Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire.

Emergence of the Dragon

Chapter 3: The Mother and the Crone

"Talking"

"Thinking"

Rhaegar

(Location: Winterfell)

Ten years they had been suffering through this winter. For ten years Westeros lay on the brink of total collapse. Half the people were starving while the other half were dying in the constant, endless, unremitting war. The south sent every able-bodied man they had left to the north. By now, some armies were openly recruiting women. There were simply no soldiers left.

Rhaegar felt helpless. A flesh wound was beginning to fester into a danger. Winterfell was where he was forced to stay, surrounded by the dead in their millions as the soldiers fight on the walls day after day after day. The only reason they've lasted this long is dragonfire. It will be over soon though. Scouts and skinchangers of the Free Folk had already reported that the Night King was coming. The last of his children would have to fight it.

The last.

Aegon…

Joan.

Visenya and his sweet Rhaenys had died already. Rhaenys had died first. None of his children could talk about that day. It was too hard for them. On one hand, he was glad for it. He didn't want to know how his daughter died. On the other, he wished he could have some closure. He wasn't there that day.

But he was there for when Visenya had died, protecting her sister. She had died in his arms even when he and Joan begged her to live. His miracle child, the daughter he and Elia never thought they would have, died and there was nothing he could do about it.

Aegon was king now, for all practical purposes. He had been wounded in the last battle by an Other, causing the festering. That battle had been a defeat that forced their army back to Winterfell. The Lady Catelyn Stark tended to his slowly dying body as his son and daughter fought alongside her son.

He listened as the day wore on, as the sounds of battle once again grew to a crescendo before fading to the background of his thoughts and grew again, like the rolling tide itself was beating against the walls. The Others and their army of the dead followed them to Winterfell and besieged it. They had broken through the gates, he did not know how long ago.

Finally, the call came. "Fall back! Fall back to the keep!" the voice shouted up through the window.

Rhaegar felt his breath catch a calm sort of fear taking hold of his mind as a deafening bone rattling crack of thunder sent a thrum through his dying body.

"Protect Prince Aegon!" He recognized Jamie Lannister's voice and the sounds he could hear outside the walls began to bounce up from the inside of the walls itself. The soldiers were in the keep. In the Great Hall itself.

He followed the fighting through the sound. Through voices and shouted orders, through the crying of servants.

They barricaded the Great Hall, fell back into the tight passages and hallways, to the throne room of Winterfell itself. Robb Stark, his voice hoarse from shouting called to his men, to his sister Joan.

Was she dead now too?

The battle continued for what felt like an age of eternity but could not have been anything but minutes at best.

And finally, there was silence. It was unnatural, something that sent, for the first time in a long while, a true sense of fear through his mind, coiling in his thoughts. "We've lost then." A castle full of men, of wounded and panicking people did not just go silent. Only the dead were silent.

He lay there abed, cursing the weakness of his body, cursing the fact that he had to wait here while his children fought, that he could not at least fight beside them in the final hour, but would instead have to wait here for some monster to find him and finish the job.

Then, finally, a sound…the scraping of metal, the shuffling of feet through the hall.

This was it then.

Something thumped against his door, a fist, or the weight of a body, and the heavy northern oak was pushed open. And there was Joan, a weapon in both hands.

Dark Sister was dragging on the ground along with her spear. His daughter was covered in blood from her hair down to her sides and Rhaegar feared the gods would invite one last cruelty onto him by having the last sight in this world be the unnatural blue of the wights overtake his daughter's steel grey eyes.

But when she looked at him, her eyes were clear, brimming with tears and pain, but clear and grey. Her weapons clattered to the floor as her fingers lost their strength. She stumbled forward and Rhaegar could do nothing more than watch in horror and anguish as the girl's whole body seemed to finally surrender the last of its strength and she collapsed beside his bed, the crown of her dark hair just peeking out over the edge.

She started to cry. Rhaegar reached forward, his hands combing through the dark tresses as her broken, repeated whispers of "Father,"echoed through the room. It was an hour later that he learned she was the last of his children.

Samwell

(Location: the Red Keep)

It felt odd, being back down south, in the warmth. As they fought the Others, the cold had been all around them and warmth was treated like something to be treasured. But as Sam walked through the Red Keep and saw all the people walking past him.

They knew hunger, they knew strife and hardship. It had touched all. But they did not know cold. They shivered with the chill of night and the still breaking spring as if it were freezing.

Sam wasn't a fighter, never had been, and never would be. He didn't want to be. But even he could look at these newly made knights, little more than boys that talked of "glory in battle" now that the battle was over, and he couldn't help but feel angry. Even he, who had nary picked up a sword but had tended to those who did.

The door he was looking for was opened. Joan was sitting there at a desk, looking over papers. "Joan," he said, coming in without knocking. After so many years of friendship, he smiled easily at her.

She looked up. "Sam," she said warmly. She wasn't showing just yet, but it would be there soon. Her pregnancy was announced after the remnants of the army had started returning south, marching with spring. It had been the best kind of news they had all heard, along with the King making Joan his heir.

He looked down at the desk. "What are you doing?"

"Documents of the Small Council," she said. "I'm looking them over, preparing myself for the time I sit the Iron Throne." She looked down at them and chuckled. It seemed a little forced to him. "All that time ruling in the Point and I didn't see so much paperwork." She stood up and winced.

He saw it. "The wound?" he asked her.

"Aye," she said with a nod. During the war, she had been injured by an arrow in shoulder. An old wound by now. It healed but she couldn't raise her arm above her head anymore. "It's nothing. Why are you here, Sam?"

The Tarly man sighed a bit through his nostrils. "I'm concerned about the men."

"Sam," she said with a slight reproving tone. "The war is over. You don't have to look over the soldiers anymore."

Sam knew that but even without the chain, he was their maester for all intents and purposes. It was a hard thing to let go of. He might not have been a good healer but he made sure they lived. "Joan, I think some of the men are having a hard time accepting the fight is done. The gold cloaks have arrested five of them for causing a brawl in a winesink."

She frowned as she listened to what he had to say. "That's not good. Have there been other arrests?"

"Not as far as I know. But I'm sure they could happen." He looked away from her. "I can't blame them."

She eyed him. "You can't?"

"I think I know what they're going through. I go to sleep on a bed after years of sleeping on the hard ground with nothing but my cloak and the fire to keep me warm. The bed feels too soft. I look at these young noblemen, practically boys, and only think about how foolish they are for wanting glory in battle." He was glad that his brother had lost that notion shortly after he joined the fight. The thought of Dickon still hurt. His brother had died in Winterfell.

Joan listened when she didn't have to. "I know what you mean," she admitted quietly. "Listening to the ladies of the court prattle on about what knight looks handsome or how a good jouster they are, I want to hit them all with my spear." She looked down at the papers. "This is my escape from them."

They smiled at each other and laughed at the ridiculousness of it. They had fought through the worst of Winter and here they were, talking about silly court ladies and even stupider squires and boys. It was foolish. But the foolishness ended and Sam became solemn again. "Joan, what are we to do about the men? We have to do something about it."

"What do you suggest?" she asked him.

"I don't know. Maybe we should come together and talk about what happened?" If they talked, that might help.

She was silent as she thought about it. "We're probably going to need a lot of ale and wine," she finally said. "Otherwise, they'll never talk." He was glad she agreed. He didn't know how much it would help but he was glad that she was with him.

Ellaria

(Location: the Red Keep)

Oberyn did not talk about the days where he fought beyond the Wall. Or what he fought either. Neither did their daughters who returned. Ellaria did not like it, but she could accept it. Because it wasn't that they didn't talk of it at all, but rather that they did not talk about it with her. They talked to the others who fought, others who were there, who could understand. So they weren't alone. She didn't like that distance between them, that separation, but she could live with it because at least they were talking to someone. Too often she'd seen those that didn't.

Unlike her Oberyn or their children however, during her time here in King's landing Ellaria was becoming increasingly aware of the fact that Princess Joan did not talk to anyone. Either due to the distance brought about by her status as heir apparent to the throne with her siblings now dead, or some other reason Princess Joan would bury herself in her work, talking to people she knew about trivial things, and visiting the dragons. That was it. That was all she would do.

For all appearances, she was managing well, at least to the vapid senseless members of the nobility. But a guard here, a servant there, they had eyes too and the princess could not be on guard all the time. Waking in the night, hands she clenched over her knees to keep from shaking when she sat, a grip too hard or a blow too strong in training. These were little things of course. But they were adding up and she did not like the picture they painted.

But who to call? Ellaria had little doubt the same issue that plagued her Oberyn and their daughters would present themselves doubly so in the princess. Someone who was not there, who did not understand and whom was, an acquaintance whose interactions were few and far between. No. The princess would not confide in just anyone, she was famously taciturn and even rude to everyone but those she considered family.

But her family was dead in the south, all that was left were those in the distant, frozen north, too far to help, and even if she spirited word to them the princess might grow angry on principle. She disliked being "coddled." It was a poor state of affairs unfortunately, and she did not have a ready solution. Fortunately, there was something she perhaps, could do to help even in some small way to ease the tensions.

The gods all knew that the princess and the queen were still on cold terms, just barely above hostility. Either through memories of her childhood or some sentiment left over from her siblings, the princess avoided the queen like the plague, never venturing close or even remaining in the same room when the queen entered. A state of affairs that Ellaria knew her friend Elia, did, unfortunately, prefer, even now.

Her friend's longstanding hatred for the girl was blinding her to a very apparent and rapidly approaching reality that she had to face. This, Ellaria hoped, would ultimately help the both of them, if she could pull it off, which was far from certain.

She sat in the gardens of the Red Keep, far removed from the eyes of passers by due to the troupe of Dornish men she'd asked Oberyn to lend her for the day, they cordoned off the place, glaring angrily enough at any who came near that they just scared them off outright if they thought to come and eavesdrop on the queen.

Soon enough, a little past noon, Elia finally came dressed in black. Always dressed in black now Her friend whose best colors were bright yellows and darker shades of the orange red of her house. "Hello Ellaria." Elia said, with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Oberyn's paramour stood up, offering a kiss to the queen's cheek as she smiled back before they both sat down.

They talked for a time, she asked how Elia was coping, how Rhaegar's strength was keeping. She was careful to avoid the subjects that might venture too close to Joan just yet; such as the city's reconstruction and the war itself, softening her friend enough to, hopefully, break the subject without her shutting the proverbial doors on her.

When she finally did, Ellaria felt as though she had to take a deep breath before the plunge. "How are things with Joan?"

Elia didn't scowl, exactly. She was the queen and she didn't scowl. It would not do. There was just a slight frown on her face, an unpleasant turn of her lips and a creasing of the eyebrows. "She is still alive, unlike my children." she said.

Ellaria winced but decided to press on, Elia hadn't stood from the table, and that, for now, was enough. "Elia…" She ventured, trying with just the tone of her voice alone to help her friend understand. "This… animosity you keep for her…" She could see the darkening behind her eyes, the slight curl of her lip that threatened to be a sneer and Ellaria could almost see the gates slamming shut right in front of her. "She will be the mother of your only grandchild!"

It was like a lightning bolt piercing through a mountain. Ellaria saw that wall of contempt crack, a well of despair building up behind it as the memories of her children came back to her. She decided to strike while the proverbial iron was still hot. "Elia," she pleaded, leaning forward to grasp the woman's hand over the table. "I'm not going to pretend I understand, I'm not going to pretend I agree or approve of it. But if you don't let this go, if you don't try to let go of your hatred you may never even have a real relationship with your grandchild, the last piece of your children you have left…"

Elia sighed, and her hand squeezed Ellaria's in a tight, almost painful grip. "I know," she said. "It's something that keeps me awake at night, a thought that comes and goes.

"Then why?" Ellaria wanted to scream.

"This…" Elia's hand moved, pressing to her chest. "This hatred I have of her, I'm not sure when it became so ingrained really. When it became something I couldn't let go of. I hated her because of Lyanna Stark, because of Rhaegar, then because of you, and Oberyn, and now because she is alive while my three children lie dead. It has…twisted…curled inside me like a gnarled, jagged root. And even when I feel like I must be rid of it as you say, I simply can't." Elia looked to her, her eyes glistening with tears she did not let fall, even as her lips curled in a smile that was ugly, twisted with something akin to anger. "When did hatred become part of my nature, Ellaria? Should I blame her for that too? For making it easy?"

The paramour looked to her friend, her eyes glimmering with their own sadness as she looked at this, the broken, cracked, near shattered remains of her longtime friend. She reached forward, cupping the woman's cheek using her thumb to wipe away at the hint of tears that still hadn't fallen from her eyes. "If you don't find it in you to make peace…" she pleaded, almost begging her friend to act on what she already knew deep down. "I promise you that you will regret it forever, Elia."

Elia

(Location: the Red Keep)

Elia had been sitting with her ladies when the news came. Joan was giving birth. Her grandchild would be born soon. That thought stayed with her throughout the rest of the day, even though she did not go. She would wait. And while she waited, she talked with her ladies.

Of course, the topic had shifted, no longer was it about the intrigues and gossip of the court, but of, Joan.

Then this question came. "Your Grace, who do you think Princess Joan will marry?" asked Lady Alerie.

She knew it was coming, it was the whispered word of many nobles and common folk, it was why the Red Keep had been flooded in recent months with a small army of noble sons from great and small houses. Still, she pretended otherwise. "Marry?" she repeated. "Why do you think that, Lady Tyrell?"

"She must marry."

