Valyrian Jon (Patreon)

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Ned Stark had many regrets. Many things he wished he had done better. Here in the darkness of the Black Cells, he had nothing but his own thoughts for company. He’d failed his friend, he’d failed his daughters… he’d failed his sister.

He should have known better than to come South again. The Starks never did well in the South. His precious Sansa was a hostage, and his wild, little Arya was dust on the wind. No one had seen her in weeks. He didn’t even know if she was alive. All because he was a fool. All because he didn’t send his girls home immediately. Before he confronted Cersei like a fool. He had known. He had known that Southerners had no honor. That they were power hungry. Why hadn’t he stopped to think before he acted? Why had he trusted fucking Littlefinger of all people?

And now he was rotting in this dank dungeon, and would soon be forced to either give up his honor as Lord Varys suggested or watch as the Lannisters punished his innocent daughter.

Gods, he never should have come South. Should have told Robert to take his pin and his betrothal offers and shove them up his fat arse. Starks didn’t do well in the South.

Not that they sometimes did well in the North either. Not when he allowed the South to invade his home. Gods, of all of his regrets, Jon was the one he regretted the most. He would likely lose his head soon. He was at peace with that. Mayhaps he would be sent to the Wall instead. He was at peace with that too. It was no better than he deserved for how he hadn’t told Jon the truth of the Wall. Before his nephew’s disappearance, he had almost been relieved that Jon had wanted to take the Black of his own accord and had done nothing to dissuade him from what he knew would be a very painful road. He had been relieved that it meant he wouldn’t have to choose between his blood and his best friend.

Gods, Lyanna would kill him when they met again.

Not that the guilt wasn’t killing him already. Jon had vanished five years ago now. The lad had only been twelve namedays old. He had searched for many moons. The entirety of the North had dedicated itself to the manhunt on his orders. If only it had meant something, in the end. Jon hadn’t been found. Not a hair, not even a whisper of his whereabouts came to light.

Ned didn’t even know if he had left voluntarily or if he’d been kidnapped. He didn’t know if his nephew was even alive. His bedroom and belongings hadn’t been disturbed. There was no trail to pick up. There was nothing. It was as if Jon had simply stopped existing one day.

He would have been a man grown now, and his disappearance had all but shattered their family. Robb and Arya despised their mother for the joy that she hadn’t been able to keep hidden. Sansa had followed after her for a time, but eventually found herself missing their lost family. She had grown into a better little lady for it, if still a very spoiled one, and Robb and Arya had eventually forgiven her. He and Catelyn hadn’t shared a bed since Jon went missing either, so they’d had no little pups after Bran.

Gods, how he wished he could see Jon one last time. He owed that boy the mother of all hugs and the gods damned truth.

He shakily turned his head as the door to his cell rattled, and eyed the guardsman who opened it. “Today’s the day, I suppose?” He asked, his voice rough from disuse.

The guard didn’t answer, and instead just hauled him to his feet, uncaring of his aching leg.

Cunt.

…

He winced as his face was brought into sunlight for the first time in moons. The crowd is shouting at him, already practically frothing. His vision cleared enough for him to see Arya crouching atop the statue of Baelor the Blessed. Relief and terror warred within him in equal measure. The guards forced him to the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor, his leg screaming in protest from the rough treatment, but he kept his wits. He almost sighed in relief when he saw Yoren of the Night’s Watch.

As he stumbled by the man, he rasped, “Baelor!” He wasn’t sure if Yoren heard his weak voice, so he forced his body to turn and then forced himself to practically roar, “BAELOR!”

This time he knew Yoren got the message, and he’s forced to continue his painful march up the steps. He passed Sansa. To everyone who didn’t know her, she looked like a calm, perfect lady. Ned though, could see how distraught she was behind the smile she forced onto her face. The guards left him and retreated. He swallowed, “I am Eddard Stark. Lord of Winterfell, and Hand of the King.” His jaw trembled as he looked upon the gathered masses before he turned his head to look at Sansa. She gave him a gentle, hopeful nod, and he knew what he had to do. He couldn’t allow her to be hurt. He turned back, “I come before you to confess my treason, in the sight of gods and men. I betrayed the faith of my King, and the trust of my friend Robert. I swore to protect and defend his children, but before his blood was cold… I plotted to murder his son.” His jaw shook again as he forced the lies from his lips, “And seize the throne for myself.”

Roaring from the crowd erupted. Every which way he looked, the smallfolk were yelling obscenities at him. If only they knew. A rock hit him in the head, dazing him, and forcing Sansa to gasp.

The Hound steadied him, and he shook his head. Blood was slowly dribbling from the cut on his temple now. It was a miracle he hadn’t been knocked out cold from the impact. “Let the High Septon, and Baelor the Blessed bear witness to what I say. Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne.” He wanted to vomit at the words he was saying. Bad enough that he was usurping his nephew, but now he was naming a spawn of incest as the true heir on top of it… He almost couldn’t continue on. “By the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and protector of the realms.” He bowed his head, looking to his feet.

Grand Maester Pycelle doddered forward, “So as we sin, so do we suffer. This man has confessed his crimes, in sight of gods and men. The gods are just, but beloved Baelor taught us they can also be merciful.” He turned to look at Joffrey, “What is to be done with this traitor, your Grace?”

Joffrey held up his palm with a smile to silence the crowd. “My mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard join the Night's Watch. Stripped of all titles and powers, he would serve the realm in permanent exile.” He turned to smile at Sansa, “And my Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father.” She smiled back at him, feeling relief that he had listened. He held her gaze for a moment, before his smile turned dark and sinister and he looked away, “But they have the soft hearts of women, as long as I am your King, treason shall never go unpunished.” Horror started to show on Sansa’s face, “Ser Ilyn… bring me his head!”

“Joffrey STOP!” Cersei’s eyes went wide as her son did perhaps the most foolish thing he could have done.

Sansa started to scream, “No, please, stop! SOMEONE STOP HIM!”

The rest of the councilors were dumbfounded. Arya leapt from the statue and started to make her way to her father, before Yoren grabbed her and forced her still. All the while, Sansa continued to scream.

Ned was forced to his knees, and he couldn’t help but let out a sigh of despair. His honor was shattered, his lies would give legitimacy to a bastard born of incest, and his daughters would be forced to endure such cruel, cruel fates. Perhaps this was what he deserved.

Ser Ilyn Payne drew his blade, Eddard’s very own Valyrian Steel sword and held it before him. The crowd noise vanished from Ned’s ears as Ser Ilyn aimed his strike. And then Joffrey frowned, “Wait!” Ilyn dropped the blade, held loosely in his hand as he looked at the King in confusion. Sansa sighed in relief, thinking that her father was going to get mercy after all, but Joffrey hadn’t actually changed his mind. He was frowning, “SILENCE!” He yelled, and everyone shut up.

crack

Crack

Crack

CRACK

The sound of thunder followed by a hurricane was ringing through the plaza.

“What is that?” Joffrey asked in confusion, “It’s not supposed to rain today. There’s not a bloody cloud in the sky!” And then there were screams erupting from behind the Sept.

CRACK

Everyone flinched as this one sounded much closer.

And then it came. “RAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH”

And then utter pandemonium reigned, this time from utter terror as a beast flew overhead from behind the Great Sept of Baelor.

Dragon.

The word seemed stuck in his head as the people started to flee in panic. Joffrey tripped over his own feet as he fell back, his entire world nothing but terror. Cersei and the guards abandoned Sansa in their rush to flee, and she raced over to Ned and actually pushed Ser Ilyn over in her haste. The man yelped as he fell and tumbled down the steps. It was a miracle that didn’t impale himself on Ice. “Father!”

And then the beast landed, and every person in that part of King’s Landing fell off their feet as the ground quaked. Ned couldn’t believe his eyes. He’d seen the skull of Balerion, and this beast dwarfed it.

It also didn’t look like the beasts from the tales. It had six limbs rather than four, with separated claws and wings. Its hide and armor were the blackest night and seemed to almost absorb light, and yet on some angles, he could see purples and golds and silvers. It looked like the sky on a cloudless night. It was the only comparison he could make. The beast moved sinuously, with far more grace than any creature of its gargantuan build deserved to have, and it extended its long neck above a terrified Ned and Sansa.

Sansa squealed and buried her head in his chest as it roared again, and Ned cringed in pain as their bones shook. It backed off, and it allowed Ned to see the saddle and chains attached to its neck.

A man swung down, dropping nimbly to his feet. He was clad completely in armor, and the part of Ned that wasn’t shellshocked gasped as he realized every single piece of metal on the man was Valyrian Steel. No other metal looked like that! The helm looked like a draconic maw, with wings extending above the head. The plates were layered and articulating, giving a superior range of motion. He could see very few gaps, and what few gaps there were, were covered by Valyrian Steel chainmail and leather. The armor was black, gold, and red and embossed with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.

Ned’s heart started to pound as hope began to blossom in his chest.

The man drew a Valyrian Steel greatsword as Ser Ilyn managed to get to his feet and held Ice in a tight grip again. Ser Ilyn rushed at the warrior, who parried with much greater strength than the executioner had expected, throwing him completely off balance. Before he could recover, the warrior cut him in half. The other guards had retreated with the Royal Family and the Council, having lost the will to fight long before Ser Ilyn Payne became half a man. Pycelle had already fallen and cracked his head open, dying instantly.

Sansa flinched, moaning as the man stepped closer to them. “No, no please.” She started to beg as the stranger raised his blade.

SHINK!

Ned gasped and embraced his daughter as his bonds were cut. Sansa almost cried out in relief as she felt her father’s arms around her, having closed her eyes. They… they were being rescued! But why? And who was rescuing them? They looked at him, and he looked at them. “Get on Ancalagon.” He said, before continuing forward. Sansa’s head snapped to the dragon as she squeaked in both shock and terror.

The voice was unfamiliar, but that didn’t mean anything. “I-My leg.” He stumbled through the words.

The warrior’s head snapped back to them and finally took in Ned’s injury. He growled, “Fuck. Well, I suppose today I’ll have to put their luck to the test.” He walked back and helped Ned to his feet. He then grabbed Sansa in a bridal carry, and she squealed again, this time in embarrassment. Gods, why couldn’t her cunt of a betrothed have tried to steal her heart like this? “Hold on tight.” He said as he grabbed a chain.

“WhaaaAAAAAAT?” She tried to ask, before the word tore out of her as a terrified scream. Ancalagon had jerked his head, and the momentum imparted flung the two of them onto the dragon’s neck and saddle.

“Strap yourself in.” He pointed at the chains and belts.

“O-okay…Gods, it’s hot.” Sansa mumbled as she sat down and grabbed one of the belts.

The warrior flung himself down again and grabbed Ned. By then, Yoren had seen the rescue happening and had set Arya free. She had raced into her father’s arms, almost crying in relief. Arya never cried. The warrior went down and grabbed Ice, before sheathing it with its discarded scabbard and handing it to Ned, “Try not to lose it again.” Ned chuffed, smiling wryly as he gripped onto his daughter, and who he hoped was his nephew, as hard as he could as the great dragon catapulted them onto its neck. Unlike Sansa, Arya screamed with utter glee.

