made his way to the back of the room. 

“What about the wolf?” Cersei asked. “My son was attacked!”

Robert looked around. “We haven’t found it, Your Grace.” 

“Well, that’s it then.”

“But there’s another wolf!” said Cersei.  

“No! Not Lady!” yelled Sansa, bursting into tears.

“You shouldn’t keep them as pets,” Cersei smiled.

“Very well. A wolf is a wolf.” Robert said.  

“No, Please!” Cried Sansa. 

“Lady did nothing wrong!” Arya joined her.

Robert’s head hung as he strode to the exit. 

“Is this your will, Your Grace?” Ned yelled after him. Robert froze for a moment but kept walking without a backwards glance. 

One of the guards unsheathed his sword and Ned grabbed his wrist. “No, if it must be done, I’ll do it myself. Lady is from the North and she deserves to die with dignity.”

“No, Father please! Please!” Sansa cried. 

“Take them inside,” Ned said, speaking to Septa Mordane. Then, he turned on his heels and exited the tavern. He found Lady tied to a pole right outside and ran his fingers through her fur, giving her a last goodbye. She did not deserve such a cruel fate. 

With sorrow in his heart, he drew his sword and with a swing, Lady was no more. He turned away and let a tear fall before quickly rubbing it away. He walked back to the inn, crossing Sandor Clegane on the road. 

“Is that the butcher’s boy? Did he run?” Ned asked.

“Not fast enough,” Clegane said.

It was then that he realised that the boy was dead. That was the day his daughters’ childhood ended, but they would live to see another day when others had not been so lucky.

The rest of the trip to King’s Landing went by quickly but not fast enough. He made sure to have Winterfell’s bannermen and carriage at the back and to guard it with his life. Ned knew coming to the capital would be hard and dangerous, but not how much exactly. 

A guard approached them right as they crossed the gate. “Lord Stark, welcome to King’s Landing. Grand Maester Pycelle requires your presence in the small council meeting.” 

“We just arrived,” Ned said. 

The guard looked at him. It was clear that the invitation was not one he would be allowed to decline.

“Very well,” Ned said, turning to the Septa. “Please help the girls settle in. I’ll be back by supper.” Then, he looked at one of Winterfell’s finer warriors and said: “Jory, go with them.” Ned knew that if anything happened, Jory would defend the girls with his life.

He dismounted his horse and strode to the Red Keep. As soon as he entered the Throne room, he saw Jaime Lannister sitting on the steps of the raised dais. 

“Thank the Gods you are here Stark. We’ve been in need of stern northern leadership.”

“Glad to see you protecting the throne,” Ned said.

“Sturdy old thing. How many king’s asses has it polished? I wonder. And - what’s the line? ‘ The king shits and the hand wipes ’?” 

Ned looked at him, not a hair out of place, not a stain on his cloak. A man without honour that spent his days enjoying the fruit of breaking his vows. “What a handsome armour, not a scratch on it.”

“People have been swinging at me for years.”

“Chosen your opponents wisely.” 

Jaime nodded. “I have a knack for it.” He looked down at the floor and back at Ned. “It must be difficult for you to come here, I was here when it happened. He was very brave, your brother - your father too. He didn’t deserve to die like that - nobody deserves to die like that.”

“You just stood there and watched”

“Five hundred men just stood there and watched. Do you think any of the great knights of the seven kingdoms said a word or lifted a finger? No, Lord Stark. Five hundred men and this room was silent as a crypt. Except - for the screams, of course. And the man king’s laughter. And later, when I watched the Mad King die, I remembered him laughing as your father burned. It felt like justice.”

“Is that what you tell yourself? That you avenged my father when you shoved your sword into Aerys Targaryen’s back?”

“If I’d stabbed the Mad King in the belly, instead of the back, would you admire me more?”

“You served him well when serving was safe,” Ned said and walked past him in the direction of the council meeting chamber. One of the king’s guards nodded at him as he entered and shut the door after him. 

Lord Varys stood from his chair and rushed to him, holding Ned’s hand between his own. “Lord Stark. I was sorry to hear about the trouble you had in the Kingsroad. I pray for Prince Joffrey’s full recovery.” 

Ned resisted the urge to huff. “You should pray for the butcher’s boy instead.” 

He approached the table and greeted the rest of the small Council. First, he pulled Renly Baratheon into a tight hug; it had been so many years since they’d seen each other that he was now a respectable man instead of a boy with a reputation for chasing other men around as a form of entertainment. He had dark curly hair and a soft face still, but the leather armour suited him, even if he was not as tall and strong as Robert had been at his age. “Renly, you're looking well! How are you faring?” 

“Much better now that you are here, Lord Stark,” Renly said with a wide smile before stepping away and looking at him. “You look tired from the trip. I told them this meeting could wait another day, but they disagreed.”

The door opened and Petyr Baelish walked in, looking just as proud of himself as Ned had imagined him from the stories he’d heard. Long coat, short hair, trimmed moustache. He stood with his hands behind his back, making his chest look more prominent, probably to appear more muscular than he was, the master of coin pin shining on his shoulder.

“I have wanted to meet you for a long time, Lord Stark. No doubt Catelyn has mentioned me.”

Yes, Cat had mentioned Petyr Baelish, her childhood friend who was an apprentice under her father and this silly little propensity he’d had for pursuing her, even after she’d been engaged to marry Brandon. The man’s outburst was out of place but Ned had won Cat without even having to fight him; there was no need to give him the pleasure of starting an argument on his first day at the capital. 

“She has, Lord Baelish. I understand you knew my brother Brandon as well.”  

“All too well, I still carry a token of his esteem, from navel to collarbone,” Baelish said, running his fingers over his coat in the expanse of his scar.

Ned smiled, that was so much like his brother, may the gods keep him. “Perhaps you chose the wrong men to duel with.” 

“It was not the man that I chose, My Lord. It was Catelyn Tully.”

“Pardon me,” A voice close to his shoulder said. 

“Grand Maester Pycelle,” Ned said, nodding once. 

“How many years has it been? You were a young boy!”

“And you served another king.” 

The old man looked at him briefly before reaching into his robes. “Oh, I forgot. This is yours,” he said, giving him a brass pin shaped like a hand holding the crown gently.

Ned accepted it, rubbing the aged-looking pin between his fingers. Jon Arryn had worn it last, devoted himself to helping Robert and now he was dead. He tried to push the memories of his arrival to The Eyrie as a child and befriending Robert, growing and learning everything he knew under Jon’s care away; it would serve no purpose to lose his head over the matter. He would see to it that the Lannisters were brought to justice for it in due time. 

“We should begin.” 

Ned walked over to the table and stood beside a chair in the middle of it. “Shouldn’t we wait for Robert?” 

Grand Maester Pycelle stammered. “W-well - the King doesn’t always join the small council meetings.” 

“Winter might be coming but the same cannot be said for my brother,” Renly said, sitting at his side. 

“His Grace has many cares. He entrusts some small matters to us,” Varys rushed to say. 

Ned looked at them in awe. He could not believe Robert would be so careless.

“We are the Lords of small matters here,” Baelish added with a smirk. 

Ned sat down and accepted a piece of rolled parchment from Renly with Robert's seal. 

“My brother instructs us to hold a tournament in honour of Lord Stark’s appointment as Hand of the King.”

Baelish leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. “How much?” 

Ned read the details from the parchment. “Forty thousand dragon gold to the winner, twenty thousand to the runner up, twenty thousand to the winning archer.”

Grand Maester Pycelle hummed. “Can the crown bear such expense,” he asked Baelish.

“I will have to borrow the money from the Lannisters. We already owe Lord Tywin three million gold, what’s another eighty thousand?”

Ned’s eyes widened. “Are you saying the crown is three million in debt?”

“I’m telling you that the crown is six million in debt,” Baelish said without a hint of remorse.

Looking around the table, Ned tried to control his anger, his bewilderment. “How could you have let this happen?”

“The master of coin finds the money, the Hand spends it.” 

Ned could feel the vein on his forehead throb at that remark. “There is no way John Arryn would have allowed Robert to Bankrupt the crown.” 

“Lord Arryn gave great wise and prudent advice,” Pycelle said. “But I fear His Grace doesn’t always listen.”

“Counting coppers, he calls it,” Renly added.

“I will speak to him tomorrow, this cannot continue.” 

“Very well, but we must still make plans,” Baelish said. 

“There will be no plans!” Ned said, raising his voice. “Until I speak to Robert.” The room fell immediately silent. He rubbed his face in an attempt to keep the headache he felt forming at bay. “Forgive me, My Lords. I had a long ride.”

Varys finally spoke up. “You are the Hand, we serve at your will.”

Embarrassed by his outburst and frustrated by the state of matters, Ned called the meeting to a close and went in search of his daughters.

The moment he set foot in the room, he knew something was not right. Sansa looked upset and her Septa was patting her hand in comfort. 

“What happened?” He asked. “Where is Arya?”

“She excused herself without finishing her meal,” the woman said. “The girls had a disagreement.”

They never got along, not since they were born. Both were very different and set in their ways without any consideration for the other. Ned set the present on the table beside Sansa in hopes of cheering her up.

“What’s this?” 

“That’s for you, love,” he said, attempting an encouraging smile. “Open it.”

Sansa wiped her teary eyes and pulled the twine wrapping the silk cloth to reveal an expensive porcelain doll. Her face transformed from sadness to anger, outrage perhaps. 

“Don’t you like it? It was made by the same craftsmen that make Princess Myrcella’s toys.” 

“I haven’t played with dolls since I was eight.” Sansa stood smoothing her dress down. “May I be excused?”

“But you haven’t finished eating yet,” Septa Mordane said.

Ned sighed. “Of course,” he said and watched her rush into her private chamber and shut the door behind her. He turned to the Septa. “Please, try to enjoy the rest of your meal and bring her food later.” 

“Yes, My Lord.”

His girls were already having a horrible time at the capital and they had just arrived. This entire trip had turned into a nightmare. He understood Sansa's enchantment with Prince Joffrey; she had suffered greatly with Lady’s death and was trying to hold onto a brighter future as his Queen but he was not turning out to be the brave King she’d hoped for, and now her father had made the mistake and treated her like a small child when she felt like a young Lady already. 

He let out a deep sigh and walked to the opposite side of the room, knocking on Arya’s private chamber, hoping to speak to her. There was no response, but after a brief pause, she pulled the door open and stepped aside, letting him in. She had a very light sword in her hand, a thin blade but appropriately sized for her. 

“Whose is that?” He asked calmly, already suspecting her reply.

“Mine!” She said, trying to put it behind her back. “It’s called Needle.”

“A blade with a name, I see.” Ned extended his hand and waited until she reluctantly gave him the sword. “I know the craftsmanship, it was made in Winterfell. How did you get it?”

Arya hesitated. “I - it is mine! You cannot have it!” 

He sighed and closed the door behind him, finally returning the sword to her and sitting at the small table in the corner. “What will you do with it?”

“Use it.” She said, crossing her arms.

“On who? Your sister?” 

“I should! She is responsible for Mikah’s death! And for Lady’s! And Nymeria running away!”

“That was not her fault and she suffered for it too.”

“But she lied! She saw what happened and let Joffrey lie! I hate her!”

“Arya, your sister was in a very different position. She was called by the Queen and questioned. She couldn’t have called the Prince a liar in front of his family, in front of everyone present. When they become Kings and Princes and Queens they can rewrite the truth and pointing such things out could be extremely dangerous. Your sister is not your enemy. One day you will marry a man and become a Lady and you will understand,” he explained. 

“I am not a Lady, I will never be a Lady.” Arya sniffled. “It’s not fair! I hate them. I hate all of them! But I - I don’t hate Sansa.” She rubbed her cheek, pretending that no tears had fallen.

Of course, he should have known. Arya had never displayed the same interests as Sansa. “It’s true. It is not fair, life is not fair at times, but we must make the best of it. Try to fight for what is right.”

“I am not a good fighter yet, but I am practising.” She said, looking at her sword. 

Ned considered it for a moment. Perhaps it would not be bad for her to know how to protect herself and Sansa. “King’s Landing is a very dangerous place. You will learn to use it, starting tomorrow. You are a Stark of Winterfell, we are warriors - all of us in our own way.” 

“Thank you!” she said, running to hug him.

Ned groaned, getting up from his bed and rushing to dress for the long day ahead. If he never had to sleep at an inn again, it would be too soon. He made it out the door, greeting the keeper on his way out and went in search of his daughters. He walked down the main road until he spotted Sansa in the distance. She was trying to carry Lady with a leash but the pup was not following her instructions. 

Just as he was making his way to her, Prince Joffrey extended his arm to her and she took it with a shy smile, leaving Lady behind. Ned sighed; not only was Sansa already neglecting her direwolf, but she was also walking alone with Robert’s boy. 

Sansa seemed enamoured with him and this notion of being a queen, but there was more than one reason Ned had been hesitant to accept Robert’s will. It would put a target on her back, keep her away from Winterfell for good and potentially cause her to have to decide between her family and her husband, and Joffrey would not give her that choice. On the other hand, if he rejected the match, Sansa would hate him and Robert would be very angry with him, perhaps not as angry as to break their friendship, but it would not be pretty. 

Ned let out a deep sigh and called the wolf. “Come on, Lady!” He snapped his fingers and she trotted behind him. They walked to the edge of town where he knew Robert would be enjoying his meal away from his subjects. 

He approached the table where his friend was already drinking wine and cursing loud enough to be heard all through the seven kingdoms. 

“Why do I even bother hiring killers when they can’t even find a stupid little girl!?” 

“I see that you have opened the wine early, Your Grace,” Ned said, raising his eyebrows at him with an amused smile.

“It’s that Targaryen WHORE married a Dothraki Khal and they are trying to gather an army to retake the throne!”

“She’s in Essos and has no power, let her be. She was a babe when her father died.” 

“Doesn’t matter, Ned! She will soon be popping little Targaryen bastards that will come to take the throne from me!”

“How would they possibly come?”

“They are gathering forces! They have a thousand Dothraki riders!”

“They have an army in Essos and no ships. They are no threat to you.”

“What if they get ships?” Robert grumbled.

“Then, we’ll crush them. All of Westeros will unite to fight them.”

“You forget that many called me a usurper, and many still think that way.”

Ned shook his head. “Not anymore, you have won the heart of your subjects.”

“No - I don’t think I have. But at least they are not afraid that I may burn them alive.”

Lady chose that moment to put Robert’s hand in her mouth and chew on his fingers softly. 

“Oh, you little beast,” he said with an amused smile. “What are you doing?”

“She just wants some royal pets.” 

Robert laughed, downing his glass of wine and patted his lap, letting her climb on him as he scratched her fur. 

There was a scream in the distance; it sounded like Joffrey. Ned stood and looked around. 

“Oh, what now?” Robert huffed, already in a bad mood again. 

“Stay here with your guards.” Ned ran North and followed a path between the trees, leading to a small river. There he saw Prince Joffrey grabbing his hand and crying, he had bite marks on his hand and arm as Sansa tried to comfort him. His sword lay on the ground beside him. 

“What happened!?” 

“That beast! It attacked me!” He wailed.

Ned looked to Sansa, waiting for her to explain. 

“Arya was here, with the butcher’s boy and Nymeria. She attacked the Prince out of nowhere!” she said.

“Where is she? Where is your sister?” 

“I don’t know, she ran. That way!” Sansa said, pointing in the Direction Ned came from. He ventured into the forest, trying to find his youngest daughter. Nothing made sense, Nymeria had never attacked anybody, but still, he needed to find Arya and make sure she was safe. Her involvement in the Prince’s injury would not go unpunished. Soon, the forest was full of soldiers, searching for her, trying to capture her and her wolf. 

By nightfall, Ned was so worried, he feared he would never see her again. He didn’t dare think about what could have happened to her to make her run for so long, to make her hide; or had someone found her and killed her for such a silly offence? If they were under Cersei's orders, he did not doubt it.

“Lord Stark!” said one of Robert's guards. “They found her!”

Ned let out a sigh of relief and followed the man back to the biggest tavern in town. As he walked in, he knew the fight was not over. The place was packed to the brim with people watching the spectacle. Arya was held by two guards while Robert and Cersei sat at the dais waiting for him. 

“What is the meaning of this? Release my daughter!”

Robert nodded at the guards. “I didn’t mean to scare the girl,” he said in a dismissive tone. 

Arya pulled her arms free and came to stand with her father.

“What happened?” Robert demanded.

“I was playing with Mikah, we were fighting and he tried to hit him!” Arya said, pointing to Joffrey. 

“That is a lie! I defended you from the boy!” The Prince said, his sickly pale face twisting in disgust. 

“You did not! And then you attacked me! That is why Nymeria bit you!” 

“Lies again!” Joffrey yelled, already turning red with anger. “That beast is wild and needs to be put down!” 

“Where is your other daughter?” asked Cersei.

“In bed, sleeping,” Ned said, hoping to spare Sansa from this.

“Sansa!” Cersei called. 

The crowd parted and in came Sansa, wearing the blue dress she had made herself in Winterfell but she had a velvet cloak on her shoulders. A clear gift from the Lannisters.

“Can you tell us what happened, little dove?”

“Prince Joffrey and I were walking by the river and he tried to save Arya but Nymeria attacked him,” Sansa said, tears falling from her eyes. 

“If I may, Your Grace. It seems this is a quarrel between children. I would like to discipline my daughters myself.” 

Robert nodded and got up from his chair with a huff. Ned put an arm around each of his daughters and made his way to the back of the room. 

“What about the wolf?” Cersei asked. “My son was attacked!”

Robert looked around. “We haven’t found it, Your Grace.” 

“Well, that’s it then.”

“But there’s another wolf!” said Cersei.  

“No! Not Lady!” yelled Sansa, bursting into tears.

“You shouldn’t keep them as pets,” Cersei smiled.

“Very well. A wolf is a wolf.” Robert said.  

“No, Please!” Cried Sansa. 

“Lady did nothing wrong!” Arya joined her.

Robert’s head hung as he strode to the exit. 

“Is this your will, Your Grace?” Ned yelled after him. Robert froze for a moment but kept walking without a backwards glance. 

One of the guards unsheathed his sword and Ned grabbed his wrist. “No, if it must be done, I’ll do it myself. Lady is from the North and she deserves to die with dignity.”

“No, Father please! Please!” Sansa cried. 

“Take them inside,” Ned said, speaking to Septa Mordane. Then, he turned on his heels and exited the tavern. He found Lady tied to a pole right outside and ran his fingers through her fur, giving her a last goodbye. She did not deserve such a cruel fate. 

With sorrow in his heart, he drew his sword and with a swing, Lady was no more. He turned away and let a tear fall before quickly rubbing it away. He walked back to the inn, crossing Sandor Clegane on the road. 

“Is that the butcher’s boy? Did he run?” Ned asked.

“Not fast enough,” Clegane said.

It was then that he realised that the boy was dead. That was the day his daughters’ childhood ended, but they would live to see another day when others had not been so lucky.

---

The rest of the trip to King’s Landing went by quickly but not fast enough. He made sure to have Winterfell’s bannermen and carriage at the back and to guard it with his life. Ned knew coming to the capital would be hard and dangerous, but not how much exactly. 

A guard approached them right as they crossed the gate. “Lord Stark, welcome to King’s Landing. Grand Maester Pycelle requires your presence in the small council meeting.” 

“We just arrived,” Ned said. 

The guard looked at him. It was clear that the invitation was not one he would be allowed to decline.

“Very well,” Ned said, turning to the Septa. “Please help the girls settle in. I’ll be back by supper.” Then, he looked at one of Winterfell’s finer warriors and said: “Jory, go with them.” Ned knew that if anything happened, Jory would defend the girls with his life.

He dismounted his horse and strode to the Red Keep. As soon as he entered the Throne room, he saw Jaime Lannister sitting on the steps of the raised dais. 

“Thank the Gods you are here Stark. We’ve been in need of stern northern leadership.”

“Glad to see you protecting the throne,” Ned said.

“Sturdy old thing. How many king’s asses has it polished? I wonder. And - what’s the line? ‘The king shits and the hand wipes’?” 

Ned looked at him, not a hair out of place, not a stain on his cloak. A man without honour that spent his days enjoying the fruit of breaking his vows. “What a handsome armour, not a scratch on it.”

“People have been swinging at me for years.”

“Chosen your opponents wisely.” 

Jaime nodded. “I have a knack for it.” He looked down at the floor and back at Ned. “It must be difficult for you to come here, I was here when it happened. He was very brave, your brother - your father too. He didn’t deserve to die like that - nobody deserves to die like that.”

“You just stood there and watched”

“Five hundred men just stood there and watched. Do you think any of the great knights of the seven kingdoms said a word or lifted a finger? No, Lord Stark. Five hundred men and this room was silent as a crypt. Except - for the screams, of course. And the man king’s laughter. And later, when I watched the Mad King die, I remembered him laughing as your father burned. It felt like justice.”

“Is that what you tell yourself? That you avenged my father when you shoved your sword into Aerys Targaryen’s back?”

“If I’d stabbed the Mad King in the belly, instead of the back, would you admire me more?”

“You served him well when serving was safe,” Ned said and walked past him in the direction of the council meeting chamber. One of the king’s guards nodded at him as he entered and shut the door after him. 

Lord Varys stood from his chair and rushed to him, holding Ned’s hand between his own. “Lord Stark. I was sorry to hear about the trouble you had in the Kingsroad. I pray for Prince Joffrey’s full recovery.” 

Ned resisted the urge to huff. “You should pray for the butcher’s boy instead.” 

He approached the table and greeted the rest of the small Council. First, he pulled Renly Baratheon into a tight hug; it had been so many years since they’d seen each other that he was now a respectable man instead of a boy with a reputation for chasing other men around as a form of entertainment. He had dark curly hair and a soft face still, but the leather armour suited him, even if he was not as tall and strong as Robert had been at his age. “Renly, you're looking well! How are you faring?” 

“Much better now that you are here, Lord Stark,” Renly said with a wide smile before stepping away and looking at him. “You look tired from the trip. I told them this meeting could wait another day, but they disagreed.”

The door opened and Petyr Baelish walked in, looking just as proud of himself as Ned had imagined him from the stories he’d heard. Long coat, short hair, trimmed moustache. He stood with his hands behind his back, making his chest look more prominent, probably to appear more muscular than he was, the master of coin pin shining on his shoulder.

“I have wanted to meet you for a long time, Lord Stark. No doubt Catelyn has mentioned me.”

Yes, Cat had mentioned Petyr Baelish, her childhood friend who was an apprentice under her father and this silly little propensity he’d had for pursuing her, even after she’d been engaged to marry Brandon. The man’s outburst was out of place but Ned had won Cat without even having to fight him; there was no need to give him the pleasure of starting an argument on his first day at the capital. 

“She has, Lord Baelish. I understand you knew my brother Brandon as well.”  

“All too well, I still carry a token of his esteem, from navel to collarbone,” Baelish said, running his fingers over his coat in the expanse of his scar.

Ned smiled, that was so much like his brother, may the gods keep him. “Perhaps you chose the wrong men to duel with.” 

“It was not the man that I chose, My Lord. It was Catelyn Tully.”

“Pardon me,” A voice close to his shoulder said. 

“Grand Maester Pycelle,” Ned said, nodding once. 

“How many years has it been? You were a young boy!”

“And you served another king.” 

The old man looked at him briefly before reaching into his robes. “Oh, I forgot. This is yours,” he said, giving him a brass pin shaped like a hand holding the crown gently.

Ned accepted it, rubbing the aged-looking pin between his fingers. Jon Arryn had worn it last, devoted himself to helping Robert and now he was dead. He tried to push the memories of his arrival to The Eyrie as a child and befriending Robert, growing and learning everything he knew under Jon’s care away; it would serve no purpose to lose his head over the matter. He would see to it that the Lannisters were brought to justice for it in due time. 

“We should begin.” 

Ned walked over to the table and stood beside a chair in the middle of it. “Shouldn’t we wait for Robert?” 

Grand Maester Pycelle stammered. “W-well - the King doesn’t always join the small council meetings.” 

“Winter might be coming but the same cannot be said for my brother,” Renly said, sitting at his side. 

“His Grace has many cares. He entrusts some small matters to us,” Varys rushed to say. 

Ned looked at them in awe. He could not believe Robert would be so careless.

“We are the Lords of small matters here,” Baelish added with a smirk. 

Ned sat down and accepted a piece of rolled parchment from Renly with Robert's seal. 

“My brother instructs us to hold a tournament in honour of Lord Stark’s appointment as Hand of the King.”

Baelish leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. “How much?” 

Ned read the details from the parchment. “Forty thousand dragon gold to the winner, twenty thousand to the runner up, twenty thousand to the winning archer.”