Elia tried not to scoff. She failed. She was Dornish. She believed that a woman didn't need to marry to rule. Lady Alerie was a northerner and as such, still held to that. She refrained from her scorn and asked, "You think she is unable to rule alone?" It still hurt that Joan instead of her own children would ascend the Iron Throne. Oh how she loathed the thought and the pain that came with it. But so long as the dragon's blood sat there, she would not complain.

"Your Grace," said Jayne Bracken, one of her newer ladies. "Shouldn't she marry? She would need help raising her child and being queen."

She looked at the girl. "She is married." That was all she would say and she hoped that it would be enough for them to stop.

They didn't. "But she is not married now. Even then, her marriage wasn't a normal one. Would the faith even recog—" The girl stopped herself, realizing her mistake far too late.

Elia turned her attention onto her. She didn't say anything or do anything to her. She just looked until the girl's gaze fell to the floor. "The princess was married," she said shortly. "To the prince. Is there anyone who would dispute that fact?" No one said a word to that. She went back to her needlework.

They started talking to quickly enough. But the topic was still on Joan. "What would life be like when the princess is queen?" wondered Lady Rowan.

Elia couldn't rebuke or chastise her for wondering that. As much as she wanted to say that the king was still alive and well, with possibly more years of rule to come it was no secret that her husband did not have the same strength he had during the winter or before and every day saw him weaken further. She knew that the loss of their children had something to do with it.

Lady Dalt, a Dornishwoman just like her, waved it off. "Life will go on as it has, my lady. Nothing will change if a queen sits the Iron Throne."

"Indeed," agreed Lady Allriya Dondarrion. She was not a great beauty like her sister Ashara had been but she was still attractive enough. When her betrothed came back a different man, changed from the war, she stood by him and married him. She was a happy woman now and she made her lord husband happy too.

The other women looked at them like they were mad. "My lady Dondarrion," said Lady Alerie in a voice that was kind but also patronizing, "Everything will change. For the first time, a queen will sit the Iron Throne. And not just any queen."

Elia looked at Lady Tyrell. "What is that supposed to mean, my lady? Do you have something to say about Joan?" She might not like the girl but she was a part of the royal family. They stood for one another against any threats.

The door opened and Ellaria came striding in. "Elia," she said.

The queen stood up instantly and her ladies did too. "The babe," she said.

Her brother's paramour smiled. "Come, meet your grandson."

A son. Joan had a son. That thought was succeeded by the fact she was a grandmother now. She left the room to follow Ellaria. They followed but she didn't think of it. Her mind was on the newborn in the Red Keep. She met Rhaegar outside the door, the Small Council behind him. He must've gotten the same message. Together, they entered the room, leaving the others outside.

Ghost lifted his head from the bed to check who was coming in. When he saw it was them, he rested his head down beside Joan. She sat in the bed, looking tired and exhausted but happy too. And she should be. She held her son in her arms.

Elia and Rhaegar approached the bed. Joan looked up at them. "Hello," she said to them.

The king looked down and smiled. "A handsome lad," he said. The babe opened his purple eyes, saw his grandfather, yawned, and went back to sleep.

"This is your grandson." She looked down at him with a mother's smile. "Say hello to your grandparents, Aerys."

The name froze them both. In hindsight, Elia should've realized that she would name a son after her grandfather. But at that moment, all she could say was "Aerys?"

The wolf looked up at her. It did not bare its teeth, just looked at her. Its red eyes were unsettling but she refused to bend before an animal. Joan looked up at her too, her face guarded. "Yes, Aerys," she said.

Rhaegar played the peacemaker. "Named for my father and the grandfather you loved," he said.

"Yes." She looked down at her baby with determination. "And this one won't go mad. The Targaryen practice ends with me." She looked at them. "I will not marry again and I will not give him any siblings. Aerys is my only child and he will marry someone outside this family. The same will go for his children and their children. The incest ends."

The queen heard those words and knew that she meant to hold to them. Joan looked more like a queen in that moment than she had before. And strangely enough, Elia found that she wasn't worried about what she would do.

Baelor

(Location: Dragonstone)

Baelor wasn't quite sure what was happening in recent days. Everyone had been in a rush on Dragonstone and no one would tell him what was going on. It was very annoying. That was why he was going to the room with the Westeros table. He knew that his mother would be there.

When he walked in, he saw that he was right. She was there, looking out at the sea. "Mother?" he said, walking to her side.

She looked down and smiled. It was her special smile that was only for him. "Hello, sweetling," She reached down and picked him up, holding him close.

Baelor felt that he was too big for that but he didn't complain. He secretly liked it. "What's happening?" he asked her. "Everyone's running around and not saying anything."

She made a face, the face she makes when she doesn't like something. "We received a raven from King's Landing. Joan has given birth to a son."

"I have a new cousin?" That sounded like good news to him. He wouldn't be the youngest in the royal family now.

"Yes, you do."

"Are we going to go see them?"

She looked at him. "Do you want to see them?"

It was up to him? He never got to make any decision. But the way Mother sounded didn't sound too happy. Was it because she was stuck on Dragonstone with him? They hadn't been to King's Landing since Joan returned. Why was that? Maybe if they went, things would be better. "Let's go!"

Mother didn't look happy. "Alright, Baelor," she said. "We'll go."

"Mother, aren't you happy that we're going?" he asked her.

She looked at him with an expression that he didn't know. She was silent and it was getting annoying. Why wouldn't she say anything? "Joan and I…haven't had a good relationship since she came back, not since she threatened you."

Baelor frowned. That was a new word. It wasn't a good thing. "She threatened me? What did she do?"

"She took away your position as your uncle's heir."

He wasn't quite sure what that meant. "Hair?" he repeated. "Nuncle Rhaegar has hair. How could I be his hair?"

Mother looked at him and laughed, her smile brightening her face. "No, sweetling," she told him, "Heir, not hair. It means that you would've sat on the Iron Throne after him."

He thought about his nuncle. He remembered him sitting in that big chair, never looking happy. Was it because he sat in the chair all the time? If that was the case, he didn't want it? "That's okay," he said.

His words made Mother look at him as if he was sick. "Okay?" she said again.

He nodded. "Nuncle didn't look happy. If I sit on the chair, I won't be happy. That wouldn't be fun." That made sense to him and that was just fine. "When are we leaving?" Mother was surprised by what he said. He could see it on her face.

But they still sailed for King's Landing. It was the first time he remembered sailing. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not. The wind felt great but his tummy didn't feel as good. Ser Justin said that it wouldn't happen so much with experience. He didn't know so much about that.

When he and Mother came off the ship, they were greeted by a mean-looking man. He wasn't wearing any kind of armor, just rich velvet clothes. They didn't look good on him. Maybe it was the color? "Your Highness," he said, his voice matching his look, "Welcome back to King's Landing. I am Daniel, the Lord Sheriff."

"Lord Sheriff?" Mother said. "I do not know that office."

"The king has placed me in charge of ruling King's Landing."

"He cannot rule himself?"

Baelor didn't know why she looked so amused. The man didn't look pleased at what she was saying. "The king rules the Seven Kingdoms, your Highness. One small city should not matter to her."

"Small?" This was the biggest city Baelor had ever seen!

"And what were you before you were the Lord Sheriff, Goodman Daniel?" Mother asked him.

"A tavern keeper," he answered. He looked to the men around him. "The gold cloaks will escort you to the Red Keep, your Highness."

When they entered the Red Keep, Mother asked where Joan was and a servant directed them to the godswood. Baelor stayed close to her side as they entered the godswood. It was different, more like an actual forest instead of a garden. It felt like the city was gone when he stepped inside and he was surrounded by nature.

They found Joan sitting against a tree with a big dog at her side and a baby in her arms. She was smiling and it was a happy smile. The dog looked up and stared at them. Baelor quickly realized that it wasn't a dog but a wolf. Joan looked up and saw them. "Dany, you came," she said.

"Of course we came," Mother told her. "Do you think that I wouldn't come meet my new nephew? Deny the chance for Baelor to meet his new cousin?"

"Of course not," she said. She looked at him. She didn't seem as scary as the last time he had seen her. She gestured at him. "Come here, Baelor. Come meet your cousin."

He let go of Mother's hand and walked over to her. The wolf got up and approached him. He went still. He wasn't sure what was going to happen. The wolf was bigger, much bigger than him. It came to a stop in front of him and lowered its head so their eyes could see each other. The wolf sniffed him all over. When it was done, it padded away and sat down beside Joan.

Baelor wasn't quite sure what just happened. "Ghost was just getting your scent, Baelor," Joan told him. "That way, he can find you later. Now come here."

He came up to her and looked down at his little cousin, who looked up at him. They had the same colored eyes and hair. He noticed something else. "He's small."

Joan smiled. "So were you, once. He'll grow."

That was true, he guessed. He kept looking at the babe and the babe kept looking back at him. Aerys reached out his hands towards him. He looked at the babe and then at Joan. "What's he doing?"

"He wants you to hold him."

He didn't think he should. He looked back at Mother. "Should I?"

She nodded. "Go ahead, sweetling."

He sat down in front of Joan and held out his hands. She placed Aerys in his arms and showed him how to hold him properly. He was afraid that he was going to drop the babe but he still kept him in his arms. Aerys smiled and it made him smile.

Until his nose was grabbed by a tiny hand. "Ow," he yelped from the pain.

Joan took her son back. "No, Aerys," she told him. "We don't grab people's nose."

Baelor rubbed his nose, getting rid of the pain. He looked at Joan, sitting there smiling at her little babe. A question bubbled to his mouth. "Do you not like me, Joan?"

The godswood was silent. Joan looked at him oddly, her eyes shifting behind Baelor to his mother, some other emotion passing through her eyes before she looked back to him. "Why would you ask me that dear nephew?"

Baelor shrugged, looking down to the baby. "I don't know… I just… thought you didn't like me." He looked at Mother. Who stood stiff, fingers clenched into her clothes, fisting the material as she held herself rigidly in place. Aerys gurgled in his mother's arms. He seemed happy and unaware of things. Baelor looked at him. He couldn't help but smile. There was something about that happiness that made him want to smile too.

Joan looked at him again. "Baelor," she said. "Can you do something for me?"

"What?"

"Aerys is going to be king after me. I don't know when that will happen but I know he will follow me. He is going to need aid and advice. Do you think that you can provide it for him?"

He supposed he could but he didn't see why he couldn't help her? Did she think he couldn't help her? "I can help you."

She smiled again at that. "I'm sure you can. But you can help Aerys more. He'll look up to you."

He hadn't thought about that. It would almost be like he was a big brother. He could do that. "Okay!" he said brightly. "I'll help Aerys. He'll be the king and I'll be the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."

She didn't laugh or approve of what he said. "There is more to life than a knight of the Kingsguard, Baelor," she said. "If you wish to become one, I will not stop you. But I ask you to find something more."

"What else is there?"

"That's for you to decide, Baelor." She looked past him at Mother, that same, fleeting look passing across her eyes. "Dany, are you just going to stand there?" It took a moment, long enough for Baelor to almost look back at his mother before she came forward, kneeling beside him in the godswood to reach for the baby.

Baelor was left to ponder what his cousin had told him. Was there something more to being a knight? He didn't know. But it might be fun.

Barristan

(Location: King's Landing)

King Rhaegar was dead. Barely two years after the birth of his grandson. It was an open secret that his life had long been a tenuous thing since his injuries and more so the news of the death of his children during the winter. Everyone knew he would die someday soon, but the king had refused to name anyone as his heir but Joan, not even the little princeling.

Even now there were rumblings through the court that Prince Aerys should be crowned. The only thing that stopped them was Joan's popularity with the soldiers of the realm. As one of the few surviving nobles that had fought the horde of dead to the north, there was no end to the veteran troops that would follow her if it came to some kind of conflict of succession. The dragons outside the Red Keep, that only answered to her, helped too.

The city was in mourning for their king. A week of dark drapes and blackened flags hanging over buildings to the outside. Dreary colors taken down abruptly at the seven-day mark before the coronation was to take place. The lords and ladies of the realm were already traveling to King's Landing before that. They did not see the king's body laid out since the princess had him burned the day he died. The way she had looked at the fire, Barristan thought she felt like she was back beyond the Wall. He had heard reports that the fallen had been burned and quickly, with no time for mourning.

Now, there was the coronation and everyone had come to be there. The highborn stood within the Great Sept and the smallfolk were outside. There was just one thing wrong: the new queen was nowhere to be found.

"Ser Barristan," the High Septon whispered in his ear. "Where is the princess?"

"She will be here," he replied.

"She should have been here before now. Does she think that she can become the queen without the blessing of the Seven?"

The Kingsguard did not say anything to that. He knew that the High Septon had to believe that the Faith was the only religion in Westeros. But the princess kept more to the old gods than the new. For all he knew, she could be in the godswood being anointed as queen. The more he thought about it, the more he found it plausible.

He spotted Ser Arthur and excused himself from the High Septon. He went over to the Lord Commander. "Ser Arthur, where is the princess?" he asked.

"She's coming, Ser Barristan," replied Arthur. "And she's the queen now."

"Of course, but where is she? She should have been here by now."

"She decided to spend a vigil in the Red Keep's godswood, communing with the old gods. She should be making her way to the Great Sept as we speak."

"On foot?" he asked.

"Yes, I believe she said she would do that."

"We must send out men to find her!" He struggled to keep his voice down as he spoke. No one else needed to hear this.

"Calm yourself, Barristan. Joan knows how to reach the Great Sept."