“Others take me…” Ned breathed out in shock, having clenched his teeth in pain from the sudden jerk. How in the Hells had their rescuer managed to hold onto the chain with that kind of force? He felt like he had his spine pulled out.

“I’M ON A DRAGON!” Arya had no way of knowing, but her excited scream had a grin on the rider’s face.

“We.” Sansa hugged her sister in a death grip, sobbing onto her shoulder, “We’re on a dragon! Gods Arya, I’m sorry for everything!” Arya was shocked, but smiled and clutched onto her sister as desperately as she was hanging onto her.

“Sōvēs!” The warrior declared once they were all attached to the saddle safely, having just clipped two chains onto his armor. Ancalagon roared and leapt back, his wings moving massive quantities of air to take flight. The dragon backed away from the great Sept, flying backwards. Ned was curious as to what would come next. “Dracarys.” He said coldly.

Ancalagon roared, and from its great maw came dragonfire. Each dragon had unique flames, with Balerion the Black Dread having black flames spotted with red. This beast’s flames looked more like it was spitting out the night sky. The fire was full of blacks and purples and speckled with lights of silver and gold. The flames flew quickly, and impacted the base Sept of Baelor like a physical force. Stone cracked and shattered as the great tower collapsed.

And then there was green.

“SHIT!” The rider gasped and Ancalagon dropped its own flames, flying back further as a massive explosion of green fire engulfed the Sept. “What the fuck?!”

“Was that Wildfire?” Ned sounded horrified, “Why did you do that?”

The rider clicked his teeth, “Because with any luck, that cunt, his mother, Pycelle, Varys, and Littlefinger are all dead.” He sighed as he used the bond to have his dragon fly them away from the city, “Hopefully I at least got Littlefinger. That cunt was the one that told Lysa Arryn to poison her husband and then send your wife a letter saying it was the Lannisters.”

Ned stared at his back in disbelief. He tried to say something, but the wind was now rushing so much from Ancalagon’s growing speed that they could barely hear their own thoughts, much less each other’s voices. He’d have to save his questions for later.

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Their flight from King’s Landing was fast. So fast, in fact, that Ned could scarcely believe it. In a matter of hours, Riverrun was in sight. He wasn’t sure exactly why they were headed there and not Winterfell, however. He couldn’t imagine that Robb’s host would have already made it all the way there. He was wrong. Robb was there. As was his wife and many more. He would be pleasantly surprised to know that even Jaime Lannister was currently there, in a cell. Jaime’s host had been shattered and the siege of Riverrun lifted.

The entire flight, he didn’t let go of his daughters for a moment. Arya had tried to talk with all of them, but with the rushing winds, none of them could actually hear a damn thing. Atop Ancalagon’s back, Ned sighed as he understood the Targaryens better than he ever had. Power like this could go to a man’s head in a heartbeat. As they descended on Riverrun, Ancalagon let out a roar.

Down on the ground, Robb and his bannermen had been discussing the next steps, when all of them let out terrified flinches. “Others take me, what was that?” Greatjon roared as they started to make their way outside.

“Oh, fuck me…” Robb felt his hands slacken as he took in the beast. It was circling Riverrun and making no aggressive moves before it made its way down in full. “Wait!” He narrowed his eyes, trying to focus on its back, before he gasped. “FATHER!”

Catelyn almost fell to her knees, and had to grasp her son’s shoulder to keep standing as she saw her daughters too, “SANSA! ARYA!” The Northmen were confused, but started to cheer as they all saw what the two Starks had seen. The dragon landed, taking a few steps that shook the ground before it slowed to a stop.

As soon as it did, it lowered its body to the ground, settling and allowing the four riders to start making their way down the ropes and netting that was a part of the saddle. As Arya and Sansa ran to their family and Ned stumbled his way behind them, the mystery rider turned to his dragon and started to show it affection. The sounds the beast made were akin to purring.

“MOTHER/ROBB!” Sansa and Arya leapt at their mother and brother respectively, hugging the stuffing out of them. Tears poured out of Catelyn’s eyes as she and Sansa sobbed. Sansa had almost knocked her mother over.

It took a few seconds more for Ned to get close, and Robb put Arya down so he could embrace his father. “Gods, it’s good to see you, father.”

“I thought I never would again…” Ned replied gruffly. The two men parted, and Sansa let go of her mother so that he could embrace his wife, “Cat…”

“Oh Ned…” Catelyn cried, huffing, and gripping his cheeks with her hands so she could give him a needy, desperate kiss.

“It’s good to see you hale and hearty, Lord Stark!” Greatjon Umber boomed, and he clasped forearms with Ned once Catelyn let him go.

“Not so hale, unfortunately, Jon.” Ned grimaced, “My leg is still injured, and these past few weeks haven’t been kind.” He sighed, “I don’t know if it will heal properly.” Cat let out a small choking noise.

“As long as you’re alive, you’ll heal!” Greatjon roared in amusement, “You Starks are stubborn and tough fuckers!” He looked over to the dragons, “How in the Seven Hells is this possible? Where did a fucking dragon bigger than the gods damned dread appear out of nowhere?”

“He saved us!” Arya cried out, pointing to the warrior, “Flew into King’s Landing and interrupted the trial! If he hadn’t…” Her voice hitched.

“Father would be dead!” Sansa cried out, finally having a chance to air out her rage and grief, “Father confessed! And Joffrey called for his head anyway!” Catelyn let out a strangled cry again as the Northern Lords and the Riverlords, including Brynden and Edmure Tully, roared in fury.

The warrior had left Ancalagon alone and walked over, so Robb took charge as he had done for all these moons. “You saved my father, my sisters!” Robb said, “Any boon that we can grant you is yours, stranger. Would you tell us your name?”

The man raised his hand to his helmet, and several people twitched as runes started to glow over it. The helmet visibly seemed to open on its own, the articulations moving apart and no longer sealing his neck properly. He pulled it off with one hand and revealed black curls, gray eyes, and a smirking face that made Catelyn’s heart drop into her stomach. Robb’s jaw dropped as the man spread his arms out, “Did you miss me?”

“JON!” A screech came from Arya that shattered at least one window. The littlest wolf was off like an arrow, leaping into her favorite brother’s arms. To her shock, Sansa was only half a second behind her.

Jon laughed, twirling the both of them around, “Gods, I’ve missed you, little wolf.” He pecked Arya on the cheek. “And you, Sansa…” He kissed her cheek as well.

“You left!” Arya cried, tears pooling in her eyes, “You left you stupid- ARGH!” She punched his armor over and over.

“Where did you go, Jon?” Sansa asked, kissing his cheek over and over again.

He chortled as he put them down, “Now that’s a story.” He embraced Robb as well, “You keep the jackass in line?”

“Cunt!” Robb growled, “Gods Snow, how could you just vanish like that? I missed you, brother.”

“I missed you too.” Jon sighed, “But if I hadn’t left, then Lord Stark would be dead right now.” He let go of Robb, before turning to Theon. “Greyjoy! Find a cunt you haven’t had to pay for yet?”

Theon growled as snickers and chuckles erupted. Catelyn ground her teeth at the language her daughters were hearing, “Fuck you, Snow. Bet you’re still as green as summer grass!” Jon merely smirked and turned to Ned.

“Gods…” Ned was struggling to keep his emotions in, especially in front of all his bannermen, “I had hoped, when I saw you…” He struggled to speak, “It’s so good to see you, son.” The two embraced as well. “I… I made so many mistakes with you, son. I owed you the truth and I was too much of a coward to do what I should have.” He murmured.

“I hated you for that, for a time.” Jon replied softly, and Ned flinched, “But I know why you did what you did. You protected me for twelve namedays, and had I not left, it would have been five more. I do love you for that.” He replied, before pulling back and speaking louder. “But now it’s time for the truth to have its day, wouldn’t you say?”

Ned sighed, “Aye, I suppose it is.”

“Lord Stark…” Maege Mormont stomped forward, “I think I speak for all of us when I ask how in the fuck your baseborn son has a fucking dragon.”

“It’s simple, my Lords and Ladies.” Jon stepped back, “Jon Snow does not exist!” He declared, and Riverrun was silenced, “Jon Snow was a fabrication by Lord Stark. His one great lie, to keep me safe.” Every single drop of blood drained out of Catelyn’s face.

“J-Jon, what are you saying?” Arya started to tear up for a second time.

Jon’s face softened, “Sorry, little wolf.” He murmured as he ruffled her hair. He turned back to the Lords and declared, “MY NAME IS DAEMON TARGARYEN, AND I AM THE TRUEBORN SON OF PRINCE RHAEGAR TARGARYEN AND LYANNA STARK!!”

Catelyn’s world went dark as pandemonium erupted, and it was only the quick actions of her uncle that kept her from smashing her head open as she fell.

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“The Crown Prince!” Robb ranted, stalking back and forth like a wolf in Riverrun’s great hall, “The fucking Crown Prince! And we all treated him like a fucking bastard!”

“Don’t be too upset, Robb.” Daemon said, holding Arya tightly in his lap. The young girl’s entire face was still red and swollen from learning the truth. Daemon had removed his armor by now and gotten refreshed, wearing the blacks and reds of the Targaryens, “If uncle hadn’t lied to protect me, Robert fucking Baratheon would have crushed my skull with his damn warhammer. He always regretted not being able to kill my brother and sister himself.” He scowled darkly.

Dacey Mormont slammed her hand on the table, “What I want to fucking know is what you meant by ‘trueborn.’” She growled, “Everyone knows the story! Was the entire fucking rebellion a lie too?”

Daemon sighed, “I’m afraid so. Uncle didn’t learn the truth until well after the rebellion had finished. My mother despised Robert Baratheon. She would rather have forsaken her name and become a beggar in Essos than marry him.” He glared at Ned, “If they had actually been forced in front of a Heart Tree she would have bitten his damn cock off before letting him fuck her.” At his side, Sansa grimaced at the thought.

Ned grimaced, “As you all know, my father fostered me at The Vale under Jon Arryn with Robert Baratheon. I spent more time with Robert than I had my own brothers, at that point.” He let out a sigh, “He was my best friend, and my brother by choice, up until the day he saw Rhaenys and Aegon’s corpses and laughed before calling them dragonspawn. I had been blind to his many faults, because I wanted him to be my brother in truth rather than in name only. When Lyanna pleaded with me to help change father’s mind, I didn’t listen.”

“And then came Harrenhal.” Daemon continued the story, “Many of you were present there, on the ‘Day the Smiles Died,’ were you not?”

“Aye.” Maege growled, with murmurs of agreement coming from various Northern Lords and Riverlords.

“What you do not know is that my mother was the Knight of the Laughing Tree.” Daemon grinned as again, the room erupted in noise.

Maege roared in laughter, “Gods, that girl… What was she thinking?”