Grand Maester Pycelle hummed. “Can the crown bear such expense,” he asked Baelish.

“I will have to borrow the money from the Lannisters. We already owe Lord Tywin three million gold, what’s another eighty thousand?”

Ned’s eyes widened. “Are you saying the crown is three million in debt?”

“I’m telling you that the crown is six million in debt,” Baelish said without a hint of remorse.

Looking around the table, Ned tried to control his anger, his bewilderment. “How could you have let this happen?”

“The master of coin finds the money, the Hand spends it.” 

Ned could feel the vein on his forehead throb at that remark. “There is no way John Arryn would have allowed Robert to Bankrupt the crown.” 

“Lord Arryn gave great wise and prudent advice,” Pycelle said. “But I fear His Grace doesn’t always listen.”

“Counting coppers, he calls it,” Renly added.

“I will speak to him tomorrow, this cannot continue.” 

“Very well, but we must still make plans,” Baelish said. 

“There will be no plans!” Ned said, raising his voice. “Until I speak to Robert.” The room fell immediately silent. He rubbed his face in an attempt to keep the headache he felt forming at bay. “Forgive me, My Lords. I had a long ride.”

Varys finally spoke up. “You are the Hand, we serve at your will.”

Embarrassed by his outburst and frustrated by the state of matters, Ned called the meeting to a close and went in search of his daughters.

--

The moment he set foot in the room, he knew something was not right. Sansa looked upset and her Septa was patting her hand in comfort. 

“What happened?” He asked. “Where is Arya?”

“She excused herself without finishing her meal,” the woman said. “The girls had a disagreement.”

They never got along, not since they were born. Both were very different and set in their ways without any consideration for the other. Ned set the present on the table beside Sansa in hopes of cheering her up.

“What’s this?” 

“That’s for you, love,” he said, attempting an encouraging smile. “Open it.”

Sansa wiped her teary eyes and pulled the twine wrapping the silk cloth to reveal an expensive porcelain doll. Her face transformed from sadness to anger, outrage perhaps. 

“Don’t you like it? It was made by the same craftsmen that make Princess Myrcella’s toys.” 

“I haven’t played with dolls since I was eight.” Sansa stood smoothing her dress down. “May I be excused?”

“But you haven’t finished eating yet,” Septa Mordane said.

Ned sighed. “Of course,” he said and watched her rush into her private chamber and shut the door behind her. He turned to the Septa. “Please, try to enjoy the rest of your meal and bring her food later.” 

“Yes, My Lord.”

His girls were already having a horrible time at the capital and they had just arrived. This entire trip had turned into a nightmare. He understood Sansa's enchantment with Prince Joffrey; she had suffered greatly with Lady’s death and was trying to hold onto a brighter future as his Queen but he was not turning out to be the brave King she’d hoped for, and now her father had made the mistake and treated her like a small child when she felt like a young Lady already. 

He let out a deep sigh and walked to the opposite side of the room, knocking on Arya’s private chamber, hoping to speak to her. There was no response, but after a brief pause, she pulled the door open and stepped aside, letting him in. She had a very light sword in her hand, a thin blade but appropriately sized for her. 

“Whose is that?” He asked calmly, already suspecting her reply.

“Mine!” She said, trying to put it behind her back. “It’s called Needle.”

“A blade with a name, I see.” Ned extended his hand and waited until she reluctantly gave him the sword. “I know the craftsmanship, it was made in Winterfell. How did you get it?”

Arya hesitated. “I - it is mine! You cannot have it!” 

He sighed and closed the door behind him, finally returning the sword to her and sitting at the small table in the corner. “What will you do with it?”

“Use it.” She said, crossing her arms.

“On who? Your sister?” 

“I should! She is responsible for Mikah’s death! And for Lady’s! And Nymeria running away!”

“That was not her fault and she suffered for it too.”

“But she lied! She saw what happened and let Joffrey lie! I hate her!”

“Arya, your sister was in a very different position. She was called by the Queen and questioned. She couldn’t have called the Prince a liar in front of his family, in front of everyone present. When they become Kings and Princes and Queens they can rewrite the truth and pointing such things out could be extremely dangerous. Your sister is not your enemy. One day you will marry a man and become a Lady and you will understand,” he explained. 

“I am not a Lady, I will never be a Lady.” Arya sniffled. “It’s not fair! I hate them. I hate all of them! But I - I don’t hate Sansa.” She rubbed her cheek, pretending that no tears had fallen.

Of course, he should have known. Arya had never displayed the same interests as Sansa. “It’s true. It is not fair, life is not fair at times, but we must make the best of it. Try to fight for what is right.”

“I am not a good fighter yet, but I am practising.” She said, looking at her sword. 

Ned considered it for a moment. Perhaps it would not be bad for her to know how to protect herself and Sansa. “King’s Landing is a very dangerous place. You will learn to use it, starting tomorrow. You are a Stark of Winterfell, we are warriors - all of us in our own way.” 

“Thank you!” she said, running to hug him.

[jorzuela]

I made this Edit for @anironsidh 's fic! You should go read it, it's amazing and she put a loooot of time and effort into writing this beautiful Anastacia au!

Read Knew I'd Find You Again on ao3!

[succubusphan]

A Rose of Winter - Chapter 8

Summary: All Daniel wanted to do was escape the stifling life as a Stark of Winterfell and travel the world. Between the looming threat North of The Wall and the den of lions in the capital, he unexpectedly finds love in the midst of a war set to tear Westeros apart. Caught between loyalty to his family and duty, he is torn in a thousand directions that all point to one man: Philip Flowers.

Rating: E (There are only a few smut scenes but it's an M for battles, war, and other adult topics)

Tags/warnings: I removed most triggers (no R or SA, no minors involved in sex, no gore). It does include: Deaths either written without details or in a poetic way if it's an important character (Dan and Phil, Ghost and Balerion will live but everyone else is fair game). Strangers to lovers, Slow Burn, missing each other. The prophecies and stories foreshadowed are fulfilled, a satisfying ending to the entire story without plot holes. Extreme canon divergence. Dan and Phil are not replacing characters, they were written in. GAME OF THRONES AU

Author's Note: This is my OSPBB 2022, Couldn't have done it without my betas @effingmeteors and @filisaceaf.

Word Count: Each chapter will be around 15k and have at least one Dan or Phil pov. The total wc is about 210k.

Read on Ao3

TYRION 

“We need to prepare for the siege. Stannis is sailing to King’s Landing with 200 ships and he’ll be here in five days; four if he has good wind.”

“We have strong, high walls,” Cersei said. “We’ll rain fire down from above.”

“You are quoting Father, aren’t you?”

“Why not? He has a good mind for strategy.”

“It’s called tactics and yes, he does. Sadly, he is not here and you know Joffrey won’t do a thing.”

“I am sure he will make appointments when the time comes.”

“If the entire city wants Joffrey dead-”

“I’m not the one giving the boy whores to abuse.”

“I thought it would help.”

“Did you?”

“I was wrong!” Tyrion said, picking at the fabric on his chair. “If we can’t control him-”

“Do you think I haven’t tried? He doesn’t listen to me.”

“It is hard to put a leash on a dog after you put a crown on it.”

Cersei walked over to her bed and sat there, caressing her silk bedding with an absent look upon her face. “I always thought he would be like Jaime… he looks like him.”

Tyrion’s eyes widened.

“... in a certain light,” she finished.

“The boy is more Robert than Jaime,” Tyrion said, giving her the opportunity to deny the truth.

She laughed sadly. “Robbert was a drunken fool, but he didn’t enjoy cruelty. Sometimes I wonder…”

“What?” He asked.

“If this is the price for what we’ve done. For our sins.”

“The Targaryens-”

“Wed between brothers and sisters for hundreds of years, yes. It’s what Jaime and I would say to each other in our moments of doubt. But the Targaryens went mad, didn’t they? What’s the saying? Every time a Targaryen is born, the Gods flip a coin.”

“You’ve beaten the odds. Tommen and Myrcella are good, decent children, both of them.”

Cersei put her hand on her chest and let out a sob. He walked to her and sat at her side, putting his hand on her arms to comfort her, but she moved away, looking at him in shame and wiping her tears. 

---

He reminded himself why he was doing the research. It was giving him a pounding headache, but it was a good way to remember that he still had a head on his shoulders which could change if he didn’t prepare well enough for Stannis’ arrival.

Bronn walked in and eyed the book Tyrion was reading, giving him a quizzical look. “What did you need me for?”

“I want you to help me prepare for the siege. And why are you not wearing your cloak? You are the Commander of the City Watch!”

“It makes me stand out,” he huffed. “It’s too heavy and slows me down in a fight. Also the gold catches the light and I can be seen even during night time.” 

“You are supposed to stand out.”

“We had a deal and wearing a golden cloak wasn’t a part of it.” 

“Fine!” he said, rolling his eyes and pushing a book towards Bronn. There were more important matters at hand. “Help me, then.”

“Books are good for nothing during a siege.”

Knocking on the door but entering without waiting for a reply, Varys walked over to Tyrion. “My Lord, I would like to congratulate you on the drop of thievery within the city, no doubt thanks to the performance of the City Guard.”

Tyrion turned to Bronn, already regretting what he was about to hear. “How did you do it?”

“I rounded all the known thieves.” 

“For questioning?”

“No,” Bronn said. “Now it’s only the unknown thieves we need to worry about.”

Tyrion groaned. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Aye, we talked about it. Have you ever been in a city under siege?” Bronn asked. 

He shook his head.

“It’s not the fighting that kills the people, it’s the starving. Food is worth more than gold, noble ladies sell their diamonds for a sack of potatoes. When things get bad enough, the poor start eating each other. “Bronn sat across the desk from him and put his boots up. “Thieves love a siege. As soon as the gates close all the thieves steal all the food and by the time it’s all over the thieves are the richest men in town.”

Silence fell on the room.

Varys placed his hand on Tyrion’s arm. “Given the circumstances, My Lord, I believe the extreme measures are warranted. I’m sure the Maesters that wrote the book you are reading didn’t take this information into account.”

“Yes, there’s hardly any information at all, but I think I have a plan.” He stood from his seat and unrolled a city map. “Stannis knows King’s Landing; he knows where the walls are strongest, he knows which gates are weakest.” He followed the line that marked the outer defences until he found what he was looking for. “The mud gate, a ram will bring it down in minutes and it’s close to the water, that’s where he’ll land.”

Raising his eyebrows, Varys asked: “If he does land there, what is our plan?”

“We throw books at him,” said Bronn with a smile.

“Mmm, we don’t have that many books,” Varys replied.

Bronn shrugged. “We don’t have that many men either.”

“What do we have?” asked Varys.

“Pig shit,” Tyrion replied. They were indeed, buried in shit.

--

“He will have the Kingsguards at his side, he has a sword and the best armour money can buy; nothing will happen to him,” Tyrion said.

“He will not join the fight and that is final,” Cersei said, taking a sip of her wine with a smile on her face. 

“He needs to be on the battlefield, it is good for morale. We can’t expect men to fight when The King is hiding behind his mother’s skirt.”

“I don’t care. Find something else.”

“Jaime was a Kingsguard at his age, he’d been in combat.”

“Jaime has always been talented for that; Joffrey doesn’t have that kind of skill.” Cersei smiled widely and gave him a look.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Because I’m happy,” she laughed.

“Why?”

“Because I have your little whore,” she sang. “You are shipping my daughter off to Dorne and I am keeping your favourite toy.”

Tyrion tried to keep his eyes from widening, to not give her the satisfaction. Had Varys betrayed him? Was Shae even alive?

“If anything happens to my son, I will kill her.”

“How do I know she is alive?”

She walked to the door and pulled it open, revealing one of the northern whores that had entertained him in Winterfell.

“My Lady,” he said walking to her, she still had a ring he’d given her as a gift. “I will keep you safe, I promise.”

She looked tired and the bruises on her arms were already healing. She must’ve known if she helped him he’d reward her. “Don’t forget about me,” she said with a small smile.

“I won’t. I will set you free - soon.”

“You are pathetic,” Cersei said and waved them off. 

Tyrion didn’t argue. Instead, he ran back to his room as fast as he could and slammed the door shut before calling for his woman. “Shae? Shae!”

She walked in from the terrace, looking as beautiful as ever. “What?”

He ran to her and pressed a kiss to her lips when she leaned down. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she smiled. 

--

The following day, Tyrion walked around the City’s defences with Varys and Joffrey, checking the walls and how the preparations for the siege were going. 

Stupid as ever, Joffrey only cared about his sadistic fantasies. He showed them his sword with a satisfied grin. “I will give Stannis a smile - a red smile.” Then, he turned around and walked away having achieved nothing in their meeting. 

“Imagine Stannis’ terror.”

“I am trying,” Varys said.

Tyrion let out a deep sigh and looked out to the sea. He needed to know what Varys was doing. “What do you want?” He asked.

Varys crossed his arms, his extremely long sleeves forming a golden waterfall in front of him. “If you want to play, you’ll have to start.”

“I thought we could speak, one smart man to the other,” Tyrion tried but Varys raised one eyebrow at him. “Fine.” He let out a deep sigh. “When my brother was 19, he was knighted; when I reached adulthood my father gave me the task to design the sewer system. I never expected to have real power. So when my father named me Hand of The King I -”

“You are very good at being The Hand. Jon Arryn and Ned Stark were good men, honourable men, but they didn’t understand the game and despised the players. You enjoy the game.”

“I do. I never expected to like it - I hope I can continue playing it. If Stannis breaches the gates, the game is over.”

Varys stood beside him and nodded. “They say he burns his enemies alive to honour the Lord of Light.”

“Why are all the Gods vicious cunts? The Lord of Light wants people burned, the Drowned God wants them drowned. Where is the God of tits and wine?”

“In the Summer Isles there’s a fertility God with 16 tits.”

“We should sail there immediately,” Tyrion said. 

Varys expression shifted, he leaned down, resting his elbows on the wall and whispered: “This morning I heard a song from the old continent. Daenerys Targaryen lives - she has 3 dragons and a Dothraki horde.”

“It will be years before she gets here and her dragons have grown enough.”

“And when they do, there will be nowhere to hide.”

“One opponent at a time, my friend.”

SANSA

The day had finally arrived. She waited patiently in the Throne Room alongside Shae. He resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the contradicting demands from Joffrey and Cersei; both requesting her presence in different places at the same time and for no other reason than to torment her.

He watched as Tyrion approached them; he was already wearing armour and he even had an esquire. It was an interesting concept, she had never assumed he would be a fighter. He was, by far, the most interesting and less deranged member of House Lannister. 

“What are you doing here, My Lady? The Queen has already taken refuge with all the highborn ladies - you should join them.”

Sansa curtsied. “I will, My Lord. King Joffrey kindly asked me to see him off to battle.”

“I see,” he said with an unimpressed expression before he bowed before her and Shae and walked away.

“Sansa!” said Joffrey with the deranged smile he liked to give her on occasion. It tended to come out when he was craving to see her suffering. “I am off to battle today. As my future Queen, I want you to kiss my sword, Heart Eater, for good luck.”

Sansa smiled back at him and nodded. “Of course, Your Grace.” She kissed the blade.

He looked unhappy that she was not disturbed by his request. “You will kiss it again at my return with my uncle’s blood.”

“Will you be in the vanguard and kill Stannis yourself? Will you go out the castle walls to fight?” She cocked her head.

He sputtered. “I - I don’t know-”

She shook her head with a smile. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. Of course you will. My brother, Robb, is always at the vanguard with his wolf and he’s only a pretender!”

“I don’t need to discuss battle plans with silly little girls!” he screeched. “Your brother’s time will come and you will kiss his blood off Heart Eater too.”

She nodded and watched him leave, his hand wrapped tightly against the grip of his slim sword.

Shae grabbed her arm and pulled her to the Queen’s hiding place as she wondered how Arya was, if she was safe and loved. She hoped that the lack of news about her whereabouts meant that her little sister was still alive, with her silly little sword. 

They sat away from Cersei and the other ladies quietly chatting, looking around, and frankly a bit nervous by the fact that Ser Ilyn Payne, the executioner, was standing near the door. 

“Sansa, come here, Little Dove!” Said Cersei with a smile as she sipped on her wine.

Looking at Shae out of the corner of her eye, Sansa walked over to her set of sofas and sat on the one Cersei silently pointed to. 

“You look pale, child. Is your red flower still blooming?”

Sansa blushed but nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Isn’t it fitting?” Cersei asked with a mocking smile. “Men will bleed out there and you will bleed in here.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing at all. 

“Pour her some wine,” Cersei ordered her Lady in Waiting, passing the full glass back to Sansa.

“Oh - I'm not thirsty, Your Grace.”

Cersei shrugged. “So? I didn’t offer you water.”

“What’s he doing here?”

“Ser Ilyn? He’s here to defend us. When the doors are smashed you’ll be glad to have him.”

Sansa frowned. “But we have guards to defend us.”

“Guards we have paid. Should the city fall, they’ll be the first out the door.”

One of the Gold Cloaks walked in and bowed before Cersei. “The lads caught a groom and two maids trying to sneak away with a stolen horse and some gold cups.”

“The battle’s first traitors,” she said to Sansa before turning to the guard. “Have Ser Ilyn see to them, put their heads on spikes outside the stables as a warning.” She leaned closer to Sansa and said: “The only way to keep the smallfolk loyal is to make them fear you more than they do the enemy. Remember that if you ever hope to become a Queen”

The executioner walked out after the guard, which Sansa found odd. “You said he was here to protect us.”

“He is. Traitors are a danger to us all,” Cersei said. “More wine!”

--

As the sound of the battle got louder and louder, Cersei got quieter and quieter, focusing on drinking one glass of wine after the other, leaving Sansa to do as she wished.

As nerves rose within her, Sansa thought back to her days in Winterfell, where she would find comfort in prayer with her Septa. She let out a small sigh and gathered the other ladies, inviting them to join her, which they promptly did. 

After only a few minutes, Shae tapped her shoulder and signalled to Cersei who was looking at her intently.

“My Queen?” Sansa asked.

“What are you doing?”

“Praying.” 

“You're perfect, aren't you?” Cersei smiled. “Praying! What are you praying for?”

As much as Cersei had hated her drunken husband, that was exactly who she was reminding Sansa of. “For the Gods to have mercy on us all.”

“Oh,” she snickered. “On all of us?” 

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Even me?”

 “Of course, Your Grace,” Sansa said, hoping that the conversation would end shortly. 

“Even Joffrey?”

“Joffrey is my -”

Cersei’s mocking expression finally slipped and she looked at Sansa with a mix of disgust and perhaps pity. “Such a happy little fool. Praying for the Gods to have mercy on us all,” she scoffed. “The Gods have no mercy; that's why they're Gods. My father told me that when he caught me praying; my mother had just died. You see, I didn't really understand the concept of death, the finality of it. I thought that if I prayed very very hard, the Gods would return my mother to me. I was four.”

“Your father doesn't believe in the Gods?”

“He believes in them, he just doesn't like them very much,” Cersei said and waved a glass in front of her Lady in waiting. “More wine for her.” Once again, the cruel smile returned. “Sit. Drink.”

Sansa accepted the glass of wine and sipped from it very very slowly, trying to stay alert.

“Not like that. Drink, girl.” She rolled her eyes. “I should have been born a man, I'd rather face a thousand swords than be shut up inside with this flock of frightened hens.”

“They're your guests, under your protection. You asked them here.” 

“It was expected of me as it will be of you, if you ever become Joffrey's Queen.” She downed another glass of wine. “Now - when I told you about Ser Ilyn, I lied. Do you want to know why he's really here? For us.” She popped a grape into her mouth and chewed on it as she spoke. “Stannis may take the city; he may take the throne; but he will not take us alive.”

TYRION

Tyrion stood atop the City Walls with all the King’s Landing soldiers and every man that was able to fight. He shifted from foot to foot trying to be calm, but Joffrey’s yapping was getting on his nerves. 

The fog broke and they were able to finally see Stannis’ ships. They were so many - too many for them to take on.

“Where is our fleet?” Demanded Joffrey.

“Wait,” Tyrion said.

“You need to tell me what the plan is! Where is the fleet?”

“I will tell you nothing.”

“I will have you cut in half.”

Tyrion rolled his eyes but kept looking out to the sea. “Then I’d be the quarter man. It just doesn’t have the same ring to it. And I wouldn’t be able to give the signal.”

“What. Signal!?”

Tyrion ignored him and kept his eyes on the target. Through the darkness, a single ship sailed in between the Baratheon fleet, the soldiers running to prepare for the attack until- 

The Pyromancer lit a torch and handed it to Tyrion. He wasted no time and threw it down to the beach. Shortly after, from the shore, Bronn lit an arrow and released it. Tyrion held his breath as the arrow crossed the night sky over Stannis’ troops and made it to the single ship pouring wildfire through the coast. 

It was instantaneous. The moment the arrow made contact with the water, every ship in its vicinity caught on fire and exploded in a green cloud shortly after; men and pieces of wood flying in every direction, the screams of those injured or dying filling the air. 

It seemed like most of the fleet was gone - or so Tyrion had thought, but moments later more troops sailed in smaller boats through the fiery sea and made it to the beach. Tyrion’s stomach dropped, but he tried not to let his face show it. Knowing that Joffrey would not make a single good decision, he knew their tactics depended on him.

“Archers, nock!” Yelled one of the commanders. They lit the arrows and waited for his command.

“There are too many!” Joffrey screeched when he saw how many men were descending from his uncle’s ships with the intention to kill him and take the throne. “Our soldiers should be out there fighting!”

“No, they should not.”

“What would they do then?”

“Wait!”

“We can’t just wait here!”

“We will do something when it is time.”

“What will that be?”

“We will rain fire on them,” Tyrion said, trying to estimate the timing. “Draw!”

He turned to The Hound. “Clegane, take every man guarding the Mudgate and go out to meet them.”

He nodded but when he walked past the archers, he said something to them that Tyrion couldn’t quite catch.

The gates opened briefly and the first group ran to throw Stannis a welcome party he would never forget.

“LOOSE!” 

Tyrion watched the fiery arrows finally pierce the sky as Stannis’ and his men made it through the beach, most of them hitting targets. Their own men made it out the gate and fought with everything they had but things didn’t seem to be going well.

He saw Stannis’ army overtaking theirs amidst chaos and burning men running around. When it was clear that they would not succeed, some of their soldiers retreated even without a command, even Clegane. 

The gates were closed again.

Every man looked tired and defeated. Clegane walked in and demanded wine. 

Tyrion walked up to him. “You should be out there.”

“I lost half of my men,” he said.

“You are part of the Kingsguard, it is your job to protect your King!” Tyrion said, frowning.

Clegane looked at the flames and shook his head. “Fuck the Kingsguard. Fuck The King.” 

Lancel approached Joffrey. “Your Grace, your mother requests that you see her.”

Tyrion turned and saw Joffrey considering taking his leave. 

“Did she say if she had urgent matters with me?”

“No, Your Grace. She just requested your presence inside.”

Tyrion gave him a warning look. “You must stay and fight! We can’t expect men to fight for an absent King.”

Joffrey turned to his guard. “Ser Meryn Trant, you will represent me on the battlefield.”

“Of course, Your Grace!”

Keeping his head low, Joffrey followed Lancel. Every soldier saw Joffrey leaving, rushing to The Red Keep when they were expected to fight. Murmurs could be heard all around. 

Tyrion groaned but cleared his throat. “Men!” He tried, but they ignored him. “Men!” he tried again. “MEN! I will lead the attack.”

“Shut it, you Imp!”

“If I am a half man what does that make the lot of you?”

One of the Lannister soldiers replied. “The only way out is through the gate.”

“There is another, we’ll surprise them from the back and fuck their asses!” Tyrion said with a smile; maybe, if they were lucky enough, this could actually work. He could still hear the ram trying to break the gate. “Don’t fight for The King, don’t fight for glory, don’t fight for riches because you won’t get any. Stannis is at your door! It is your city that he plans to take! Your women and children that he wants to kill!”

The ram’s rhythmic sound continued.

“Those are brave men knocking at our door; let’s go kill them!” Tyrion yelled. The men cheered and banged their swords on their shields.

He made his way through the sewer system, the soldiers following along. It was exhilarating despite the fact that he was not a fighter and he’d been knocked out at the only battle he’d even been to. In only a few minutes, they reached the beach as he’d promised and attacked Stannis’ men from behind while the archers continued to rain fire on them. 

It was quicker than he thought it would be; much quicker in fact. They were able to overpower Stannis’ forces in a matter of one hour, perhaps less. Tyrion even managed to take on a few men and that filled him with pride. 

“Half Man! Half Man! Half Man!” The soldiers chanted and he allowed himself to look around and bask on finally being recognized for something. 