As if to affirm his words the doors to the Sept opened, silencing everyone. Barristan looked and saw Joan standing there with Ser Jamie. She was dressed simply, as if she was going on a journey. The only sign that she was royalty were her clothes, black with a hint of red. She looked tired but also determined. She walked to the High Septon and the people stepped away from her.

She came before the High Septon and looked up at him. "I am Joan, of the House Targaryen," she announced. "I come to ask the new gods' blessing to ascend the Iron Throne, as requested by my father."

The High Septon was surprised but he was able to ask, "Do you hold the Seven and their faith to be true in your heart?"

"I hold them to be as true as the old gods of the North. I have spent a vigil in the godswood to hear their guidance." While it wasn't the traditional answer one would give, it seemed enough to satisfy the High Septon, if only just, even with the mutterings of disquiet amongst the nobility in the hall.

Ser Barristan himself knew that truthfully Joan didn't hold much stock in the Seven. That was one of the many areas where she differed from her siblings. Seeing her in this Sept, acting like she had come here all the time, it was a little odd for him. And he couldn't have been the only one thinking such. But he kept his silence and watched as she faced the crowd and the High Septon took her crown off an offered pillow.

Barristan had seen the crown as a sketch, months before the king had died. This was a new crown, different from her ancestors. It sported no signs of her Targaryen heritage or that she was the soon-to-be ruler the Seven Kingdoms. It was a simple band of steel with the seven-pointed star of the Faith inlaid in bronze. Inside the star, done in white gold, was a man's face. It was a stern face but also fatherly. There would be another six faces around the band, all inside a seven-pointed star. Some might think it was all done to honor the Seven but he knew the faces were to honor the old gods.

The High Septon held the crown over her head. "I ask the Seven Who Are One to look upon Joan Targaryen. May the Father grant her justice from his scales, so that she may judge all favorably. May the Mother grant her mercy, so that she may treat all the same. May the Maiden grant her love so that she may cherish those she rules. May the Warrior grant her courage, to protect her in the times to come. May the Smith grant her strength, so that she might bear this heavy burden. And may the Crone, she who knows the fate of all men, show her the path she must walk."

He looked out to them all and declared, "In the light of the Seven, I now proclaim Joan of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lady of the Seven Kingdoms!" He placed the crown upon her head. "Long may she reign!"

"Long may she reign!" the sept said back.

As the new queen stepped away, the noble lords and ladies came towards her. But she did not stop for them. She walked to the doors, determined to get outside. Barristan and the rest of the Kingsguard moved to the doors and then inwards, helping her reach the door. He and Ser Arthur stayed at the doors. As she approached, they opened them.

The people of King's Landing stood there, waiting for her. Barristan saw how they were watching with expectations. They wanted to see what this new ruler of theirs, a queen of all things, would be. Whatever their expectations might've been, they were overridden by the screeches of three dragons.

Everyone looked to the sky. The three dragons were circling the Great Sept, close enough to cast shadows on the crowds. People saw them, some pointed in wonder, others shouted in fear. The ripple of fear began to spread as the beasts circled closer, descending on the sept.

Joan looked up at them. "Stop." It had barely been shouted, if he'd been any further away he himself probably wouldn't have heard it over the mass of people.

But the dragons somehow did. Fang, Seawing, and Moonfyre came to a halt in midair. The people stopped screaming when they saw. They looked up at the dragons and then at her, stunned wonder in their eyes.

He knew she was a skin changer. It was a tightly guarded secret amongst his brothers and a handful of others close to the family. And he had to wonder if she'd planned this…statement. If she had, who had given her the idea? The princess…queen now he supposed, was notoriously straightforward. To stage something like this would be most unlike her. Someone must have convinced her. Even so, her plan or not, staged or not. The message was clear to both the townsfolk and the high born. The dragons obey just one person.

There was a clap, a slow, cautious thing before the cheers came in a tidal wave, spreading from the back to the front, shaking the air and the courtyard with its noise. They were cheering for her.

"Westeros!" roared Arthur, a horn cutting across the noise. "Who is your queen?"

"JOAN TARGARYEN!" they roared back as one. The dragons screeched again and this time, they roared with them. It was a roar that engulfed them all, maddening their senses, shattering the silence that had been there before. Barristan stood apart from it, not taking part in the celebrations. It was not his place. He was a Kingsguard. It was also why he did not need to look behind him to see the looks on the lords and ladies' faces.

He went to his queen's side. "Your Grace," he said. "If you will wait, we will have a horse ready to take back to the Red Keep." He had ridden his horse to the Great Sept. He would give her his.

"No," she said. "I will walk."

She would walk? Again? "Are you certain?"

"Yes, Ser Barristan." She glanced back at the crowd in the Great Sept. "Aerys. My son. Please, Ser Barristan, bring my son to me."

That he could do. Her son had been there, in the care of Princess Daenerys and Baelor. They stood alongside Daniel, the Lord Sheriff. The princess gave the two-year-old boy to him when asked and he led him out to the steps. The queen took her son in her arms, pressing a kiss to his head. Together they walked down the steps and through the crowd. The Kingsguard followed but the crowd let them pass.

Margaery

(Location: the Red Keep)

Margaery had always been confident about herself. She knew she was beautiful with her family's brown curly hair, her pale smooth skin, and brown eyes that hinted at gold. Even though she loved her father, she knew that he was an oaf. That was why she learned at her grandmother's knee. She thought she knew how to work within the court, how to charm anyone, and make them think they had her favor. When she was brought to the capital the first time, she had thought she would charm the Crown Prince and become his queen.

That didn't happen through no fault of hers. When her father smelled an opportunity to marry into the royal family again, he sent her and her brothers back to King's Landing. That's where she truly met Joan Targaryen. Before, she had thought nothing of the girl. In her eyes, she wasn't worth the trouble of trying to win her over. Looking back, she knew it was arrogance. A mistake she rued still to this day.

Her family had paid for that mistake. The princess led her along, just like Margaery had done to her when they were children, and snapped the trap down around her neck without her even realizing it. Her refusal to marry Willas was a snub and revenge against her.

They left the capital just three days after that. At her grandmother's insistence of course. Her father bemoaned the lost chance to marry into the royal family, her mother was upset that Loras was unable to participate in the tourney, and her grandmother told her that she would have to do better. It was Willas who comforted her. "These things happen, Marge," he told her. "But what will you do because of it?"

Hearing that gave her the resolve to do better. She went back to the capital and became one of Queen Elia's handmaidens. She worked her influence through the ladies and the court. When Joan came back, she felt that her position would protect from whatever she would try to do. But Joan hadn't paid any kind of attention to her, ignoring her completely. Truthfully, that stung worse than her snub.

She tried to not let it affect her. She was a part of the queen's retinue and thus, didn't interact much with the princess. But that all changed when the war came, all three Targaryen heirs from Queen Elia's womb died and then King Rhaegar passed away. Now Joan was anointed queen. The younger ladies who served Queen Elia were given to Joan. Margaery was one of them.

She didn't know what was worse, the fact that she had been given to Queen Joan or the fact that they were never used. The new queen never had use for handmaidens. Either she was busy ruling the kingdoms, overseeing one talk or another, or enjoying time with her son. Her supposed handmaidens were left to do nothing. That was something Margaery would not and could not abide by.

All they had was endless time on their hands and with that much time, all they could do gossip. One of their usual topics was the queen herself. She was a strange person. "Did you hear?" a lady from the Westerlands, probably a lesser Lannister. "The queen has given Summerhall to the Golden Company." The other ladies sitting in the circle gasped in surprise.

Margaery was one of the few who didn't. Instead, she looked more like she was vaguely interested. "Is that so?" she asked.

The girl nodded quickly. "Yes, I heard it from one of the guards who was at court today. He heard the queen proclaim it himself. What's more, he said that the captain-general would have a place on the Small Council."

"And so it grows," she thought to herself. It seemed like the Small Council could no longer be called that with each new member it gains. That wasn't to say it wasn't a good thing. The Lord Sheriff was proving to be the right man to rule the city, something she never would've thought a tavernkeeper would be able to do.

"That's not all she's done," said a lady from House Blackwood. "I heard that's she destroying the city."

"I heard differently," a Crownlands lady objected. "She's not destroying the city. She's expanding it so more people can live here."

Margaery knew that to be truth. It was a little astounding. Kings rarely wished to alter King's Landing, because each addition had to be something significant enough to live up to those that came before. Maegor had built the Red Keep itself, Baelor his monstrously-sized sept for the Seven, additions to the city needed to leave a mark and leaving a mark was expensive. Rulers didn't like expensive.

One of the younger ladies stopped her sewing and looked around. "Is the queen ever going to come join us?" she asked. Just by that alone, they could tell she was new to the capital and everything that came with it.

Margaery spoke out before the others could mock her. "The queen will join us when she feels so, my lady. She is busy ruling the Seven Kingdoms and much of her time is taken with that." She was open and friendly. It was a way to bring the girl into her fold, gain her trust. "In truth, the queen does not sew unless there is something to be mended."

"Oh, I see."

"Think nothing of it, my lady. You do not know the queen well." None of them knew the queen well. But that was beside the point.

The girl, she looked like she was from the Stormlands, looked at her with a questioning look. "Is it true that the queen hasn't picked a new Hand yet?"

It was the truth. Lord Lonmouth had died a few weeks past and a new Hand hadn't been selected. The Red Keep was filled with gossip and rumors about who it would be. The popular theory was it would be one of the Starks, perhaps Lord Robb. Some had even suggested it would one of the men she fought alongside during the winter, like Sam Tarly. She found that easier to believe. Sam was a kind man, useless with a sword but a mind that could flatten even a knowledgeable maester. He would make a fine Hand if she were any judge.

The door to their room opened and they all looked at it. A woman walked in. She was dressed in leathers with a coat thrown over them. The leathers were plain and travel-worn. But they were fitted to her. The woman herself was tall, easily able to match the height of a man. Her black hair was cut short and her blue eyes looked at them all. Margaery had seen enough of Renly to know this woman had Baratheon blood. "Hello," she said, her voice rough with the accent of the lowborn. "I was told the queen would be here."

They all stared at her. Margery took action. "And you are?"

"Mya Stone."

Distrust settled into the Tyrell. The woman was a bastard and she wanted to see the queen? It was laughable. "And you were asked to come before the queen?" she asked, politely but with a tone that told the bastard she must remember her place.

"Yes, she sent me a raven."

This story was getting more and more laughable by the minute, and it was a struggle for Margery to remember that hard earned lesson, imparted by her mistake so long ago to not dismiss someone because who knew how high they would rise.

She kept her tone polite. "Why would the queen send you a raven?"

The Queen's voice was so unfamiliar in this place Margery almost didn't recognize it before the woman herself entered the room dressed in black and red, almost as simply as the Stone girl. "Mya!" the queen confirmed with a warm smile. "There you are."

It was like she was greeting an old friend. Her smile made her seem different, more open. The bastard looked at her and smiled back at her. "Joan. It's been some time. What am I doing here in King's Landing?"

"Helping me." She looked at the room like it was the first time she had noticed them.

"With what?" The girl asked.

"I'd like you to be my Hand."

"…What?" It honestly took Margaery a couple of moments to understand just what she was hearing. She didn't need to look at the other ladies to know what their expressions would be equally dumbstruck.

Hell. The Stone girl herself looked like she'd just been punched in the face. "Wait, what?!"

"Your Grace," one of the ladies, Lady Bracken she thought, asked, "Are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious," she said shortly. "I wouldn't have called her from the Vale if I wasn't serious. Come, Mya, let's get you settled in." The girl still looked like she was trying to wrap her head around this, same as all of them and she followed on stiff legs. "Tyrell, walk with us."

It took Margaery a moment to realize that it was her being called. She quickly followed them out of the room. The door closing behind her with a storm of furious whispering and shocked voices. "Your Grace, I must protest," she said immediately. "What does this bastard know about ruling a kingdom?"

Queen Joan looked back at her a glint in her eye. "She is right here, my lady," she said with a growl. "If you wish to talk to her, do so."

A tremor of fear pulled through her stomach at those words, even though she didn't know why. "Joan, stop," Mya said calmly. "She's right. I don't know anything about ruling."

It was something like a miracle. The queen lost her anger instantly. "I know that, Mya. I'm hoping that you'll pick it up as we go. For now, you're here to ensure that I don't go too far."

"You do have that quality about you."

She wasn't insulted by what she was told. She accepted it with a listing jesting manner. The queen was silent for a moment. Then she looked at Margaery. "Lady Tyrell, how well do you know the Reach?"

Was that supposed a trick question or a jape? Margaery almost felt insulted. But she saw how serious the queen was. "Do you mean the land itself or it's lords, your Grace?" she asked.

"Their lords."

"I have met several lords in my years. They know me and know that I represent House Tyrell."

"Good. Now you'll represent the Reach."

She didn't know what that meant. "I beg your pardon, but what does that mean, your Grace?"

"It means that you will be a part of the Small Council as a representative of the Reach. I mean to have a representative from each of the kingdoms. You're the first."

It was news that would've made Grandmother say something about the queen. It left her surprised. She wondered why it was her instead of her brothers. Willas was already in the city and on the Small Council. "Why me?" she dared to ask. "I thought that you…hated me, your Grace." That was the best word she had to describe it.

"I don't have time for hate. It's too trivial."

It wasn't a forgiveness. It was more of dismissal really, if it could be called that. Regardless of what it was, there was no way she could refuse it. She was here to bring influence to her family. Being on the Small Council alongside her brother would make the Reach even more influential. "I thank you for the honor, your Grace," she said. "I will notify my brother and father about the position."