Ned chuckled, “She was thinking of defending our bannerman. She caught Lord Howland Reed being assaulted by three squires, and she joined the Joust in order to defeat the Knights they squired for. Her only goal was ransoming their armor and horses back by forcing them to chastise the three who had tried to hurt her friend.” The room went silent with melancholy, “Of course, Aerys got it into his cunt head that she was a threat, and so she had to flee. Rhaegar was sent after her, and he found her and helped her bury the evidence. That was the start of it, really.”

“Elia Martell had nearly died birthing both her children.” Daemon said softly, “She knew she would perish if they tried for a third, despite wanting more children. Especially since neither of them were certain Aegon would live to adulthood. Further, I’m sure you are all aware that some Targaryens were prone to having prophetic dreams. It was Daenys the Dreamer who convinced her father Aenar to flee Valyria before the Doom came. And like his ancestor, Rhaegar was also plagued by visions. ‘The Dragon Must Have Three Heads.’ was what his dreams told him. And so, with Elia fearing for her life in King’s Landing and unable to have more children, the two of them agreed to have their marriage annulled without compromising Rhaenys and Aegon’s places in the line of succession so that my father could marry again. But then that cunt Varys counseled Aerys to go Harrenhal, ruining my father’s plan to get the support from the Lords to overthrow his father. That was the true purpose of the Tourney, but with Aerys there, he could not proceed. And then my father met my mother, and the two fools became utterly besotted with one another before he and Elia could make the announcements.”

“Others take me.” Greatjon growled out, “So your parents just fucking ran off without telling anyone a fucking thing?!” He stood up, his face enraged, “Tens of thousands of men died because those two fools didn’t think before they fucking acted?!”

“No, my Lord Umber.” Daemon growled out, “My mother sent letters when she ran away with my father. She sent letters to her father, all of her brothers, and even Robert fucking Baratheon. Every single one of them was intercepted.” He spat out, “Intercepted by cunts who were playing their own fucking games. They lied to Brandon Stark and told him that they had seen Rhaegar capture Lyanna and carry her off to rape her. My mother knew her family would be upset by her defiance, but she also wasn’t about to let them stop her. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission. She wanted to be married and pregnant before she saw her father and brothers again. That was why she sent letters rather than reveal her plans in person. She and my father had no idea that everything had gone terribly wrong until after Aerys burned Rickard Stark alive and made his son strangle himself as he watched.”

“And by then it was too late.” Ned said, looking defeated in his chair. “War had already erupted and there was no stopping it. And there was so much bad blood between the two sides that even parley was refused before the final battle.” Ned’s gaze was distant, focused on nothing at all, “Gods, if only I had spoken to the man… so many things could have been different.”

“And who was it?” Jason Mallister asked, his fist clenched atop the table, “Who was the monster who sent Brandon Stark to his death? Or were there multiple?”

Daemon’s eyes burned as he growled, “Rest assured, they will get what’s coming to them. For now, I must beg your patience, my Lords. I would speak to my family about it first, as it will hit us particularly hard. We also need to get plans together to make sure we don’t spook them and allow any of them to slip by. For now, say nothing to anyone. What we discussed does not leave this room.”

“You intend to take back the Iron Throne then?” Greatjon growled. “We rose to get the mad fucking king off the throne, and now you want our support to put a Targaryen back on it? Why fucking should we?” He glared at Daemon.

“Aye. Or are you all telling me you’d prefer a Lannister cunt sitting on it?” Daemon asked, and watched as all of the Lords started to grumble in agreement, “I ask now for your support, my Lords, and unlike Robert fucking Baratheon, I will remember the Leal and true. And besides which?” he smirked, and everyone flinched as Ancalagon’s roar echoed through the hall, “Unlike the mad King, I have a fucking dragon. Please, argue with him at your own risk.”

Greatjon stared at him for a moment before he started to laugh.

“You have our support, brother.” Robb clapped a hand on his shoulder, “I don’t fucking care who your sire was. You are a son of Eddard Stark, and I would stand behind my rightful King.”

“Beside me, brother.” Daemon smiled, “Not behind.”

Robb smirked back, “Don’t get sappy on me now.”

“And how do you plan on rewarding your loyal bannermen?” Roose Bolton asked, staring at him with creepy, unblinking eyes. “Your dragon will help, of course, but many men will still die to get you onto that throne.”

“I’m glad you asked.” Daemon said, smirking. He looked over his shoulder, “Bring it over!” Two of the Stark bannermen grabbed a medium-sized chest that Ancalagon had carried in his saddle and brought it over, before walking back to the walls and resuming guard. It was still fairly heavy, and Jon took a strange key off of a chain on his neck. He inserted it and twisted it, and the lid popped off. Robb and Arya gasped as they saw the contents. Sansa wasn’t sure what the big deal was, but she was the only other one who could see into it.

Daemon lifted a black ingot speckled with red and lightly slammed it onto the tabletop. Ned gasped, “Is that Valyrian Steel?”

“That’s right.” Daemon’s smirk widened as he saw the greed in the faces of many Lords, “Freshly forged Valyrian Steel, to be exact.” And again, the room erupted. Lords were screaming left and right, and Sansa was flinching due to the noise. Daemon slammed his hand on the table, “Enough!” He yelled, and the room quieted once more. “‘Tis true, my Lords. The Gods have shown me the lost arts. One of many ancient privileges the Valyrians lost. And the Leal and true will be rewarded with any single piece they desire.” He smirked, “Anyone else? Well, Robert Baratheon sank the crown into six million dragons of debt. The Lannisters can go fuck themselves, but the Iron Bank will have to be paid off somehow.” That got several of the Lords to laugh and lift their preferred drinks in a cheer.

“Wait, what do you mean ‘privileges?’” Arya asked once it quieted down, frowning. Despite her young age, the men didn’t talk over her. She was only asking what they were all already wondering. “I thought that the secret was lost during the Doom?”

“Ah, but what was the Doom?” Daemon asked, chuckling. The room stilled, wondering if they were finally going to learn the secrets, “Tell me, my Lords, if House Targaryen fled from Valyria years before the Doom itself, why would they not have brought along craftsmen as well? The family did not come on their own. They brought friends. Lesser houses. Servants. They did not simply land on Dragonstone with nothing but money and relics to their names. Why then, would they not bring about master smiths capable of crafting more Valyrian Steel? Why allow the secrets to be lost?”

Sansa gasped, “‘Privileges.’” She breathed out, “It wasn’t that they didn’t want to. It’s that they couldn’t.”

“That’s right.” Daemon gave Sansa a smile, “The Valyrians had been doing nothing more than putting on airs for decades. The events leading up to and including the Doom were nothing more and nothing less than a series of escalating punishments to a people that had abandoned their Gods and principles. The Fourteen Flames had erased the knowledge of how to create Valyrian Steel a century before the Doom. The Targaryens were the only family out of the Forty that the Fourteen Flames considered worth saving.” Well, that and the threat of the Others, but Daemon didn’t mention that at the moment.

“And they just gave that knowledge back to you?” Edmure Tully was frowning, “Why? How?”

“Stories for another time.” Daemon said, before securing the Valyrian Steel back in its chest. “What I will say is this: Magic is reawakening in this world. It has been for years. Ever since the Red Comet flew in the sky.” Ned held in a sharp inhale. That day had come a mere week after his nephew’s disappearance. “So, I would take care to consider just what old legends and tall tales the world has to offer.” He stood, “Now I would spend time with my family. It’s been years since I’ve seen them, and we have much to speak about.”

“Aye.” Dacey Mormont smirked at him, “Take your time, but I’ll be coming for my Valyrian Steel mace.” Dameon simply smirked back at the beautiful woman, giving her a rather charged look.

Slowly, the Lords shuffled out, and Daemon quickly got his family together in a room they were told was secure. Daemon didn’t trust that, and took out a carved plate of Valyrian Steel from his pocket. He started a small chant in High Valyrian, and they gasped as a runic script on the plate started to glow red hot. He placed it in the middle of the room, before straightening up, “There.” He said, “Now we won’t have any little mice scurrying about.”

“Gods, actual magic.” Ned sighed, “I suppose that’s meant to prevent eavesdropping?”

“Aye.” Daemon said, grabbing Arya and sitting her in his lap again. Sansa sat with them too, and Daemon threw an arm around her shoulders. “I suppose I owe you all some stories then?” he said lightly.

“Yes!” Arya hissed at the same time as Robb declared, “Yes! Start talking!” His cousin was glaring at him.

Sansa patted him on the leg, “We missed you, Jo-Daemon.” She corrected herself midsentence.

“You can still call me Jon if you wish. At least in private.” Daemon sighed, “I was Jon for a lot longer than I was Daemon.”

Sansa smiled, “Okay Jon.” She smiled sunnily at him, “We missed you. Yes, even me.” She blushed as he raised his eyebrow at her, “And I’m sorry for being such a… such a cunt to you when we were younger.”

“Sansa!” Ned gasped, “What would your mother think about that language?”

Sansa glared at her feet, “I was a lady. A perfect little lady, just like Mother and Septa Mordane always taught me to be. I did everything I could and was obsessed with a place that wasn’t my home and a people that weren’t mine. I did everything to be the perfect Princess for the ‘perfect’ Prince.” She spat and clenched her fists, “I even… I even…” She started to tear up, remembering that it was her fault that the Queen had acted before Ned could get them to safety. That it was her fault that Lady and dozens of others were dead! “And if it hadn’t been for Jon, my reward would have been to watch my own betrothed lie to me and call for my own father’s head!” She started to cry some more, but out of fury rather than sadness. “I’m done being a perfect little lady!”

“Sansa…” Arya hugged her sister and didn’t let go.

Ned sighed, “The fault is mine. I let your mother have too much influence over your educations. Not just yours, Sansa. I should have known better with Arya.” He said tiredly. He knew Catelyn was in Riverrun and wasn’t sure if she had even awakened from her fainting spell yet. With her learning the truth, he wasn’t even sure she would want to speak to him. “I didn’t do enough to teach you about the North.”

Sansa shook her head, “Arya didn’t listen to either of them. I shouldn’t have either.” She took a breath and wiped her tears, “But what I wanted to say before I got sidetracked… why did you leave, Jon?”

“I’m…fairly certain I know the why.” Ned admitted with a grunt, “What I want to know is the how. It was as though you vanished.”

“That’s because I did.” Daemon said cheerfully, and they all gaped at him. “Seeing as how you think you’ve guessed, uncle, I guess I’ll just confirm it.” His eyes narrowed and his face lost its jovial look, “After your cunt of a wife-” Ned and Robb’s jaws clenched, but they said nothing, “-made me feel hated and unwelcome in my own fucking home for the thousandth time, I went to my room. I was so angry that I punched a wall and made my knuckles bleed. Was a miracle I didn’t break anything.” He said, smirking sardonically, “In any case, I made a wish that I was ‘anywhere but there.’” His family lost all the color in their faces at just what their wife/mother had put their brother through, “And the Gods of Old Valyria, of the blood I had just spilled, listened.” He chuckled, “The fire in my fireplace roared to a great blaze and engulfed me. I was terrified, but I didn’t burn. And when the flames cleared, I was nowhere near Winterfell anymore. I was atop the tallest of the Fourteen Flames, in the ruins of the Freehold.”