But then, even more of Stannis’ men joined the battle. It was not over; far from it. His men were tired, wounded and surrounded by fire. He knew what was coming, but he didn’t want to surrender, at least this way his death would serve a purpose. He held onto his axe and ran to meet the soldiers. 

He managed to take two more men before he heard his name and turned around. Ser Meryn Trant attacked him without a word, cutting deeply into his face before Podrick caught him by surprise with his spear. Tyrion fell to the ground, into his esquire’s arms, bleeding, not knowing if he would ever wake up, but he smiled when he saw Loras Tyrell riding into battle with his men alongside the Lannister troops. 

Loras piercing Stannis’ heart with one sword and his head with another was the last thing Tyrion saw before his world turned black.

SANSA

“You must run, Sansa,” Shae whispered into her ear. 

“I can’t, Stannis is attacking the city.”

Shae shook her head and said: “Stannis won’t hurt you; your family supported him. That one will,” she looked to Ilyn Payne, who had a hand on his sword and was looking at them with disgust. 

“Come with me,” pleaded Sansa.

“I can’t. I have to say goodbye to someone.”

“They will kill you!”

Shae smiled and lifted her dress, showing her a dagger she had strapped to her thigh. “Nobody will hurt me. Go - Run!”

Sansa ran out of their hiding place. She tried to be as silent as possible to avoid being detected but didn’t waste time. She took one of the passageways leading to the Throne Room, but before she knew what was happening, someone stepped out of the shadows and caught her arm. She gasped.

“The Lady is getting scared,” said The Hound. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Not here for long.” 

“Where are you going?” 

“Someplace that isn't burning. Could be the North. I could take you with me, back to Winterfell.” He let go of her hand and she took a cautious step back. 

Sansa thought about it briefly. Would that even be possible? The way to Winterfell was quite long. There was a war raging on various fronts last she'd heard, Bran was the last Stark in Winterfell. Her ancestral home had been taken by Theon Greyjoy and the ironborn. 

“What about the King?”

“He can die on his own just fine.” 

Sansa shook her head. “I am safe here,” she said. “Stannis won't kill me.”

The Hound walked closer to her and leaned down. “Stannis is a killer, the Lannisters are killers, your father was a killer, your brother is a killer. One day your sons will be killers.” He looked deeply into her eyes, making her flinch and look away. 

Still, he continued. “The world is ruled by Killers, so you better get used to looking at them.”

Sansa looked up, meeting his eyes and nodding. “You won't hurt me.” 

He took a step back. “No, I won't, little bird. Good luck.” He took one last look at her and walked away. 

She let out a slow breath and continued on her way. When she got to the hall before the Throne Room, Sansa tried not to gasp again and pressed herself to the wall, peeking around the corner. She could see Cersei sitting on the throne with Myrcella at her side and Tommen on her lap. She seemed to be trying to calm them down but she looked distraught herself. 

“They are still fighting,” observed Tommen as he heard the screaming coming from outside The Red Keep.

“Everything will be alright, my loves. We are Lions, we are strong. I’ll tell you a story. The one about the Lion and her little cubs. They lived in the woods.”

“The Kingswood?” Asked Myrcella.

“Yes, my love. In the Kingswood lived a Lion and her little cubs, and she loved them very much. But there were other things that lived in the woods - evil things.”

“What things?” Asked Tommen.

“Stags.”

“Stags aren’t evil; they eat grass.”

“And Wolves. They could hear them howling in the night. The little cubs were frightened, but their mother said: You are Lions, my children, you mustn’t be afraid. One day all the beasts will bow down to you, little cubs. You will be King and Queen. All the Stags will bow, all the wolves will bow, and the bears in the north and the foxes of the south, they will come to you, little Lions and rest a crown upon your heads.”

“I like that story, Mummy,” said Myrcella.

Cersei passed a small glass vial to her daughter. “Take this, my love. It will protect you.” 

Sansa’s eyes widened. That couldn’t be, could it? She wouldn’t -

Myrcella nodded and downed the bottle with a smile, leaning against Cersei.

“Now you, Tommen. Drink this so that you can rest.”

Tommen grabbed the vial from her hand and looked at it pensively. 

A loud bang reverberated through The Red Keep as the doors slammed open, Ser Loras Tyrell walking in and nodding triumphantly to Cersei.

She grabbed the vial from her son’s hands and threw it on the ground before turning to look at Myrcella, who could only say “Mummy” before she fell to the ground. 

“Myrcella! Myrcella!!” Cersei dropped to her knees, holding Myrcella close to her chest.

“Mummy, what is going on? Is she sick?”

Tywin Lannister rushed in and leaned over his daughter and grandchildren. “Ser Loras, take Prince Tommen to his room.”

The moment her son was out of the Throne Room, Cersei let out a piercing scream. Sansa was sure that it could be heard all over the city. She screamed and screamed unaware of her surroundings, kicking and screaming when Pycelle came to check on the Princess, not wanting anyone to touch her. 

It was too late. The old man gave Tywin a sad look and shook his head.

For the first time, and possibly the last; Sansa felt Cersei’s pain and pitied her. She saw Tywin hugging her, trying to comfort her. They almost looked human.

A tear rolled down her cheek, not for them, but for Myrcella; for the woman she would never be and the children she would never carry, the trips she would never make. She was only a little girl. An innocent little girl - and the arrogance of the family she loved dearly, had cost her her life. 

Sansa removed her shoes and ran as fast as she could, locking herself in her room and hiding under her bed, the doll her father had given her tightly in her arms.

PHIL

The morning after the Battle of Blackwater Bay, Phil dragged himself out of bed and joined the rest of his family in the charade that would be the exchange with the Lannisters. Luckily, Loras was already up and looking a bit better now that he’d managed to kill Stannis himself.

Every day Phil had to live with the fact that he was lying to his cousin, watching his grieve over Renly when he was still living, but he reminded himself that Loras would have never let him go. Had Phil not lied for Renly, they would be dead and Stannis would be sitting on The Iron Throne, burning everyone on sight at the stake.

“Phil?” Asked Loras.

“Yes?”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m just a bit tired and sore from the battle.”

Loras nodded, his curls bouncing around his face. “It will be gone in a few days,” he said and placed a hand on Phil’s shoulder. “Come. It is time.”

Phil nodded and followed him to the Throne Room. They stood before King Joffrey and his council, forming a line, their highest officials right behind them.

The first person to be called was Lord Baelish, who was awarded Harrenhal, all of its lands and earnings in compensation for negotiating the alliance.

“Ser Loras, I would like to thank you for your incredible contribution to the battle and for killing my uncle yourself! As a reward, you may ask for anything you want; anything at all. Just ask for it and it will be granted.”

With a head incline, Loras walked to Margaery and took her hand. “Your Grace. This is my beautiful sister Margaery; she is unwedded. I ask that you find it in your heart to marry her and join our houses.”

“Is this what you want, Lady Margaery?”

“With all my heart, Your Grace. I have come to love you from afar. Tales of your courage and wisdom have never been far from my ears, and those tales have taken root deep inside of me.” 

“I too have heard tales of your beauty and grace, but I am afraid they didn’t do you justice, My Lady. It would be an honour to return your love, but - I am promised to another. A King must keep his word”

The Queen placed a hand on the throne. “Your Grace, on the advice of your small council, it would be ill advised to marry the daughter of a man beheaded for treason. A girl whose brother is in open rebellion against The Throne as we speak. For the good of The Realm, your council begs you to set Sansa Stark aside.”

King Joffrey shook his head. “I would like to heed your wishes and the wishes of my people, but - I took a holy vow.”

“Y-your Grace,” said the old Maester. “The Gods do hold betrothals solemnly but your father, blessed be his memory, made this deal with the Starks before they revealed their falseness. I have consulted with the High Septon and he reassured me that their crimes against The Realm, free you from any promise you have made to them, in the sight of The Gods.”

“The Gods are good! I am free to heed my heart,” The King said. “Ser Loras, I will be honoured to wed your sweet sister!” Then he looked at Margaery. “You will be my Queen. I will love you from this day until my last day.”

The crowd gathered in The Red Keep clapped and murmured happily about the upcoming wedding. Phil’s eyes travelled to Sansa Stark who looked appropriately sad for the occasion but walked away as she heard she’d been cast away. 

He walked between Ladies and Lords until he saw her clearly. He wanted to approach her but Petyr Baelish was already catching up to her, so Phil waited until Baelish joined the council again and discretely followed Sansa up the stairs. 

He cleared his throat. “My Lady,” he said, cursing himself when she gasped and turned around with wide eyes. She looked at him up and down and relaxed slightly when she saw the Tyrell sigil on his chest. 

“Excuse me, My Lord. Have we met?”

“No, I haven’t had the pleasure, but I am close to someone you may know.”

“Who could that be?”

“Balerion has grown to be a strong animal.”

“Have you - Did you see him recently?”

“Just before Petyr Baelish came to the camp in the Stormlands and proposed the alliance between houses Tyrell and Lannister.” Phil leaned closer and whispered: “He, Balerion, was not alone. After negotiations failed due to Renly’s death, he followed the river back with a fish.”

She nodded and whispered in his ear. “Are you loyal to him?”

“With my every breath. The Tyrells are your friends, My Lady. You will see.”

“I look forward to meeting you and your family, Lord…?”

“My apologies. I am no Lord. I’m just Phil, Lady Stark. I hope we can chat soon.”

She bowed and entered her chambers.

TYRION

Tyrion opened his eyes and winced in pain, wincing yet again when he took account of his surroundings. He was not in his room in The Tower of The Hand; instead he’d been moved to what could only be classified as a dirty old room, reserved for the lowest kind or just someone who had not won any favours from The King. He was almost too afraid to touch his face, to try and assess the damage, but when he did all he felt was a bandage that covered most of it.

Podrick stood by the door, smiling at him. “Pod. Thank y-”

The door opened without a knock. Varys entered and gave him a meaningful look before sitting down. “How are you feeling?”

“Not well. Why am I here?”

“Well, since your father is here, he took his place as The Hand, and of course, the quarters that come with the position.”

“Has he asked about me? Come to see me at all knowing that I was wounded in battle?”

Varys looked at him without saying a word. It wasn’t necessary. Of course he hadn’t.

“Podrick, I’m afraid I must ask you to save my life once again. Please tell Bronn to station four men from The City Watch outside my door.” 

Pod nodded but before he could leave, Varys said: “I’m afraid our friend has been relieved of his duty as Lord Commander of the City Watch.”

“My hillsmen?” Tyrion asked.

“They were paid handsomely and sent home,” Varys said, raising his eyebrows.

“The Gold Cloaks?” He asked, swallowing thick.

“Some are under Lord Tywin’s influence, other’s belong to The Queen. It varies from cloak to cloak.” Varys shook his head and stood from his seat. “I’m afraid we won’t be seeing each other for some time.”

“Afraid to keep swimming next to a drowning man?” Tyrion asked with a frown. “I thought we were friends.” He’d never had many of those and it seemed that it was going to remain that way.

“We are,” Varys turned around to look at Podrick and nodded.

The door opened and Shae rushed to his side, kissing his face repeatedly.

Varys walked to the door, but before leaving he said: “You won’t get any honours, but people know the city wouldn’t have survived without you and they won’t forget.”

Tyrion nodded and watched him exit along Pod. 

“My love -” Shae said.

“It was good of you to come.”

“Good of me? Of course I came!” She reached for the bandage but Tyrion pushed her wrist away gently. “I wish to see you.”

“Believe me, you don’t.”

“Have you looked?”

Tyrion shook his head feeling at the verge of tears.

“I will be the first.”

She unwrapped the bandage around his head slowly, carefully, but he still winced when he felt it pull on his skin as it came completely off. He couldn’t stand the silence, the look in her face. “Well?” He asked.

“You are a mess,” she whispered with a small smile.

“I’m a monster - as well as a dwarf. You should charge me double!” He said, trying to make it sound like a joke when it wasn’t. It wasn’t a joke, it wasn’t funny. It was stupid yes, but his face what one of the few things he liked about himself along with his mind and now it was ruined.

“You think I’m here for money?”

“That was the arrangement we made. I pay you and you lie to me.”

“Oh. I’m a poor little rich man and nobody loves me so I make jokes all the time and pay them to laugh!” She mocked him. Her expression settled into a frown. “Fuck your money. Let’s leave.”

“Leave?”

“Leave King’s Landing. They tried to kill you, they will try again. Going into wars, fighting soldiers… you are terrible at this. Let’s take a boat to Pentos and never come back.”

“What would we do in Pentos?”

“Eat, drink, fuck - live!”

Tyrion pouted. “I want to go with you.”

“So do it! Your father, your sister - all these bad people, they can’t stop you. They don’t deserve you. Forget about them. Come with me.”

“I can’t. I do belong here. These bad people are what I’m good at: outtalking them, outthinking them. It’s what I am and I like it. I like it more than anything I’ve ever done.” He paused. “Are you going to leave?”

“You have a shit memory. I am yours and you are mine,” she whispered, before pressing a kiss to his lips and laying her head on his chest. 

Tyrion felt tears streaming down his face, but they were not sad tears or tears of self pity. He was grateful that such a beautiful and smart woman had found it in her to love him even if he was a monster and a dwarf. He felt like the luckiest man in all Westeros.

JON 

By the time they reached The Fist of the First Men, they were nearly out of supplies, horses, water and exhausted beyond what Jon had considered humanly possible, but his eyes widened when he saw a party approaching them from afar. They were bearing the Shadow Tower banner; the Night Watch’s castle further to the west. He let out a sigh of relief.

A horn sounded as they were seen.

“One for friends,” Edd said. “Two for foes,” he said after but the horn didn’t blare again.

“Three for white walkers,” added Sam, earning a look of annoyance from Edd.

Jon looked into his eyes, wondering…

“It’s been a thousand years, but the horn sounding three times still means white walkers.”

“If it’s been a thousand years, how would you know?” Grenn asked.

“Well -” Sam said.

“I read it in a book,” they all said before Sam could.

Qhorin Halfhand said the wildlings were advancing south and if they retreated, they would be overpowered with Mance’s expertise in their tactics, so they would need to use a different approach. Mormont and Qhorin decided that it was best to break into smaller groups to try and overcome Mance’s lookouts to avoid being detected as they got closer to the camp and attack when they least expected it. 

Jon was assigned as leader of his group, which thankfully included his friends: Edd, Sam and Grenn. 

Camping out in the open was beyond complicated, especially it being their first time and the raging blizzard was not helping.

Even with the point of reference of the fires the wildlings set day and night, soon everything turned into an indistinguishable sea of snow, none of the other groups in sight. Still, they found the biggest rocks they could and started digging beside them. 

“This is useless, why do we have to dig?” Sam whined.

“How would I know?” Grenn shrugged. “I’m just doing what they told us to, so dig.”

Sam groaned but continued on with their task until his shovel made a reverberating sound. 

Jon rushed to their side and helped them uncover a black slab of rock with the symbol of The First Men; the first inhabitants of Westeros that lived in peace for thousands of years before The Andals arrived from Essos and overtook the south.

It took all of their combined strength to flip the stone over and see what was under it. 

“This - this is dragonglass!” Sam said, holding up what looked like the point of an ancient lance. “It’s also called obsidian and it can be as sharp as a knife.”

There were many more pieces of dragonglass fashioned into weapons and a curious looking horn wrapped in a piece of cloth.

Jon pulled at the fabric and frowned. “It’s a Night’s Watch cloak.”

“It has been here for a long time. Why would they put it under a rock?”

“I guess they wanted you to find them,” said Edd with a sarcastic smile.

---

For days on end there was nothing for them to do other than dig in the snow and eat whatever they could find; birds, mice, anything. That and argue with each other for the most insignificant things. Jon didn’t have the heart to tell his friends to stop. It was harmless bickering and it helped them keep their minds off their impending deaths which was a real possibility unless the other men returned soon. In a way it was a relief that Ghost had left them instead of sitting at his side and waiting to die. Jon hoped he had found food or shelter. At least one of them would make it.

He smiled when he finally heard a horn in the distance, but then it sounded again.

“Those are Mance's men, we are not meeting them in battle alone,” he said. 

Then - the horn blared again. Jon looked at his friends for a split second before yelling “RUN!”

They ran and ran as fast as their legs could carry them, Sam trailing behind. 

Jon looked to the others running ahead and back to Sam.

“Go!” Sam yelled. “Go!” He settled his back against a rock and stayed still. 

With guilt weighing on his heart, Jon ran, leaving his friend behind as a dense snow storm fell over him.

[succubusphan]

A Rose of Winter - Chapter 5

Summary: All Daniel wanted to do was escape the stifling life as a Stark of Winterfell and travel the world. Between the looming threat North of The Wall and the den of lions in the capital, he unexpectedly finds love in the midst of a war set to tear Westeros apart. Caught between loyalty to his family and duty, he is torn in a thousand directions that all point to one man: Philip Flowers.

Rating: E (There are only a few smut scenes but it's an M for battles, war, and other adult topics)

Tags/warnings: I removed most triggers (no R or SA, no minors involved in sex, no gore). It does include: Deaths either written without details or in a poetic way if it's an important character (Dan and Phil, Ghost and Balerion will live but everyone else is fair game). Strangers to lovers, Slow Burn, missing each other. The prophecies and stories foreshadowed are fulfilled, a satisfying ending to the entire story without plot holes. Extreme canon divergence. Dan and Phil are not replacing characters, they were written in. GAME OF THRONES AU

Author's Note: This is my OSPBB 2022, Couldn't have done it without my betas @effingmeteors and @filisaceaf.

Word Count: Each chapter will be around 15k and have at least one Dan or Phil pov. The total wc is about 210k.

Read on Ao3

TYRION

Tyrion walked out to the terrace where Joffrey’s name day celebration was taking place and smiled at the crowd. They were eyeing him with equal amounts of distrust and curiosity, just as always. It was good to be back home at last - or perhaps it was just better than being on the battlefield. 

He approached the raised dais where Joffrey, Sansa, Myrcella and Tommen sat. “Dear nephew! How great it is to see you again! I hoped to see you on the battlefield but you were nowhere to be seen!” He said, with a wide smile. 

Just as expected Joffrey’s outrage was evident. “I was here ruling the Seven Kingdoms!”

“Yes, yes,” he said, pouring himself a glass of wine. “And what a wonderful job you have done.”

“I thought you were dead!” Joffrey spat. 

“I am glad you are not dead, uncle!” Sweet Myrcella said. Oh, she was always such a good little Lady, it almost made Tyrion want to father children of his own. 

“I am glad too! Death is much too boring! And look at you, already a beauty!” he bowed before her. “And you, Tommen, you will be bigger than The Hound, but much better looking.” He turned to Bronn, his sellsword turned personal guard, and pointed to The Hound. “This one doesn’t like me.”

Bronn laughed. “Can’t imagine why.” 

He walked over to Sansa and kissed her hand. “I am sorry for your loss, My Lady.”

“Her father was a confessed traitor!” Joffrey screeched with that unpleasant voice of his.

Tyrion had to resist the urge to slap the little brat again. “He was still her father. I am sure that given you have lost your own father recently you can sympathise.”

Joffrey looked at him with those hateful little eyes that looked just like Cersei's. Then he turned to Sansa and gave her a threatening look. 

Sansa cleared her throat and let out a little breath. “My father was a traitor, my brother Robb and my mother are traitors too. I am loyal to my beloved King Joffrey.” 

Tyrion smiled at her; she was a smart girl. Despite everything that she had gone through, she still had her sanity. “Of course you are.” He downed his wine glass and put it down at the table before letting out a deep sigh. “Well, I would love to stay but I have work to do.” He walked away without another word, his smile widening as he heard Joffrey screaming after him, wanting to know what work he was referring to and what he was doing back in King’s Landing.

--

He walked into the council meeting without announcing himself, taking a small satisfaction at everyone’s expressions. Not a single person was happy to see him, but he was already used to that; not many people were happy to see him outside the meetings either. 

“Oh, please don’t get up!” He said, walking to the other side of the table and sitting at the only available spot, the head. 

“What are you doing here?” Cersei said without even the pretence of a smile. 

“Well, you see, I took a piss at the edge of The Wall, slept in a sky cell, fought with the Hill Tribes and now I’m here.” 

“What are you doing here? This is the small council.” She was clearly trying not to yell at him, but she was close enough to snapping that he knew her fists were closed tight under the table.

He shrugged. “I assumed The Hand of The King would be welcome at the council meeting.”

“Our father is The Hand.”

“Yes, and in his absence…” Tyrion smiled and gave Varys a rolled parchment with the Lannister seal and his father’s handwriting. 

The eunuch raised his eyebrows at the Queen and carefully read the message. “Lord Tywin named him Hand of The King in his stead while he is away.” He lowered the parchment slowly and looked around the table surely looking for someone to say something. 

The faces of disapproval made Tyrion’s heart sing but he couldn’t enjoy it for long.

“Out! Everybody out!” Cersei screamed, the vein shutting out on her forehead making her quite unattractive. Once the other council members had left, she leaned closer to him trying to look menacing. “I don’t know what you did to manipulate Father-”

“If I could manipulate Father, I would be in a much better position, don’t you think? I am here only because of your incompetence.”

“I have done nothing!”

“Exactly! Your son beheaded his most important ally in the North and you did nothing.”

She leaned back in her chair. “I tried to stop him.”

“Really? Well, you failed and now I’m here,” he said as he poured himself a glass of wine. 

“He got what he deserved,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Have you not noticed that we are at war? The entire North has risen against the crown and we are losing.”

“Robb Stark is a child.”

“A child who has won every battle he fought. People call him the King in the North.” 

“He will never make it to King’s Landing. You don’t know anything about war.” 

“Maybe so, but I do know about people and I know that our enemies hate each other almost as much as they hate us. It won’t take long before the other houses flock to the Starks and the mighty King in the North, who charges at the front of every battle with his giant direwolf.”

Cersei huffed and down her glass of wine, like the answer to their family’s problems was hidden in the fine Dornish brew. “Joffrey is King,” she said.

“Joffrey is King,” he parroted, taking a small sip of wine.

“You are only here to advise him.”

“I am only here to advise him. And if The King listens to my advice, he might just get his Uncle Jaime back.”

Her eyebrows raised ever so slightly despite her trying to appear aloof. “How?”

“You love your children, that is your only redeemable quality - that and your cheekbones - and the Starks too. We have two Stark children to exchange for him.” 

“One. Arya, that little scoundrel, disappeared.”

“What? In a puff of smoke?” Tyrion had to suppress a sigh. Sometimes he couldn’t believe how stupid his family was. If they were any more incompetent Hodor would make a better ruler of The Seven Kingdoms. “We had three Starks to trade. You chopped one’s head off and let the other escape.”

He paused.

“Father would be furious… it must be difficult for you, to be the disappointing child.” He raised his glass and toasted to the absolute disaster he would have to try and fix if he wanted to keep his head on his shoulder along with his entire family.

BRAN

Bran felt the wind caressing his hair gently but was unaffected by the cold. He ran and ran as fast as his legs could carry him, making it out to the woods, loving the sound of the fallen leaves breaking with every step and the ravens croaking all around until he made it to the pond. He approached it slowly, panting with excitement - and then he saw it: the face staring back at him in the reflection was not his, but Summer’s. 

He woke up with a start; his fluffy friend sleeping right beside him. 

The dream didn’t scare him at all but it did leave a strange sensation in his chest; as if he was missing something. He didn’t want to tell anyone about it in case they would think he was crazy, but the mental image stayed with him all through the morning, so he asked Hodor and Osha to take him on a walk after lunch.

Bran wrapped his fur around his body a little tighter as Hodor carried him to the Godswood, still disappointed that he couldn’t walk by himself. Would he ever stop dreaming about running and climbing again? He shook his head, trying to focus on what he really wanted to see.

“Here, please,” he said, grunting when Hodor placed him on the ground. He dragged himself over to the pond and stared at his reflection in the water. It had been so real, but it didn’t feel that way now. He was not a wolf, just Brandon Stark. Could it have been a message from his father? Or an Omen? Bran turned and laid on his back, looking up to the bright red star crossing through the sky. “I heard the men talking about the comet. They say it means Robb will win a great victory in the south.”

“Did they?” Osha snorted as she made herself comfortable on the ground beside him, looking up at the sky as well. “Heard some fools say it’s Lannister red, that they will run the Seven Kingdoms before long; heard a stable boy say it was blood red because of your father’s death. But it’s neither of those things; the stars don’t fall for men, they fall for dragons.” 

“Dragons are all dead; they’ve been for centuries,” Bran said and looked up to the sky daydreaming about wolves and dragons and all the battles that were no longer in his future. 

--

Bran croaked and jumped from branch to branch until he remembered that he could fly. The ravens looked at him expectantly as he jumped down and soared through the sky. “You will learn to fly in due time, Brandon.”