"If you wish to do so," she said absently. "But you are to stand for the Reach, not your own house." She walked off with her new Hand.

Margaery watched them walk off. It reminded her about how her father told her about the failed rebellion, how Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon had fought to overthrow the Mad King. Now, she saw Lord Stark's niece and who she could only assume was Robert's bastard walking off, about to rule Westeros.

But then a second thought came to her. It wasn't the rebel lords walking off. Instead, her mind went back to history, when Aegon the Conqueror forged Westeros into his rule. His first Hand, the man who established the position, was his supposed bastard brother, Orys Baratheon. Watching them leave, she wondered if they knew of the similarities.

Alliser

(Location: King's Landing)

Ser Alliser Thorne had been a gold cloak in King's Landing for a long time. He had served during the rebellion, the years after, and the long winter. In his mind, he had served well and with due diligence, nothing to be praised about. And yet, the Lord Sheriff had decided he would be the new Commander of the Watch, a decision that had been backed by the queen.

Being elevated to such a status also meant that he would attend court. It was there that he witnessed Queen Joan Targaryen wield her power. He had heard her first proclamation was that she wanted "Shovels and ploughs, not swords and spears." She wanted to build new roads, expand the boundaries of King's Landing, give the smallfolk more rights (which he felt was a little ridiculous but it wasn't his place to say so), and above all else, have peace in the realm.

That being said, she would do what it took to keep that peace. That was why he stood in court and watched both Lord Blackwood and Lord Bracken stand before the Iron Throne. If things got out of hand he had over a hundred men waiting nearby. Neither lord spoke. They stood silently and waited. Alliser could tell by their standing they both thought they were in the right.

The queen did not favor either. She sat on the Iron Throne and the only symbol of her royalty was her crown. Her clothes were finely made of course, but simple as was her custom. "My lords," she began, "I have heard that your feud has begun again. I will not ask the cause for it because it does not matter."

"Your Grace," Lord Blackwood began

"Did I say you could speak?" she asked, shutting him up. She looked at them both. "I do not care for your reasons, my lords. I fought alongside your eldest son, Lord Blackwood, and your nephew, Lord Bracken, in the Long Night. I know that they would be disappointed in what has happened. They had made peace before they died and you spit on their graves with this foolishness."

Both men stood stiff, clearly not liking the chastisement. "I do not care for your feud, my lords. And since you cannot take it upon yourselves to end it, I am forced to do it myself." She gestured to her Hand, the bastard daughter of Robert Baratheon of all people. She walked to them and held out a coin. Alliser saw it was a common star, rather used too.

Both the lords looked at the coin, and then at the queen. "Your Grace, what is the meaning of this?" Lord Bracken asked.

"This is my judgement, my lord," she replied. "You will each pick a side of the coin and then my Hand will flip it. Whoever's side doesn't land in her hand, their house will be slaughtered, to the last child."

The silence was so sudden, it was as though everyone in the room had fallen dead.

Alliser was shocked, as was the court. She sounded…well…like Aerys. Mad. The lords themselves looked pale, to escalate a feud that, ultimately, risked none of their family to something that could wipe their entire house was not something they'd foreseen.

"Don't try your luck yet, my lords," Queen Joan continued. "He who loses shall have his house killed, yes. But the house that wins shall be exiled, stripped of their lands and their heritage, never to be welcomed in Westeros again."

Alliser looked to the Lord Sheriff, to the Small Council, even to Ser Arthur Dayne to see if they would stop this madness. But they did not do anything. They stood in place and watched silently. "Your Grace!" Lord Bracken exclaimed. "You cannot be serious! What you're offering is…is…"

"Death or exile," she finished for him. Alliser saw the look on her face. It would broker no argument. "Yes, my lords. I know exactly what I'm offering you. They say that when a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin." She pointed a finger at her Hand. "My coin is there, my lords, and it will cast judgement on you. Now, pick a side."

Lord Bracken and Blackwood stared at the coin with horrified eyes. Alliser watched silently but he felt worried. Was this going to be another era of madness from the dragons? Had the coin fallen wrong for her? The lords turned their eyes from the coin to her. "Your Grace," said Lord Blackwood. "Please—"

"Choose, my lord."

"You can't blame our children for what we have done," Lord Bracken protested. "This is...!" He stopped himself from saying it, if only just.

She looked him in the eyes. He fell silent under that gaze. "Do you think that I want to do this, my lord? You have given me no other choice. I made a promise to make Westeros a place where the world could look at and see honor and respect. That cannot happen when two of my vassals argue over a petty feud like two children fighting over a toy." She fell silent and it was like the entire court held her breath.

"But perhaps…" she began offering a glimmer of hope to the floundering nobles. "I can be merciful. It will require something from you."

"Anything, your Grace," said Lord Blackwood. "We will give anything you want." Lord Bracken nodded heartily in agreement.

"Good. Then consider your feud dead and buried, never to be brought up again. You will make peace with each other and it will be a permanent peace. Your son Lucas, Lord Blackwood, will marry Lord Bracken's daughter Barbara, to signify this peace. They shall inherit the lands that are in dispute between you." Her eyes hardened. "Make no mistake, my lords. This will be a permanent peace. If I hear of the feud spilling fresh blood again, you will be summoned to King's Landing and you will be forced to pick a side of the coin."

No one said a word but Alliser could feel the air had relaxed. People were glad that they wouldn't have watch something horrible. Lords Blackwood and Bracken didn't look happy but they agreed to her terms all the same. He looked at the now to-be married couple. They weren't surprised at what just happened. If anything, they looked happy.

A thought came to him. They had been in King's Landing before their fathers had been summoned to court. "Did they have something to do with this?" he wondered. He dismissed it immediately. Even if they did, it was not his place.

The two lords left and a Braavosi came forward, dressed in rich purple. "Your Grace, I am Luco Fregar of Braavos," he announced. "I have come before you and ask a request from you."

"What request?" the queen asked him.

"I am an architect of some renown in my home city. When I heard that you were expanding the city, I saw a chance to build a theater. I asked that I be allowed to build it."

Alliser scoffed in silent scorn. Why did they need a theater? There were mummers enough. They didn't need to some place to be where they could stay. "They should find proper jobs," he thought to himself.

But the queen thought differently. "I will grant your request, ser. If your theater is successful, perhaps you will find more opportunities here in Westeros. You will of course, have to confer directly with the lord leading the efforts, Tyrion Lannister, and pay all the due fees required by law to secure a section of the expansion to call your own." The Braavosi smiled in thanks and stepped away. She looked to the court, her face serious once more. "My lords and ladies, I must end this court in a somber note. We have received word that Balon Greyjoy will soon be dead. Once he is, there is no doubt that the ironborn will attempt to crown a king and raid the mainland once more."

The court was troubled. Alliser knew it because he was troubled too. During the winter, the ironmen took what chances they could to sack and raid the Reach and the Westerlands. They were minor events but he heard talk it would be the start of a second Greyjoy Rebellion. Nothing had happened so far but if there was a new healthy and hale Lord of Pyke, eager to make a name for himself, it would change.

Lady Margaery stepped forward. "Your Grace, I shall send word to the Reach at once. We shall prepare for any invasion from the ironmen," she proclaimed for all to hear. Her words were met with approval from the court.

"A wise course," the queen agreed, "but hopefully unnecessary. I intend to go to the Iron Islands and deal with this matter myself."

Asha

(Location: Old Wyk)

When Balon Greyjoy had died, Asha's Uncle Aeron called for a kingsmoot. She had gone there to win it become the ruler of the Iron Islands. The problem was so did several other lords, not to mention her own uncles. She knew that she could hold her own against Victarian but Euron was unexpected. He had returned the day after her father had died and it made her wonder.

But wondering would do her no good here on Nagga's hill. She watched her uncle sway the ironborn with his promises of taking all of Westeros and binding the dragons to his will. They had all heard the horn blown before he made his appearance. It was a sound that filled their ears with pain. But he claimed that with it, he would take the dragons and take Westeros too.

The captains and lords all chanted "Euron!" Each time the name was said, it grew louder. She watched her uncle win the kingsmoot. But then, a voice rang out. "The Seastone Chair does not belong to you, Euron Greyjoy!"

Asha turned her head down the hill. The dragon queen herself walked up its steps. Four Kingsguard followed behind. To Asha's surprise, her brother walked beside her. Theon had been sent to live with House Stark after the rebellion. He had come back to the islands dressed in silk and velvet, acting like a green lander. Their father and uncles mocked him for it, deriding anything he could've done as weak. She had done the same because she remembered a little boy who had been proud to be an ironborn.

He hated being on the islands, they all knew it. He left for the North when Aegon Targaryen called for aid. That had been more than ten years ago. The man who came up the hill was much different than the boy she saw last. A patch covered his right eye but it didn't cover the scar pulling at his lips, making him look like he was sneering all the time. He wore boiled leather and chain mail, all under a sea coat like hers. His hair had been cut down to a buzz, showing the scars that laced his head. His uncovered eye was different too. It was serious, taking in everything as a possible threat.

The queen herself was not what Asha had expected. She carried no weapons, wore no crown, and did not bedeck herself in finery. She was dressed much like Asha was, in clothes that were suited for life on a ship. Her grey eyes were serious and resolute. They looked at everyone on that hill.

Euron smiled as he looked at her. "It seems that I would not have to go far for my wife," he proclaimed. "She has come to me."

The dragon queen said, "I can't imagine any woman who would go to you willingly." The utter scorn in her voice was hard to miss. "You delude yourself, Euron Greyjoy, if you think I came for you." She turned around, dismissing him entirely. She looked at the hill. "I am Joan Targaryen, and I claim the Seastone Chair!"

Everyone on Nagga's hill was struck by her words, none more so than Asha. She had laid her claim down because she was Balon's daughter and an ironborn. The dragon queen was neither and yet she dared to do this? Protests and objections rose up instantly. She didn't respond, choosing to wait. None of her party moved.

Aeron quieted the protestors and looked at her. "What do you offer?" he asked. A claimant had to offer some kind of treasure before the captains.

"I offer nothing," she said. "Because I see nothing worth being offered to." She gave the hill a scathing look. "People speak of the ironborn in fear but also in scorn. I can see why. What are the ironborn but a group of scavengers clinging to a clump of rocks in the sea? All you do is steal from others too weak to protect themselves and cower when those strong enough to fight back come for you."

Asha wanted to bury her axe in her head. It was tempting, the green lander wore no armor or carried weapons, But Theon did and so did the Kingsguard. They would protect her if things turned into a fight. She didn't have to look at the other captains and men to know they heard her words and were maddened by them.

The dragon queen saw them. "Did I insult you? Offend some kind of pride you have?" she asked. "I am amazed that the ironborn would have any kind of pride at all when all you do is steal from others." She gestured at Crow's Eye dismissively. "He claims he would have you conquer Westeros, but only through taking the dragons and marrying me, not by his own hand or blade. What does that say of the ironborn?"

Aeron looked furious. "If you mean to mock us, then leave!" he ordered. "Go back to your green lands, where there is food and gold aplenty!"

She did not move. She looked at him. "I do not mock you so freely, Aeron Greyjoy. I do it to prove what is wrong about the ironborn." She looked at the men on the hill again. The scorn in her eyes was gone now. "I do not offer you treasures. I offer you a challenge. I offer you something else, something new. I will take the Seastone Chair and I will tell you to explore."

"Explore? Why the fuck should we do that?" someone shouted.

"Because the world is unfinished." She pointed to the west and to the south. "Do you know what lies out there? I don't. I would like to see what is there but I can't go there. I need people to go there, see what there is, and bring back what is there. Who else would I look to but the ironborn?" she asked, looking at them all. "Would you do it?"

"Why should we go for some uncertain waters?" Asha asked her. It wasn't a challenge. She wanted to hear what the dragon queen had to say. But it was taken as such. Other captains and men began shouting the same, calling upon the Old Way.

She said, "The Old Way is just that, old. What I offer you is a new way. Leave what you know and explore the unknown. I want you to sail the strange seas and find new lands. I want you to bring back what these new lands have to offer, their gifts and their knowledge. Make no mistake, you will have to pay a price. But it is not the iron price you so love. It is something much more than that."

What could've been more than the iron price? Asha looked at her men. They were wondering the same thing. So were her uncles, with the exception of Crow's Eye. Euron looked both angry and interested at what was happening. Victarian was silent but he watched the kingsmoot with sharp eyes. Aeron looked like he was about to have a religious fit or something.

The dragon queen held up her hand. "You will pay the same price I pay: the blood price. Do you think because I am the queen, I sit in idle luxury and let others rule for me? No. I work every day to achieve what I want for Westeros. It is hard, it is tiring, and there are days where it doesn't seem to fucking work. But when I'm done, I can look at what I've done and know I did that." She lowered her hand and looked at the hill. "Can you do the same? Can the ironborn be the ones who fill out the map of the world? If you know you can, if you are the seamen you claim to be, then name me your queen!"

There wasn't even a moment of silence before the entire hill roared "JOAN! JOAN! JOAN QUEEN!" Asha was one of two who were silent. The other was Euron. He had lost his amusement and now just look furious.

---

Later, when the dragon queen had been anointed and crowned, Asha was summoned before her. She strode into a tent at the beach. It was furnished with common furniture and trappings. Her new queen sat at a desk, looking over papers. She glanced up. "Ah, Theon's sister. Asha, correct?"

"Aye, that's me," she said, striding over to the chair in front of the desk. She sat down and lounged in it. "What is you want?"