“Seven Hells!” Arya gasped, “Jerk! You couldn’t have taken me with you?!”

“Arya!” Robb let out a laugh.

Daemon was laughing merrily, hugging his youngest sister. “Oh, I’ve missed you, little wolf.” Arya smiled slightly.

“Gods forgive me.” Ned said, “I… I should have done more. I should have been a better father to you, son. Or at least prevented my wife from being so awful to you.”

“Lamenting the mistakes of the past are like nipples on a breastplate.” Daemon replied, “I hated it at the time, but without her, I would still be Jon Snow.”

“And would that really have been so bad, brother?” Robb asked, “I know Mother hated you, but we loved you. I… I think I must have lost ten pounds before Father forced me to start eating again. Arya wouldn’t stop crying for weeks.”

He sighed, “I’m sorry Robb, but Jon Snow was a man with no future. Winterfell had stopped feeling like home.” All four of them flinched. “ The way things had been going, I was going to end up at the Wall rotting with the rest of the thieves, murderers, and rapists infecting it now. How Uncle Benjen can stand it…” He looked away.

Arya let out a sad sniffle, “You weren’t ever going to stay, were you?”

“No.” Daemon said, “It would have taken a few more years, but eventually I was going to leave. Uncle Ned becoming Hand of the King was the straw that would have broken the horse’s back. There was no way I would have stayed with your mother all but in charge. I wouldn’t have put Robb through having to choose between the two of us.”

Sansa swallowed, “So what happened next?” She nudged him, trying to move away from the depressing topic, “Once you landed in Valyria?”

“The Gods came before me.” He said simply, “Not sure if they truly took physical form or if I hallucinated the whole thing, but I was faced with a gargantuan dragon that made Ancalagon look like a lizard. He was so big he could hold one of the Fourteen Flames in each claw. The real Ancalagon, in a sense.”

“Seven Hells!” The exclamations came from all four of them, making him smile lightly.

“Yeah, that was about my reaction too.” Daemon laughed, “He showed me the truth. The truth of who I was. The truth of the fall of Valyria. Of the Doom. Of the fall of House Targaryen. And most importantly, why they had chosen to give back what they had once taken away. Why they chose to reawaken the Dragonlords of Valyria.”

“And why was that?” Ned asked, “I suppose with the way you’re speaking, you’ve renounced the Old Gods?”

“No, actually.” Daemon said, smiling at the looks of surprise on their faces, “The Old Gods and the Fourteen Flames are not incompatible.”

Sansa had apparently grown shrewd over the years, “…But the Seven are?” She asked, “Is that why you destroyed the Sept of Baelor?”

“He did what?” Robb asked, aghast. He followed the Old Gods himself, but he had been taught of the Seven.

“Aye.” Daemon saw no need to sugarcoat it, “Aegon the Conqueror made one mistake.” He said flatly, “And it was a mistake that proved fatal. He appeased the Faith of the Andals and allowed himself to be crowned by the High Septon at the time. The Valyrians had practiced religious freedom. The Fourteen Flames were their main Gods, but not all of the Freehold worshipped them. R’hllor, Mother Rhoyne, and others were all worshipped by various sects. But one religion that was not welcome was the Faith of the Seven, for the Seven disdained all other religions completely. In attempting to solidify his rule more quickly, Aegon the Conqueror publicly forsook the gods that had saved his family. In private, he still worshipped them, but the Targaryens gradually converted to the Seven in truth. And in doing so, they lost the last of the divine blessings granted to them by the Fourteen Flames. The dragons were the only things keeping the magic alive, and when they died, the magic did too. Even the knowledge of how to hatch eggs was lost.”

“Great!” Robb said, almost hysterically, “We have to fight wars against not only men but the gods themselves. Just fucking wonderful!”

“I’m not looking to bury them in a hole.” Daemon laughed, “Merely to knock them off of their pedestals. Religious freedom is what I will espouse. Those who wish to worship the Seven will have leave to. What I will not accept is a crown put on my head by a Septon.” He growled, “Any man or woman will be free to worship whatever god they wish. No longer will we have to pay lip service to gods we do not believe in.”

“Good.” Sansa said, “That will smooth out some ruffled feathers.” She turned serious, “Do not make the mistake of thinking it will be easy. You will likely be plagued by uprisings of the Faith for your entire reign. But at the very least, you will be able to present yourself as the tolerant one and the Faith as the intolerant.” They all looked at her with surprise, and she flushed, “I said I was done being the perfect lady!” She huffed. “I’m a slow learner, it’s true. But I learn.”

Daemon chuckled, and squeezed her tighter in his one-armed hug. Robb asked, “You never answered father. Why? Why you? And why now?”

Daemon sighed, “Those are the big questions, I guess. Why me? It is because I am the Song of Ice and Fire.” He said, “The first person ever to be born with both the Blood of Old Valyria, of the Dragonlords, AND of the Kings of Winter. The Starks descend from the Warg King. We have powerful magic of our own. Each of you have had dreams of your Direwolves, right? Where you are them? And then you wake up after a hunt, and taste the blood in your mouths.”

Robb and Arya agreed, while Sansa flinched, tearing up, “Yes, before… before Lady died.” She held back a sob.

“Gods, you’re all Wargs.” Ned gasped out, “Why did none of you say anything to me?”

Robb grimaced, “We thought they were just weird dreams, if they were anything like me.”

“They weren’t.” Daemon said, “You’ll be able to see through their eyes and even control their bodies. With training, you could take over other animals too. Falcons, eagles. And more loyal companions, you’d never find. And that’s just the beginning. The First Men also had Greenseers, and because I also have the blood of Old Valyria, I’m not limited to events that happened near Weirwood Trees the way you would be if you had the gift. It’s a lot more difficult for me especially if I don’t know what I’m searching for, but I know many secrets because I can peer into the past. The Flames helped guide my sight in a few cases. It was how I knew Littlefinger was the one who tried to set you against the Lannisters.”

“Why did he do that?” Arya asked, “You mentioned that before, but I didn’t really think much of it. I just always thought he was kind of sleezy.”

“Because he wants to fuck your mother.” Daemon said, and smirked again when they all yelled in affront. “I’m not joking. He wanted to marry your mother when they were younger. She’s the only woman he ever loved. He wanted to eventually find himself on the Iron Throne with your mother as his Queen, and he couldn’t do that with Uncle Ned still alive. He’s one of the most manipulative cunts in the world.”

“Brandon should have cut him in half.” Ned growled out, his face red with fury.

“Yes, he should have.” Daemon said, “And he’s even creepier than that. Once he saw Sansa for the first time he decided that since Catelyn was sullied goods, he’d take the daughter instead.”

Sansa dry heaved, “Keep me AWAY from him! Gods, I can’t believe I let him talk to me!”

“I’ll fucking kill him.” Robb growled like Grey Wind.

“There’s a line, and hopefully I already got him.” Daemon replied, “In any case, we keep getting sidetracked. I’ll be blunt, even my blood wasn’t the reason the Flames chose to give the world a second chance through me. The Gods, no matter how much the Faith and R’hllor and all the others like to talk, are not omniscient nor are they omnipotent. They can make mistakes just like everyone else, and their mistakes are deadly. In wiping out the Freehold, they weakened the power of Summer and Light. And because of that, Winter started to wake up.”

Ned and Robb curdled, “Wait… you… you’re not.” Ned shook his head in disbelief. Arya got it a second later and gasped, paling drastically.

“Yes.” Daemon eyed them with dread, “I am.”

“The deserters.” Robb leapt to his feet and started to pace, “More in the last year than in the past ten! All of them stark, raving mad. Oh Gods…”

“They weren’t lying.” Daemon said grimly.

“What are you talking about?” Sansa finally yelled.

“The Others walk again.” Daemon said ominously.

Sansa let out a laugh, but quickly stopped when it was clear no one else was, “Gods, you’re- you’re not serious, are you?”

Daemon turned to her, “We didn’t build a seven hundred foot tall, three hundred league wide wall made of ice to keep Wildlings out of our lands.” Sansa curdled, “Four Hundred Years ago, the Fourteen Flames destroyed Old Valyria, and the Great Other started to awaken. For four hundred years, the Others have been regaining their strength. The Lands of Always Winter have been expanding. And now, after eight thousand years, the Great Other is awake once more. Winter is Coming.” He said, “And it will be the darkest and coldest in generations.”

Arya swallowed, “…Got anymore dragons?”

“At the moment, no.” Daemon said… before he smirked, “But that could change. And my aunt will be hatching three soon enough.”

“What good does that do, though? We’d still only have two riders…” Robb grumbled. Daemon’s smirk widened, “…We’d still have only two riders, right?”

“Legend states that Valyrian Dragonlords gained their mounts by breeding with the beasts.” All of them blanched, “Ridiculous, of course. Just insults from their enemies.” Daemon said, “I know the old ways. I can make more riders.”

“How?” Arya asked gleefully, “I want to ride one!”

‘Gods preserve me.’ Ned clapped a hand to his face, ‘Just what I bloody needed.’

“Well, you’d have to marry me, little wolf.” Daemon was back to be amused.

“Ew!” Arya’s face scrunched up, “You’re my brother!”

“Cousin, technically.” Daemon replied, “But you’re right, you’re my sister. And even if you weren’t, you’re too young anyway.” He chuckled. “No dragon for you!”

“Arse!” She kicked his shin, making him laugh and wince at the same time.

Still chuckling, he explained, “It’s a ritual performed in the style of a Valyrian wedding, binding our souls together for eternity, and sharing my dragonblood with you. And you’d have to share on top of it, seeing as how I am bound by my Gods to bring more dragon riders around. Ergo…” He trailed off leadingly.

“Arse!” She repeated, sitting down with a pout.

“Oh, mother is going to hate you even more.” Robb chortled, “Looking to take up all the eligible ladies, are we?” He and his brother shared a chuckle, knowing how true that was.

Ned sighed, relieved that particular situation had resolved itself, “Alright, when you destroyed the Sept, you said your targets were Joffrey, Cersei, Pycelle, Varys, and Littlefinger.” He rubbed his beard, “Joffrey, Cersei, and Littlefinger are obvious. Or at least obvious now. What I can’t understand is why the doddering old man and Varys? Varys tried to help me many times while I was Hand. He was even the one who convinced me to confess in order to save Sansa.”

“Pycelle is not a doddering old man.” Daemon replied, looking at him like he was an idiot, “You were fooled by his act? Seriously? Uncle please.” Ned reddened, “Pycelle is Tywin Lannister’s man, through and through. He was the one who convinced Aerys to allow Tywin in to sack the city. As for Varys… he’s responsible for more suffering than many others. He’s a master of the Game of Thrones.” Daemon crossed his right leg over his left, “Varys always likes to claim he serves the realm, does he not? Yet he is not a Westerosi man. He was brought here from Essos, and since that moment, he’s been whispering poison in the right ears. For a man who claims to have only the best interests of the realms in mind, he certainly doesn’t prove that out in action. For example, he was the one who warned Aerys to go to Harrenhal. Why? The entire realm was convinced Rhaegar was a good man and would be a good King, just as the entire realm knew Aerys was awful and getting worse with each passing day. Why would he do that? Why prevent the Prince from putting his plans into action?”