He gasped and opened his eyes, finding Maester Luwin already waiting by the bed. 

“Nightmare?”

Pressing his lips into a line, Bran hesitated. “Have you ever heard of someone turning into an animal?”

The maester cocked his head and looked at him curiously. “Transforming into an animal? No, not that I can recall. Why?”

“I just - I remember reading something about seeing through an animal’s eyes and wanted to know more about it.”

“Oh, that is a different matter. There are old tales of the Starks of Winterfell being wargs thousands of years ago. That means they were able to see through the eyes of different animals and perceive the world through their senses. They would run, hunt, and play in their dreams where they inhabit an animal’s body for a short period of time. As interesting as it may sound, it is sadly nothing but a tale just like the ones Old Nan used to tell you.”

Bran frowned. It didn’t sound like a tale to him, just as none of Old Nan’s stories sounded unreal. “So Bran the Builder was not real?”

The maester sighed. “Bran the Builder was a real person, there are records of it, just like there are dragon bones left to prove their existence.”

“But there is no proof of people becoming animals.”

“No. There are no records of wargs really existing.”

DAENERYS

Danny dragged her feet through the desert, trying her best to push the pain of the blisters away. Her skin was more tanned than it had ever been, peeling in painful flakes she tried not to touch, her hair and lips dry as bones from dehydration. Her khalasar had been reduced to only a few dozen people, some of them leaving because of the lack of resources, others perishing for the same reasons. She couldn’t help but feel guilty for condemning her people to such a cruel destiny because of her recklessness. 

“Does it ever end?” She asked Jorah before putting one of her dragons back in their cage.

“I have never been so far east, but everything has to end at some point.”

Her mare collapsed before her eyes and she rushed to her side. Jorah silently asked her to step back and examined the mare before shaking his head. 

“She was the first gift Drogo gave me,” she said, trying not to let her voice tremble.

“I know, Khaleesi.”

Irri wrapped one arm around her and rested her head on her shoulder, trying to comfort her. Danny looked at the cliff beside them; one of the few spots with shade they had encountered in their long journey. “Rakharo, Aggo, Kovarro,” she called her best three warriors. “Take the remaining horses and ride as far as you can for as long as you can; I want to know how big the Red Waste is. You will ride to the east, to the south-east and north-east.”

“What should we look for, Khaleesi?” Rakharo asked.

“Cities, living or abandoned, caravans of people, rivers or the great salt sea, anywhere or anyone that will receive us.” 

The three Dothraki nodded and each took a horse, starting to pack for their journey. 

Danny followed her most trusted guard. “Rakharo, blood of my blood, I ask that you return safely to me; you are my last hope.”

“I will not fail you, blood of my blood.”

“You never have.” 

He looked around briefly before smiling at her. “It would be a bad time to start.” 

She wrapped him in a tight hug before letting him go on what could be his last trip; she could only hope it wasn’t.

JON

The moment they set foot beyond The Wall, Jon could tell that something had changed. The winds of winter blew strong and grew in intensity making it nearly impossible for them to tread through the snow. Despite the layers upon layers of clothes and furs he was wearing, Jon could feel the cold seeping into his bones. He had lived through three winters already but they had been nothing like this. 

It took them nearly three weeks to get to Craster’s Keep with the ravens - none of which survived - provisions and horses; the only shelter beyond The Wall according to Lord Commander Mormont. Before they entered, Mormont warned them to not aggravate Craster under any circumstances and stay out of trouble during their stay.

It was a strange place. A large cabin with stables and quite a few women tending to it but it was not disturbed by the wildlings and it seemed to be self-sufficient despite the hard terrain it was standing on.

Sam was the first to notice the ladies, doing laundry, carrying food and getting wood for the fire; some of them pregnant, some of them not. Edd told him to stay away from them since Craster was an old man with a horrible temper who was very adamant on people wanting to steal his wives or his daughters.

Jon asked how he had come to have so many wives but Edd merely shrugged and said they married him out of necessity for a place to stay and food before walking in. 

“Why doesn’t he have any sons?” Jon murmured but Sam shrugged and followed Edd in.

--

Their first night at the inn went by without a hitch despite Craster’s aggressive comments to Lord Commander Mormont and his knack for yelling at his young wives constantly.

From him they were able to gather some of the information they were looking for. Uncle Benjen had not been seen in months and he was presumably dead. The wildlings, usually split into different groups, were all gathering under a strong leader they called The King Beyond The Wall, his name was Mance Rayder.

When they finally settled in the stables for the night, Jon sat beside Mormont and asked him about Craster. The Lord Commander explained that Craster was a wildling himself but he decided to live on his own and run the inn instead of living a nomad life like the others.

“He seems to be quite spiteful,” Jon observed, the old man's words ringing in his ears still. ‘If I catch you looking at one of my wives I’ll gouge your eyes out!’ he’d said.

“The man is unpleasant, but he is the only wildling willing to receive us, give us shelter and supplies. He’s the only one who has a house and stables instead of living in a tent, so if we have to obey his house rules, that’s what we’ll do.”

Jon sighed but nodded. “May I ask you something?”

“Yes, of course.”

“When Craster mentioned this - King Beyond The Wall… you looked surprised.”

“I was not surprised, just disappointed. Mance Rayder is different from Craster. He was once a man of The Night’s Watch, but he betrayed his vows and his brothers to live beyond The Wall with the wildlings. He’s a man without honour.”

Jon’s eyes widened as he stared into the flames. “I see.” He couldn’t imagine why someone would choose to leave The Watch and live in such horrible conditions. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall of the stables, lost in thought until he fell asleep.

---

The following morning, Jon woke up and went in search of Sam who was standing off to the side, not doing much at all - other than staring at one of Craster’s heavily pregnant wives intently.

Ghost followed him and pinned the girl to the side of the cabin. She was carrying three chickens and he was clearly very interested in them.

“Ghost! Knock it off. Leave the Lady alone!” Sam yelled, his voice breaking with insecurity as he tried to plead with the wolf.

Ghost turned and looked at Sam, considering whether to listen to him or not but then made eye contact with Jon and came up to greet him.

“Don’t terrorize the ladies. They don’t want to play and you are too big to be doing that. I have food for you, but you have to behave.”

Ghost whined and licked his fingers, requesting some pets from him as a reassurance that he was not in trouble. Jon grabbed his face with both hands and pressed a kiss to his white forehead, hugging him and giving him a few pats on the side. “Be good,” murmured, causing Ghost to let out a low howl.

“You are so brave!” Said the girl, finally able to speak again. Jon looked at her but realised she was talking to Sam. “You saved me!”

“Oh, it was nothing. Ghost is an old friend; I assure you he meant no harm.”

“I couldn’t be friends with a direwolf!” Exclaimed the woman. “My name is Gilly.”

“I’m Sam, Samwell Tarly.” 

Jon resisted the urge to roll his eyes and left them speaking quietly, focusing on feeding his white menace of a wolf. He had a rabbit buried in the snow ready for him.

To Jon’s knowledge, Sam had had no further contact with Gilly since their brief encounter in the morning but that very night, his friend pulled him aside and brought him to a very small hut where she was already waiting for them. 

“Jon, we need to take her with us when we leave.”

“Are you insane? Mormont will have us executed. He warned us about messing with Craster’s wives.”

“Please,” said Gilly. “I’m not too close to delivering, I can still walk.”

“No, we can’t take you with us. We are going further north. It’s not safe.”

“I’m scared! I think my child is a boy…”

Jon frowned. “Why does that matter?”

Gilly took a step back and looked away. “I can’t say.”

Sam grabbed Jon’s arm. “We have to take her with us, she’s not safe here!”

“What would you have us do? She would die out there. At least here she is warm and has food.”

“Forget I asked. I’m sorry-” Gilly said. “Please don’t tell my husband.” She rushed out of the hut followed by Sam but not before he gave Jon a disappointed look.

It was true that her life didn’t seem to be happy, but he knew they couldn’t possibly take her and leave; Lord Commander Mormont would not allow it.

TYRION

Tyrion poured himself another glass of wine and stared at the message once again, frowning, wondering what was the world coming to with men like Joffrey and Stannis fighting for the throne. One was as mad as The Mad King himself but with nobody trying to kill him for the greater good; the other apparently was sacrificing people, burning them alive, watching them scream in pain with no remorse merely because the Red Priestess said it would aid his campaign. And to make matters worse, Stannis had sent a raven to every single house announcing that Joffrey was Jaime's son - he downed the glass and sighed deeply. If he was honest with himself, the most qualified person out of all the contestants in this war was Robb Stark, and he was only twenty years old. 

He hissed when Shae bit his earlobe. 

“What has you so troubled?” She asked. “You have not looked at me once since you walked in.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, pulling his chair back and taking her hand in his. “I just worry about the state of things and what we are going to do. I am The Hand now, and the decisions I make will impact so many lives.” 

She smiled and sat across from him, her long black hair falling in ringlets over her shoulders, the southern style of silk dress fitting her so exquisitely. He wished it could just be them away from everything, living as husband and wife in the countryside, but they were not, they were a dwarf born to a noble family and a beautiful girl who had to do what she could to survive. 

“You will do what’s right, you always do.”

“You give me too much credit, My Lady,” he laughed. 

Shae climbed onto his lap and kissed him, unfastening his breeches just as effortlessly as he lifted her dress and took her, every worry slipping from his mind.

---

Tyrion walked into the Throne Room and froze for a moment, watching all the workers lift the enormous dragon skulls from centuries ago; they looked even bigger on display than in the dungeons. 

Joffrey looked around with a wide smile, that disturbing smile he had when something gave him an odd sense of accomplishment, often from hurting someone or humiliating them. 

Cersei walked up to him, rage written all over her face. “What are you doing?”

“Say what you will about the Targaryen but they had good taste. If Westeros used to have these magnificent creatures, there’s no reason why they shouldn’t be hanging proudly in the Throne Room.”

“Joffrey,” she grabbed his arm, “you need to stop this -”

He pulled his arm free from her grasp, nearly making her stumble back. 

Tyrion walked closer to them, ready to intervene if necessary. 

“Is that disgusting lie I’ve heard about you and my uncle true?” He spat, but at least not speaking too loudly around the workers. 

“Our enemies will say anything that will weaken your claim to the throne. No one believes these lies,” Cersei said, her tone even and her eyes relaxed. It was a clear lie; she had always been so good at it unless you had spent your entire life watching her. 

“Someone does,” Joffrey said, stepping closer to her. “Tell me, did my father fuck other women after he grew tired of you? How many bastards does he have?” 

Before Tyrion could even blink, Cersei slapped her eldest son so hard the sound echoed through the room. 

“What you just did is considered treason and punishable by death,” Joffrey growled. “I will spare you this one time because you are my mother, but you will never do it again. Is that understood?”

Cersei looked at him and frowned; she must have known that was not an empty threat, that no matter how much she loved Joffrey, he would kill her if he felt he couldn’t keep her in line. 

Tyrion approached them and cleared his throat. “Your Grace. Is everything in order?”

“Yes, of course.” Joffrey gave Tyrion a rolled parchment. “Take this to Ser Janos and ask him to be quick about it. There’s no time to waste, we are at war.” 

He nodded and walked in the direction of Bronn’s chambers, crossing Sansa and Shae along the way and stopping to say a quick hello. Having Shae as Sansa’s handmaiden seemed to be going well. He arrived at his destination and knocked on the door. 

“What!?” Bronn yelled. 

“It’s me.”

“Oh, well come in then.”

Tyrion walked in and found him sitting behind a big desk, his feet on top of it, his arms crossed above his chest. “I can see that you are busy.” 

“I am working on your security system.”

“Not too hard, I hope. The King asked me to deliver this to Ser Janos.”

Bronn grabbed the message, read it and raised his eyebrows. “There's something seriously wrong with that twat.” He shrugged. 

“What did he say?”

Bronn  merely gave him the parchment back. It read: “Have the city guard find all of the late King’s bastards and kill them. Leave none alive.”

“Do you think he will do it?” Tyrion asked.

“Nah, not himself,” Bronn said. “But the guards will have to. I would rather not kill children if I don’t have to, but those poor bastards will have to follow the brat’s orders.”

Tyrion nodded, letting out a heavy sigh. “He doesn’t want anyone else threatening his claim on the throne.”

“It’s not the bastards he should be worried about, or the ones declaring war,” Bronn said. “Nobody likes him and powerful people need powerful friends.”

“That is the smartest thing I’ve heard you say.”

Bronn shrugged. “Who are your powerful friends?”

“Lord Varys, Petyr Baelish…”

“They would betray you in a heartbeat.”

“Baelish, yes. Varys… not unless it was necessary, which is how we play the game.”

Rolling his eyes, Bronn scoffed and dug between his teeth with a fingernail. “I hate games; I’ll stick to my sword.”

--

Opening the door to his chambers, Tyrion nearly dropped his books. Varys sat across the table from Shae, they seemed to be drinking wine together. 

“Lord Varys, to what do we owe the honour?”

“Oh, My Lord, you have been very cruel to hide your friend from me. She is such a lovely flower; she told me all about how you two met. Such a wonderful coincidence to find a beautiful woman working in your father’s kitchens.”

“A marvellous coincidence.” Tyrion said. “You should try her fish pie.”

Shae laughed and waved him off. “I don’t think he would like fish pie.”

“How can you tell?” Varys asked, raising his eyebrows.

“I can always tell,” she winked.

Tyrion dragged a chair to the table loudly. “Why are you really here?” 

Varys smiled. “Oh, how rude of me, I just wanted to stop by and chat, although - I did get word from my little birds that the Queen has sent Lord Baelish on a mission to find our elusive Arya Stark.” 

“At least she’s listening to some of my advice,” Tyrion said, bringing his wine glass to his lips and savouring it.

Varys cleared his throat and stood from his chair. “How awful of me to go on and on when it is so late.” He bowed before Shae and made his way to the door, turning around to look at Tyrion. “I do believe we have a council meeting.”

Tyrion rushed to Varys’ side just as he reached for the door handle and pressed his hand to it, keeping it closed. “I don’t like threats,” he whispered. 

“Who threatened you?” Varys raised his eyebrows in mock confusion.

“I am not Ned Stark.”

“Ned Stark was a man of honour,” Varys said.

“And I am not. If you keep threatening me, I will have you thrown into the sea.” Tyrion tried to open the door, but this time Varys pressed his hand to it.

“You’d be surprised at the results. Storms come and go, big fish eat little fish and in the end, I keep on paddling.” He smiled sweetly. “Come, My Lord, we shouldn’t keep the Queen waiting.”

--

Upon reading Robb Stark’s peace offering and request to trade Jaime for the independence of the North, the Stark sisters and Ned Stark’s bones, Cersei tore the paper in half and instructed their distant cousin to send her reply to him. 

Tyrion resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his sister. “Sending Ned Stark’s bones would at least be a gesture of good faith.”

She ignored him of course. “Did you see him?” She asked the young Lannister.

“I did. They have not broken his spirit, Your Grace.”

“If you happen to speak with him, tell him that he has not been forgotten.”

“I will, Your Grace.”

“Safe travels, cousin,” said Tyrion, already unrolling the next parchment. “Lord Commander Mormont says the wildlings have stopped fighting each other and gathered under a new leader whom they call The King Beyond The Wall.”

“Another King? How many are there now? Five?” Cersei laughed.

“He said the cold winds are rising and the dead are rising with them.”

“The Northerners have always been superstitious people,” added Pycelle. 

“One of these dead men attacked him, it seems. Mormont does not lie.”

“How does one kill a man that is already dead?” Asked Baelish with a smirk. 

“With fire, apparently,” replied Tyrion. “He requests that we send more men to man The Wall.”

“We are at war, we don't have any more men to spare.”

“Let me remind you that The Night’s Watch is the only thing standing between whatever is beyond The Wall and us.”

Cersei rose from her chair, all the other council members rising with her. “I’m sure the brave men of The Night’s Watch will protect us all,” she said as she walked out of the room. 

DAN

Dan could have cried when he saw the Stark banners all around the camp. Balerion wagged his tail and looked at him, almost asking for permission. “Go on, find Greywind, he will be happy to see you.” He patted Balerion’s fur and watched him run straight to one of the bigger tents, people jumping out of his path all the way. 

“Dan?” His mother called. “Dan!” 

He knew that tone well, she was hopeful but worried. He wasted no time galloping down the hill. Some of the archers looked at him but carried on with their tasks once they recognised him. 

In the end, he found Balerion pawing at his mother, tugging on her dress. “Hey, you will throw her to the ground, be gentle with your grandma.”

“Daniel!” She chided him but welcomed him into her arms when he got down from his horse. “Where were you?”

“I was in King’s Landing. I -” he tried to continue but the memories of his father’s death flooded his mind once again. “I’m sorry, I should have stopped it.”

His mother shook her head, trying to look strong. “There’s nothing you could have done!”

“I spoke to him one last time,” he whispered into her ear.

She looked at him and gave him a watery smile. “I am glad that you got that gift. Come; Robb will want to see you.”

They walked to the big main tent, Balerion running ahead and entering before them.

Dan pulled back the fabric and saw his brother standing behind the plotting table. 

Robb looked up and smiled when their eyes met. “Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me, I would like a word with my brother.” 

“Your Grace,” they said before exiting quietly. 

Dan approached him with open arms and Robb pulled him into a crushing hug, letting out a deep sigh of what sounded like relief. “Hello, little brother. I've missed you.”

Letting himself be wrapped in Robb’s embrace, Dan melted into his arms. He felt small all of a sudden. He was trying his best to keep his composure, but being in the presence of his family once again seemed to be bringing every single emotion he had been bottling up for the past few months. At least for now, he was safe.

A laugh escaped them as Greywind and Balerion nipped at each other and jumped around. 

“Dan spoke with your father, it seems,” their mother said.

Robb’s smile was gone in an instant. “Were you there?”

Dan nodded. “I sneaked into the castle with the help of some friends and spoke to Father. I had a small boat waiting but he refused to come. I think he was hoping to lie and be pardoned, but -” He shut his eyes and buried his face in Robb’s chest. “I wanted to save him, but I failed.”

Robb stepped back and placed his hands on Dan’s shoulders. “You did what you could and you returned to us; that’s the most important.”

Their mother ran her fingers through his curls. “Did you see the girls?”

“Arya escaped. The last time I saw her, she was marching to The Wall, dressed as a boy, fighting with other boys.”

“That’s our Arya. She will be safe with Jon,” Robb said.

Their mother pressed her lips into a line but said nothing; she knew Robb was right. No matter how much she despised Jon, she knew he would protect Arya.

“Sansa was standing beside The Queen when - when it happened. She cried and screamed, begging for his life, but Joffrey said she just had a soft heart.”

Robb placed his hands on Dan’s cheeks and looked into his eyes. “I will kill him for this, Dan. I will kill them all and I will get Sansa back safely.”

Dan nodded. “What can I do to help?”

“Tell me everything about these friends that helped you.” 

“One of them was a Lannister soldier I met when he visited Winterfell with King Robert; he was the one who allowed me into the dungeons to speak with Father. That cost him his life in the end.”

“May the Gods rest his soul,” said his mother.

Dan nodded and continued. “But the person who helped me the most was Phil. He grabbed me when I tried to stop the Kingslayer from taking Father; when the Lannister soldiers killed some of the Winterfell soldiers. He didn’t even know who I was, but he stopped me from walking into a sure death and he took me to a safe place.”

“Who is this Phil?” She asked.

“Well, he’s a Tyrell but not exactly. You see, he is a bastard, but they treat them as one of their own. He’s Loras and Margaery Tyrell’s cousin, I believe. Loras and Renly Baratheon took me in at his behest and aided me for every moment they were in King’s Landing, even offering me asylum in Highgarden.”

“We received a raven stating that Renly is also laying claim to the throne,” Robb said.

Dan nodded despite the initial shock. He now realised that Renly was not running, just taking a step back to be in a safer position. “He would be a good king, I believe. People seemed to like him and Loras quite a bit, and he’s an honest man.”

“I don’t care about keeping the Iron Throne to myself. I want what’s best for our people, independence and vengeance against the Lannisters.”

“Form an alliance with Renly; I’m sure he would be interested.” 

“You found yourself some powerful friends, little brother.” 

“It was all thanks to Phil, really. I could have died so many times but he kept me safe.” 

His mother placed her hand on his shoulder. “I would like to meet him one day. He sounds wonderful.” She ran her hand on his cheek and he instinctively leaned into the touch. “Now, let’s sit down for supper.”

---

The camp food was not amazing, but being able to sit down and have a hot meal with his family tasted like glory. It was a few hours until most of the men and their mother had retired, but it was worth the wait to finally speak to Robb alone. 

“Who is she?” Dan asked. 

Robb looked at him with a quizzical look.

“The girl you look at as if she was a goddess.”

He smiled and lowered his head. “Her name is Talisa. She’s a healer. She’s the smartest woman I have ever met and she’s kind as she is beautiful.”

“She is beautiful, but - aren’t you engaged to a Frey girl?”

Robb pursed his lips. “Yes; but I didn’t agree to the match. I will try to renegotiate when the time comes.”

Dan hummed, he didn’t want to ruin the night speaking about the deal their mother had struck. The Freys were known for being very unfortunate looking, unpleasant, constantly angry but extremely powerful. Having Walder Frey as his father in-law was not a happy notion for Robb and Dan couldn’t blame him. “Where did you meet her?”

“On the battlefield,” Robb said, smiling as he remembered. “She was treating men from all sides.”

“So she has no banners.”

“No, but I know she won’t betray me.”

“How do you know?”

Robb frowned. “Why are you interrogating me?”

“I am not, I swear,” Dan said, raising his hands in surrender. “Just looking up for my brother. I am happy for you - I really am.”

Robb turned the question right around. “How did you know the Lannister soldier-”

“Nathar.”

“Nathar,” he said, leaning back onto a tree.  “Wouldn’t betray you?”

“I had a feeling that he wouldn’t. He’d asked me to look for him when I was in the capital, but I couldn’t be sure. I took as many precautions as time allowed me.”

“And Phil?”

Dan felt himself blush and smiled, grabbing a stick and poking the wood in the fire in front of him. “I didn’t know, but he saved me before he even knew who I was - and Balerion adores him.”

“Balerion likes most people,” Robb pointed out.

“Not Theon.”

“Yes, not Theon. Greywind doesn’t like him either.”

Dan looked into Robb’s eyes. “He’s not good.”

“He’s one of us. He grew up in our home.”

“He has always treated people whom he considered beneath him with disrespect, even Jon.”

Robb was quiet for a moment but when he looked up, Dan knew he was not willing to continue on with this topic. “Tell me about Phil. He must be handsome if he caught your eye.”

Dan snickered, feeling the tension leave his shoulders. He didn’t try to deny it. “He is. He has black hair and bright blue eyes, his shoulders are strong and he has a wonderfully muscled chest.”

“How much did you see exactly?” Robb’s eyes widened along with his smile.

“Not much, we just - shared his bed. Don’t give me that look, he hugged me while I slept.”

His brother raised one eyebrow at him. “Are you sure nothing else happened?” 

“We almost kissed - and he gave me this ring.” Dan removed his glove and showed him it. 

Robb held it close to the fire and looked at it. “PF, What does it stand for?”

“Philip Flowers, I believe.”

“And you say the Tyrells have him in high regard?”

“Yes, he is very close to Loras at least. And Renly too.”

“Do you think he would help us?”

“Yes, we made a promise - a sort of alliance to help each other if things get difficult. He has already upheld his part of the deal and even rode with me to The Peach.”

“That’s good to hear…” he said, lost in thought. “Times couldn’t be more difficult.”

---

Dan ran between the tents, trying to melt into the background but people were looking at him with wide eyes, gasping and running away. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and made his way to Robb’s tent but waited outside when he heard Theon’s voice. 

“We should ask my father for help!” he said. 

“Your father sided with the Targaryens during Robert’s rebellion and lost the war. I doubt that he would be happy to help.” 

“That was back then; the circumstances are different,” Theon whined. “He’s my father, I am his only son, I know I can convince him to join you. Please, trust me. I know I can do this.”

“No, Theon.” 

“Robb - Your Grace,” he kneeled before Robb. “I am asking you, as a personal favour, to please, let me get the Iron Born on your side. With the Greyjoy fleet, there would be no stopping you.”

Robb sighed deeply and ran his fingers through his hair; he looked tired, much older than he was all of a sudden, the war clearly taking a toll on him. “I will consider it, if you stop asking.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” 

Dan walked into the tent and tried to tell his brother what a bad idea that was but he could only whine. Theon tried to touch him and Dan took a step back, growling. 

“It’s alright, Balerion. It’s just Theon. He’s safe.”

‘No, he is not,’ Dan thought.