"I will be heading back to the mainland tomorrow. I thought we should meet before I left, so I could get to know my Lady of the Iron Islands."

She froze in that chair. "What?" She looked at the woman. She wasn't japing. "You're making me rule these islands?"

"Why wouldn't I? Your family has been doing that since Aegon the Conqueror. I came to take the crown to prevent any kind of rebellion from arising."

She understood that and could applaud it. But there was one thing she didn't see. "Why not my brother? Clearly you know him."

"Theon will come back to King's Landing with me. He'll represent the Iron Islands on my council. Expect a lot of ravens from him," she added, like it was just an afterthought. She turned her attention back to the papers on the desk.

Asha was shocked. She hadn't expected this. But she saw a problem. "My uncles will not like this."

"Aeron and Victarian are traditionalists," the queen said. "They might not like it, but they will follow you if you provide good leadership."

"Euron isn't a traditionalist. He came here with a plan to take your dragons and marry you." She had a feeling if it had happened like that, the green land prince would soon have a tragic accident. She also knew that her uncle would not give up because he lost.

The dragon queen seemed unconcerned. "Your uncle is not going to be much of a problem."

She laughed at her naivety. "You don't know him that well."

"No, I've been informed about him." She looked up from the papers. "I was informed about his horn before I came here. Why do you think there are no dragons in the sky?"

She realized she was right. She could've tried to use the dragons to make the ironborn submit. That was what her uncle would've wanted. By leaving them behind, she kept them safe from her. The tent flap opened and Theon stepped inside. "He's here," he said.

"Send him in."

Asha turned her head to see who they were talking about. A tall man in armor walked in, carrying something in his hand. The burns on his face were extensive. Where there wasn't blackened flesh, there was oozing redness. She looked at him and would've sworn she saw bone on his jaw.

"Sandor Clegane," said the dragon queen to the man. "You have news."

He nodded and threw a strip of cloth on the table. "It's done," he growled.

"And your reward?"

He smiled darkly. "I took it."

"Thank you, Clegane. You have done me good service." He didn't say anything to that, choosing to leave the tent just as quickly as he came into it.

Asha looked at the cloth. She recognized it. "That's Euron's eyepatch."

The dragon queen glanced at it. "It is." She looked at Asha. "While we were at the kingsmoot, Sandor and some handpicked men rowed themselves over to the Silence so they could scuttle it. When your uncle went to go back to it, all he would've found was a wreck and a sword to meet him. And I can tell by the eyepatch that he didn't survive the meeting."

"You had him killed?" She shouldn't have been surprised at that. In fact, she should've been more surprised at the fact she had planned something like this before even coming to the islands.

"No, of course not," she said with a straight face. "Euron Greyjoy died when he tried to set sail aboard his ship and it sank mysteriously. Perhaps the Drowned God was displeased with how he tried to win and claimed his soul for it." She looked Asha in the eyes. "Unless, you think it happened differently?"

Asha looked at her and felt uncertain. She had a feeling that she wasn't just looking at a human now. She was also looking at a wolf. A wolf waiting for her to say the wrong thing so she could attack her, tear her to bloody pieces. This woman had given her the Iron Islands. She could take them right back. "No, that's what happened."

"I'm glad we agree. The Islands are going to change, Asha. I hope that you will be there to help change them." She didn't make it sound like a threat or a warning. But Asha had a feeling it was there somewhere in the words. "We'll talk later."

It was a dismissal and she took it. As she walked out of the tent, she walked past Theon. "Do you need me, your Grace?" he asked.

"No," the dragon queen said.

"Then I will leave with my sister. It's probably time we talked again." With a nod, he followed her out of the tent.

They walked across the beach in silence, at least until they left the royal camp. "You've changed," Asha said to him. It was the first thing that came to her.

"Aye, for the better," he agreed. "You've stayed the same."

He was certainly insulting her. She found herself smiling because of it. Perhaps they would have a better bond than they did when he came back the first time. "You got into the queen's good graces. What did you do, fuck her?"

"I'd be dead if I had," he said with complete honesty. But there was something else to his voice, a wistful longing. Did he actually love her? "If Prince Aegon hadn't killed me, their sisters would've gotten to me first."

"So what did you do?"

"She challenged me to an archery contest."

"Did you win?" He smiled and said nothing else about it. No matter how much she prodded him about it, he wouldn't say anything.

Bran

(Location: King's Landing)

Joan wasn't the same girl Bran knew in Winterfell. Then again, he wasn't the same boy she had known. When he had come of age, he had gone to the Wall to fight, the same as Father and Robb. He had fought for only a year before the war ended and he felt the sun's light on his face.

But he felt like he had changed in that year. Things certainly did. Robb had become Lord of Winterfell after Father had died in battle. Uncle Edmure had died too and so Bran had to become Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident.

Father had raised him to do his duty. It was why he stood in the Iron Throne's court. Called to serve. Most days were boring affairs. Even the days where Joan held open court for the smallfolk to approach were rather banal. But today was different, there was a man before the throne, draped in the robes of a maester. He seemed unassuming and rather like someone's kind faced uncle. Young, unlike most maesters, or at least younger than most maesters. Perhaps just a few years older than Bran himself.

Bran kept glancing up at Joan. She looked every bit the Queen dressed in a black dress with hints of red. It was different from what he was used to seeing her in. "What brings you before the Iron Throne?" she asked.

"Your Grace." The maester bowed. "My name is Harwin. I was a maester in training in Oldtown."

"Was?" she asked, head leaning down to rest against her fist.

The man nodded. "Yes, your Grace. I am afraid the old maesters of the Citadel and myself do not see eye to eye. I have come to King's Landing hoping you might think differently."

"Your Grace," the Grand Maester, for the first time since Bran had been here, stood up and spoke, drawing all eyes to him. "I remember word of this young man. A mind poisoned young by the ideas of a man named Qyburn. His research was monstrous, his—"

"His methods," the younger man spoke over the Grand Maester, his voice bouncing off the walls, "are not my own. But my old teacher did hold ideas that would further our knowledge. Not merely…recycle it."

Joan held up her hand forestalling the protest of the Grand Maester. "What exactly is it that you've come here for specifically, Maester Harwin?"

Bran mentally corrected that he wasn't a maester. No chain. But he held his silence. "For years the maesters have been following the same methods, coming to the same results. I wish to find a different method, a different answer. Grant me what resources you see fit my queen, and I will devote all my days to broadening our knowledge of the world, the body and the minds of men." He boldly looked up at her.

"You want a sponsor."

"In simple terms," Harwin shrugged, "Yes, your Grace. The Citadel of Oldtown is content to preserve and re-use. But they do not have the gumption to search for new questions and even better answers. In exchange for your support, everything I discover I will lay at your feet. To use as the Crown wills."

"I see."

Bran was quiet, watching as Joan mulled the thought over, he could see it bouncing around her head, and could hear the whispers of incredulity from some of the nobles mixed with general curiosity.

"You said earlier that you have studied the mind, yes?" The question confused him. Bran didn't know why she would ask something like that. The mind was the mind. There was nothing to ponder about it.

But Harwin nodded. "I have. It is an interesting thing, the mind. It controls absolutely everything of the body, but the body can affect the health of the mind oh yes—" He sounded like he enjoyed what he talked about.

Joan nodded, cutting him off. "Then I will grant your request, Harwin. One year." She held up a single finger. "I shall grant you one year to work as you see fit. You will serve the Crown with your works. And the first of these works, will be this task—"

"Name it, your Grace!" the man said with an eager pitch in his voice.

"Discover the reasons for the Targaryen madness. I wish to know the real reasons for it, not that it's because the gods are punishing my house."

One could have heard a pin drop. Harwin's smile could have split his face in two. "I understand perfectly, your Grace."

"Really?" Bran thought. He looked up at his cousin, trying to understand what had just happened. And why. She'd already declared that the incestuous marriages would never happen again. So the point seemed rather moot. A waste of time and money. Curious.

He kept that curiosity for the rest of the day, right up until the dinner with Joan. It was a private dinner, between family members. Prince Aerys had dined earlier and had already gone to bed. Bran didn't say much as he ate he hardly ever did. Age had mellowed the little boy that spent his days climbing castle walls. Now it was not uncommon to find him sitting for hours at the foot of trees, utterly still.

She knew there was something on his mind. "Do you have something to say, Bran?" she asked him.

He placed his spoon down. "It's about the man, the maester that came to you today. I was wondering why you asked what you did."

"Curiosity. Prevention." She shrugged, "Take your pick."

He knew that tone. It made him smile a bit. She'd used the same tone when he'd asked her for advice just three years ago. When Walder Frey finally died, House Frey had torn itself apart with the fighting. Even with clear laws of succession when you had a family as extensive and weaselly as the Frey's backstabbing was going to happen.

He'd asked Joan for troops to quell the infighting, she had told him to wait. When he asked why, that tone of hers had come out. It told him she had an idea. When a new Lord of the Crossing was finally seated and the fighting was done, the house was weakened and she sent him a raven. It read "Shovels and stones can work better than swords."

It was brazen. He'd thought of it himself, of course. But he wasn't sure if the crown would back him. While he was the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, many of his bannermen saw him as little more than a Stark in Tully clothes. Without her backing he might not last long.

But with that tacit endorsement of his plan, he got to work. He had roads extended and bridges built on the Trident, north and south of the Twins, finally breaking the stranglehold the Frey's had held over the crossing for generations. They weren't happy but there wasn't really anything they could do. The rest of the Riverlands loved him for it.

He took a breath. "You were never one for idle curiosity."

"I wear a crown. It changes people."

"Those changes the same reason why you refused Steffon a place in the Kingsguard?" Arya's second son was a promising squire. He was good with a sword and a lance, honorable and chivalrous. Everyone had thought that he would be a good Kingsguard when the time came, only for Joan to tell him to his face it would never happen. They were all shocked, none more so than Steffon. Bran could still see the look of crushed hope on his nephew's face.

Joan fell silent again. There was an emotion in her eyes he was a little surprised to see: sadness. "No," she said. "I know Steffon wished to be a Kingsguard, just as I know Gendry and Arya would've been proud of him if he had. But… he deserves better." He didn't know what she meant by those words. But there something about them that felt different. What that was, he didn't know.

Jaime

(Location: Braavos)

He remembered the time when he had been the youngest of the Kingsguard, a boy of only fifteen years. Back then, he had only seen the glory of being a Kingsguard. Then he saw the horrors and thought there was nothing he could do. When Rhaegar Targaryen returned from the Trident, Aerys had thought in his madness that he had betrayed him. The Mad King had been ready to burn the city to the ground, until Jaime held his sword to his throat and ordered him to open the gates. None of his brothers had said anything about what he did. He was never sure if that was worse than them saying anything.

Those were the days of his youth. Now, with his golden hair growing grey and years of experience wearing on his shoulders and face, people called him the Last Kingsguard. It was true. Ever since his brothers began to die, the queen did not replace them. She did not hide her intentions from him. In fact, she had told him that when the Kingsguard would change, to become an order of spies. In her words, they would protect Westeros where no one would see them.

It wasn't what he thought the Kingsguard should be but he knew that the queen thought the times were changing. That meant things had to change too. She didn't dismiss him from her service to start her change. It was why he was here, in Braavos, following Prince Aerys and Baelor through the streets. The cousins were as close as brothers.

They were making their way through an alley. The sun had set nearly an hour ago. Jaime had heard about the dangers of walking around at night in Braavos. The princes were on their way to a tavern they had found the first night and kept going to it every night.

This night, they came across a duel between bravos. It happened in a small canal off the alley and had attracted a small crowd. The two bravos were clad in outrageous colors, to Jaime's eyes at least. Really, who wore green with silver or orange with brown? But in spite of their clothes, they handled their swords competently. There was a lot more showing off than he would've used. It was liable to get one of them killed.

And it did. As the brown bravo fell with a slit belly, the green bravo pranced around to the applause of the crowd. Jaime restrained the urge to snort. Prince Baelor saw the look on his face. "A good fight, Ser Jaime?" he asked.

"If Ser Barristan had seen that fight, he would've stopped the duel and taken both those fools to task for such stupidity." It seemed like only now that he knew what his old Lord Commander felt when he first took the white cloak. It almost made him glad he didn't have to go through the same headache himself.

Prince Aerys looked as if he couldn't believe what he heard. "Come now, Ser Jaime. Can you deny that was superb fighting?" he asked.

If he hadn't been asked by the princes to be honest with them if they asked a question, his answer might've been different. "It was pandering to the crowd, your Highness. That is not what swordsmanship is about. You should only have a sword in your hand if you must defend yourself." He took notice of the other bravos around the canal. The princes did not wear swords but kept a dagger out of sight. They weren't being stared at, though. He was. They saw his sword.

One of them started for him. "I think you have a challenger, Ser Jaime," Prince Baelor remarked. His tone might've been light but Jaime saw his hands slowly falling to his sides. His cousin was doing the same thing. They would reach for their daggers next.

He wasn't going to let that happen. "I have no such thing," he said loudly. He looked at the princes, turning his head away from the approaching bravo. "Your Highnesses, wasn't there a tavern we were to be going to?"

Prince Aerys nodded. "Yes, there was."

They turned their backs on the canal and walked away. "Halt!" a young voice shouted behind them.

Jaime looked back. It was the bravo, clad in red and purple. He had an arrogant look to his face. Prince Aerys stepped forward to him with a smile. "Hello there, friend," he said. Jaime's father might've thought the prince too much like his own father, always eager to make new friends. He personally thought it was a trait he got from his father, Prince Aegon.