Robb swallowed and turned to Ned, “Father, what exactly happened in King’s Landing to get you arrested? With all the excitement over Jon and his dragon, I don’t think anyone actually asked.”

“Yes.” Sansa said, “And… I’m so sorry father. I was a fool and I… You just told us to pack up and that we were leaving! I thought you were ruining everything! What happened?!”

“Sansa!” Robb growled like Grey Wind, “Did you-” He stopped as Sansa flinched, looking down at the ground again.

Ned sighed, “I should have told you. It would have made things easier. You would have actually listened.” Sansa flinched again, “You’re already kicking yourself over it, so I won’t add any punishment on top. But daughter, please, you have to learn to trust us to know what’s best.”

“I do!” Sansa protested, looking at him with wet eyes, “Or I do now, at least.”

“Good. You’re nearly a woman grown, yes, but clearly we did not do a good job with your education if your head was so high in the clouds Daemon would get jealous.” Arya and Robb cracked grins and Sansa pouted, but nodded in agreement, “You’ve seen six and ten namedays at this point. I’ve seen six and thirty. Some things can only come through life experience, and you haven’t had nearly enough of it. Your actions could have gotten all of us killed. You can’t let that happen again.”

Sansa nodded, “I won’t!” Sansa said, “I… you all tried to warn me, and even Arya could see it! I was… I just wasn’t interested in seeing it. Maybe if I had been…”

“Maybes are useless.” Daemon said swiftly, “What you have to do now is move forward, and be better. ”

“I will!” She wilted, “…Though…I’ll need help.”

“You have us, stupid.” Arya kneeled and kissed her cheek.

Sansa laughed and embraced her sister, “Never thought I’d say this, but I should have been more like you, sister. I would have seen Joffrey for the monster he is if I had…” They all smiled wanly, “Though you haven’t answered us yet father. What happened?”

Ned let out a groan, “Trust me, daughter, you weren’t the only fool. I discovered that the three Royal Children are all bastards.” All except Daemon gasped, “Cersei lay with her own brother. All three of her children belong to the Kingslayer. Her twin.”

“Gods, I’m going to be sick.” Sansa was indeed green. “No wonder he was a monster inside! Even the Targaryens didn’t do brother-sister that often, and the one time they did twins there were no children involved!”

“Just so…” Ned said, “And I was so concerned for their safety from Robert that I warned Cersei and told her to escape with her children so Robert wouldn’t kill all of them.”

“Fatherrrr!” Robb and Arya groaned.

“What they said.” Daemon said idly, “You should have just kidnapped the younger two and gotten them to safety. You gave away your entire advantage by letting Cersei know ahead of time. You’re smarter than that, uncle. You kept me secret for years. Did I take your intelligence with me when I vanished?”

Ned grumbled, unable to refute his words. Sansa was shaking her head, “Gods, why didn’t you just tell us?! You could have written it down for us to read and then burn!”

“It’s all moot.” Robb said, shaking his head, “But I see what Jon is getting at. How in the hells did Varys not know this?”

“Oh, he did.” Daemon said carelessly, “He knew from the moment Joffrey popped out of Cersei’s cunt with blonde hair. But it wasn’t time to put his plans into action, and so he waited.”

“Why? What plans?” Ned growled, “He was one of the only allies I actually had in that cesspit. Has he been playing me this entire time?”

“Tell me…” Daemon leaned forward, “What is Varys’ family name?”

“His… last name?” Ned frowned, “I have no idea. No one does. I wasn’t even aware he had a family name.”

“His family name…” Daemon’s eyes glinted, “Is Blackfyre.”

“Seven Hells!” Robb ran his fingers through his hair as Ned stared at his nephew in complete and utter disbelief, “This entire time he’s been trying to sit on the throne himself?”

“Not him.” Daemon said, “This one was more of a vision than anything. All I know about that plan is that we must ‘Beware the Mummer’s Dragon.’ I think he has a nephew, or a niece hidden somewhere, who I assume he will eventually try to pass off as a Targaryen.”

Sansa put her face in her hands, “I hate the South.” She dragged her hands down her face, “I hate the South and I hate mother and Septa Mordane for lying to me about it all these years!” She hissed out. Arya couldn’t help it. She started to giggle. Sansa looked at her in betrayal, and that got Daemon and Robb to snort as well. “It’s not funny!”

“You’re right, little sister. It’s hilarious.” Robb started to cackle and even Ned looked away to hide his amusement.

Once it died down a few minutes later, Ned asked the question he had been rather dreading since Daemon’s announcement in the great hall. “Who sent my brother to his death?” Every inch of amusement died as Daemon sighed.

“Are you sure you want to know the answer to that question?” He asked, “Because nothing will ever be the same if I tell you.”

Ned’s gaze hardened, “Should the children be here for this?” Sansa and Arya immediately protested leaving. Robb said nothing, but he was practically Lord Stark himself at the moment, so he knew his father wouldn’t try.

“It’ll affect them too. Plus, Arya will pester me until I tell her anyway.” Daemon replied, which was definitely true.

“Who?” Ned asked, his tone hard.

“It was a multi-layered conspiracy.” Daemon sat forward in his seat, “Everyone from perceived allies playing their own games to the fucking Maesters were involved.”

“What?!” All of them sounded aghast. “The Maesters? Why?!” Arya sounded horrified, “There’s no way Maester Luwin could be involved in something like that!”

“Maester Luwin…” Daemon said, “Has a Valyrian Steel link in his chain, and therefore was likely not involved in the plots.”

Ned sucked in a hard breath, “Maester Luwin does… but Maester Walys did not.”

“How strange…” Daemon said, “That after decades of being insular even after the Conquest, the Starks suddenly gained Southern ambitions. Sending sons to the Vale, betrothals to the Riverlands and Stormlands…” He looked at Ned whose face was currently carved from granite, “Almost makes one wonder, doesn’t it?”

Ned opened his mouth, allowed a choked sound to come out, and then growled, “My mother?”

“The only one your father listened to, wasn’t she?” Daemon looked at him sadly, “And she didn’t want anything to do with the South, did she? Such a shame disease took her.”

Ned let out an inarticulate sound of rage and both Robb and Daemon had to grab onto the side table to keep their father/uncle from lifting it over his head and throwing it across the room. Ned finally let go and started to pace around the room like a caged wolf, his fists clenching and unclenching. Sansa and Arya had never seen their father like this, and were even a little frightened. Even the pain in his leg was forgotten in his fury. He finally threw himself back into his seat, “WHY?!”

Daemon sighed, “Why do men do anything? For power. For control. For their own personal satisfaction. Any number of reasons. But your family wasn’t the only ones they fucked over. Did you not think it odd just how many stillbirths and miscarriages plagued House Targaryen? You don’t have to look any further than Aemma Arryn. How dragons grew smaller and smaller and more and more sickly until the last ones died? That is the ultimate Grand Conspiracy of the Maesters of Hightower. They. Despise. Magic.” He said, “And have been working towards its complete eradication ever since Aegon I Targaryen put his boot on Westeros’s throat. They couldn’t be overt, of course, and it isn’t the entire order, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. They control all knowledge in Westeros. They are the teachers, the ones who write the history, and the ones who safeguard it. That’s entirely too much power for a single group of individuals. And so, as the institution became more and more corrupt, they decided they wanted to write history instead of just writing it down.”

“Seven Hells!” Robb had his hair fisted and both Arya and Sansa looked distraught.

“And that’s not even the worst of it.” Daemon shook his head, “The Citadel is based right out of Oldtown. Remind me again what other famous landmark happens to be located there?”

“The Starry Sept.” Sansa said immediately, paling, “Are you telling us…”

“That Maester Walys was a devout man of the Faith brought into Winterfell to try to civilize the savages?” Daemon interrupted her, looking carelessly at his nails. “I couldn’t possibly be claiming that. Uncle, do unclench your jaw before you shatter your teeth.” He threw at Ned, who was a color none of his children had ever seen before.

“Here, father.” Robb handed Ned a mug of ale. Ned drank it down so quickly none of them were even sure if he swallowed or just let the whole mug-full flow down his throat unimpeded. “That can’t be all of it. What else?” He asked once Ned was breathing heavily.

“What else?” Daemon repeated, “Well, it’s like I said: there were many groups playing their own games. That entire era of this country was a melting pot. You had the Maesters trying to destroy House Targaryen, you had secret Blackfyre Varys, you had Aerys being Aerys, and you had High Lords doing their usual horseshit of trying to elevate their families at the expense of all others. Walys convinced your father that tying the Starks to the Tullys and the Baratheons was the right move, and Rickard Stark moved to make those betrothals happen, first with your fostering with Jon Arryn, and then with Brandon’s betrothal with Catelyn Tully and my mother’s with Robert.”

“Yes, all ancient and well-known history.” Ned, still furious, growled out, “That still doesn’t tell me who was responsible for the lies told to my brother!”

Daemon looked at him sadly, “Uncle… if you were a Lord Paramount, which Stark would you prefer to be your daughter’s husband? Brandon, who already had taken a few ladies’ maidenheads and potentially had bastards on the way… or shy, honorable little Ned? Who would listen more readily to their wife? Who would be easier to establish a small measure of control over?”

Ned transcended the emotion of anger and wrapped right around to being calm. So calm, in fact, that the temperature around him appeared to fall.

“NO!” Robb, Arya, and Sansa sounded horrified, “No, you can’t be serious! There’s no way grandfather would-”

“Men are cruel.” Daemon said softly, “And he wasn’t the Stark’s family. Yet. He didn’t plan it out, no. He couldn’t possibly have predicted what would have happened. But when the opportunity dropped into his lap? Well, what’s a couple of burnt letters?”

Sansa started to cry, “No, that can’t be true! Why would he?!”

“Don’t you remember, Sansa? How your mother treated me before I left?” Daemon asked her softly, “Who do you think she learned that from?” All three of his cousins were ashen and Ned still had yet to make a single noise. “Your mother wasn’t in on it, for the record. She didn’t have to be, nor would Hoster trust a woman to follow the plan.” His voice grew increasingly snide, “But the results? He couldn’t have planned it better, and all your mother had to do was be herself. After all, what now sits in the North? A Sept. Which Gods were the heirs of the savage North introduced to and raised with at least in part? The Seven. Who teaches their daughters? A Septa. The Tullys did what no one in six thousand years could do: they managed to establish a foothold for their fucking cunt Gods in the heart of the North. How furious do you think uncle’s bannermen were at that?” He stared at his uncle who was back to clenching his jaw in rage, “Do you think your brother would have allowed a Sept, even a small one, to be built in Winterfell?”