---

Dan woke up with a start and found his tent empty, he walked out, across the field and made his way to Robb’s. Letting out a deep sigh, he pulled the fabric open and entered. 

“Good morning,” he said looking at his stern brother; he was examining the pieces in his planning table. 

“Dan, good morning. I wanted to ask you something.” 

“Of course.”

“I know that you hate politics and didn’t want to get involved in any of this but - we need Renly’s support. His army has the strongest numbers.”

“I was not built for politics, like you, but I will do anything I can to help. This is my war too.”

Robb nodded. “Will you go as an emissary?”

Dan’s eyes widened, but he nodded. “Of course, I am just - nervous about what I could agree to in your name.”

“You won’t be going alone,” his mother said as she walked into the tent. 

“You will do amazing,” Robb said, patting his shoulder.  “Just - don’t promise me in marriage to anyone; Mother already did.”

“Do not worry, I don’t think I could find you a worse match than she did,” Dan said, making Robb snicker. 

She threw a glove at Dan, missing him, but still laughed which helped loosen some of the nervousness in his chest. 

--

Robb came to say goodbye before his long journey but Dan could tell that something was amiss. “What’s on your mind?”

Looking towards the prison cells, Robb let out a deep sigh. “There’s something you need to see.”

They walked through the tents in silence, occasionally nodding to acknowledge someone trying to get Robb’s attention and waved at Talisa, the beautiful healer. The lack of explanation was starting to annerve Dan until he saw a familiar face in one of the cells. A very dirty blonde head, a thin grimmy body covered in rags but a proud smile still on his lips. It was Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer.

Dan grabbed Robb’s arm and dragged him away from the  scoundrel. “Why is he still alive?”

“I want to negotiate with the Lannisters. I demanded the North’s independence, to get the girls and Father’s bones back. He deserves to rest in the Crypts of Winterfell”

“And you believe that they will say yes?” Dan asked with an exasperated sigh. “They will kill you for this.”

“I have to try.”

“They will never accept it. If they say no, kill him.”

“You need patience, little brother. There is still hope to solve this war without even more unnecessary blood spilling. And if we kill him, there is no guarantee that they won’t kill Sansa in retribution.”

Dan shook his head but didn’t argue. Robb would have to deal with the issue while he was gone, and Dan could only hope to return to successful negotiation or a dead body.

ARYA

Westeros, The Kingsroad. 

“Boy, boy. Please, bring a man some water.” 

Arri looked at him, the cleanest of the three men locked inside the small cell. He looked less menacing than the others with his long reddish hair and soft blue eyes, but Arri knew better than to go near the cell. She hesitated. 

“Bring us beer or I’ll open you up like a fish!” One of his cellmates screamed. 

She started to walk away, but the first man spoke again. “Forgive my companion, please. A man only wants water. You will be safe, I promise.” He pressed his cup to the bars and smiled at her. 

Arri took it quickly in case either of them tried to grab her and filled it with water from the stream at the side of the road. She walked back to them slowly and put it in the man’s hand. 

“Thank you, you are very kind.” 

The sound of hooves against the road made Arri turn around. She paled as she saw soldiers of the City Watch riding towards them. She walked off the road and hid behind the trees. She was so distracted, she tripped and almost fell but a pair of strong arms tightened around her. 

“Shhh, it’s alright,” Gendry said. 

She shook her head slightly. “They are after me,” she whispered back. 

They listened to what the men were saying. “We need to search every single one of you, low lives!”

“You will not be searching for anything,” Yoren said. 

“We have a signed order from the King.”

“I don’t care. These men belong to The Watch now, the King himself authorised their transportation.” 

Both men got off their horses and unsheathed their swords but Yoren was faster than them, he had them on the ground within seconds. “If the King wants these men back, he’s going to have to get them himself.”

“We are looking for a boy named Gendry. He was carrying a helmet shaped like a bull,” they said, but nobody replied or moved a muscle. “Fine, we’ll return with more men.”

Yoren laughed. “Return with whatever you want. You are not getting anything.”

As they galloped away, Arri let out a sigh of relief. “Why were they looking for you?” 

“I’m not telling you,” Gendry said.

“Why not?” She pushed, nudging him with her elbow.

He shrugged. “You don’t tell me your secrets, I won't tell you mine. Fair’s fair.”

“I don’t have any secrets.”

Giving her an unimpressed look, Gendry raised his eyebrows at her. “Why are you going to The Wall if you are a girl?”

“I’m a boy, I’m not a girl.”

“I’ve seen you taking a piss. You are no boy.” 

Arri took a step back, her stomach twisting into knots.

He shook his head. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Fine,” she walked over to him and stepped on her toes to whisper in his ear. “I am Arya Stark of Winterfell; if they find me, they will take me back to King’s Landing as a prisoner.”

Gendry nodded and whispered back: “I don’t know why they are looking for me, all I know is that two Hands of the King came asking about my mother, and both ended up dead shortly after. My master asked me to leave for his own security and mine.”

They stepped away from each other when they heard footsteps. “We should have told them who Gendry is so they don’t return,” a voice said, and Arri recognised it immediately. It was the blonde boy that had attacked her back in King’s Landing. She gave him a look and watched him pale when he realised he’d been heard. 

TYRION

“Come in,” Tyrion said when he heard the knock on his door. “Ah, Ser Janos Slynt. Please, take a seat.” 

“Thank you, My Lord,” the man said with a wide smile. “What can I do for you?” 

“I wanted to officially assign you to your new post, of course, after such a wonderful job you have done as Lord Commander of the City’s Watch.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, My Lord.”

“You took part in the capture of Ned Stark when he was Hand of The King, as you can imagine, I find that a bit troubling given that I hold such a position now. For this reason, you will continue to serve the crown as a man of The Night’s Watch; you were assigned to Castle Black and will leave in the morning. Make sure you pack everything.”

“I am a man of honour! I shouldn’t be sent to work with a bunch of criminals,” he said with a sneer.

“What honour is there in killing babies in their mother’s arms? Don’t think I haven’t heard what you did. Besides, I can’t have you lurking around.”

“I will not leave. I will ask for a meeting with the King.”

“Do you think he cares about you? He doesn’t!” Tyrion turned around and looked out to his balcony. “Bronn…”

Bronn  stepped into the room and raised his eyebrows at him.

“Take Ser Janos to his chambers and if he doesn’t leave for Castle Black in the morning, kill him.” 

“Of course!” 

“While you are at it, introduce yourself to the other men of the City Watch, you are now their Lord Commander.”

DAN

The ride to The Stormlands was long and dangerous, but having his mother at his side made the circumstances much better. In the dark nights, when they sat to eat in the shadows, Dan could almost pretend that he was back home, even though it felt like decades had gone by. 

It was almost two years ago that his entire family had still lived together in Winterfell, but then, one by one, they each left searching for their own destiny, hearing their calls and now they were spread all over Westeros, those of them that remained alive, in constant danger. Dan was becoming numb to it, he didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing, but the message that kept playing in his mind was Robb’s last words to him before they left: “Life is too short and we are at war; whatever you need to do, whatever you want to do, there’s no time like the present. You never know when it could be your last night.”

Those words still danced in Dan’s mind when he was woken up with a knife to his throat, his mother gagged and tied to a tree nearby. 

“Drop your knife!” Yelled one of their guards as he ran towards them. The criminal looked away and before he could even process the potential outcome, Dan pulled the dagger he carried in his boot and stabbed the man in the neck. 

He watched him fall and rushed to untie his mother. “Are you hurt?” He asked after removing the gag.

“No.”

“We must leave now, in case there are others,” one of the guards said. 

“Where were you?” Dan asked, infuriated. 

“We stepped away for a moment to refill our water supply - with Lady Stark’s blessing.”

Dan looked at her mother who shrugged. “Next time wake me up.”

“You needed to rest.”

“Yes, and my resting almost became eternal,” he sighed. “Come on, let’s get the horses ready.”

Balerion whined from his cage. Dan let out a sigh of relief and opened the gate for him to roam free and hunt.

--

Their arrival at Renly’s camp was thankfully uneventful. They introduced themselves to the guards and upon stating their intention to negotiate with Renly, were led to him. As luck would have it, they had arrived during the third day of his wedding celebration. 

A one on one battle was taking place as Renly watched raptly from the raised dais, Loras nowhere to be seen until -

An incredibly tall fighter defeated the other. To Dan’s surprise, the person on the ground was actually Loras, wearing his beautiful silver armour with roses carved into it and a rainbow cloak hanging from his shoulders. 

Standing from the wooden carved throne, Renly addressed the fighters. “Excellent!” he said, clapping. “Fighter, please state your name. For your incredible display, I will grant you one favour in honour of my beloved husband.”

The winner pulled Loras to his feet with one arm, removed his helmet and kneeled before Renly.

“My name is Brienne of Tarth, Your Grace. If you would grant me the honour, I would devote my life to serving in your Kingsguard.” 

“It would be my honour to have you in my service,” Renly said, inclining his head. “You may join the rainbow cloaks under Loras’ command.” 

Loras bowed before her, but Dan had to snicker when he saw the look of utter jealousy on his face. 

“Dan!” Renly walked down to them, Loras joining them shortly after. “It is good to see you!”

Dan let himself be pulled into a hug. “Your Grace,” he said, almost slipping and calling Renly by his name as he patted the potential King of Westeros on the back.

Loras held Dan’s mother’s hand. “Lady Stark, your beauty and bravery are unmatched, thank you for blessing us with your visit.”

“Your Grace,” she said. “Thank you both for receiving us. Congratulations on your wedding. Whenever you have a moment, we would like to negotiate with you at Robb's behest.”

“Of course! Dan is our ally, it is only fair that the rest of the Starks follow his lead.”

“I’m not a leader, but I appreciate the compliment. My family would love to discuss the terms of an alliance.”

“Phil -” Loras said with a smile. “Please, show them to their tent.” 

Dan turned around swiftly and nearly fell when he found Phil standing right at his side with a wide smile. He twisted his ankle and would have landed on his ass if Phil hadn’t wrapped his arms around him. “Hi, Dan.” 

“Hi,” said Dan, breathlessly.

“You must be Philip,” his mother said. 

Dan stepped away from Phil, already blushing and nodded. “This is Phil; the man who has saved me more times than I can count.”

“Thank you for keeping my son safe. Your bravery and good judgement have aided my son in deciding to request this negotiation.”

“It is very nice to meet you, Lady Stark. Please, don’t mention it, I just saw someone in need and decided to help.” Phil shook his mother’s hand which made her smile widely. “You must be tired. Allow me to lead you to your tent.” 

--

Dan was eager to speak to Phil alone, to hear everything about the time they spent apart from each other but he left as soon as he’d shown them their accommodations. The tent was quite big and had two beds, and although Dan was not thrilled to sleep close to his mother, any sort of bed sounded like a dream after their long trip. He would need to catch Phil at a different time. 

“He is quite handsome.”

“It’s not like that.”

“I may be old but I am not a fool, Daniel,” she chided him. “I can tell by the way you look at each other.”

“How do we look at each other?” he asked, walking behind the curtain that divided the tent and starting to remove his clothes. 

“He looks at you the way your father looked at me when we first fell in love; with utter adoration. And you - you look at him as if he is the owner of your heart.”

“Nonsense!” Dan said, his tone a bit too high. He poured water into a basin and went about cleaning himself with a rag. 

“I suppose it is different for you since you are both men. There is not so much of - an imbalance between you, at least in that regard. Tell me: What is it that you like so much about men?”

“This is not something I want to discuss with my mother.”

“I’m just curious. You have always only had eyes for boys - even when you were one yourself.”

“What did you like about Father?”

“His long hair, how strong he was, his caring nature, his love for his family and his unyielding sense of honour.” 

“I guess I like many of the same traits in men, as well as a strong frame and good sword skills.”

“Sword skills?” She smiled.

“You asked.” 

“That would give you something in common,” she said.

Dan realised that yes, Phil’s fighting skills do make him his equal, a perfect match. Still, he wasn’t sure if that was the reason or if he just liked the way could gracefully jump into a fight or sneak in and out of places undetected when he was truly focusing on it and then just - trip over his own feet. There was something oddly sexy and charming about it.

“Stop sighing and get ready for dinner with the Tyrells.”

“I’m not sighing!” Dan huffed.

“Oh, it must have been the wind then.”

--

Two hours and a short nap later, Phil was waiting to lead them to dinner. “Lady Stark, you look enchanting.”

“Thank you.”

“Dan,” Phil nodded, trying and failing to be casual about it. “Where is Balerion?”

“With our guards. I assumed having him running free between the tents in the night would get either him or Renly’s men killed.”

“You must bring him to dinner! I want to see him!”

“Very well, follow me.” They walked up to the small camp for their guards where Balerion was already whining and trying to jump in the enclosed space and not because he’d missed Dan. “Quiet boy, quiet. Be good and I’ll let you out.” 

Balerion sat on his hind legs, his eyes never leaving Phil’s and his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. As soon as the physical barrier between them was no longer a problem, Balerion launched himself on top of Phil, jumping in excitement and licking his face thoroughly.

“Yes, yes! I’ve missed you too!” Phil said, scratching the obsidian fur as he looked up at Balerion’s face. 

“Do you want to come to dinner with us?” Dan asked.

The direwolf’s attention snapped back to him. 

“You can join us but you have to be in your best behaviour. Is that understood?”

Balerion snorted and sat in front of him, waiting for some pets which Dan promptly gave him. 

“Very good. Come along, then. No running, you will scare the soldiers,” Dan said as if the men weren’t shaking by the presence of a wolf nearly twice their size. He looked over his shoulder at his mother and found her smiling as she watched Phil. 

In just a few minutes, they were entering the main tent, joining a private dinner celebration with Renly, Loras, Margaery, and Phil.

“Lady Stark, It’s an honour to finally meet you. Your temperance is renowned in Highgarden,” Margaery said, with a sweet smile before turning to Dan. “And you must be the famous Daniel. Phil has told me all about you.”

Dan smiled and kissed her hand. “It is my pleasure, My Lady,” he said before giving Phil a look. He really hoped that the use of the word everything was not literal.

“Thank you for your warm welcome, Lady Margaery.”

“Of course!” she said and led them to the table.

Dan expected the negotiations to start right away but when he tried to broach the topic, Loras smiled at him and asked him to relax since the night was one for celebration and rest and there would be a proper time to discuss the war. It was frustrating but he resisted the urge to shake his head or whine. War was urgent, not a matter to sit and wait on, but he didn’t want to disturb their potential allies; Robb really needed those extra soldiers on the battlefield and it seemed like Renly was their only option at the moment.

He felt a hand on his thigh and turned to his left, surprised to find Phil there when Margaery had been to one to take the spot initially. 

Phil leaned closer and whispered into his ear. “I know what you are thinking, but even in the current circumstances, I can’t fault them for wanting to celebrate their wedding without politics.”

“Thank you. This is quite urgent. Robb has had Jaime Lannister captive for a few months and it’s not safe to keep him around,” Dan whispered, staring into his beautiful eyes. If he were to turn around ever so slightly their lips would probably touch.

“I will speak to him tomorrow. Negotiations will begin shortly, but just for today, let’s pretend like our entire world is not ending.”

Dan nodded and laid his hand on Phil’s, interlacing their fingers under the table. He heard a laugh at the head of the table and turned to see Balerion trying to climb into Renly’s lap. 

“No - down; down,” Dan said, trying to sound firm but Balerion pretended not to hear him until he stood from his seat. Only then did he settle down at Renly’s feet. “My apologies, Your Grace.”

“It’s alright. I’ve missed him too. Sit, he won't cause any trouble.”

Dan hesitantly sat down, but made sure to keep his eyes on his wolf for the rest of the meal. 

--

After a healthy meal of meats, potatoes, and bread along with intricately decorated sweets with stags and roses, and perhaps more wine than was advisable, the celebration came to a close. 

Dan thanked the newly wedded couple and called Balerion who was still playing with a bone. He turned to leave but saw his mother speaking with Margaery Tyrell. “Mother, I want to take Balerion back to his cage. Should I wait for you or -?”

“Oh, no. Lady Margaery and I are having a nice conversation, you can go on without me.”

He bowed to the ladies and made his way out of the tent with Balerion in tow. It took him about thirty seconds to realise someone else was following. He turned around and pressed the blade of his knife to the person’s neck. 

“It’s me!” Phil said, his voice breaking a little. 

“You could have said something. I almost killed you.”

“Maybe you should relax a bit more. You know we wouldn’t hurt you.”  

Dan put his knife back in its holster, conveniently attached to his belt. 

“Didn’t you keep that in your boot?”

“No, this is a different one,” Dan said, turning around and starting to walk again.

“Have you considered that you carry too many knives?”

“Not since I was attacked in my sleep and had to struggle to get my knife from my boot discretely to kill the man. It was difficult,” Dan let out a deep sigh. “And there’s no such thing as too many knives. I want to get two more.”

“Is it bad that I find that incredibly sexy?”

Dan laughed and elbowed his side without even turning to look at him. “Shut up.”

They walked peacefully between the tents and finally reached the camp of the Stark soldiers to let Balerion into his cage. “Go on then. We can’t have you escaping to go sleep on Renly’s chest.”

“He would sleep on my chest first, he likes me more,” Phil pouted.

“Of course,” Dan said, giving Balerion a good head scratch and a kiss on his snout. Phil hugged and let him get into the cage before closing it and locking the padlock. Luckily the wolf was tired enough to settle down and let them go on their way. 

Dan turned around and looked at the stars, basking in the moonlight, not wanting to let the night end, but he knew it was getting late and he should probably return to his tent. 

Phil looked around and grabbed Dan’s hand leading him down a different path until -

He turned around swiftly and pulled Dan close, wrapping his arms around him. 

“Oh!” Dan said, suddenly dizzy, just from having Phil so close after so long. It felt almost as if their last goodbye had been years ago, but their bodies still remembered each other.

“Dan...”

“Yes?” Dan whispered.

“May I kiss you?” Phil asked, his lips nearly connecting with Dan’s.

“Yes,” Dan said in almost a moan before Phil pressed their lips together. It was sweet and passionate and rushed and slow, too slow. . It was perfect.

Dan felt overwhelmed and like it was nearly not enough, he wanted to crawl inside Phil’s skin, be a part of him, touch every single part of his body. He was getting a bit too ahead of himself, but then it was over.

Phil broke the kiss, panting, softly biting his cheek. “My tent is not far… would you like to come with me?”

Wide eyed and nodding fervently, Dan let himself be dragged away to Phil’s tent. As soon as they had entered, Phil kissed him once again, pulling at his clothes, trying to get him naked as fast as possible. Dan followed his lead, unsure of where things were leading, but willing to explore whatever Phil proposed. 

They kicked off their boots on their way to bed and finally landed on it, laughing, still attempting to remove each other's breeches. Dan’s laugh was cut short when Phil’s hand wrapped around his cock. “Fuck!” he moaned, trying his best not to finish before they had even started. “Slow - slow down a bit.” 

Phil removed his hand from Dan’s breeches. “I’m sorry! Would you like to stop?” 

“No! Of course not, I’m just a bit… overwhelmed,” Dan admitted as he buried his face in Phil’s neck and pressed a kiss there, his hand coming to cup his cheek and leaning in for a much softer kiss. 

“What do you want to do?” Phil asked.

“I don’t know, whatever you want to do…” Dan said, feeling shy all of the sudden.

Phil paled, something that Dan had never thought possible. “Have you… what have you done before?”

“Not a lot.” Dan bit his lip nervously, hoping that Phil wouldn’t mind his lack of experience. He really wanted Phil to be his first, even if the situation was equally exciting and nerve wracking. 

“Oh, um. Are you sure -?”

“Yes…” Dan mumbled. “I’m just not sure of what I want to do exactly but I do want to.”

“Alright,” Phil said. “We can do as little or as much as you want. You’re in charge now.” 

“I - I don’t know how to be in charge,” Dan finally admitted. 

“Close your eyes. Try to picture what you would like to happen.”

Dan did as he was told and thought of Phil’s naked torso pressed to his, his body pinning him down to the bed as they kissed. “Would you lay on me?”

Phil nodded and settled down on top of him, looking at him expectantly. “Now what?”

“Kiss me,” Dan commanded breathlessly and Phil did, shifting his weight to his elbows and letting Dan take control of the kiss. It started slow, but the more they kissed the bolder Dan became, his hands hesitantly moving along Phil’s body. Led purely on instincts, he snaked his hand between them and unfastened Phil’s breeches, taking him in his hand. 

“Oh!” Phil moaned, starting to move his hips to get more friction. Then he swatted Dan’s hand away and pressed their cocks together. “Is this alright?” 

Dan nodded and pulled Phil down for another kiss, letting his hand wander down the other’s back and settle on his plump ass. Gods, the feeling of Phil’s cock sliding against his own was maddening, like something he could become quickly addicted to given the opportunity. “Phil,” he panted. “Please!”

“Yes, love?”

“In me, I want you in me,” he said, earning the satisfaction of the growl Phil let out in response. 

Pulling away, Phil patted the side of Dan’s hip and pulled his breeches off in a swift motion before getting his own past his hips and briefly standing up to kick them away. He kneeled on the bed, reaching for something under his pillow. It was a vial of some sort of oily substance. 

“Do you want to turn around…?”

Dan shook his head no and merely opened his legs for Phil. 

“So beautiful…” Phil mumbled, before coating his fingers in the oil and balancing on his other hand. “Ready?” he asked and when Dan nodded, pressed his finger against his hole, tracing the rim until Dan finally relaxed. Phil said something else, a praise perhaps, but Dan’s blood was rushing down his body so fast he could actually hear it. It was weird at first, an odd feeling, but once Phil started to move the first finger, it became enjoyable quite fast. Then came the second and he nearly didn’t even notice the third. Moans fell from his lips but Phil was ready to swallow them all. 

“I’m ready- Phil!” Dan moaned when the other touched something inside of him. 

“Alright,” Phil panted, already settling between his thighs. “If you need me to stop, slow down or just need anything, you let me know. It’s not supposed to hurt. Promise?”

“I promise,” Dan said, frowning as his mind was momentarily clouded by jealousy. Who had Phil done this with? It was a stupid thought but -

“Dan, look at me.” he settled on his elbows once again.

“Yes.”

“Stay with me,” Phil whispered and entered him slowly, the intense feeling making Dan’s eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Fuck!”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m going to do to you.”

“Mmm, Phil!” Dan gasped. 

“Wrap your legs around me, love,” Phil said, moving ever so slowly. 

Dan hissed as he felt that maddening drag, turning his insides into molten lava. “More,” he moaned, dragging his nails down Phil’s back.

Phil moaned. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

Burying his face in Dan’s neck, Phil started to thrust into him harder, deeper, high pitched moans falling from his lips. And then he felt it, Phil hit that spot inside of him again and again, and Dan desperately tried to take ahold of his own cock but Phil pinned his hands above his head. “Shhh, a bit more.” 

Dan didn’t know exactly what Phil was referring to but he trusted him enough to let him handle his pleasure. Perhaps it was also the fact that giving up control felt incredible as well,  being pinned under Phil, unable to pleasure himself and just receive what was given to him, even for a brief moment drove him mad. His toes curled and an intense wave of pressure coursed through his body until Phil thrust one last time and finished deep inside of him. That was all it took for him to release on their chests with a silent scream. The feeling was so intense that Dan felt overcome with emotions and couldn’t help the tears that ran down his cheeks. 

“Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” Phil asked, pressing their lips together before chasing his tears away with kisses.

Dan wrapped his arms around him tightly. “No. It was perfect. I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“You can cry with me, you are safe,” Phil said, slowly pulling out and laying down beside him, pulling him closer. “You are so special, Dan.” He pressed a kiss to Dan’s temple. “Sleep. I’ll be here guarding your dreams.”

[succubusphan]

A Rose of Winter - Chapter 2

Summary: All Daniel wanted to do was escape the stifling life as a Stark of Winterfell and travel the world. Between the looming threat North of The Wall and the den of lions in the capital, he unexpectedly finds love in the midst of a war set to tear Westeros apart. Caught between loyalty to his family and duty, he is torn in a thousand directions that all point to one man: Philip Flowers.

Rating: E (There are only a few smut scenes but it's an M for battles, war, and other adult topics)

Tags/warnings: I removed most triggers (no R or SA, no minors involved in sex, no gore). It does include: Deaths either written without details or in a poetic way if it's an important character (Dan and Phil, Ghost and Balerion will live but everyone else is fair game). Strangers to lovers, Slow Burn, missing each other. The prophecies and stories foreshadowed are fulfilled, a satisfying ending to the entire story without plot holes. Extreme canon divergence. Dan and Phil are not replacing characters, they were written in. GAME OF THRONES AU

Author's Note: This is my OSPBB 2022, Couldn't have done it without my betas @effingmeteors and @filisaceaf.