The bravo ignored him, keeping his eyes on Jaime. "I have a question for you," he said. "Who is the most beautiful woman in the world?"

He looked at the boy and saw Loras Tyrell again. No, not Loras. He saw himself in that arrogant face. "You waste my time with such a foolish question?" he asked back.

"You carry a sword. I think you have skill with it." The arrogance came off him in waves.

He let his hand fall to the sword's hilt. The bravo tensed, ready for the fight he thought was coming. "You're right, I do have skill with my sword," he told him. "But you are not worth the skill or my time." He turned his back once more and looked to the princes. They didn't need any more prompting.

Prince Aerys was thoughtful as they walked. "In spite of what you've said, Ser Jaime, I think there is something that could be done about bravo blades."

His cousin snorted. "Give me a good longsword any day, coz. They would shatter one of the blades easily."

"If they could touch the blade. A bravo's blade seems to be smaller, lighter. In the right hands, a longsword would have a hard time matching one of them."

"Even if that happened, it wouldn't do anything against steel armor." He looked back at Jaime. "Am I right, Ser Jaime?"

"Aye, for the most part." He was experienced enough to know that all it would take a stab in the right chink of armor to kill someone.

They came out of the alley and saw a familiar looking dock. It was familiar because Jaime had seen it before the princes found the tavern. That meant they were getting close. Prince Baelor stopped and looked at the dock, at the ships resting on the quiet water. It was a wistful look, full of longing. "My time as captain of my own ship cannot come soon enough," he declared.

Had Jaime not known the prince had been sent to Pyke to foster, after learning how to sail from Theon Greyjoy, he might've thought that declaration odd. But he knew Baelor had thrived under Greyjoy's tutelage and loved going out to sea. "What will you do when you become captain?" Aerys asked.

"What the queen mandated: explore the world. Of course, I'll have to bring treasures back with me." He looked at his cousin with an inviting grin. "You would be welcome to join my crew, Aerys."

"You've been making that offer ever since you told me you'd be a captain," the crown prince told him.

"And you've always said no for the same reason." It was a reason Jaime knew well. Both the princes knew it too. Prince Aerys was the heir to the Iron Throne. He couldn't just go off and explore the world, not when he was still learning how to rule from his mother and his teachers.

The prince gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Baelor. I have duties."

Baelor didn't argue with him. It would be an argument he'd lose. "Come on," he said, throwing his arm over his cousin's shoulder and pulling him away from the dock. "Let's go find that tavern so I can get you drunk and miss your sweetheart." Jaime followed behind, silent but listening.

He groaned. "I wish I hadn't told you about that."

"Just be glad only the family knows about it and not Westeros. Otherwise all the lords would be up in flames." Jaime knew what he meant and smiled to himself as he followed. It was common knowledge amongst the royal family and their closest confidants that Prince Aerys had fallen in love with a wildling girl when he was sent to foster at Hardhome. The queen herself had remarked if he wasn't going to steal her, she would steal him.

---

The next day, Jaime sat in a boat with the queen. They had just left the talks with the Iron Bank and the Sealord. The queen seemed to be in a good mood, so he had to assume that the talks were going well. "How is my son, Ser Jaime?" she asked him.

He looked at her. Despite her fifteen years on the Iron Throne, it showed only in strands of grey hair. She did not hide the grey but wore it with pride and elegance women her age would try to hide. She looked her age without shame but he could still remember her when she had been a young girl, happy for the love given to her.

"He is well, your Grace," he told her.

"Is he getting into trouble while in Braavos?"

"None that should concern you." That was the closest he could say to the truth without telling her what the princes did. She didn't need to know that the princes were involved in a tavern brawl, one they might've started.

She looked at him with those Stark grey eyes. "Should I be concerned that you've now said that?"

"No. How goes the talks?"

"They go well. The Sealord is inclined to the idea and the Iron Bank is willing to consider helping establish our own bank in Westeros."

"With a percentage to their own bank?"

She didn't smile, exactly. He could see it in her eyes. "That's the belief, yes." She didn't say it was their belief. She didn't have to.

That was another thing that set Queen Joan apart from her father. King Rhaegar was a good ruler and so was she. But she was not above using underhanded methods to get necessary results. He was fairly certain that she had done it when his father had passed away, ten years ago. She, the three dragons, and a small part of the court had come to the Westerlands not to mourn Tywin Lannister's passing (if she was a crasser person, Jaime would've believed she'd thrown a feast to celebrate the fact), but rather to ensure the transfer of lordship went smoothly.

It was no secret that Tywin had always considered Jaime to be his heir even after he joined the Kingsguard. But when his last will and had been read, it clearly stated Tyrion to be his heir. There had been protests and objections but the will was authentic and clear. Tyrion had installed as Lord of Casterly Rock.

Jaime had long since suspected the queen somehow got her hands on his father's will and changed it. Perhaps she had spies in place. Perhaps it had been Varys. He didn't accuse her of anything, mostly because he couldn't prove anything. It was the right choice in the end (although he did take offense at the queen telling his sister, in her own words, to "Shut your useless hole of a mouth"). Tyrion ruled the Westerlands well and Jamie did what he did best: being a Kingsguard.

But being a Kingsguard did not mean he was ready to walk into an infamous house of Braavos. As he stared at the House of Black and White, he felt an uncertain feeling pass through him. He knew of the Faceless Men. He just never thought he would go into their temple. But his queen walked up those steps, carrying the sack she had since this morning. He followed.

The doors opened when she knocked. They walked in and those same doors closed behind them, pulling the light away. The only light he could see were from the candles illuminating the statues. And they were strange statues. One was a crying woman, one was a man with a lion's head, another was the Stranger. There was a pool in the middle of the room, filled with water. It was dark, barely able to reflect the candles' light.

"What would have me do, your Grace?" he asked her.

"Stand vigil, Ser Jaime," she told him. "We will not be here long."

She walked over to the Stranger. She lit three candles before him. As their smoke rose, she closed her eyes and bowed her head. Jaime remembered what today was. It was the day the war ended, when spring had returned. The queen had always chosen to remember that day for the lives that were lost, especially her family.

He didn't notice the old man until he walked up to the queen. "Curious," he said. He looked kindly, like a man who would help people lost in the city. The mere fact he was here made Jaime concerned.

The queen looked at him with no fear. "What is curious?"

"Many have come to the House of Black and White to seek the gift. Either for them or for others. But not you. A woman lights only candles and prays. She does not seek the gift. Curious."

"Is it so curious that a woman would offer a prayer to the dead, to know if they are well?" she asked him.

"In a temple, yes. Few have done that here."

She looked around the hall. "I would call this a temple. Here, I would say that the dead hear me the best." She looked back at the man. "Although I wouldn't say what you give is a gift."

"All men receive it someday. Why would that not be a gift?"

"I call it the end. Life itself is the gift." She didn't accuse the man with her words. "You say valar morghūlis. I say valar glaesis." Jaime did not know much Valyrian so he did not know what the queen had said. But she said it with conviction.

"Interesting," the man said. "But was your only reason to come here to discuss the gift?"

She shook her head. "No."

"You wish for someone to receive the gift?"

"No." She reached for the sack and undid its strings. "I came to offer you this."

Jaime could only gape in surprise as she held out a dragon egg to the man. It wasn't just any egg, though. It was the same egg the royal family had tried to hatch for her all those years ago. When Prince Aerys had been born, people would assume the egg would hatch for him but it never did.

The old man looked at the egg and Jaime would've sworn there was a surprised look in his eyes. "Why does a woman offer such a thing?"

"Who better a people with no names to hide something away?" she asked him. "Hide it or destroy it, I don't care which. There are enough dragons in the world."

"Enough?" Jaime thought. "There are only three." What would happen to those dragons once she died? Her family would tear each other apart trying to claim them and the Iron Throne. It would be another Dance of the Dragons. But then he remembered what the queen was trying to do.

In her own words, Aegon the Conqueror had bullied Westeros into making him its king and he did it with dragons. Queen Joan was trying to create a world where she or her house wouldn't need the threat of dragons. The laws she had written or brought back with often enforced with the threat of the dragons, though. She had said she had written the laws not for the current lords but for their grandchildren and their children. She made it sound like she would be around for a long time, and he didn't doubt that.

The old man eyed the egg for a long moment. He reached out with a single hand and took it. The egg disappeared into the folds of his robe. "A man will do as a queen asks." It was the only thing he said before turning away but Jaime thought he heard a tone of respect in his voice. Jaime tried to watch him but he vanished like he had disappeared.

The queen picked up the sack and walked back to the door. "Come, Ser Jaime," she told him. "We are finished here." She walked out the door into the daylight. He was right behind her.

"Your Grace," he asked as they walked down the steps, "what were those words you said?"

"All men must live," she answered, her eyes forward.

Hal

(Location: King's Landing)

He smiled as the crowd roared their approval. The play was success and the Hand's Men were taking in the bows. Hal wasn't a part of the group on stage but it was his play they had performed here, in the Gem theater.

"Where's Hal?" roared Joss as the thespians came off the stage to the back room. He hated the word mummer, claiming that was not who they were.

Hal came forward to meet him. "I'm here, Joss." He was smaller than the company's leader, but only by a few inches.

It was enough for him to grab him and lift him in a big hug. "Have you got any more of those plays, you brilliant fucker?" he demanded. "Tonight was a success! We need to have more!"

He did his best to get out of the hug. They were men, for fuck's sake. They don't need to hug that much. "There are a few. Some comedies and a tragedy."

"Forget about the tragedy. We need more comedies!" he ordered.

Hal didn't think that. The audiences could use more tragedies, something to make them think. But Joss wouldn't believe that. He would shout at Hal and then ignore him until he was needed again. He would like to keep this job with the group. It was a good one.

Sweet Sam came barreling in from the other side. His thin face was sweating and his eyes bugged out of their sockets. "Joss!" he shouted. "Viserys's outside!"

Everyone knew who Viserys was. The second son of Prince Aerys was a friend of theirs, even joining them in one of their plays at times. Hal wondered why Sweet Sam shouted the news. Viserys came in when he pleased. "Why's that so important, Sam?" Joss demanded.

"His grandmother is with him!"

They all froze. Hal saw many looks of panic and horror spread through the group. "The queen?" Mac, another thespian, asked. "Oh fuck."

Oh fuck was right. Hal didn't need to look at the back room and the other rooms to know it was not ready for a queen. "Clean it up!" Joss roared at everyone. "Now! Sam, stall her!"

"Stall the queen? Are you mad?"

"Do it!"

Hal was already running for his room, the one he shared with other thespians. He was the first one in and started cleaning up, throwing dirty clothes where they could be easily hidden. It was hard since the fucking room was filthy. Two others came running in, trying to help him. They all just did what they could do to clean it up.

He wasn't sure if they were able to clean everything up but it looked clean enough he came out with the others. "Is the queen still out there?" Jack asked. He was still wearing his wig even though he got out of his costume.

Sweet Sam nodded. "She is."

"Well, let her in," Joss ordered. He was trying to looked dignified. It Hal thought it was hard when he was still wearing makeup on his cheeks.

Viserys came in first. He was dressed like he normally was when he was with them. His jerkin was unbuttoned and his shirt untucked. He walked in boots that were a size too big in Hal's eyes. But he wasn't laughing or smiling, like usual. Rather, he looked somewhere between serious and having been caught with a girl.

But considering the woman who walked in the room, Hal wasn't surprised. He felt his own back stiffen as the queen came into sight. She wasn't dressed like a queen and wasn't wearing a crown, but there was no doubting the regal air around her. She had been queen for thirty years, longer than since Hal had been born. Her hair was iron grey, like her eyes, and held in a small bun. She walked tall, like she was twenty-five years younger. Hal wondered if her wolf was with her but he didn't see it.

She looked at them all with a quiet eye. "So, Viserys, these are the mummers you're friends with," she said. Joss reddened with injured pride but said nothing.

Viserys nodded. "Yes, Grandmother. But they preferred to be called thespians."

She looked at him. He held her gaze but Hal didn't know how he could. There were many stories about the queen and he heard them all. He heard of when a Lysene magister came to King's Landing, to the queen's court, with three bed slaves. In the middle of his speech, he faltered because he couldn't look the queen in the eyes. Then she bought the bed slaves from him, freed them, bought the ship that brought him to Westeros, and forced him to pay the entirety of his wealth for a passage back to Lys on the same ship. He came wealthy and left penniless, all because he was fool enough to anger her.

"How is that different than a mummer?" she asked her grandson. "They mean the same thing."

"Words have power, Grandmother. Surely you know that is the truth."

"Words are wind."

Hal was insulted by that. He was a writer. His entire world was words. A small part of him tried to remember that she was the queen but he was too angry to care about it. "A strong enough wind can create a blaze," he said. She turned to look at him. Fear overruled his pride and it held him in place.

"I didn't see you out on the stage," she said, looking him up and down. "What's your name?"

"H-Hal, your Grace. I'm the company playwright."

"And was tonight's play yours?"

He nodded. "Aye, it was." He dared to ask, "You saw it?" He had checked the royal box as the play had started. It had been empty. Had she been amongst the masses?

She kept looking at him. Why was she looking at him? "Have you written others?"

"Yes."

"Do you think yourself good?"

Now that was just insulting his pride. What's more, she knew it. "I'm the best," he declared.

"Good," she said with a smile like a wolf pouncing on prey. "Then I have a challenge for you."

Something washed down his spine. Was it fear or anticipation? He was going with the second. "You want me to write a play?" It was the only thing that made sense to him. Why else would she say she had a challenge for him?