No. Absolutely fucking not. Brandon would have laughed at even the idea. But Ned had. Because he was so tired of fighting that he didn’t wish his own home and marriage bed to be a battleground. Because he had brought a ‘bastard’ home and didn’t wish to make his lady wife even more uncomfortable. “I’m going to kill him.” Ned’s voice was so cold that Arya, Sansa, and Robb all paled and shivered.

“What’s the point?” Daemon shot back, shaking his head.

“What’s the point? WHAT’S THE POINT?!” Ned roared, standing up, “He-”

“Already won.” Daemon said sharply, “He’s an old man in poor health. He doesn’t have long left anyway. He probably wouldn’t even last long enough for you to confront him if you went in yelling.”

Ned’s growl sounded like a Direwolf, “But he-”

“And he and he alone made the decision.” Daemon said, “No one else. He was the only one involved. Even his brother never knew what he did.” He sighed, “I told you that you didn’t want to know.” He said sadly.

Ned led out a howl of rage.

-]|[-

A few weeks had passed as the dust settled on the events of King’s Landing. The realm had taken some time to recollect itself, and muster their strengths. In King’s Landing, news had trickled out slowly. Daemon had been pretty annoyed to realize that he only had managed to kill Pycelle. They had wasted no time in decrying the Starks as usurpers, though had wisely kept any news of the dragon as muted as possible. It would get out, they knew, but any delay at all meant more time to gather unwitting allies to fight with them. They had demanded that the Lords swear fealty to Joffrey. Cersei, proving herself a fool, had also started to target Robert’s bastards, killing babes in their mother’s arms.

Ned had wasted no time in declaring Daemon the true heir to the throne. He had sent out ravens to all corners of the realm, declaring his words before the Sept of Baelor to have been lies forced out of him by monsters holding his daughter hostage. He decried Joffrey and his siblings as bastards born of incest, and then revealed the truth of the ‘one stain on his cloak.’ That his son Jon Snow was in truth the son of his sister Lyanna Stark and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, and that he was also the first dragon rider in centuries.

By this point, however, others had already put their own schemes in motion. One of the reasons Ned had been captured by the Lannisters in the first place was that Renly Baratheon had fled rather than standing with him. Renly, arrogant over the fact that Robert had named him Lord Paramount of the Stormlands over his older brother Stannis, had taken that to mean that Robert would have supported him as King over Stannis as well. With the aid of his lover Loras Tyrell, he had gathered a hundred thousand men between the Stormlands and the Reach and declared himself King. The Tyrells became very nervous when they received Ned’s raven too late to change course.

Stannis, furious over his younger brother’s and Lord Stark’s treachery, had nonetheless supported Ned’s claim that Cersei’s children were bastards. He had declared himself Robert’s true heir and demanded that the ‘Targaryen pretender’ and his younger brother kneel.

Westeros had become a pot about to boil over, just waiting for war to break out in full. It was time for Daemon to begin to move again. “Robb,” He looked at his brother, who had just been given Ice by his father, as Ned was still too injured to be Lord Stark. He had abdicated to his son, crushing him in a hug and telling him how proud he was, “I leave for The Reach. With any luck, I will be coming with the might of the Tyrells and their bannermen. You’ve already broken half of Tywin’s host, and he will be jittery and rash with Jaime Lannister in our grasp. Keep him secure.”

“Why aren’t we just using your dragon to gut the cunts?” Smalljon Umber grunted.

“Waste of manpower.” Daemon said, “The Wall could always use more hands.” He smirked, and Greatjon barked out a laugh of his own. “I mean to trap them at Harrenhal and force their surrender. Just don’t be hasty and lose men. It’s unnecessary. Especially since taking King’s Landing will be the more difficult trial anyway.” He grimaced, “I spoke with Jaime Lannister. According to him, the reason he stabbed Aerys was because the mad cunt had Wildfire jugs everywhere in the fucking city and was telling his Pyromancers to set it all off.” Stunned silence and disbelief were the only things that met his words. Ned looked flabbergasted. “Seeing as how the Sept of Baelor erupted in a green fireball and scared the shit out of all of us after I destroyed it, I’m inclined to believe him. Apparently no one ever did anything about it!”

“Seven fucking Hells.” Robb grimaced, “I’m guessing that Ancalagon will not get much of a fight when we take the capital.”

“Likely not.” Daemon replied, “We’ll need as many men as we can get. I can get us through the walls easily enough, but without knowing where those fucking caches are or how much fucking Pyromancer’s Piss there is lying around, we can’t risk it.” Honestly, just the thought of the disaster in potentia laying beneath King’s Landing had him wondering if he should just move the fucking capital elsewhere. “We could end up burning the entire city to fucking ash. Don’t exhaust the men and don’t waste them if you don’t have to. Is that understood?” A roar rose up from the assembled lords.

“Good.” He nodded, before turning to his uncle, “Uncle, good luck at the Wall.”

“What?!” Catelyn gasped, aghast. She looked bad. Her face was incredibly swollen, and her eyes were still red. She looked haggard. “Ned, you’re taking the Black?!”

“No.” Ned said, still looking at her with much more coldness than he ever had. “Our King has given me a mission. I will not be taking the Black, but I will be heading to the Wall after making a stop in Winterfell. With any luck, by the time I actually get there, the remedies Daemon gave me will have me in fighting condition again.” He patted Brightroar – and oh, how he and his family had laughed at the fact that the ancient Lannister heirloom was now in better hands. All it had needed was some new adornments, though he’d had to settle for merely changing the pommel for now. – which was hung by his side.

“What’s this mission, Ned?” Lord Karstark asked him.

Ned shook his head, “For now, I will be keeping that close to the chest as directed by our King.” He knew full well that there would be a revolt right then and there if he revealed what he was to do without the proof they needed. There was some grumbling, but they accepted it.

“On your way back, you will leave a small garrison at Moat Cailin in case the iron cunts start to get any funny ideas.” Daemon told him.

Theon grumbled, “I still say-”

“Uncle might have raised you as a ward, but do not forget you are a hostage, squid.” Daemon cut him off flatly, just barely able to keep from rolling his eyes. “What good is a fucking hostage if we hand you back to your father?” Theon’s fists clenched. He turned to Catelyn, “And you, Lady Stark,”

Her jaw clenched, “Your Grace.” She said, her tone stiff.

He bit back a smile and merely glared at her coldly, knowing how much it burned her to be polite to him, “You will return to Winterfell and stay there. You’ve made enough fool mistakes this year already, starting with you capturing Tyrion Lannister while your husband and both your daughters were surrounded by enemies.”

Her jaw clenched even harder, “Yes, your Grace.” Her face was starting to redden.

“And when you pass the Twins, inform the Late Lord Walder that the betrothals are canceled by order of the King. You had no right to arrange such weak marriages for crossing a fucking bridge, and he had no right to demand it. He will allow our army passage with tolls of gold only. If he disagrees, inform him that I will be happy to allow him to discuss it with Ancalagon.” He smirked slightly as he saw the relief on Robb and Arya’s faces. He noticed the rage that appeared on Black Walder Frey’s face at his words. “Is there a problem, Black Walder?”

Face as red as Catelyn’s, Black Walder ground out, “No, your Grace.”

“Good.” He turned to Sansa, “Help Bran with Winterfell, Sansa. It’ll be a good experience for you.” He handed her a letter, and a Valyrian Steel dagger, “Keep that with you at all times, and give that letter to Ser Rodrik. He’ll teach you what you need to know.”

“Thank you, Daemon.” Sansa smiled at him. She didn’t look at her mother, who she knew was going to be approaching puce.

“Arya, let’s go.” Daemon said, and Arya gleefully raced to him.

“What?!” Catelyn sounded aghast, “Arya, what do you think you’re doing?!”

Arya turned and smirked at her mother, “I’m Daemon’s squire now.” She opened her cloak, revealing that she had been hiding a new Needle beneath it, along with her own leathers and armor.

“No, I forbid it! You get back here, young lady!” Catelyn snarled, and grew even angrier when Arya merely turned away and accepted a helm from Daemon.

“Your constant attempts to turn a Direwolf into a puppy with a nice bow were amusing, Lady Stark.” Daemon said flatly, “But wore out their welcome long ago. She’s never going to be what you want, and the more you push the further you push her away. Stick to running a household. It’s what you’re good at.”

“Ned! Do something!” She whirled to her husband, and flinched when he gave her another cold stare.

Ned turned back to the two, “Keep her safe.” He said simply.

“Of course.” Daemon said, and then he wrapped Arya up in a hug and grabbed onto Ancalagon’s chain, his dragon having inclined its head over the castle walls. Arya squealed in glee as they landed on his dragon’s back, and then they were off into the night.

-]|[-

Gendry was inside an abandoned holdfast with the other Night’s Watch recruits, sighing. The Gold Cloaks were after him, and had already been turned away by Yoren once. He had no idea what he had done for the Queen to want his head, but he couldn’t sleep because of it. He was afraid of who would be coming next. Those Gold Cloaks wouldn’t be back with a small number of men.

And then the horns sounded, and Gendry grimaced, taking to his feet immediately. He grabbed a warhammer and his bull helmet, readying himself for a battle. Yoren glared at him, “Get that off your head! It’s how they know you! You run North if it becomes clear we’re going to be overrun, do you hear me? I’m not going to let these cunts kill a boy who has committed no crimes.”

Gendry grimaced, but went and hid in the bushes along with a few others as Yoren confronted Ser Amory Lorch, “Where’s the bastard, Crow?”

“There’s more than a few bastards here!” He marched forward, “Who’s asking?”

“Amory Lorch, sworn bannerman to Lord Tywin Lannister. These men from the capital requested our assistance. Drop your weapons in the name of the King.”

“And which King would that be?” Yoren glared at him.

“This is your last chance.” Lorch replied, “In the name of King Joffrey, drop your wea-”

CRACK

They all flinched at the sound, before everyone fell over from a quaking of the earth. Lorch’s horse reared up and threw the rider from its back before falling over itself with a terrified neigh. “Gods be good…” Yoren let out a sigh, though he was unsure what kind of luck he considered himself to have with meeting this particular beast twice.

One of the Gold Cloaks fired his crossbow in terror at the beast. The bolt hit Ancalagon in the face and plinked off. The dragon turned to him with a face that was almost saying, ‘really?’ The man pissed himself.

And then Ancalagon snapped forward and bit him in half, crunching through his armor like it was wet fabric. Yoren let out a chuckle after a spray of blood hit him in the face, “In the name of the fucking dragon, I suggest you lay down your weapons.” The Gold Cloaks and Lorch all threw their weapons down in terror as Daemon made his way down.

“You, I know you!” Arya gasped, “You’re the one that tried to keep me safe in King’s Landing.”

Yoren smiled, “Aye, that’s me. Looks like you’ve had quite the adventure, little wolf.”

Daemon chuckled, before looking at Yoren, “You’re a brother of the Night’s Watch. What’s going on here?”

“We were traveling, my lord. Back to the Wall with fresh recruits.” Yoren explained, “The Gold Cloaks have come upon us twice now, looking for one of the recruits at the order of the Queen.”

“His Grace.” Arya said, and Yoren looked at her with a raised eyebrow, “You should refer to him as ‘his Grace.’ He is the King, after all.”