Word Count: Each chapter will be around 15k and have at least one Dan or Phil pov. The total wc is about 210k.

Read on Ao3

DAN 

On the way to Castle Black, Dan noticed that Jon had started to realise The Watch was not as full of honour and bravery as he’d anticipated. The first time they had captured criminals to join the ranks, his eyes had widened and Tyrion Lannister had made it a point to mention how bad most of the people joining The Watch were. Jon had known, as had everyone, that criminals could choose to go to The Wall instead of being tried or executed, but it seemed that he had never really considered what that meant. Having to join arms with a fair amount of uneducated savages with no honour to count for had crushed Jon’s soul. It pained Dan to see his brother in such anguish, even if he did not mention it out loud.

Once they arrived, they looked around the castle. It had a Common Hall where the brothers of The Night's Watch ate and drank by the fire, a rookery where their ravens lived, a library, the towers, an armoury, and the barracks. It was an interesting place; the food was kept in the vaults so that the cold could keep everything frozen, there were underground tunnels leading to the other side of The Wall, and then there was The Wall itself. It was three times as tall as any castle he had ever seen and so white it almost looked like a thick layer of icy glass keeping Westeros safe from whatever was beyond it.

Before long, they were introduced to Jeor Mormont, the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. He was grateful both for the addition of recruits to the quickly depleting ranks and for an opportunity to ask Tyrion Lannister to get the resources they needed to man The Wall. Dan did enjoy the stories they told but didn’t quite feel welcome in the group, so he often took to standing outside the Common Hall and staring at the courtyard lost in thought. And so their first weeks at Castle Black went by; Jon focusing on his training before taking his vows and Dan… trying not to freeze to death.

Daydreaming or dreaming of any kind had never been an issue for Dan, but there was something to be said about the cold at The Wall. Dan was not one to complain about the weather, but being at Castle Black was quite different from the beginning of winter at Winterfell, his mind could barely focus on anything other than the cold. He wrapped himself in his heaviest cloak and watched his brother fight against the other recruits. Ser Alliser Thorne, in charge of training them, seemed set on getting the young men to hate and potentially hurt each other. 

Dan watched in awe as his brother fought them one by one, easily overcoming them with a few swings of his sword or a good punch. They had no chance against Jon. Thorne yelled about their incompetence, urging the others to beat Jon. The man looked set on putting Jon in his place. Dan had to wonder what aggravated the man more: the fact that Jon came from a good family, such as himself, or the fact that he was a bastard. It was probably both - he looked like the kind of person who would never give you a pass on anything.

The Common Hall’s door opened behind Dan and he tried not to flinch, keeping his eyes on the men training below. Tyrion Lannister’s voice startled him. “What a charming man.” 

Dan was about to respond when another voice joined. 

“I don’t need him to be charming, I need him to turn a bunch of criminals and peasants into good fighters. If they don’t learn fast, they will not live another month. The wall is no place for incompetent men,” the Lord Commander said, his face twisted with a sneer. 

One of the rangers approached them and delivered a letter to the Lord Commander. “A raven arrived for the Stark children,” he said, before retiring. 

Dan turned on the spot and eagerly waited for the news. “Is everything alright?” He didn’t complain about his message being read as he was a guest, but it did bother him. 

“I am not sure,” Mormont said before handing him the message. 

Dan looked at it, his eyebrows rising as he saw the first line: “To my dear sons.”  

His mother had always despised Jon and he had no doubt that that hadn’t changed in their absence, but the penmanship was clearly hers. This was a message only for them - for both of them. 

“My heart yearns for you, my children. The dark cold has finally reached Winterfell as the red moon sets with Summer. I am not sad because of it, I know the cub shall run and bite again one day, the Rivers will flow and turn the rocks into dust, but my love will remain with both of you. May the white skies and dark nights keep you from harm.”   

“Well, what does it say?” Lord Tyrion asked. 

“Mother misses us and wishes that we stay safe. She merely wrote it in the same way she used to tell us stories growing up,” Dan said, offering him the parchment in hopes that he did not understand it. 

He read it a few times and hummed. “How curious,” he smiled, returning it to Dan. 

Dan shrugged and looked over his shoulder. Training had ended. He walked down the stairs as calmly as he could and made his way down to the armoury, hoping to catch his brother there. 

To his surprise, when he opened the door, he saw three of the men previously training cornering Jon. Two of them holding him down and the other pressing a knife to his throat.

“What is the meaning of this?” Dan yelled, cursing himself for not carrying his sword. He took a step forward but the man with the knife tsked at him, pressing the tip of the blade to Jon’s skin, a drop of blood already visible. 

“If you move another muscle, you can say goodbye to your bastard brother.”

The door creaked behind Dan as Tyrion walked in. “Well… what do we have here?” 

“What are you looking at, Halfman?” 

“You have interesting faces. Yes, very distinctive faces - all of you,” Tyrion said. 

“Why do you care about our faces?”

“I just think they would look wonderful on a spike in King’s Landing. Perhaps I’ll tell my sister, the Queen, about it.”

Dan saw the conspirators’ hands relax around Jon as they looked into each other’s eyes. 

Jon pushed them away, his face full of frustration and rage as stood back and touched his neck. “Everyone knew what this place was and nobody told me about it, no one but you. Not Father or Benjen. They let me come here to rot on The Wall with a bunch of criminals.” 

Dan wanted to comfort him but he knew Jon would probably push him away to not appear weak in front of the others. He watched as one of them walked out while the others turned around and started putting their training equipment away.

Tyrion gave him an unimpressed smile. “Grenn’s father left him too, outside of Thorne House when he was three. Pyp was caught stealing a wheel of cheese; he said his sister hadn’t eaten in three days. He was given a choice: a hand or The Wall . I’ve been asking the Lord Commander about them. Fascinating stories.” 

“They hate me because I’m better!” Jon said, either ignoring or uncaring that Grenn and Pyp were still in the room with them. 

Dan leaned back against the door and watched them. Both were right. The other men were clearly jealous of Jon’s skill, but their lives had been incredibly different. Nobody knows what they would have done in those circumstances.

“They were not trained since childhood by the master of arms or lived comfortably in a castle. I doubt any of them had ever held a real sword before they came here,” Tyrion said, and turned to leave. “Oh, Catelyn Stark sent you a message.” He looked at Dan in the eyes before making his way to the courtyard. 

“A message? For me?” Jon asked.

“For both of us,” Dan corrected him and looked at Grenn and Pyp pointedly. “We should speak somewhere private.” 

Jon nodded and led Dan out. He stopped and looked around briefly before making his way to the crane the crows used to go up The Wall. He opened the cage and climbed inside gesturing for Dan to come in and closed the door. A young steward stood to the side, handling the pulley system for it to move. He looked bored but perked up when he saw them, taking a good look at their faces. 

As they moved up, closer and closer to the top, the winds got stronger, seeping deep into Dan’s bones, nearly freezing his insides. He felt as if he would never be warm again. “Won’t there be someone up there?” He said, his teeth chattering. 

“Only a few people, they won’t hear us in the wind. Not if we stay close enough.”

Dan nodded. Soon, they were at the top and nodding to the guard trying to keep warm with a fire beside the crane. Dan had never considered how everything would look up there. He was surprised to see a system of ice corridors as tall as a common house with pieces cut out on the side facing the Haunted Forest. One could step onto the ledge and see snow as far as the eye could reach, like an eternal land of winter with a clear beginning but no end. 

Jon tapped him on the shoulder and led the way not to the nearest fire, but to the one farther away, a good distance away from the man. 

“What did she say?”

“That is the problem. I need you to help me decipher the message. I have some clues to it but not all of it.”

Jon extended his hand and Dan gave him the letter. He unrolled the parchment and read it a few times, his frown deepening. “The first part is the most confusing.”

“That bit reminds me of a story she used to tell us when we were kids. Did I ever tell you about the man who captured the sun?” 

“You mentioned the story but never the details.” 

Dan tried his best to remember her words exactly before telling Jon the story. “There once was a man who everyone loved. He was kind and handsome, a good father and husband but while in his quest to give his family everything, he let greed consume him. He travelled from kingdom to kingdom, conquering it all, capturing people as slaves, taking over castles, killing Ladies and Lords and commoners alike - even attacking children in their beds. When he finally made his way home, his family did not recognize him, he was old and grey and his eyes were almost clear as glass. His wife had died many years before, most of his children too, and when he met his last son, he too did not see him for the little boy he left behind and snapped his neck. Fueled by grief and hate, he decided he would finish what he’d started and captured the sun, letting darkness and cold descend upon his land and the blue moon rise. He wrapped his arms around the sun so that nobody could steal it in his sleep and burst into flames.” 

“Darkness and cold…” Jon said. 

“But the blue moon is now red.” 

“Why?” Jon asked. “Was there a mention of summer in the story?” 

“No, no mention of the seasons.” 

Jon took another look at the letter. “I know the cub shall run and bite again one day… that is Bran.” 

“Yes,” Dan said, trying to make the message fit into the story. “Has someone attacked Winterfell?”

“Why do you think that? Why wouldn’t she ask for help instead of sending a coded message?”

“I guess… Bran -”

“What?” Jon asked.

“Someone attacked Bran,” said Dan with more conviction. “The dark cold reached Winterfell and attacked a child in its bed. And the blue moon turned red.”

Jon’s face twisted in horror. “She says he is alive… Summer. Here,” he said, running his finger over the ink. “Summer is written with a capital S, that’s a name; she protected him.”

“Why is she keeping this a secret?” 

“The rivers will flow,” Jon repeated. “She’s leaving.” 

“No, I don’t think that’s what it means,” Dan said. “She can’t leave Bran, especially if he was attacked.” 

“She’s a Tully. The bastards of the Riverlands are called Rivers.”

“Robb must be staying then,” Dan said. 

“Turning the rocks into dust. Dragonstone?” Jon asked. “No, it’s dust, not Sand. Casterly Rock.”

Dan frowned; it made no sense. “Will she fight the Lannisters alone?” He shook his head. “I need to return to Winterfell. I wish I could stay for your vows.” 

“This is more important. Take Balerion and Ghost.”

“Ghost belongs with you. You will need to watch your back here, for more reasons than one.” 

“You will need to watch your back with our Lannister guest.”

“Ghost stays.” Dan looked around, making sure there was nobody listening. “I guess Robb and I will have to think of something.”

“Yes. He will not try anything for now, not without an army.”

“Do you think it was him?”

“It was probably the Queen - or the Kingslayer.”

They heard someone cough close by followed by steps. Dan braced himself for throwing the Queen’s brother beyond The Wall if it was him, but a head full of long dark hair popped around the corner. It was Uncle Benjen. 

He smiled and walked over to them, pulling each into a hug before standing beside Jon looking out into the wilderness. “I wanted to be here when you saw it for the first time. I am leaving in the morning.”

“You’re leaving?”

“I'm the first ranger, my job is out there,” said Uncle Benjen. “There’d been disturbing reports.”

“What kind of reports?” Dan asked.

“The kind you don’t want to believe.”

Jon nodded. “I’m ready, I won’t let you down.”

Uncle Benjen gave him a meaningful look. “You’re not going. You’re no ranger, Jon.”

“But I’m better than-” Jon tried,

“Better than no one. Here a man is what he earns when he earns it. We’ll speak when I return.” Benjen patted him on the back and nodded to Dan on his way out. 

Dan blinked repeatedly when Tyrion Lannister drunkenly walked past them and pissed off the edge of The Wall.

--

Many strange things had happened to Dan before, but he could say that tagging along with someone from the family that had tried to assassinate his little brother was one of the weirdest ones. He hadn’t even planned it, but as soon as Jon heard Tyrion asking Dan if he wanted to see King’s Landing next, he said it was a good idea. After all, he had the option to stay in Winterfell as the Lannister had expressed his wish to stay there once again, although Dan was not quite sure if said visit would have good results. In any case, if his family decided to end him, it would be better for Dan to be there and repel any attacks that may come their way.

DAENERYS

Danny rolled in bed and huffed. She had not been able to get comfortable anywhere as of late and she felt constantly hungry, but the dried horse meat was not something she could continue to eat day in and day out without feeling incredibly sick. 

She checked that all the candles around her dragon eggs were still lit and looked at her servant and friend, Irri. “Would you get me anything else to eat?” 

“I don’t think there’s anything else, Khaleesi.”

“I just - I feel tired of eating horse meat all the time. It makes me feel sick.” 

Irri looked at her briefly and pressed her hand against Danny’s chest, cupping her breast. “Oh!” Daenerys laughed in shock. “What are you doing?”

“You changed, Khaleesi!” 

“What do you mean?”

“When was last time you bleed, Khaleesi?” 

“I - I don’t know. I think… not since the last time you helped me.”

“You have a baby, Khaleesi!” Irri said and walked out of the tent, asking the guard outside to get something else for her to eat. 

Daenerys smiled. A child. She brought her hand down to her stomach and gently ran her fingers on her skin. She could almost weep with excitement. Viserys was her only family and he had never given her the kind of care or love she actually desired or needed. She’d always been nothing more than a game piece for him to use and dispose of in his games. Now she had a husband that cared for her and had given her a child. This was the beginning of a new stage in her life, her chance at happiness. She would make sure to give this child all the love and family moments she had missed growing up. They would be the happiest child in the world.

Irri walked in with a smile. “You will eat goat today.” 

“We will eat goat today,” she smiled back. “Thank you.”

Jorah’s voice carried from the outside. “I must ride to Qohor.” 

“We ride for Vaes Dothrak.” Rakharo’s gentle voice answered him.

“I will catch up to you. The horde’s easy to find,” Jorah said and Danny heard him gallop away. She would miss his company but she was certain that he would be back. For the time being, she would focus on her child and continue learning the Dothraki language.

NED

Ned unrolled the message and let out a sigh of relief. Bran had woken up and even though he would never walk again, it seemed he would make a full recovery. 

“Good news?” Petyr Baelish said as he walked past him. “You should share them with your wife.”

“My wife is in Winterfell,” Ned answered.

“Is she?”

Ned decided to follow the man. His smile let Ned know that Baelish knew something he didn’t. They walked out of the keep and down the city streets until they were standing outside of one of the whore houses Baelish ran. 

“I thought she would be safe here,” he smiled. 

Ned pushed the little scoundrel against the wall for implying his Cat would be in such a place. “You think you are a funny man, don’t you? A very funny man,” he said, pressing his arm against Petyr’s throat as he looked into his eyes. 

“Ned!” said Cat from a window right above them before promptly closing it. 

He let go of ‘Littlefinger’ and ran up the stairs, hugging her tightly. How he had missed her! “What are you doing here?” 

“Someone tried to murder Bran. With this…” Cat said, presenting a blunt object wrapped piece of cloth to him. “Summer saved him.” 

Ned nodded, breathing a little easier, knowing that his son was saved. He opened it to reveal an ornate dagger, made of Valyrian Steel and a carved gold handle as well. “This is a noble man’s weapon. Who does it belong to?” 

“It used to be mine, but I lost it to Tyrion Lannister in a bid,” Baelish said. 

“We should let Robert know,” Ned said. 

“Implying that the Queen’s brother tried to kill your son would be considered treason.” 

“But we have proof,” Cat replied. 

“No, it’s your word against his and the only man who can say otherwise has no throat thanks to the boy’s wolf.”

“Then I will find proof and take it to Robert,” Ned said.

“You can count on my services,” Littlefinger said.

Catelyn smiled, turning to Ned and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Petyr is a good friend. He’s like a little brother to me, he would never betray my trust.” 

“Don’t let anyone know. I have a reputation to maintain.”

Ned resisted the urge to throw Bealish out the window and focused on keeping Cat safe instead. “I will deal with this. You must leave. It is not safe for you here, especially now.” 

Catelyn nodded and kissed him one last time before pulling her hood over her hair to conceal her identity for the road and walking out. The last thing Ned said to her was to control her temper and stay out of trouble. She was a smart woman, and Ned felt blessed every day since they got married, he couldn’t wait to be back at Winterfell, at her side and enjoying life with his children. 

--

He decided to check on Arya and her progress with the ‘Dancing Master’ he’d hired for her; Syrio Forel, a skilled swordsman from Braavos. Ned knew the man had the right personality to catch his daughter’s full attention and the skill to teach her a way of fighting that would suit her size perfectly. It was the perfect solution to keep her from running around unprotected in King’s Landing as well as give her the tools to keep herself safe.

Ned stood by the door and watched them train with wooden swords. 

“This is the water dance. It is swift,” he said gliding his sword gracefully through the air. “And sudden!” He changed the direction of his sword and surprised Arya by pointing it directly at her. If it had been a real weapon, she’d be dead. “All men are made of water. If you pierce them the water leaks out and they die.” He made a stabbing motion on her belly.

Arya smiled at Syrio. 

“Now you will strike me,” the man said and turned his back on her.

Lifting her wooden sword, Arya ran towards him, trying to poke his back as she yelled, no skill in her movements. Syrio stepped aside and continued walking in the opposite direction in a fluid motion that looked effortless, as if he hadn’t even been inconvenienced by her attack. Then, he stood in a fencing position and let her copy his movements before waiting for her next attack. 

As Arya ran towards him, flinging her sword, Syrio stepped aside, causing her to fall to the ground and instructed her to get back up. They took their positions again and he let Arya swing her sword at him, catching her every time, poking her with his wooden sword, saying the word “dead” every time to demonstrate how easy it would be to kill her if she was not careful enough. 

The smile slid from Ned’s face as he watched her struggle. 

--

Unable to stop thinking about his friend’s death, Ned decided to try and uncover the truth behind his passing. If the letter from Lysa Arryn was right, the murder attempt against Bran was not the only crime the Lannisters were behind. But this time, the clear person behind the plot was the Queen.

After the small council meeting called in emergency because of the increased violence caused by the influx of visitors from all over Westero’s for ‘The Hand’s Tournament', Ned asked Grand Maester Pycelle about Jon Arryn’s last moments. 

The Grand Maester only mentioned that Jon’s illness struck him very hard and very fast, causing him to die of natural causes. The night prior to his death, Jon had borrowed a book from him and the next he was gone. 

It was a big tome called “The History and Lineages of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms” containing a record of births of every noble family and their children with descriptions. Ned asked to borrow said book, but before leaving with it, he asked the Grand Maester if he thought it could have been poison, a woman’s weapon. 

The old man’s eyes widened.”I do not think so,” he said. “But poison is the weapon of women, cravens and eunuchs.” He was clearly trying to implicate Lord Varys in the matter.

Ned nodded and thanked him for his help before going in search of his daughters. He caught Arya, barefoot, standing on one leg on atop small staircase right outside his room.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“I’m practising my water dancing!” She said with an excited smile.

“That would be a nasty fall. Be careful.” 

Arya set the other foot on the ground. “Syrio said I need to be faster so I have to chase cats. He says you have to be quick to catch them.” 

Ned nodded. “He’s right about that.”

--

Lord Baelish walked with him through the gardens where they could speak privately. Ned didn’t like him at all, but Littlefinger was a well-connected man and his only ally in his quest for the truth.  

“Before his untimely death, Jon Arryn was seen visiting Tobho Mott's smithy with his esquire quite a few times.”

“Why?” Ned asked.

“I believe the person who can answer that best is not me.” 

“This esquire - where can I find him?” 

Baelish raised his eyebrows. “Ser Hugh was knighted shortly after Arryn’s death.” 

“For what?”

“Indeed.” 

“I will go speak to him.”

“That would not be wise - not at all. See that little boy?” Baelish asked. “That is one of Varys’ little birds.” 

Ned looked at the boy. He was dressed in plain clothes, not a day older than 4 years old. 

“See that gardener?” 

He turned to the opposite side and locked eyes with a very old gardener who was staring at him intently.

“That one is the Queen’s. Many people are interested in your comings and goings, Lord Stark.” Baelish smiled. “See that septa reading a book?”

“Yes. Is she Varys’ or the Queen’s?”

“That one is mine. Everyone has ears around the city. You must be careful. Do you have a man in your guard that you can trust?”

Ned thought about it briefly. Was there someone’s hands he would put his life in? “Yes.”

“Send him to speak to Ser Hugh.” 

“Thank you, Lord Baelish, I apologise for distrusting you at first.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. Distrusting me was the smartest thing you have done since you got off your horse.”

--

As Ned and Jory made their way to the smithy atop their white horses, they saw many people watching them closely. 

“The esquire said that he wants to speak to the hand himself,” Jory said. 

Ned groaned. “Did you tell him I sent you?” 

“I did.” 

“Very well. I will go speak to him.” Ned got off his horse and turned to the door.

“We should leave. You never know who has eyes here,” Jory said. 

“Then let them look,” Ned said, before walking inside. 

The blacksmith was an old man, not much older than Jon Arryn himself. 

“Oh, Lord Stark! Welcome to my shop! How can I help you?”

“I got news that the previous hand came to visit in the weeks before his death.” When the man nodded, Ned continued. “Why did he come here?”

“He said he came to see the boy.” 

“I want to see the boy as well,” he said. The young blacksmith apprentice working in the background set his tools down and looked at him expectantly. 

“Gendry, come here.” The blacksmith said. “Show The Hand the helmet you made, lad.” 

The boy grabbed a metal helmet shaped like a bull’s head and passed it on to him. He stood before Ned and raised his eyebrows. “It is not for sale.” 

“This is incredible craftsmanship.” 

“It’s not for sale.”

“This is The Hand of the King!” The blacksmith said, raising his voice.

“It’s not for sale. I made it for myself,” Gendry said. 

“My apologies for the offence, My Lord”

“There is no offence.” Ned nodded and returned the piece. “What did you speak about with Jon Arryn?”

“At first he asked if I was well paid, if I was happy here. Then he asked about my mother - who she was, what she looked like.”

“What did you tell him?” Pressed Ned.

“She died when I was little. She had yellow hair and sang to me.” The boy seemed to be uncomfortable when it came to that topic.

Could it be possible? “Look at me, Gendry.” 

As Ned was met with the boy’s blue eyes and raven black hair, it was too easy to imagine him, a little taller, a hammer as big as his head in his hand, leading the rebellion against the Mad King. “Thank you, Gendry. If you ever want to wield a sword instead of forge one, come to me.”

He walked out and rode back to the Red Keep. He reached his chambers as fast as he could, writing a short message for Robert and sent Jory in search of the King, who at that time of day was probably rolling around in bed with some woman, or drinking enough wine to drown someone in. 

Jory returned shortly after being turned away by the Kingslayer. Ned groaned. They would have to find another way.

---

The day of the bloody tournament finally arrived and Ned wanted no part in it. He hesitantly allowed his girls to go along with Jory and Lord Baelish, to let them experience a few of the benefits of living in the capital. He had briefly considered not allowing them but Sansa was still hurt about him killing Lady and Robert would take great offence if none of the Starks were present.

He decided to make better use of his time by going through the tome Jon had been reading. He had yet to find a clue about what he was looking for in it. When he reached the record of his own family, he smiled. All of his children were there, but so were the deaths of his brother and father, Lyanna’s kidnapping and subsequent death too. Someone was still missing. He knew he shouldn’t but it wouldn’t be the first time he was breaking the rules for the boy. 

Ned grabbed a quill and dipped it in the inkwell, adding ‘Jon Snow’ as his son. The writing was small and had to be squeezed in on the page but he didn’t want Jon to go beyond The Wall without any official record of him left behind. He was as much of a Stark as any of them.

There was a knock on the door, but before he could answer, Cersei Lannister walked in with one of her venomous smiles. 

“Your Grace,” he said. 

“I would like to put our differences about what happened at The Kingsroad aside, Lord Stark. I recognize that forcing you to kill the beast was extreme, but sometimes we go to extremes for our children. How is Sansa?”

“She is enjoying King’s Landing,” he lied. Sansa had hardly enjoyed anything since Lady died. 

“She seems to be the only Stark doing so.”

“Is there anything you need, Your Grace?” He asked, tired of the charade already. 

“Why are you not at your tournament?”

“I want no part in it. The fact that it has my name doesn’t make it mine.” Ned watched as her entire demeanour changed. The smile slipped from her face. 

“What are you doing here, Lord Stark?” She asked in an accusative tone.

Ned knew what she meant. “The king called on me to serve him and The Realm and that’s what I will do.”

Cersei raised one eyebrow at him. “You can’t help him; he will do as he wishes no matter what you say. You are just here to pick up the pieces.” 

“I will do it anyway.”

“You will just take your orders and follow them, won’t you?” She asked. “I guess it makes sense. Your brother was trained to lead and you were trained to follow orders.”

It seemed that they were done speaking in riddles and exchanging fake pleasantries. “I was also trained to kill my enemies, Your Grace.”