"I want you to write me a history." He was confused and she saw it. "I want you to write a play, use the words you think so highly of, and write a historical play about my ancestor. Write me a play of why Aegon the Conqueror thought he could rule Westeros." She gave him a challengingly look. "Do you believe yourself capable of that?"

She made it sound like he couldn't. He didn't care that she was the queen at that moment. "I am," he said with pride in his skills.

She smiled. "Good. I look forward to seeing it." She turned and left without another word.

The second the queen left their rooms, it was like everyone could breathe again. Hal couldn't believe what just happened. "The queen wants me to write a play," he said to himself.

"Aye," Viserys agreed. "And it only took her three plays to make the decision."

All eyes snapped to their prince. "Three plays?" Joss repeated. His jaw was agape. "The queen has seen three of our plays?"

He nodded. "Aye, I convinced her to come and she did. She enjoyed the first one and came back for more." He looked at Hal with a serious eye. He was rarely serious unless he played such a part. "My grandmother is expecting a lot from you, Hal. She wouldn't give you a challenge like that if she didn't think you could do it."

Hal was surprised at that. The queen had expected him to write something good? Pride filled him, along with a desire to prove himself. She wanted a history. That was what she was going to get. "Joss," he shouted as he turned and ran for the break room, "I need parchment!"

Sandor

(Location: Red Keep)

Once, Sandor Clegane had been a feared killer of Tywin Lannister, though he shed no tears when the old lion died. Now, he was the oldest training serjeant for the Army of Westeros. All who wanted to join came through him first. He broke them down, built them back up into a fighting force, and they loved him for it. Where he had been called the Hound with fear, now he was called the Old Dog with affection, something he secretly was glad for.

He joined the army back when it was only the Golden Company. He had joined on the suggestion of the queen. If it had been anyone else, he might've dismissed it. But he knew he owed Queen Joan. She had killed the idea of knights and he gladly helped her murder it by making men into soldiers. So when she asked him to come King's Landing to help her, he was willing to go. It was also why he was standing behind her in her solar at the hour of the wolf. It was only them there, waiting silent.

The door opened and two guards came in. Between them, they carried Prince Gaemon, the queen's fifth grandson. Sandor would've been amazed at how many grandchildren the queen had but he already knew that Prince Aerys and his wife seemed determined to reestablish House Targaryen all by themselves.

The prince was still a youth at five and ten. He looked equal parts outraged and embarrassed. The guards released him and left the room. As soon as the door closed, he stood back up. "Grandmother—"

"What were you thinking?" Queen Joan asked. Sandor didn't need to see her eyes to know they were iron hard.

He didn't answer her. Instead, he asked another question. "How did you know?"

"Your brother told Aerys, who told me." Sandor watched the prince try to figure which one of his brothers ratted him out to their grandmother. He wondered how long until he realized that it was the youngest who had been listening in on him.

The queen didn't stop there. "Did you really think I would let you run away with Daena so you could marry each other?"

"We love each other," he said with the full foolish passion of youth. "We're meant to be."

"You're betrothed to Rhea Royce."

"I don't know her."

"She's coming to King's Landing so she can meet you, just like Manfred Dondarrion is coming to meet Deana." She frowned at her grandson. "You knew that."

He didn't brother to hide it. "We're Targaryens. We're meant to wed each other. You can't deny us this, Grandmother."

Sandor didn't say anything. That wasn't what he was there for. The queen looked her grandson full in the eye. "Do you know the story of King Aegon V and his children?" she asked him. He didn't answer, so she did. "Being the fourth son of a fourth son, it seemed unlikely in his youth he would become king and so married for love. But king he did become and he set out to change Westeros. He sought to make those changes permanent by marrying his children to seal alliances.

"Unfortunately, his children also decided to marry for love, uncaring about what the outcome would be. His firstborn broke his betrothal to marry Jenny of Oldstones, giving up his right to the Iron Throne. Jaehaerys married his sister Shaera in spite of the fact they were both betrothed to others.

"Those decisions came back to haunt our family a generation later, when Robert Baratheon, grandson of Rhaelle Targaryen, the daughter Aegon sent to appease the Baratheons whom Duncan had scorned, tried to take the Iron Throne not once, but twice from us." She held her finger an inch away from her thumb. "Our family was this close to destruction and while we survived, all the work Aegon V had made was undone. And now you threatened to do the same because you think only of yourself. I will not have it, Gaemon. This family will not destroy itself. You will do your duty and honor your betrothal."

The more she spoke, the more the prince seemed to realize the situation he was in. Sandor smiled to himself. He knew there was no escape for the prince. "But Grandmother, you married for love!" Prince Gaemon protested. "You married your brother while he was married to your sisters."

"I married them all, not one with the other. And that is not the point."

"It's the same thing!"

"No, it is not."

"Everyone knows that you loved them and you were happy. They've written songs about it. Why can't I have the same?"

"I married my brother and sisters because we all thought that the world was going to end soon and it was best to face it together." She narrowed her eyes at him. "You, on the other hand, have nothing like that. You are betrothed, Gaemon. Nothing will change that."

"I love Daena!"

"No," she said coldly. "You don't. You only think you love her. And now, you've forced my hand."

He went still at that. His face showed his confused uncertainty. "What do you mean?"

"Rhea Royce was to come to King's Landing and stay permanently. Now, after a short visit, she will be going back to the Vale. And you will be going with her, just like Daena will be going to Blackhaven with Manfred Dondarrion when he leaves." She looked him hard in the eyes. "And that will be the last time you see each other for a long time."

"No," he protested, horror washing over him.

"Yes. You will marry your betrothal and there's nothing you will do about it."

"You can't stop us from loving each other, Grandmother. We won't allow this."

Sandor didn't need to see the queen's eyes to know they sharpened. They always did that when she made her decision. "You have no choice in the matter, Gaemon." She gestured to him. "This is Sandor Clegane. He was a killer for longer than you or your father has been alive. If you try to run away with Daena again, if you try to marry her again, he will kill her and make you watch. Her death will be called an accident and you will still marry Rhea. Understand?"

The prince looked at his grandmother, horrified. She dismissed him and he left without a word, still looking at her like she was a monster. Once he was gone, Sandor looked at the queen. "Were you really going to have me kill your granddaughter?" he asked.

"No, of course not," she replied. She looked at him and the iron in her eyes vanished. Instead she looked tired, like the old woman she was. "But he doesn't know that and I had to drive the point home. I know my grandchildren, Sandor. A hard point had to be made, even if it's underhanded and sneaky."

He snorted quietly. No one could deny the fact the queen was very good at being underhanded and sneaky. He remembered fifteen years back when Volantis, Pentos, Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh united in a war against Slaver's Bay. It was a war that wasted their resources. When that point was reached, the might of Westeros and Braavos fell upon them. All their cities were sacked, their secrets taken, the mercenaries hired to fight for them destroyed, and the main power behind slavery broken.

The smallfolk and some foolish highborn thought it was a sign from the gods the queen ordered the army to attack. But Sandor just knew that the war was started deliberately by the new Kingsguard, spies chosen by Queen Joan, in those cities. They were the ones who brought the situation to fruit, giving her an excuse to destroy them. He wasn't the only one who thought it. No one said anything about it, though. After all, there was no actual proof. But he knew it was her. After all, she had been the one who suggested he row back to shore after leaving his brother on the sinking Silence.

The queen looked at him. "Do you have something to say, Sandor?" she asked him.

"No, your Grace."

"Good." She stiffened her shoulders. "Now to bring Daena and give her the death threat about Gaemon."

Which meant he had to go back to being intimidating. It was a good thing he knew how to do it in his old age. He fell silent as she sent a guard to go fetch her granddaughter. As he waited, he wondered if this conversation would be any different. The second Princess Daena came in with surprised look instead of outrage, he knew it wouldn't.

Aegon

(Location: King's Landing)

Aegon did his best to keep a steady breath as the ship sailed into the harbor. He had been sent to foster under his uncle, Prince Baelor. When he sailed to find new lands, Aegon went with him. They found new lands and they established themselves there, he had done his part and helped build the colony. When they discovered the natives, he was the one who advocated for peace and support, offering himself in marriage to them.

Looking back at her, he still could not believe he had married Chief Wapasha's daughter, Kimimela. She was beautiful and he didn't just say that because they were married. She was beautiful, nothing like any other woman he had seen. Her long black hair was tied in a braid that rested against her shoulder. Her dark eyes took in everything they could see, wide with awe. It betrayed the quietness her face gave. Back in her land, she had worn clothing of her tribe. But here, he had convinced her to wear a black dress with a red dragon. It made her look even more exotic than she usually was.

She looked his way. "You're staring," she said quietly, her words coated with a slight accent. He loved the way the words sounded from her mouth.

He saw the slight smile on her lips and smiled back. "How can I not stare at such a beautiful woman?" He knew her well. He had been the one who taught the Common Tongue to her and the other natives who had been willing to learn.

Her smile widened slightly but then her eyes turn back to the city. They traveled up to the Red Keep. "That is your hut," she said.

"Castle, Kimimela, it's a castle."

She ignored that. "It is where your tribe lives." When he taught the natives, he told them that the nobles houses of Westeros were like tribes. Because of that, they knew him as from the dragon tribe, something he didn't refute.

He looked up at the Red Keep. It had been a lot time since he had seen it last. Even though he had been a boy when he left for Dragonstone, it still looked the same to him. "It is. And they're waiting for us."

The ship docked in the harbor and they both came ashore. Someone was waiting for them. "You've been busy, little brother," Aemon said, looking at them both with a knowing look.

"Hello, Aemon," Aegon said back. "Are you well?" His brother looked well. His silver hair hung loose against his back, curling wildly.

"I am."

"How's your wife?" Even though he had been betrothed to Gywnesse Greyjoy for nearly fifteen years, a year or two after Aegon had been born, it was only in the recent years they had married.

"Gywn is fine." He looked to Kimimela and smiled charmingly. "But who is this beautiful maiden?"

Aegon reached for her and brought her forward. "This is Kimimela, daughter of Chief Wapasha. She's my wife." He looked to her. "This is Prince Aemon Targaryen, first son of Prince Aerys."

She knew what that meant. She looked to him and bowed her head. "I greet you, Eldest Brother."

Aemon didn't react to such a strange greeting. Instead he smiled more like a brother and bowed his head back. "Welcome to King's Landing and our family, Little Sister."

There was a quiet snort behind them. Aegon didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Aemon glanced back with a questioning look. "That's Watching Hawk," Aegon told him. "He's Chief Wapasha's brother and observer."

The older man came up beside them and looked Aemon in the eyes. Aegon knew it was a powerful stare. There was something about Watching Hawk that reminded him of the Kingsguard of old, when they were knights who publicly defended the royal family. He looked at Aemon with those quiet eyes, trying to see if he was a threat.

"Aegon, what's with the different name?" Aemon asked.

He didn't know. He dared to ask one time and no one had answered him. "It's his name," he told his brother. That was all he dared to say.

There was a carriage for them to take to the Red Keep but Aegon requested they ride horses instead. They rode through the streets of the city up to the castle. Kimimela and Watching Hawk gawk unashamedly. This was their first time seeing something like this. Aegon didn't gawk like they did but he did look out at the city.

It was beautiful. He had heard that in the days of King Rhaegar, King's Landing was a city third to both Lannisport and Oldtown, that it stunk to the seven hells and crammed with more people than it could house. But looking at the city, he couldn't believe it. How could something like this, clearly the greatest city in the world, be a stinking shithole? It boggled his mind every time.

They rode into the Red Keep's courtyard. There, servants rushed out to take their horses. There were some who stared at his wife and her uncle. He didn't let the stares affect him but Kimimela seemed concerned. He reached out and took her by the hand. It was a silent comfort, one she accepted.

They walked towards the castle but the queen's direwolf came out of Maekar's Holdfast. Both Aegon and Aemon went still at the sight of Ghost. "Kimimela, Watching Hawk, don't move," Aegon warned them both. "You risk being injured if you do."

They did as they were told. "What is this?" Watching Hawk asked, his quiet voice equal parts guarded and curious.

"It's a direwolf. He belongs to my grandmother." Ghost padded closer to them, taking his time approaching.

"How can a leader of dragons hold a wolf?"

It was a good thing he knew that answer. If he hadn't, it would make less in Watching Hawk's eyes. "My grandmother's mother was a Stark, the direwolf tribe of the North."

"The First Men."

"Aye, them." That was something both he and Watching Hawk had pondered on the journey here. They had wondered if his race were somehow related to the First Men, as they had no contact with the rest of the world before the Westerosi arrived. It was something he would love to figure out, if they had the time and the resources.

Ghost came up to them. Aegon remembered being a babe and the wolf was the biggest thing he had ever seen. The wolf sniffed him once, recognizing him, and padded over to Kimimela and Watching Hawk. He sniffed them, making sure he had their scent. When he was done, he looked at Kimimela, then at Aegon. Then he turned back to the Holdfast.

Kimimela looked at Aegon. "What was that?" she asked him.

"Him getting your scent, knowing you," he replied. "It's the first test, I guess."

Aemon led them into the Holdfast, to the queen's private quarters. It was a quiet walk. When they reached the door to the queen's quarters, Aegon's father was there waiting for them.

"Aegon, welcome home," Prince Aerys said with a warm smile.

The last time Aegon had seen his father, he was growing a bread, claiming to see what it would like. Now, that beard hung to his stomach. "Father, you look old," he said back. It was probably the one wrong with having Valyrian features. Long beards did not work for them.