“My apologies, your Grace.” Yoren bowed his head.

“No matter.” Daemon replied, before turning to Lorch, “You’re the leader here. Who are you and why are you here?”

Lorch trembled before the unforgiving gaze of that dragon helmet, “The Queen ordered us to capture a bastard named Gendry, y-your Grace.”

“I see.” Daemon said, “And you are?”

“Ser Amory Lorch.” Yoren provided helpfully.

“Amory. Lorch.” Daemon’s head snapped to Yoren, before focusing on Lorch again, “Is this true?”

“Y-yes, your Grace.” Lorch let out a whimper.

“I see.” Daemon reached up and removed his helmet, making Yoren’s eyes widen as he recognized that Daemon was a Stark. He handed it to Arya before walking forward, “Tell me, Ser Amory, do you know who I am?”

“N-n-no, your Grace.”

“I…” Daemon said softly, “Am Daemon Targaryen.” Lorch started to sweat heavily as a chill infused his body, “Son of Lyanna Stark and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.” Lorch started to hyperventilate. “And I know you, Ser Amory.”

“P-p-please, I-I-I was j-j-just following or-or-orders!” Lorch stammered, admitting his guilt right from the start.

“You killed my sister Rhaenys Targaryen.” Daemon took another step.

“Please!” Lorch begged as he scampered back without getting off the ground, “I-It was Lord Tywin! H-he ordered the whole thing!”

“I see. And who else was involved?” Daemon asked.

“The Mountain! He ordered it of me and the Mountain!” Lorch sold the two men out with desperation in his voice, “Please, mercy, my King! I’ll take the Black! I’ll take the Black!”

“Very well.” Daemon smiled, and Lorch let out a sigh of relief. “You can take the Black.” And then with a speed that had everyone else in the holdfast blinking in shock, Daemon had buried his blade into Lorch’s thigh. Lorch screamed to high heavens, pleading for mercy, “You stabbed my sister fifty times. A beautiful, cheerful young girl of three namedays whose only friend in the world was her kitty Balerion.” Daemon growled out, “So I will allow you to take the Black, Ser Amory Lorch. You can take the Black if you survive.” He pulled his blade out, and then jammed it in Lorch’s other thigh as the man writhed, “You stabbed my sister fifty times. I think a hundred is a good number myself. Three.”

And Amory Lorch screamed.

…

Arya was unsettled as she watched her brother brutalize the man. She never would have expected something like this from her Jon. But hearing the truth of what the man had done, she also couldn’t help but feel a deep-seated sense of satisfaction. This was justice. Justice for a cruel man who had harmed a young girl. A cousin Arya would have loved to know. And it was cruelty in turn. Jon purposefully evaded any vital organs or arteries. Valyrian Steel was light enough, sharp enough, and precise enough for that. Lorch felt every single one.

In the end, Lorch was left delirious from the pain long before Daemon reached a hundred, and so Arya dutifully gave him the smelling salts to wake him back up. When Daemon reached ninety-eight, Lorch was begging for death, “Kill you? I thought you wished to take the Black, Ser Amory?”

“P-Please, just kill me…” He begged, his body and mouth full of blood.

“I could keep you alive.” Daemon replied, “It just occurs to me that the Dornish haven’t gotten their chance at stabbing you a hundred times yet.” Lorch started to sob, “Luckily for you, I have neither the time for that nor the ability to guarantee none of those wounds will fester long enough to get you to Prince Oberyn’s tender embrace. He will have to settle for your head and the Mountain. Ninety-nine.” He stabbed Lorch in the right lung and then twisted the blade. “One hundred.” He declared coldly, stabbing his other lung, and then watching as Lorch drowned in his own blood.

He cleaned his sword and sheathed it, while everyone else stared, incredibly unnerved. He looked at Yoren, “Where is this Gendry? I wish to meet him.”

“H-here, your Grace.” Gendry gave himself up, knowing that with a dragon involved, he probably wouldn’t even get the chance to die tired. He walked forward even as Yoren panicked a bit after that display of brutality and stood stiffly before Daemon.

Daemon stepped forward and examined him, before he started to chuckle, “Oh, that dumb bitch.” He started to laugh.

“What is it, Jon?” Arya was the only one still calling him by his old name.

“I see why the cunt Queen was after you, Gendry.” Daemon looked amused, “You’re Robert Baratheon’s bastard.”

Gendry blinked, before it felt like all of his breath was leaving him, “W-What?”

“You are Robert Baratheon’s bastard.” Daemon repeated, chuckling once more, “And you look far more like your father than any of her children. She wanted to eliminate the evidence.”

“You-you can’t be serious.” Gendry raised his voice, “I’m just-”

“I am. Dumb bitch admitted her guilt to the whole realm in killing all of Robert’s real children.” Daemon said, “Have you committed any crimes?”

“No, your Grace.” Gendry focused on that, “I’m just a blacksmith.”

“Have any of your work?” Daemon asked, and Gendry grabbed his bull helmet and showed it to the King. “Damn good work.” Daemon smirked, “A man who’s committed no crimes has no reason to go to the Watch. I have a much better use for a blacksmith of your skill.” He turned to Yoren, “Thank you for protecting my sister back in King’s Landing.”

“Of course.” Yoren said softly, still unsure if Daemon would hurt Gendry.

“And don’t worry. Before this war is over, I’ll be sending you many replacements for Gendry here.” Daemon promised, “The Watch will be stronger now than it’s been in hundreds of years.”

Yoren finally smiled, “I’m glad to hear it, your Grace.”

Daemon turned away, “Come along, Gendry.”

Gendry simply stared at the King as he walked back to the dragon. “Y-Your Grace, I-”

“Will be my new blacksmith.” Daemon declared, turning to the Waters, “And the first I’ll teach the secrets of Valyrian Steel to.”

“I can already reforge it.” Gendry said, “Master Mott taught me how.”

“Parlor tricks.” Daemon waved it off, “I know how to make new Valyrian steel.”

“But it was lost!” Gendry’s jaw dropped.

“No longer.” Daemon’s smirk lit the night up. Gendry rushed after him.

-]|[-

“Go Loras! For Highgarden!” Margaery had always enjoyed tourneys. Watching some of the beautiful men of The Reach fight had always been a scintillating experience. She never wished to join them, no, but she had always enjoyed some pursuits that many believed a woman shouldn’t be allowed to experience.

And truthfully, tourneys would apparently be the only enjoyment she would be getting out of this marriage. Two weeks she’d been wedded and yet she’d yet to be bedded. It was… insulting. She didn’t consider herself vain, but she knew she was a beautiful woman. Any man should have been ecstatic to be married to her. And yet of all fucking men her father could have decided to sell her to, it was Renly fucking Baratheon, who was more interested in what was between Loras’s legs than hers. The boy King couldn’t even do his duty, and she now had fears that she would become the Whore of Highgarden, just as Rhaenyra Targaryen had become the Whore of Dragonstone centuries ago when her husband also couldn’t perform. At least there existed the possibility of her bedding an actual Baratheon if needed, seeing as Robert left presents in every corner of the realm. She hoped that wouldn’t be necessary though. Gods, it was bad enough she was considering asking Renly to just have Loras come fuck his arse in their bed so he could finish inside of her.

She refocused on the melee, allowing none of her thoughts to show on her pretty face. There were still dozens of competitors left, and it was hard keeping track of Loras with his armor getting dirtied and bloodied from his victories. So, it was quite a shock to her (all of them, rather) when a ROAR hit them almost like a physical force. Everyone flinched, with several knights dropping their weapons accidently. She was pretty sure her father fell out of his chair before scrambling to his feet. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped as a beast descended on them.

“FORM UP!” Loras, commander of Renly’s ‘Rainbow Guard,’ (gods, could he be any more obvious?) roared. “PROTECT THE KING!” But he was almost alone. Only a knight wearing bronzed armor was brave enough to step in front of Renly and Margaery.

It circled above them before dropping to the ground, and after she felt the quake, the only thought she could muster was, ‘Father, you fool. You’ve doomed us all.’ Though she supposed that her grandmother hadn’t believed the rumors either, so her father wasn’t entirely at fault. She wasn’t brave enough to even get out of her makeshift throne.

“My apologies.” Daemon said, and everyone in earshot could tell he was smirking despite the helmet. Arya was barely holding in her giggles watching all the grown men nearly piss themselves, “It appears I’ve missed the start of the melee. Your invite must have gotten lost, my Lord.” Despite herself, Margaery was almost disarmed by the quip and had to hold herself back from laughing.

Renly’s hands were visibly trembling, “Daemon Targaryen, I presume?” How he managed to keep the terror out of his voice was lost on his ‘wife.’

“First of my name, even.” Daemon responded, “Though I would prefer you refer to me as ‘your Grace.’”

Margaery sat back, now at least somewhat secure that he wasn’t out to hurt them unnecessarily. This was Renly’s first real test. If only she weren’t confident that Renly would fold like his cleaned smallclothes.

Renly’s jaw clenched. He had a hundred thousand men. He had the support. He had the popularity. The throne should be his. But against a dragon? A monster straight out of the legends? He’d seen Balerion’s skull many times. Seen Vhagar’s. He’d seen all of them. When he had received the missive from Eddard Stark, he had laughed along with Mace and Olenna Tyrell. He’d thought that if the beast existed, it would have been small like Sunfyre. Something that they could handle with powerful scorpions. How was it possible for one of the beasts to grow beyond the massive bulk of Balerion the Dread in only five years?

He stood shakily and reached up to his crown, a beautiful jade stag surrounded by a golden wreath of roses. He took it off of his head and laid it on Margaery’s lap, before falling to one knee. Immediately, the Lords and knights of The Reach fell to their knees as well. Memories were long, and The Reach well remembered the Field of Fire.

“Good man.” Daemon commented, “You may stand.”

Margaery let out a sigh. All the sacrifice and politicking, and Renly lost his crown without even a battle. And she was stuck married to him unless she wished to sully his reputation. She was ruthless enough to do it, even if she would feel bad about it. Her hesitance was more in regard to ruining Loras’s reputation than her ‘King’s.’

Daemon, Arya, and Gendry made their way down. Several of the Stormlords let out short cries of shock. Even Renly couldn’t help but gape for a moment. “My sister Arya, and this is Gendry.”

“Gods, it’s like I’m staring into the past. You look exactly like my brother did, years ago.” Renly said.

“Aye, his bastard. Now my blacksmith.” Daemon sounded amused as he took off his helmet and handed it to Arya. “The cunt Queen ordered him and all those like him killed. Last I heard, he was the only one of the ten bastards Robert had in King’s Landing who survived.”

“It’s true then.” Margaery grimaced, “The Queen’s children are bastards.”

“That they are, my lady.” Daemon replied, and took her hand before kissing her knuckles. Margaery couldn’t help the blush that rose on her cheeks nor the fluttering in her stomach.

“Your orders, your Grace?” Renly asked, his voice and countenance defeated.

Daemon refocused, “Let us speak in private. On the morrow, your men will march for Harrenhal.”