Cersei smiled widely and nodded. “As was I.” She turned on the spot and left without another word. 

Ned closed the book in front of him and decided to go to the tournament after all. He would need to stay as close to Arya and Sansa as possible. 

He made his way to the jousting event, quickly finding his front row seat along his family. He took a careful look around, checking who was sitting close. Ptyr Baelish was sitting next to Sansa, and Septa Mordane on the other side of Arya, but she moved to the side to let Ned sit with his daughters. Jory stood close by.

A few rows behind was Renly, sitting with a young man Ned had never seen. He looked quite peculiar with his black hair and bright blue eyes. He was dressed in Tyrell attire, a gold rose pin on his leather armour, many rings on his fingers and a gold pendant hanging from his neck. Ned was almost taken aback by the sight of this man. He didn’t have brown hair as the rest of the Tyrells, nor was he well known in King’s landing for being part of the family, but he was apparently regarded as such. 

Robert sat beside Cersei, surrounded by his children yet he looked completely miserable as he drank wine from his horn. 

“I’ve been sitting here for days! Start the damn joust before I piss myself!” He yelled. Cersei looked at him in disgust and left without a word. 

Sansa looked at Joffrey and smiled at him but he turned his face with a frown. 

“Why do they call you Littlefinger?” Arya asked Lord Baelish. 

“Arya! Don’t be rude!” Septa Mordane admonished her.

“It’s alright. I come from a small spit of land called The Fingers and I was quite a small child, so, you see, it’s only a clever nickname.”

“Who’s that?” Sansa asked as she looked at an exceedingly tall rider atop a black horse. 

“That is Ser Gregor Clegane. They call him The Mountain. The Hound’s older brother. And his opponent, Ser Hugh of the Veil; he was Jon Arryn’s esquire.” 

Both riders bowed to Robert and took their place. Ser Hugh went first, but The Mountain nudged his horse soon after. Only seconds later, Ser Gregor’s lance broke on Ser Hugh’s shield, breaking it into pieces and throwing him off the horse. Just as he hit the ground, Sansa let out a scream. Ned stood from his seat as he watched Ser Hugh die - a piece of his opponent’s lance sticking out from his chest. The man had taken the answers Ned was looking for to the grave. 

The crowd was horrified, but they still watched intently as the body was dragged away, just as they always did. 

“Have you ever heard of the story of The Hound?” Baeslish whispered to Sansa.

“She doesn’t need to know,” Ned said, sitting back down.

“I want to know. Please tell me, Lord Baelish.” 

“The Hound was just a pup, six years old, maybe. Gregor, already a big boy with a reputation and a talent for violence, found The Hound playing by the fire with a wooden toy soldier - it was Gregor’s toy. Without saying a word he grabbed his little brother by the hair and pressed his face into the open fire, holding him there as he screamed. The Hound has hated his brother ever since. Not many people know the story.”

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise,” Sansa said. 

“Don’t. If The Hound Heard you, you’d be in danger.” 

A short break was announced and Ned looked around, trying to find Robert. As he made his way to the King’s tent, he saw the guards that had dragged Ser Hugh’s body standing close by. They stepped aside as soon as they saw him. He was surprised to find Ser Barristan, one of the golden cloaks, looking at the dead man; two sisters of The Seven were already working on him.

According to Ser Barristan, Ser Hugh had no family in King’s Landing and his bad luck had sealed his fate. All jousters drew straws that determined the matches and he had been the one to come up against The Mountain. 

The brief conversation Ned held with Ser Barristan reminded him that even men of honour had stood beside the Targaryens and simply sworn loyalty to Robert after the Mad King’s death. In King’s Landing, alliances lasted as long as the power of those involved. 

Ned rushed to Robert’s tent when Ser Barristan mentioned the King was planning on joining the tournament. 

“Your mum was a dumb whore with a fat ass!” Robert yelled at his esquire, a scrawny-looking Lannister boy. “Look at this idiot! He can’t even put on a man’s armour properly!” he yelled looking at Ned. 

“You are too fat for your armour,” Ned observed. 

“Too fat, you say? Is that how you speak to your King?” Robert asked and Ned nodded. The esquire’s eyes widened, fearing another outburst. “Don’t stand there, boy. You heard The Hand, the King’s too fat for his armour! Go get the breastplate stretcher! Now!” 

The boy ran out of the tent. “Breastplate stretcher?” Ned laughed. 

“Maybe he will return when someone invents one,” Robert laughed, already reaching for a glass of wine. 

“I heard you intend to joust today.”

“Yes, I haven’t gotten a good fight in a long time. I feel restless.” 

“Where is the honour of fighting against men who can't hit back? There’s not a man in the seven kingdoms who would dare hurt you.” 

“Do you think those cowards would let me win?”

“Of course they will; you are the King.”

Robert huffed but nodded. 

--

Ned returned to his place and sat beside Sansa. 

“Where is Arya?” 

Sansa shrugged. “She said she had dancing lessons.” 

He nodded and tried to place his hand on hers but she crossed her arms. Her face softened as he saw a knight approaching. “The Knight of the Flowers!” She exclaimed excitedly, waving just her fingertips at the knight. 

Ser Loras Tyrell guided his white horse towards them, his impeccable silver armour was adorned with engraved roses and his long brown hair gave him a gentle look, nothing like Joffrey. He smiled at her, giving her a red rose and a nod. 

“Thank you, Ser Loras,” she said, blushing. 

Ned didn’t have the heart to tell her that Ser Loras was merely paying his respects but his eyes and his heart were only focused on Renly Baratheon. In fact, the lovers exchanged a heated look, before the knight took his place beside The Mountain, bowing gracefully before Robert. 

For a moment, Ned’s mind wandered back to Dan, how he was doing at The Wall, wondering if he had left already. He turned and looked at the Tyrell man sitting by Renly; he looked close to his son’s age, Ned didn’t know why, but he thought they would get along well. 

Sansa clutched to his arm. “Don’t let Ser Gregor hurt him!” She pleaded. 

Ser Loras received his helmet and lance, preparing for the match. There wasn’t much Ned could do to stop them so he held her hand tightly, hoping the young man would survive.

Lord Baelish, now sitting behind Ned, looked at Renly. “One hundred Dragon Gold on The Mountain.”

Renly smiled. “I’ll take that bet.” 

“Now, what would I buy with one hundred gold dragons? A dozen barrels of Dornish wine, or a girl from the pleasure house at Lys?

“You could even buy a friend.”

“He’s going to die,” Sansa mumbled at his side. 

Ned shook his head. “Ser Loras rides well.”

The trumpets gave the signal. Ser Gregor’s restless horse took a moment to follow his master’s orders but Ser Loras was in full control of his white mare. The Tyrell knight pushed his lance against The Mountain’s shield, throwing him to the ground, horse and all, causing them to break the fence.

Renly cheered and laughed. “Such a shame, Littlefinger.  It would have been nice for you to have a friend.”

“And tell me, Lord Renly, when will you be having your friend?” Lord Baelish smirked, gesturing to Loras Tyrell. 

“I will have him whenever I please,” Renly said with an amused smile. The man beside him laughed and elbowed him. 

Littlefinger leaned close to Sansa and whispered: “Ser Loras was very clever, he knew his mare was in heat.” 

Sansa huffed. “Ser Loras would never do that; there’s no honour in tricks.”

“No honour and quite a bit of gold!” Baelish whispered back with a laugh, his hand briefly touching Sansa’s shoulder.

The Mountain stood from the ground and called his esquire.

“Sword!” he yelled, throwing his helmet to the ground. As soon as the grip touched his hand, he closed his fingers around it and swung the blade on his horse with a yell, the animal falling to the ground with a thud. With no hesitation, he swung his sword again, this time against Ser Loras, who was bowing before Robert. 

Loras Tyrell hit the ground, shield already up and he tried to survive the onslaught of The Mountain’s sword trying to kill him. Renly and his companion gasped, clutching at each other’s arms as they watched. Two hits, Loras’ shield could withstand but just as the wood was starting to crack, The Hound jumped from Joffrey's side, sword already in hand. 

“Let him be!” The Hound yelled as he repelled his brother’s attacks again and again, not quite overpowering him, but at least matching his force enough to survive the encounter. 

Joffrey watched with a pleased smile while his father clutched at his chair nervously, still letting the fight continue briefly. Once Ser Gregor charged against The Hound, Robert finally stood.

“Stop this madness in the name of your King!” He yelled.

The moment his voice pierced through the crowd’s murmurs, The Hound kneeled, saving himself from his brother’s last attack just by a hair. The Mountain looked at Robert, his eyes full of hate, as he threw his sword to the ground and left, a group of knights in pursuit. 

“Let him go!” Robert yelled. 

Loras stood and walked over to The Hound. “I owe you my life, Ser.” 

“I am no Ser,” Sandor Clegane said. 

Still, Loras grabbed The Hound’s hand and raised it, proclaiming him the winner. The crowd cheered for him, giving him a standing ovation for his heroic actions.

It was a bit of a humorous sight since Ser Loras was quite shorter than either of the Clegane brothers, but The Hound nodded to the Royal Family nonetheless. Despite his services for the crown, the man was feared for the scars marring his face and received no respect from anyone; not the people he served, nor the town folk. Ser Loras had just given him a piece of something that had always been denied to him. Pride.

DAN

With the first light of day, Dan got on his horse, Balerion already at his side and along Tyrion Lannister, and Yoren started the long trip back to Winterfell. With every sunset and every sunrise, Dan wished he was back home with his family, instead of with one of the members of House Lannister.

The long journey was uneventful but it still kept Dan on edge. Not only was he riding with someone who was not well regarded anywhere, but a member of the family who had conspired to kill Bran. 

The mere thought of what would happen when they arrived at Winterfell made the hairs on the back of his neck stand. Still, Dan was eager to hug his little brother. If the message they received had been decoded correctly, Bran had woken up, even if he would never walk again. Dan would make sure to help him have a fulfilling life. 

----

Weeks later, Dan braced himself as they crossed the gate and made their way past the walls of Winterfell. The weather was still cold but it was not as hard to withstand as at The Wall. Once they were back at the Great Keep, Robb wrapped Dan in a tight hug and asked him why he was with the Lannister. 

“I received Mother’s message and decided to ride with him,” he whispered.  “How is Bran?” Dan asked loud enough for everyone to hear. 

“He’s still resting. Theon, take Hodor and bring Bran back to greet Dan.” Robb patted his shoulder and returned to the table and sat beside Maester Luwin, Greywind laying close to his feet. 

Theon Greyjoy nodded and went in search of Hodor. 

Tyrion nodded at Robb as a form of greeting.

Robb looked at him cooly and turned to Yoren. “Any man from the Night’s Watch is welcome at Winterfell,” he said, looking back at Tyrion without extending him the same courtesy. 

Before long, Hodor, one of the servants, came carrying Bran without any effort. Dan smiled at him; Hodor was a simple-minded man but he was always gentle and willing to help. There had always been talk about him having giant’s blood, making him taller than every Stark or every other Winterfell resident.

Dan came close to them and pulled Bran into a hug ever so gently. “I’ve missed you, little brother,” he said, trying not to choke up. 

“You didn’t have to go,” Bran complained. 

It broke Dan’s heart. He was right, there was no excuse to leave him, but Dan thought Bran would be cared for by their mother. He couldn’t have possibly imagined what would happen. “I’m sorry,” is all he dared to say in front of Tyrion as he stepped away. 

“What do you remember of your accident?” Tyrion asked.

“He remembers nothing of that day,” Maester Luwin said.

“Curious. Kneel, please,” asked Tyrion.

Bran frowned. “Why?”

“So that we can speak more comfortably. I brought you a gift and I want you to see it.” 

“Kneel, Hodor.”

Once they were at the same height, Tyrion opened a big roll of parchment and Dan leaned over them to look. It was some sort of design. 

“What is it?” asked Bran. 

“It is a saddle for -” 

Bran’s face fell. “They said I’ll never ride again.”

“You need to adapt the horse to the rider, teach it to respond to voice commands and such but it can be done. This saddle will allow you to ride upright and unaided; it will bring you a bit of freedom back.”

Bran looked at the design and back at Tyrion with wide eyes. “Is that true?”

“Yes, give this to your saddler, he will provide the rest. On horseback, you’ll be as tall as any of them.” 

“Is this a trick? Why help him?” Asked Robb, his face settling into a frown.

Tyrion looked at him and then Bran. “Because I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things.”

“I am not a cripple!” Bran whined.

“Then I am not a dwarf! My father will rejoice to hear that!” 

“You’ve done my brother a kindness, the hospitality of Winterfell is yours,” Robb said, but his tone indicated how displeased he was to have that man between his castle walls.

“Spare me your false courtesies, Lord Stark. There is a brothel outside your walls, I will stay there and we will both sleep better because of it.”

Dan escorted Tyrion out. “How long will you be staying, My Lord?” 

“Two days I believe. I need to rest, but I am not welcome here. Better to ride as soon as possible,” the Lannister imp said. “You are still welcome to join me on my way to King’s Landing. If I don’t see you soon, I will assume you chose to stay with your family.”

Dan nodded and turned towards the Great Keep. He looked over his shoulder and saw Theon talking to the dwarf but he couldn’t quite hear what they were saying. Whatever it was, it left Greyjoy with a sour look on his face, picking up a gold coin from the mud.

--

Laying back on his own bed, beside his fireplace and cuddling up to Balerion, Dan let out a sigh of relief; it was good to be home, however long it would last. 

Balerion’s ears perked up as he looked to the door. 

“Who’s there?” Dan asked, a hand already reaching for the knife still strapped to his thigh. 

“It’s me,” Robb said. 

Dan smiled. “Well, come in then.” Finally, they would get to speak privately.

Robb walked in, Greywind at his side. Balerion marched up to greet them, demanding pets from Robb and nuzzling up to his brother. 

“How was your time at The Wall?” 

“Interesting. I learned many things.”

“Such as?” 

“People will do anything in a time of need. And the cold at Castle Black is much worse than here.”

Robb laughed. “Did you get Mum’s message?” 

“Yes. Who was it?” 

“Someone sent by the Lannisters. She had the suspicion when she left for King’s Landing, but a friend at the capital confirmed that the Valyrian Steel dagger the attacker had used belonged to Tyrion Lannister. 

“What reason could he have to try to kill Bran?”

“Maybe Bran saw something, or heard something. We don’t know and Bran doesn’t remember any of it.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I saw Bran fall?” 

“But there was no one around.” 

“Sometimes…I have dreams. I - I see myself in four paws, with black fur, running in the woods or walking about Winterfell. When Bran fell I saw him climbing the burnt tower, he got all the way up and I sat by Summer, watching him. When he got to the window, something happened and he fell, away from the tower, not close as if he had slipped.” 

“So - that is odd. But, if that was the case, and you were there, why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I woke up and ran out of bed. As soon as I got to the tower, he was already being looked over. I think -” Dan sighed, there was no reasonable way to put it. “The Starks, we were always able to reach into the bodies of animals if we were close enough with them, if there was some sort of bond. There was a book in the library that mentioned it as far back as Bran The Builder. The people with that kind of power were called Wargs.” 

“Do you believe to be one? A Warg?” 

“I think we may all be. It’s just a matter of trying.”

“If I told Maester Luwin you said that, he’d have you restrained.” 

Dan laughed. “Don’t tell him then.” He sighed deeply. “What should I do? Do I stay here with you, or do I follow Tyrion Lannister to the capital?” 

“When is he leaving?”

“In two days.”

“Then let us spend two days together and go with him. Spend time with Bran, he’s been very sad and resents Mum going away while he was not even awake to give her a kiss.”

“Aye. Let’s enjoy some family time.” Dan got up and put his boots back on, his back already complaining at him for being on his feet again. “I will go speak to Bran.” 

“Convince him to come down for supper, will you? It will be good for his mind and for his back.”

“Alright. We’ll see you there.”

--

Dan laid beside Bran on his bed, Balerion cuddling up to Summer on the other side. 

He passed a rolled-up piece of parchment to him. “I made you this,” Dan said.

He ran his small fingers on the ink tracing the lines and the letters at the bottom. “Castle Black - The Wall,” he said. 

“Do you like it?” 

“Yes. Is it really this big?” 

“It is. Bran The Builder was a very clever man.”

“Do you think the Wildlings will cross The Wall one day?” Bran looked at the drawing again and pursed his lips.

“I don’t think so. The Wall is rumoured to have magic in it.” 

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Bran rolled the parchment and set it on the chair by his bed. A big pile of books already covered most of the seat.

A crow flew and sat on the window, cawing at them repeatedly, stepping from side to side on the windowsill. Bran was startled, holding onto Dan’s arm tightly.

“Don’t listen to it,” said Old Nan. “Crows are all liars.” She watched the bird curiously for a moment before shrugging and continuing with her knitting. “I know a story about a crow!”

Bran huffed. “I hate your stories!”

Dan pursed his lips. Bran had never been so rude, especially not to Old Nan; she had cared for him since birth, just as she’d cared for all the Stark children, but she had a special place in her heart for Bran. Of course, he couldn’t fault his brother; he had lost access to everything he liked doing, like climbing and riding - he would never be a knight either. All of it at ten years old. Dan would have gone mad. He ran his hand on Bran’s hair softly.

Old Nan huffed and looked at Bran through narrowed eyes. “I know a story about a boy who hated stories. I could tell you about Ser Duncan the Tall! Those were always your favourites!”

“Those weren't my favourites. My favourites were the scary ones!”

“Oh, my sweet summer child! What do you know about fear? Fear is for the winter, when the snows fall a hundred feet deep; fear is for the long night when the sun hides for years and children are born and live and die all in darkness - that is the time for fear, my little Lord. When the White Walkers, led by their Night’s King,  moved through the woods thousands of years ago, there came a night that lasted a generation. Kings froze to death in their castles, same as the shepherds in their huts and women smothered their babies rather than see them starve and wept, and felt the tears freeze on their cheeks. So is this the sort of story that you like?”

Bran nodded, pulling the covers up to his chin. 

Smiling, she continued. “In that darkness, the White Walkers came for the first time. They swept through cities and kingdoms riding their dead horses, hunting with their packs of pale spiders big as hounds!”

Dan sat up and gave her a look. “Well, as lovely as the stories are, Bran and I should head down for dinner.” He got out of bed and strode to the door, pulling it open. “Hodor, would you please carry Bran to the Great Hall?” 

“Hodor!” he nodded with a smile. 

Bran looked at them but finally stretched his arms letting the man pick him up. Summer and Balerion standing immediately. And so they all marched down to eat.

--

For much of the trip, nothing out of the ordinary happened. They were not attacked, Tyrion Lannister remained his joly, sarcastic self - no indication that he’d been involved in the assassination attempt against Bran. If his own family hadn’t relayed this information to Dan, he’d have never suspected a thing. Maybe he was too gullible; maybe he was still too inexperienced to travel around Westeros on his own, but once he’d left home, things had gotten out of control, and here he was, sharing every waking moment with a man capable of killing a child. 

Three weeks after leaving they finally arrived at the crossroads and decided to stop at the inn for a hot meal and a good night’s rest. The moment they walked inside, Dan spotted Ser Rodrik along with a woman who he recognized as his mother even though she was facing away from him. 

Panic rose within him, not knowing what to do. It was a dangerous situation, they were far away from home, surrounded by a multitude of people from every corner of Westeros and if the Lannisters got any idea of their suspicions, every Stark head would end up in a spike at King’s Landing. 

Dan tried to distract Tyrion, guiding him away from his mother. “We should sit close to the door, just for security.”

“Nonsense, by the door is the least secure location at any establishment!” Tyrion said with a smile before turning to the inn keeper. “I would like a room.”

“We have no available bed, My Lord. You will have to find another place.” 

“I am the Queen’s brother! I am sure you can accommodate me.”

“All the beds are occupied, what do you expect me to do? Put someone on the street!?”

“You can have mine,” said a man sitting close by. He was not a knight, but he was dressed like a warrior, armour and all, a hand on the grip of his sword.

“Would you like a song?” A man sitting at his mother’s table asked loudly. Dan briefly considered walking to them and telling the man to leave but that would attract Tyrion’s attention. 

“Oh, Lord Lannister! May I sign to you about your father’s victory in King’s Landing?” The man yelled, standing from his seat. 

Tyrion walked over with a smile. “Nothing would ruin my supper more.” He gave the man a gold coin. “I will thank you for not singing at all.” 

The man was clearly distraught but took the coin anyway.

“Lady Stark! What an unexpected pleasure! I wondered why you weren’t there to receive me on my visit to Winterfell.”

Dan’s stomach dropped. He knew his mother’s temper well. 

She stood and uncovered her long red hair. “I was still Catelyn Tully the last time I stayed here,” she said, addressing every person at the Inn. “I see the sigils of house Harrenhal, house Bracken and Frey. This man came into my house as a guest and then conspired to murder my son - a boy of ten.” 

“I did no such thing!” Tyrion Lannister yelled.

Dan’s mother continued as if she had not heard him. “You are true friends and loyal bannermen to the Tullys of Riverrun, in the name of King Robert and the good Lords you serve, I call upon you to seize him and help me return him to Winterfell to await The King’s Justice. 

Every man with a sword at the Inn drew it against Tyrion Lannister, Dan included, helping to tie his hands and those of his guards behind their backs for the journey back to Winterfell. 

---

“You have to realise how reckless that was,” Dan said, trying not to snap at his mother. “We are too close to King’s Landing, this will not go as you want it.”

“A wise observation from young Lord Stark. Perhaps it would be better to let me go on my way - no hard feelings.” Tyrion interjected. 

“Shut up!” Dan and his mother yelled before turning to each other. 

Shrugging, their prisoner walked to the other side of the room and looked out the window, taking a seat and letting his legs dangle from the chair.

Dan’s mother looked at Tyrion and only continued speaking once he was away. “This was the only opportunity I had. He tried to kill your brother! What am I supposed to do?” 

“Anything but kidnap the Queen’s brother without proof or the King’s approval. If Father had gotten an order from him, it would be different, but this will ruin us, Mother.”

“We are ruined already, Daniel. Words travel fast. The Lannisters already know I’ve visited Ned and come to their own conclusions as to why.” 

“I still think you should have waited. This will put Winterfell in danger.”

“Bran has already suffered the consequences of dealing with the Lannisters. What danger are you talking about?” 

“Yes, but you have other children. Did you forget that Arya and Sansa are on their grounds? What about Robb? What about me?” 

“Your father will protect the girls, Robb is a grown man, he can take care of himself and you have chosen your own destiny.” 

That shattered Dan’s heart. “I see…” He turned away. He was a man now, he was not going to cry. 

He felt her hand on his back, her voice softer, barely above a whisper. “Dan, a mother’s job is -”

“Bran is awake. If you care so much about him, why are you not taking care of him, watching him grow? He misses you.” 

“I am protecting him. He will understand. I will return to him when I’ve solved this.” She cleared her throat. “You are right to be scared for your sisters. It is best that you go along to King’s Landing and keep an eye out for them. Don’t let anyone see you.”

“The ride back to Winterfell will be long.”

She stepped onto the tips of her toes and whispered in his ear. “I’m bringing him to The Vale. Your aunt Lysa will bring him to justice, the Lannisters also killed her husband.”

Dan hummed and looked at Tyrion out of the corner of his eye. The Knights of The Vale would keep his family safe for the time being. He just needed to look out for Arya and Sansa. “Promise me that I will see you again.” 

“You will. I promise.” She pulled him into an awkward hug. She was much smaller than him and felt frail as if she was about to be whisked away by the wind. “Be careful.” 

“I will be. You too.”

JON 

Castle Black, Westeros.

Jon grabbed one of the training swords and a shield and made his way to training with a heavy heart. After his initial run in with Grenn and Pyp, the three of them had sat down to talk and realised they had much more in common than they had initially thought. They were honourable men caught in difficult circumstances and trying to make the best of the life they got and so was Jon. They may not have shared Jon’s privileges - even as a bastard - but they shared the same core beliefs and morals. Sadly, the same could not be said for Rast. 

Rast had been the one to egg his comrades against Jon, trying to threaten his life for the mere fact that he’d had actual training and beat them fairly easily. He was a bad man; a true criminal, and a cruel one at that. Jon knew he would spend the rest of his days avoiding Rast ever since he heard what he’d done to end up at Castle Black. He shivered just thinking about it. 

Ser Alliser Thorne saw him and smirked. A new recruit stood next to him; a big man - in every sense of the word, yet he looked scared as a mouse, shaking both from the cold and the armed men in front of him if the wide eyes was any indication. 

“Tell them your name!” Thorne barked. 

“S-Samwell Tarly, of Horn Hill,” the boy said. He was probably the same age as Jon. “Well, I was of Horn Hill. I’ve come to take The Black.”