“Harrenhal?” Mace Tyrell huffed, “Why Harrenhal?”

“That’s where Lord Tywin is holed up.” Daemon replied, “I have an appointment with him, and I’d hate for him to miss it.”

Smiles rose up on several faces. Renly’s was not one, “Come, your Grace.” He waved him towards the command tent, “The rest of you, on your business!” He yelled, and the rest of them hurried off. “Will your dragon require anything to eat, your Grace?” He asked as they entered the tent.

“No. Ancalagon will hunt if he gets hungry.” Daemon replied, and accepted the piece of bread that Margaery offered.

She again spoke to Daemon, a charming smile on her face, “Your Grace, would it not be better to march on King’s Landing? With your dragon, taking the city should be easy.”

“You’d think so, but no.” It was Arya who answered, taking a sip of the wine and then putting it down with a pout at the look from her brother, “Presents courtesy of the Mad King.”

“What presents?” Mace Tyrell looked baffled.

“Wildfire.” Daemon replied, and Margaery felt like a bucket of ice had been dropped down her dress, “Honestly, I’m tempted to have the city abandoned and have Ancalagon burn it to the ground. According to Jaime Lannister there are probably tens of thousands of jugs buried everywhere throughout the city. Even the Red Keep itself.”

“Gods be good.” Renly looked pale, “They could have gone off at any point throughout the last eight and ten years! Why did Lannister never SAY anything?!”

“He tried.” Daemon replied, “No one believed him. Thought he was just making excuses regarding his kingslaying and oath breaking.” Renly no longer felt bad about losing his crown. This was someone else’s headache. “Now, I came for something other than your fealty.” He said, and looked at Margaery. Mace smiled slightly as his eyes lit up.

Renly growled, “Have you come to steal my wife, your Grace?” He asked testily.

“What use is a wife to a man who would prefer a husband, Lord Renly?” Daemon shot back, smirking lightly. Renly flinched and Mace’s jaw lowered slightly. He apparently had been the only man unaware of Renly’s prolectivities. “A wedding’s been had, but a bedding is another story, isn’t it?”

Renly’s face burned in humiliation.

“Do not worry. Under my regime, such actions will not be decried.” Daemon said, and everyone but Arya and Gendry gasped sharply, “I am not a follower of the Seven, nor will I pretend to be. I am not only the Lord Protector of the Realms, but also the High Priest of the Fourteen Flames. And my gods care not if you prefer getting buggered.” Renly and Loras had intrigued glints in their eyes, but Mace’s face had lost a fair bit of color. Unlike many High Lords, he was a true believer. This was blasphemy! He opened his mouth to protest, but Daemon ignored him, “And my Gods have tasked me with many things, the least of which is uniting the Realms.”

He turned to Margaery, “I will be blunt, my lady. Should you accept my offer, you will be a Queen, not the Queen.”

Margaery’s expression closed up, “Targaryens have been known to take multiple spouses in the past.” She said carefully, “But I assure you my king, I will be able to keep you happy on my own.”

“I forbid it!” Mace threw his own dragons in, “My daughter will not be-”

“I am speaking,” Daemon turned to him, “to Lady Margaery, my Lord Tyrell. Do not make the mistake of thinking you have any power here. Her marriage to Lord Renly happened after the letters from Eddard Stark had made their way through the realms, which means it and your crowning of him as King was treason.” Mace lost the last of the color in his face. “Do not compound it.”

Margaery was looking at him in surprise as he turned back to her, “My Lady, happiness has nothing to do with it. Come.” He held out his arm, “This tent is rather crowded. Let us talk in private.” Margaery bit her lip as she glanced at her reddening father, before taking a leap and his arm. “Lord Renly, Ser Loras, do keep my sister and blacksmith safe. We will return.” The two walked out of the tent, and she gasped as she realized he was leading her to Ancalagon.

“Y-your Grace-” She stammered as her heart started to flutter again.

“Daemon.” He smiled down at her.

“Daemon…” She breathed, “Are we?” He grasped her by the waist and pulled her close. She thought he was going to kiss her, and in that moment, she was absolutely not opposed.

She gasped again, unable to take her eyes off of his as he grasped a chain. “Tuck your head.” She did as he ordered, and squealed as the dragon flung them gently onto his saddle. He helped her get strapped in and she had an absolutely beaming smile on her face as Daemon commanded Ancalagon to fly.

Margaery knew it was unladylike. She knew she shouldn’t have been doing what she was. She couldn’t help it. She was squealing in glee. Her heart was racing, and her hair was being blown all over the place, but she didn’t care. “Gods, you’ve ruined me!” She laughed gaily. “Did you know…” She started coyly, “That I asked for a Dragon for my sixth nameday? I was quite put out when grandmother told me they were all gone.”

“Not just for the boys, huh?” Daemon laughed, “I remember playing in the yards with my brother. All of us wished to see one too. Even Sansa.” He chuckled, “Look at us now!” He spread his arms.

“Yes!” She could not remove the grin from her face. “We’re moving so fast!” She was on her knees and beaming as she held her arms out, feeling the wind rush past them.

Daemon let out a chuckle, “This isn’t fast.” Her eyes snapped to his, as wide as they’d go, “If we were really flying, we wouldn’t be able to hear each other at all!”

She laughed as she lay back against him, and gods did she smell good, “Are you sure you wouldn’t be satisfied with just me, Daemon?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“And like I said,” He lost his smile, “Happiness and satisfaction have nothing to do with it.” He sat facing her, and she realized it was about to be a serious talk again.

It made her pout. “Why should I accept?” She asked him, “Having several Queens is dangerous. Inheritance will be a mess.”

“Because you will not be Queen Margaery Targaryen.” He smiled as her expression became befuddled, “You will be Queen Margaery Tyrell, first of your name, and ruling beside me and your sister Queens in our Royal Council.”

“Wait.” She stared at him, wide-eyed, “Are you saying-”

“That you’d have just as much power as I would?” Daemon smirked lightly, “That’s right. I expect more from my wives than just royal wombs.”

“But why would you-” She cut herself off, “The Lords will never accept this! Why would you ever share power like that?”

“The Lords…” Daemon chuckled, “Can go fuck themselves.” She bit back an unladylike snort, “Absolute Monarchy is a failed system.” He said, “And the Valyrians had better thousands of years ago anyway.”

“Why do you say that? Absolute Monarchy has been in place for centuries.” She asked him, her eyes calculating as she stared at him.

“The father builds, the son spends, and the grandson destroys.” Daemon told her, “All it takes is one idiot for a King and you get Aerys Targaryen and a rebellion. Or you get Robert Baratheon, who literally spent the entire full-to-bursting treasury left behind by Aerys and now the Seven Kingdoms are six million bloody Dragons in the hole. Three just to the Iron Bank.” Margaery balked. She had known it was bad but not that bad! “How many better rulers could we have had if the best choice had ruled instead of the first choice? Or at the very least, if power had been shared between a tight-knit group of rulers who had the best interest of the Kingdoms in mind.”

She let him talk, but she couldn’t help but feel what he was saying. “Rhaenyra Targaryen.” She said softly. “Or even Rhaenys. Crowns stolen simply because they didn’t have cocks.” She was getting excited, but allowed none of it to show on her face.

“Exactly.” He took her hands in his, and she blushed, “That’s what I intend. Power over the Seven Kingdoms will be ours, in a Grand Council ruled by me and my Queens. When our time comes, we will select our own successors from our children. The most capable of them rather than just the first one with a cock. We’d keep the power where it needs to be, but spread it out enough that one man can’t burn the entire kingdom down. It would also tie more houses to the crown.”

“It will take work.” She said, looking away at the clouds, “A lot of work. And it also means that your queens have to get along with each other and not just you.” She looked back at him, “Any jealousy which leads to plotting and the whole thing could collapse.”

“Polygamous marriages were the norm in Valyria. There’s a reason Aegon married Visenya and Rhaenys.” Daemon shrugged, “Besides, only a fool would take two women who utterly despise each other to wife.”

“Are you sure this isn’t just some perverted desire to see me in the embrace of another woman?” Margaery shot him a teasing smile.

“No, and I do not expect you to have another woman in bed with us unless that’s something you desire.” Daemon replied immediately.

“It’s not…unappealing.” Margaery replied absently, “At least it’s better than having to bring my brother into bed so he could get Renly hard for me.” She groused, and his grimace made her light up in laughter. “Gods, I’m actually considering this.” Margaery let out a frustrated groan, “Grandmother would be boxing my ears for not trying to convince you otherwise, you know? And that’s not even considering what the Faith is going to say.”

“Oh, but I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.” Daemon replied, giving her that smirk which had her wanting to climb right into his lap. He leaned forward and took her chin lightly between his fingers. Gods, she had been wanting to kiss him since they met. She parted her lips and closed her eyes. “How would you like to be the first Tyrell Dragon Rider?” He whispered to her.

Margaery’s entire brain froze. “…Wot?” She finally managed to stammer out.

“The first.” His smirk was dangerous. “Tyrell.” He let go of her chin and used a finger to lightly push it up just a tiny bit. “Dragon Rider.”

“B-b-but I’m not a Targaryen! I don’t have the Blood of Old Valyria! I can’t-” She was outright stammering.

“I can fix that.” Daemon dropped her chin and she simply looked at him with wild eyes. “The Fourteen Flames have entrusted me with creating New Valyria. I can hardly do that with only one dragon.” She continued to boggle at him, all her lessons and cunning flying right out of her ears.  “Of course, you’d have to forsake the Seven.” He said, looking down at his fingernails as if that wasn’t a big deal, “My Gods don’t like those cunts. They were never welcome even in Old Valyria, and it was because they embraced the Seven that the Targaryens lost the last of the Divine Blessings granted by the Valyrian Gods. They certainly aren’t going to be keeping their power under my rule.” He looked back at her, “But if you embrace the Fourteen? They will reward you for it. My wives and closest friends and family will be the only ones who I will teach the secrets of Old Valyria to. And my wives will be the only ones able to grasp what every Lord for the past three hundred years wishes they could.”

Gods, this was complicated. Grandmother never trained her for this. No one could have trained her for this. She had downplayed it, but being a Dragon Rider had been one of her earliest and most deep-rooted girlhood dreams. She had always wanted power. Power enough to be who she wanted to be and not who others wanted her to be. It was why she had always gone along with grandmother’s dream, that she be Queen.

And she would. Under Daemon, she would be Queen. She’d have to share it, but she would be Queen, not just the King’s wife and walking womb. But he was offering her more. Much more. Only a fool would refuse. She was adaptable. She could get used to it. And truthfully, the female form had never turned her away. Some of her fantasies had even involved her own cousin Desmera. Mayhaps she could even be happy with this. “You should have led with that.” She growled out as she plopped herself into his lap, “My husband. My King.” She sealed her lips against his, and grew very happy as his hands immediately sought her arse and gently massaged it through her dress. It was a low bar to cross, but she was already happier with her second husband than she was with her first.

Ancalagon flew on, hoping that they would at least not mate on his neck.

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