“Come to take the black pudding?” Rast said, letting out a deep laugh. 

“Well, you can’t be worse than you look,” Thorne said. “Rast, see what he can do!” 

Rast smirked at Samwell and swung his sword at him four times before he hit the mud, groaning in pain already. 

“I yield! I yield!” Samwell screamed. “Please, no more!”

“On your feet!” Thorne yelled. “Hit him until he finds his feet,” he said, not missing a beat. 

Samwell struggled to get up but before he could make any progress, Rast hit him again and again, laughing as Samwell cried in pain, begging for the attack to stop.

“It seems they’ve run short of poachers and thieves down south, now they are sending us bloody pigs!” Thorne said with a maniacal laugh. 

Jon couldn’t bear to watch the poor boy be attacked for no reason. This was not training, this was torture. How was he supposed to learn anything at all if all the training he got was getting hit and kicked around? He took a step forward with the intention of stopping the abuse but Pyp held onto his sleeve. He didn’t say a word, but he knew why his friend was stopping him. Thorne had a thing for cruelty and he also had an incredible amount of hate against Jon.

Encouraged by Alliser Thorne, Rast kept swinging his sword at Samwell, no matter how much he was groaning and screaming in pain. Even though the training swords were blunt, they were also very heavy and were bound to cause a lot of damage. Samwell would be black and blue and green by the end of the day.

“Stop! Stop it!” Jon said and walked over to the man on the ground, extending his hand towards him. “He yielded!”

Rast tried to hit him as well, but Jon swung his sword at him once and kicked him in the chest, making him fall to the ground gasping for air. 

“Aww, looks like the bastard’s in love!” Thorne said.

Jon grabbed the shaking man and shoved him in the general direction of Grenn and Pyp before turning around and standing between his friends and the others. 

“Alright, since you want to protect your love, Lord Snow, let’s make it an exercise!” Thorne gave him a cruel smile. “You three,” he said, pointing to Rast Grenn and Pyp, “You can hit the piggy as much as you want, you just have to get  past the bastard!” 

Jon looked at Grenn and cocked his head in amusement. “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

“No,” he said, before swinging his sword at him and getting struck hard by Jon’s blunt blade.

Grenn fell to the ground with a grunt. 

Pyp tried next, doing even a worse job at handling his sword and trying to punch Jon instead. 

Jon kicked his ankle and swung his sword around, hitting him in the back. 

Rast didn’t waste a second, charging at him the moment Pyp was out. He was the more dangerous one out of the three, not because he was skilled, but because he used his anger in combat, often trying to use dirty tricks to get ahead. Rast tried to hit him, their swords clashing time and time again as Jon blocked his attacks. 

Finally, Jon misstepped and slipped in the mud, giving Rast the fraction of a second he needed to get him. All wind was knocked out of Jon but he turned on the spot and struck him twice, finally knocking him to the floor.

Jon raised his eyebrows at Thorne, who was already red from the cold and the sheer anger he felt for him. “Go clean the armour! That’s all you’re good for.”

Jon huffed and strode to the armoury for his punishment. The sooner he started, the sooner it would be over. 

---

Later that night, Jon stood atop The Wall for his shift, sticking as close to the fire as he could while trying not to set his clothes alight. 

“Thank you,” a voice said behind him, startling him. It was Samwell.

Jon tried not to blame him for his lack of dexterity, but part of him did. Samwell was highborn, he must have been trained his entire life. “It won’t get easier, you know that, right?” 

“I know, but I still wanted to say thank you,” he said, wrapping his cloak tighter around himself but not coming closer to the fire. 

“You need to stay as close to the fire as possible or you’ll freeze.”

“I’m alright.”

“You are clearly not.”

Sam stepped closer and ventured a look down the side of The Wall before holding onto Jon. “I’m scared of heights and can’t see very well,” he admitted. 

“How can you be scared of everything?”

“I am a coward, my father always said so.”

“Then why are you here? Can’t fight, can’t see, and you’re afraid. The Watch is no place for a coward!” 

“On my eighteenth name day, my father called me and said I should renounce all rights to his land and properties and take The Black. He said that if I didn’t, he would take me hunting and I would fall from my horse and never return - or so he would tell my mother - and nothing would give him more joy.”

Jon’s eyes widened. He never knew there was a different way to be a bastard. 

“Will I have to fight again tomorrow?” Sam asked. 

“Yes, and you won’t get any better.” 

“I know.”

“At least you can’t get any worse.” 

Sam burst out laughing and Jon joined in, elbowing him. The boy stepped closer to the fire and breathed a little easier.

--

Jon walked into the Great Keep and signalled Grenn and Pyp to follow him to a different table than their usual arrangement; he didn’t want Rast interfering if possible. He grabbed a plate of hot soup and a piece of bread, dunked it and brought it to his lips, letting the warmth of the meal soothe his tight jaw muscles. 

He cleared his throat and leaned closer to his friends. “We will not attack Sam no matter what. Not tomorrow, not ever again.” 

The others raised his eyebrows at him. 

“What will we do then?” Asked Grenn. 

Rast stood from his seat. “You really are in love, Snow!” he laughed. “I will attack him. I will get a piece of meat from that piggy as soon as I can put my hands on him.” 

The older crows laughed and cheered at Rast’s joke, but Jon did not. He threw a disgusted look Rast’s way and finished his supper. He’d need to talk to his friends in private. 

Once the entire castle had fallen silent and most of the brothers were sleeping, Jon opened Ghost’s cage and slipped into the Barracks, where Grenn and Pyp were already waiting for them. 

Rast woke to the pressure of Ghost’s full body weight on his chest as the wolf growled at him. 

“Nobody touches Sam,” Jon said as he and the other boys loomed over Rast’s face. 

The man nodded, keeping his eyes on Ghost’s mouth with a terrified expression.

--

“Alright ladies, let’s see what you can do,” Thorne sneered. “You first,” he said, pointing at Grenn.

Grenn approached Sam, sword in hand and stepped a bit too close and whispered. “Attack me.”

“What?” Sam whispered.

“Attack me!” 

Sam poked him in the arm with his sword and Grenn fell to the ground whining. “I yield! I yield!” 

“Oh, you idiot!” Thorne said, Grenn’s horrible act not fooling him for a second and turned onto Rast. “You show them how it’s done!” 

Jon looked at him, a hand on the grip of his sword. He could see that Rast wanted to strike Sam, he wanted to see him hurt and suffering, but the memory of last night’s visit was still on his mind. 

“Attack him!” Yelled Thorne.

Rast hesitated, taking a step forward, but he looked into Jon’s eyes and froze. 

“These men will be with you when you go beyond The Wall! You protect him now, but when you go out for a real fight you will want a man guarding your back, not a snivelling boy!” Alliser Thorne spat on the ground as he walked past Sam and left.

At first, Jon thought they had rid themselves of Thorne for the rest of the day, hoping that he’d be so mad that he’d stay away from them, but he waited until they were alone to berate them further. 

“Can you believe they make us take a chastity vow when I know for a fact that most crows go to the brothel in Mole’s town?” Sam asked as he brushed the tables of the Common Hall with a bit of sawdust.

Jon laughed. “Missing it already, are we?”

“No, I’ve never - I just think it’s unfair.”

“Why are you so upset about it?” Jon asked with an amused smile.

“Why not? Is it because I’m fat?” Sam whined. “I like girls just as much as you do, they may not like me as much. I know you must have had a hundred of them. I bet all the girls like you.”

“No. As a matter of fact, I’m the same as you.”

“Why? There must have been someone.”

“There was one time I came really close to it. I was in a room with a naked girl but I couldn’t.”

“You didn’t know where to put it then?” Sam teased. 

“I did know where to put it,” Jon said, rolling his eyes. 

“Was she old and ugly?”

“No. She was young and beautiful, with long red hair. A whore named Ros.”

“Why didn’t you make love to the beautiful Ros then?”

“I just couldn’t stop thinking ‘What if I get her pregnant?’ If she had a child, it would be another bastard named Snow. I never knew my mother, my father wouldn’t even tell me her name, or even if she was alive. That is no life for a child.” Jon grabbed his brush and turned away from Sam, lost in thought, working on his side of the table.

“So you didn’t know where to put it,” Sam whispered. 

Jon laughed and threw his brush at him. 

The door of the Common Hall opened and Thorne walked in, his face twisted in disgust at them. 

“Well, how are you, boys?”

“It’s a bit nippy,” Sam replied.

“Nippy, yeah? By the fire, indoors still,” Ser Alliser said. “None of you boys even remember the last winter. How long has it been? Ten years?” 

“I remember,” Jon said. 

“Was it uncomfortable at Winterfell? Were there days when you just couldn't get warm, never mind how many fires your servants built?”

Jon shook his head. “I built my own fires.”

“That's admirable! I spent six months out there beyond The Wall during the last winter. It was supposed to be a two-week mission; we heard a rumour Mance Rayder was planning to attack Eastwatch so we went out to look for some of his men, capture them, and gather some knowledge. The wildlings who fight for Mance Rayder are hard men, harder than you'll ever be. They know their country better than we do. They knew there was a storm coming in, so they hid in their caves and waited for it to pass; we got caught in the open,” he said, his eyes far away as if he could see it all happening again. “The wind was so strong it yanked 100-foot trees straight from the ground roots, and all . If you took your gloves off to find your prick to have a piss you lost a finger to the frost and all in darkness. You don't know cold,” he said looking at Jon. “Neither of you do. The horses die first, there’s never enough to feed them, to keep them warm. Eating the horses was easy,  but later, when we started to fall, that wasn't easy. We should have brought a couple of boys like you. Soft, fat boys like you. We'd have lasted a fortnight on you and still had bones leftover for soup.” 

Thorne shook his head and continued. “Soon we'll have new recruits and your lot will be passed along to the Lord Commander for assignment, they will call you men of the Night's Watch but you'd be fools to believe it. Come winter, you boys will die - like flies.”

DAENERYS

Vaes Dothrak, Essos.

With the scorching hot sun shining bright above their heads, the khalasar arrived at Vaes Dothrak, city of the horse lords. Viserys huffed, looking at the statue of two stallions standing on their hind legs that marked the entrance to the city. 

“This is nothing but a pile of mud and shit and twigs! Where is my army? These savages better keep their end of the deal or I will have their heads.” 

“This is the place of my people, you shouldn’t call them savages!” Danny said. 

“These are my people. Khal Drogo is marching the wrong way with my army,” he said and rode ahead of them.

Daenerys looked at Jorah. “If my brother had an army of Dothraki, could he conquer the seven kingdoms?”

“The Dothraki have never crossed the Narrow Sea, they fear any water that their horses can’t drink.” 

“But if he did?”

“King Robert is foolish enough to face them in battle, but the council advising him are not.”

“And you know these men?”

“I fought beside them once,” Jorah said. “Now Ned Stark wants my head; he drove me from my land.”

Daenerys looked at him curiously. “You sold slaves. Why?”

Jorah looked away into the distance. “I had no money and an expensive wife.”

She tried to make eye contact with him but he deflected. “That’s not a valid reason to take someone’s freedom.”

With a deep sigh, Jorah looked into her eyes and asked: “What would a valid reason be then, Khaleesi?”

“There is no valid reason, I suppose. You shouldn’t have done that.” 

He nodded. “I know.” 

--

In an attempt to breach the gap between Viserys and her that grew bigger and bigger by the day, Daenerys sent Doreah to invite him over for dinner. Danny was no fool, she knew Viserys had bought her Doreah not only as a servant and someone to help her settle into the Khalassar, but he made use of her in other ways too. Thankfully Doreah seemed pleased enough with his company, it was an unspoken agreement that served them all well.

Danny looked around and smiled; she had lit candles and sent for food now that they had access to crops and milk and Dothraki delicacies. She’d also asked Drogo for the best gold pieces he’d gotten in his conquests to give them to her brother - as a gift. Even if Viserys was a hateful man, he was still her brother, the last of her family.

She turned to the small fire she had burning, checking on the dragon eggs, but it seemed that there had been no changes yet.

Viserys pulled the tent open and threw Doreah to the floor in front of her, her face already bruising, her nose bleeding. 

“I’m sorry Khaleesi! I was just doing what you asked!” Doreah cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. 

Danny grabbed at one of her tops and kneeled in front of her friend, gently pressing the fabric to her nose. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Irri, Jhiqui, please take her and leave us.”

“Why did you do that?” Daenerys asked, trying to calm the anger already rising inside her. 

“You dare order me around!” Viserys yelled. 

“I asked you over for supper!” She said, pointing at the table full of foods and leathers and gold. 

“What’s this?” He asked grabbing at the leather clothes with a disgusted expression.

“It’s a gift! I had it made for you!”

“Dothraki rags!” He yelled, throwing a big golden belt at her face. “You would turn me into one of them? Braid my hair?”

She could already feel the cut on her cheek bleeding. Disgusted by his behaviour, Danny finally musters the courage to stand up to him. “You have no right to a braid; you have won no battles!”

Viserys slapped her so hard that she fell to the ground. He wasted no time climbing on top of her, straddling her hips. “You have woken the Dragon!” He laughed hysterically as his hands closed around Daenerys’ throat. 

For a moment she regretted what she’d said, putting her child at risk, but instead of letting him have his way, she reached for the golden belt and swung it at his face, giving him a deep cut on his cheek and lip. 

Her brother fell back, frozen in shock. 

“I am a Khaleesi of the Dothraki, I am the wife of the great Khal Drogo and I carry his son inside me. The next time you raise a hand at me will be the last time you have hands!” She screamed, shaking with anger. 

“You will regret this for the rest of your life!” he screamed back and ran from her tent. 

Daenerys looked at her shaking hands and tried to take deep breaths, sitting on her bed as she waited for it to pass. 

Irri ran into the tent and looked at her, checking her face. “Khaleesi, you are hurt.” 

“I am alright, Irri. Thank you. Would you please ask Jorah Mormont to join me for supper?”

The girl nodded and left. 

Closing her eyes, Daenerys kept taking deep breaths until her hands were steady once again. Her child moved inside her, making her smile. She couldn’t wait to meet her little one, to see Drogo’s face when he saw him. 

Jorah walked in and gave her a wet rag to clean her wound. “Are you alright?”

“I am. I just - I can’t believe I hit him. I hit The Dragon.”

“Your brother Rhaegar was the last Dragon. Viserys is less than a shadow of a snake.”

“He’s still the True King.” She insisted. “Illyrio said that the common people in Westeros are sewing dragon banners and singing songs, praying for his return.”

“The people of Westeros pray for food and a short winter. They don’t pray for kings, especially kings they haven’t even met. Do you really want to see your brother sitting on the throne, being responsible for the seven kingdoms? I believe he would make your father seem like a peaceful ruler.”

Daenerys smiled in spite of the hard topic. “Yes, I suppose. What do you pray for, Jorah?” 

“Home.” “He will never take us home, will he? He will never take back the Seven Kingdoms. He couldn’t lead an army even if my husband gave him one. He’s not a leader; he’s a child.”

[succubusphan]

A Rose of Winter - Epilogue

Summary: All Daniel wanted to do was escape the stifling life as a Stark of Winterfell and travel the world. Between the looming threat North of The Wall and the den of lions in the capital, he unexpectedly finds love in the midst of a war set to tear Westeros apart. Caught between loyalty to his family and duty, he is torn in a thousand directions that all point to one man: Philip Flowers.

Rating: E (There are only a few smut scenes but it's an M for battles, war, and other adult topics)

Tags/warnings: I removed most triggers (no R or SA, no minors involved in sex, no gore). It does include: Deaths either written without details or in a poetic way if it's an important character (Dan and Phil, Ghost and Balerion will live but everyone else is fair game). Strangers to lovers, Slow Burn, missing each other. The prophecies and stories foreshadowed are fulfilled, a satisfying ending to the entire story without plot holes. Extreme canon divergence. Dan and Phil are not replacing characters, they were written in. GAME OF THRONES AU

Author's Note: This is my OSPBB 2022, Couldn't have done it without my betas @effingmeteors and @filisaceaf.

Word Count: Each chapter will be around 15k and have at least one Dan or Phil pov. The total wc is about 210k.

Read on Ao3

The aftermath of the Long Night was shocking in so many ways. As the sun rose above Westeros, those who survived had to walk around Winterfell in search of their loved ones. There was a sense of relief in knowing the world had lived to see another day without the threat of impending doom hanging over their heads but the pain was too great.

The first thing they saw in the Courtyard was Viserion, unmoving, his jaws still clutching on the Ice Dragon’s neck. Beside them, Nymeria and Greywind lay to rest, probably gone to join their masters in the afterlife if there was such a thing.

Once those who had been evacuated were able to return, pyres were set outside the castle walls to honour the dead: Jorah, Benjen, Sam, Edd, Ser Davos and Ser Jaime. Tormund had to be the one to carry Bran and Arya because Jon was badly injured and Dan was too broken to even hold himself up. 

Melisandre had helped those who were on the verge of death before succumbing as she had used all of her magic. Kinvara had also given her life to help others; Lyanna Mormont had helped carry her to the pyre herself to thank her for her sacrifice. The girl had changed quite a bit when magic had stopped her from turning into a wight: half of her hair was ice white and one of her eyes bright blue, but her mind seemed to be untouched.

Jon had to face Gilly and tell her that he had failed Sam once again and beg for her forgiveness but she shook her head, telling her that Sam had arranged for them to go live with his mother and sister, but upon finding the response letter in his belongings, she noticed he never intended to go. He had apologised to his mother in advance for not being able to see her again and had listed little Sam and the child she was carrying as his heirs. She was devastated to lose her love but she was surrounded by people who were willing to help her and she had a family waiting for her as well.

After they had all said their goodbyes, the pyres were set ablaze. It was then that Daenerys broke and had to be taken inside.

PHIL

It took almost two weeks for people to be ready to celebrate, every loss still present. Empty chairs at every table, entire generations wiped completely and only a few of them to tell the tale of the heroes that saved Westeros.

After a long talk, Dan and Phil decided not to make a separate celebration for their wedding, choosing to join the feast in the Great Hall and enjoy some time with their friends and family. Still, Jon and Danny made a toast to their union, every person in assistance banging their mugs on the tables and cheering for them. Many things happened that night; many stories came together and new ones began. Tormund had been nothing but attentive to Brienne and they had bonded over the grief for their loved ones, often training together, or exploring the North on horseback along with the surviving free folk.

Life didn’t stop for any of them and soon it was time to decide the fate of Westeros. The representatives of every House sat down to discuss matters and came to the conclusion that having a sole King or Queen for the Seven Kingdoms was far too complicated and called for constant conflict. To reign half a continent away was simply too hard for the Southern Kings and people were no longer inclined to follow blindly. And so, the Kingdoms were assigned to their Houses in accordance with a cooperative alliance. 

Every Kingdom needed resources from the others, so a system of exchange and loans was agreed upon as well as who would be running the vacant castles. Highgarden already had Shireen Baratheon in line for it. The Iron Islands would go to Yara, who had already passed the test and paid the Iron Price according to her costumes. Casterly Rock had no other heirs than Tyrion, who named Tommen his heir in turn. The North was awarded to Sansa after Jon and Dan declined the title. It was a hard decision, but after legitimising Gendry as a Baratheon and awarding him Storm’s End, Daenerys stepped back from King’s Landing and The Iron Throne, letting Renly become King along with Loras. She gladly retained the title of Protector of the Realm per Renly’s request, and it was done; the wheel was finally broken, even if it was not in the way she had imagined it.

Danny had lost enough in the name of war but she still had a lot more to lose, which Phil reminded her of, even if she didn’t want to listen at first. Jon had survived the Long Night, but he would never fight again, his shoulders were beyond repairing and he could barely lift his arms. He made progress every day, hoping to be strong enough to hold their child by the time he was born, but it was still too soon to know. Grey Worm had recovered faster than him, but Missandei still cared for him months after, promising to take him to Naath once he was better.

Daenerys wed Jon in King’s Landing inviting everyone in the city to celebrate with them. It was a happy day after so much sorrow. She talked to those who wanted to talk to her, promising to return when her health allowed it and help those in need as her brother Rhaegar had done so many years ago. 

After the Long Night, Phil noticed this sense of sorrow washing over her, having lost Jorah, most of her Unsullied and all her bloodriders, having to bring nothing but ashes back to the Dothraki women and children who awaited the men. It was only natural that Dan and him would stay with her, trying to comfort her. 

Dan and Phil took the months leading to the birth of Danny’s child to talk about their future, now that there was one and decided to travel, see the world, and just live. They all led a quiet life on Dragonstone eagerly, waiting to meet the new member of the family, the start of a new generation, and the night he finally came into the world, there was a storm so strong Phil thought the waves would flood the castle, even if it was atop the mountain. 

After hours in labour, Danny held her beautiful boy, Aemon, in her arms. She looked out the window and saw the spray that looked almost like smoke coming from below and smelt the salt of the sea. Smiling, she placed the baby on the bed beside Jon, and with her hands still bloody, she touched the dragon egg in the fire. Then, she asked Dan, Phil and Jon to give their blood as well but when nothing happened she picked the afterbirth and threw it into the fire, watching raptly as the egg hatched. She smiled at Phil as she gifted him the small dragon.

--

Sansa waited a few months to make things official so that everyone could attend. The Queen in the North was crowned and that same week, Margaery and her wedded in a public ceremony under the weirwood tree, winter roses all around as they had become the symbol of union between houses Stark and Tyrell.

Happiness was finally making its way back to people’s hearts. The feast was perfect; full of laughter, music and dancing and nobody was happier than Lady Olenna Tyrell, who had been waiting eagerly for the celebration.

“Your oaf father would be proud to see you as a Queen and married to someone you love. You have done it right this time,” she had said. “I saw it through, as I promised. Everything is as it should be.”

Phil had found it odd to receive an invitation to dance and a tight hug from his grandmother, but enjoyed it nonetheless. It wasn’t until hours later, when he tried to wake her from her nap, that he knew that it had been her final goodbye. He cried and laughed at the fact that the Queen of Thorns had survived the end of the world, seen his grandchildren reach powerful positions and left on her own terms.

DAN

Pentos, Essos.

Dan walked over to Phil and sat on the vacant chair, looking out to the Narrow Sea. He let out a deep sigh and smiled, closing his eyes and enjoying the warmth of the sun. He couldn’t decide if the sound of the seagulls was relaxing or unnerving.

“Dracarys,” said Phil at his beautiful baby dragon, still no larger than a cat, and Dan opened his eyes in time to watch it cook a piece of chicken before eating it whole. The sunrays made his black scales shine in purples and greens.

“Aww, very good! You are a smart boy,” Dan said to Jaehrion. Balerion howled sadly at his side. “Why are you wet?” He asked and his wolf tried - unsuccessfully - to hide behind Phil.

“He was hot and went for a swim in the fountain,” Varys said from his own chair, just behind theirs; Illyrio Mopatis drinking wine happily at his side. “I guess one can’t blame a direwolf for being too hot in this weather.”

Dan rolled his eyes at him.

“That has to be the most spoiled pet I’ve ever seen,” Tyrion said, pouring himself another glass of wine. 

“Don’t you have a painting of Ser Pounce in your dining hall?” Dan asked, Balerion cowering at the name. “Oh, stop, he’s not here!”

“That is different, the cat is not mine and Ser Pounce keeps the castle free from mice. He is very hard working.”

“Who had the painting commissioned?” Phil asked with a smirk.

“Well - it was me, but it was a present for Tommen. I thought it would cheer him up,” Tyrion said.

“A great choice, my friend,” said Varys.

“Did you ever think we would be here, enjoying the Essos weather without a care in the world?” Dan asked.

“No,” said everyone.

“Here in Pentos or here on a trip together?” Asked Tyrion.

“Either… both.”

“No. The only person I imagined here with me is no longer alive,” he said.

“You could still find love,” Phil said.

“No, it’s too much of a risk. I’ll leave that to Tommen, now that he has taken the name Lannister, he must pass it on. That responsibility is out of my hands at least.”

“You should have invited him,” Dan said.

“He’s 19 years old, he doesn’t want to go on a trip with his uncle. Podrick will keep him company until my return and if he’s bored I’m sure Bronn can entertain him at The Twins. There’s plenty of young widowed women over there and frequent parties now.”

Phil looked out to the sea for a moment before turning to Dan. “We are almost 28 years old.”

“I am almost 27, speak for yourself, old man,” Dan said.

Tyrion downed his wine glass and mumbled he was 36.

“Lord Varys?” Phil asked.

“Oh, you will never make me say it, Lord Targaryen.”

Jaehrion chose that moment to cough a ball of fire on Phil’s pants which he tried to pat away but failed, resulting in him jumping into the fountain, Balerion joining him soon after. Dan laughed. Life was good.