But he laughed it off. "I am old." His purple eyes fell on Kimimela and they turned soft, warm. "This is your wife."

"It is."

She stepped forward and looked him in the eyes. "I greet you, Father."

"Hello, Kimimela," he said, smiling fatherly at her. He looked at Watching Hawk. "And you must be my brother." Watching Hawk didn't say anything about that. He just looked at him in silence. "Come in," he told them all. "Mother is waiting."

They went inside. The solar hadn't changed much since Aegon had been here last, when he was only six. The queen of Westeros sat near the fireplace. It might've been so she could be warm but she did not sit weakly in the chair. Her white hair glinted in the firelight and grey eyes found them. One hand stroked Ghost's fur idly while she watched them. "Welcome home, Aegon," she said to him, her grey eyes watching him and the others.

"Grandmother," he said, bowing his head to her. They might be family but she was still the queen.

"And this is your wife," she said, looking at Kimimela. She pointed to the spot before her chair. "Come here, girl."

She approached the queen and Aegon felt like his heart was in his throat. He knew nothing bad would happen but that didn't stop him from worrying. Kimimela wasn't afraid. "I greet you, Grandmother," she said.

"Bit early to be calling me that," the queen remarked, looking her over.

She was a little confused, Aegon could see it in her eyes. "I have married Aegon. His family is my family. You are my grandmother."

"It sounds like you mind up your mind."

"It is the truth."

Joan kept looking her over. "And you are a princess, are you? A daughter of your chief?" Kimimela nodded. "How did you meet my grandson?"

"He offered himself as…a hostage," she explained, taking a moment to find the right word. "To ensure peace. He offered to teach us his language. I was his student."

"She was my best student," Aegon offered. "She became our interpreter when there were talks. It was thanks to her that there weren't any serious fights."

His grandmother looked at him. "Serious fights?"

"A few of our people have clashed," Kimimela said. "There were misunderstandings, things that were explained."

"Which side fought more?" she asked, looking at them both. There was a question in her eyes. It was a question from a queen, not a grandmother.

Aegon saw the question and knew what it was. She was asking because if it was her people, she would have them punished. If it was the natives, she would demand something of them. "It was even," he said. "And even then, the problems did not last long."

She seemed to take that as truth. She looked back at Kimimela. "Do you fight, girl?" Watching Hawk narrowed his eyes at that question. Not because of the question itself but because of his niece's hesitance.

"Aegon has taught me to wield a sword."

"But you do not prefer it."

Aegon was astounded by his grandmothor. How did she know that? She always had that ability. It was freaky sometimes. "No," Kimimela said. "I like a bow better."

"For hunting or for war?"

"I prefer the first but I will do the second, if I must." That was something Aegon had been surprised when he first met them. The native women were just as able to go to war as the men. That was something he hadn't seen in Westeros. He knew that his grandmother had been a warrior when she was young but she didn't set the standard.

Grandmother glanced over at Father and nodded once. He walked over to a nearby chest and pulled out two bows. He went to the queen and held them out. Aegon saw the first one she took was a weirwood longbow. "For your wars," she said, holding it out to Kimimela. The second was a common hunting bow. "For your hunts."

"Mother," said Father, sounding surprised. "Are you certain?"

She nodded. "I'm sure, Aerys."

Kimimela looked at the bows. "Do they mean something?" she asked. Aegon wondered the same, at least for the hunting bow. He knew what the longbow was.

His father answered. "The weirwood bow used to belong to Brynden Rivers, an ancestor of ours. The queen has wielded the bow when she's gone to war. But that hunting bow, it's hers alone. When she hunted, that was the bow she used."

She looked down at the bow with new eyes. "You give this to me?" she asked. Watching Hawk looked impressed somewhat once he learned. He knew the importance of a weapon's history.

Joan looked at her again. This time, her eyes were kind. "Of course I do. You're my granddaughter, child. I'm supposed to give you gifts. And besides, I haven't used them in the longest time. Now," she said as she stood up from the chair, "let's go eat dinner. I am interested to hear about your culture and I want to see if I can get this new son of mine to open his mouth and say something." She grinned at Watching Hawk. Kimimela and it made Aegon smile too. Things were going to be just fine.

Aemon

(Location: King's Landing)

He could still hear the bells ringing. They had stopped ringing the day before but he could still hear them. The bells had been ringing for his father. Crown Prince Aerys was dead. His horse had spooked and thrown him, breaking his neck.

He was on his way to speak to the queen. She had summoned him after dinner. But he had to take moment and rest against the wall. "I can't believe he's gone," he thought to himself. His father had always been there, for all of his children. When Mother passed away, he had been the one who helped them through the grief, never mind his own. He had always been there to give a comforting word, good advice, or a laugh when it was needed. But now, he was gone. His father was gone.

A sob torn through his throat. He didn't let it get through his mouth. He stood there, against the wall, and wished that Gywn was here with him. She had gone back to the Iron Islands for a meeting with her family. It was only a week ago but he still wished she was here. He could always take comfort in her being here.

He pushed off the wall and continued on. He reached his grandmother's chambers and knocked on the door. "Enter," the queen said from beyond.

He opened the door and walked in. Queen Joan was sitting by the window, looking out at the city. When she looked at him, she looked like a statue, resolute, the lines of her face carved into her skin with a knife. He'd yet to see her cry. Most would think her cold, cruel even. But he could see the slouch in her shoulders, the shaking of her hands and the softer notes in her voice.

She grieved. In her own way. "Grandmother?" he asked

She took a deep, slow breath, letting it out with a shaking in her chest he almost didn't catch. "You are now the Crown Prince, Aemon," she told him. "You are my heir. Come the morning, you will be taking on more responsibilities in governing Westeros. You will not be Hand of the Queen like your father was right now. That is something you will have to work up to."

He felt his jaw clench. "Can…can this not wait? It has not been even a single day since the service."

Her eyes trailed down to the floor. It was the first time he could remember that happening. Guilt immediately welled in him. "Who knows when I will go," she said by way of answer. "So no, I suppose it cannot. It's the best way to learn how to be a king."

He went perfectly still. The thought of his grandmother being…absent like his father, made him feel cold down to the pit of his stomach. His grandmother, more than anyone else that he could think of seemed frankly immortal. Trying to even imagine a world without her stern gaze over them was beyond even his most world imaginings.

She didn't look at him but at the door behind him. He looked back at it. It was still open. He walked slowly over to it and closed it. He took a breath. She grieved in her way. Perhaps work was a focus for her. Something that helped and, ultimately, she wasn't wrong. "What place in the government would you have me?" he asked.

"Some place in the Ministry of Laws," she said. "It's a good place for you to start. You will be a better King than any of your siblings. Even your father."

He raised an eyebrow. "What did that even mean?

She looked to the fire burning low. "I knew my son, Aemon. He was a kind man, generous with his friends, always willing to help out those who need. He was a good man. And he would've been a poor king. But you," she said, looking to him, "You would be a good king."

How could that be? "I'm the same as my father." He was kind and generous. Since he was the firstborn of a big family, he had to be. Everyone looked up to him.

"No, Aemon, you're not. You can be just as ruthless as you are generous. You've shown it to me before."

His mind went back to Gaemon and Daena. Their eldest siblings, parents, and grandparent knew about their attraction. But it wasn't until Aerys came to Grandmother and told her what they were planning to do. When it was discussed, it was Aemon who suggested threatening to kill one of them and then separating them. His father had protested, saying that it was too much, that they should just talk to them. But Grandmother had gone with his idea.

And that was just one thing. He had a soldier during the Breaking War. He had made decisions that won battles but cost him men. Still, they had won. He had been recognized for what he had done. They saw his ruthlessness as heroic. And he didn't bother to correct them. His grandmother knew all this.

"You know I'm right," she said quietly.

"You are." He was going to be king now. Suddenly the world felt a lot different. "I will be king."

"Only after I'm dead."

That thought scared him. "I hope that won't happen for a long time, Grandmother."

She smiled at him but looked so frail. "You know well that it could soon, Aemon. You'd best be ready." He didn't feel ready.

Joan

(Location: King's Landing)

"Gods, I'm old," Joan grumbled as the Council ended. She nearly fell asleep twice. She pushed away from the table and stood up, her hand holding tight on her cane.

Gywn was there to help. "Here, Grandmother," she said, offering an arm.

If she had felt stronger, she would've refused the arm. But she took it all the same. "Thank you, Gywn." She hated this, just like she knew Gywn hated it. Her granddaughter had been a fierce sailor when she was young, just like her mother had been. When Aemon and she were betrothed, she made it hard for him, making him win her love. She didn't like being an aide.

But now, she had calmed down and was more than willing to help if needed. Together they walked out of the Council room. "How is little Rhaegar?" Joan asked her. She never thought she would live to see her own great-grandson. Then again, she never thought she would've ruled Westeros for seven decades.

"He's fine, Grandmother. Would you like to play with him? He loves that."

"Of course, I would." As they passed a window, she looked out it. The day was bright and sunny, a beautiful summer day. A thought came to her. Any work that needed to be done could be done tomorrow. She could do with a break. "We shall go to the godswood."

Gywn took her there. The day's warmth was balm to her bones but the walk to the heart tree was tiring. She sat down against its white trunk and took a moment to breathe. "You alright?" Gywn asked.

"I'm fine, Gywn. Just tired. Why don't you go get Rhaegar and bring him here?"

"You sure?"

"Yes. You go get him. I'll be here." She watched her granddaughter leave and rested against the weirwood. The tree came to King's Landing as a seed by Robb when she became queen. She looked at its quiet face. She had been the one who carved it when Aemon was born, yet it felt ageless.

Sometimes, she felt the same way. King's Landing had changed from her youth. So had Westeros. She knew that because she had made it change. In this day and age, knights existed only the stories and histories. Any man could become a soldier, just like any man could work themselves up to a better life. There were many new noble houses in her reign because of that.

But it was more than that. Today, people looked to the Iron Islands, to the ironborn, and didn't scavengers or pirates. They saw their navy's home. The name of Golden Company existed within her and the history books. It had long been replaced with being the army. The Citadel wasn't the only place of learning. Harrenhal was another. She had discussed with Aemon and her lords to make White Harbor, Storm's End, and Godsgrace the same.

She had ruled through it all, for seventy years. She had ruled longer than Jaehaerys the Wise. They called her the Old Queen. Before, her enemies called her the Wingless Dragon, all because she had never once mounted Fang, Moonfyre, or Seawing. She had always ignored that. She could command them with her mind. She didn't need to ride them. The threat of them was also enough too.

But she hated using them as a threat. Her ancestor had done it and made the lords of Westeros obey grudgingly. She only used them as a threat to enforce the laws she enacted. Now those same laws the lords accepted only because she made them, their grandchildren accepted as truth. It was why, in her sixtieth year of ruling, she secretly sent the dragons away. They weren't needed anymore. But if people knew what she did, they would either call her foolish or hatch new plots against her. It was why she only shared the secret with Aemon when he became her Hand, only a year ago.

Thinking of Aemon made her think of Rhaegar. She wondered what kind of life her great-grandson would know. It made her think about the life she had, the people she had known. When she had first taken her crown, she was surrounded by her friends and allies. Now she was surrounded by their children, grandchildren, and strangers.

She thought of her first Hand, Mya. She had helped her rule for the better part of twenty-five years. But she was more than that. She had spent as much time in the council room with Joan as out. An illness killed her and Joan was devasted. But she had to pick a new Hand. She chose Willas Tyrell and he served her for the next ten years.

But sooner or later, all her friends started to die. Sam lasted the longest, serving as her Grand Maester for nearly sixty years. Edd was a close second, serving her for forty years as Master of Whispers. She still caught herself looking for Sam whenever she looked at Maester Jon, who always seemed too young for the job, even if he was forty. "Maybe it's because I'm too old," she thought to herself ruefully.

A cooing sound filled her ears. She looked to the path and saw Gywn coming back with Rhaegar in her arms. "And here's Grandmother," she said, handing him to her.

She smiled as she took him. He was too young to understand his actual grandmother, Dalla, had been dead for twenty years. Her death broke Aerys's heart and he never remarried. Since they had children long before she died, and with a hard stare from the queen, no one tried parading their daughters in front of him.

"Hello there," she said to the baby, old grey eyes looking down at innocent purple ones. "Who's a cheerful little babe? Who's a cheerful little babe? It's you, yes it is." She bounced him on her knee, making him giggle and laugh happily. He smiled widely, showing toothless gums. It made her heart beat happily. "Would you like to hear a story, Rhaegar? It's about your grandparents."

She told him about how when she went to visit the Starks in Winterfell and the Free Folk settling in the gift. While she talked, Aerys got involved in a snowball fight with Dalla, Ygritte's daughter. That was the first time they met. She'd like to think that was when they fell in love.

When he asked her hand ten years later, she punched him in the face and then dragged him away, properly stealing him. The next day, they were married. The lords of Westeros protested, all angry they had lost the chance to have the heir to the throne marry their daughters. Joan smoothed things over by saying the marriage was a way to tie the Free Folk closer to Westeros. It was mostly the truth.

The stories spilled out of her after that. She told him about his father, his mother, his aunts and uncles, all their funny stories. She told him about his great aunt Daenerys stunned Westeros by marrying Daniel, the first Lord Sheriff of King's Landing. About how her son Baelor never married but had many children he all cared for. She told him about her life, who she had seen and met. Who she had loved.

She remembered all of them as she spoke. How Rhaenys would get annoyed when someone interrupted her reading. How Aegon kept trying to write poetry but it always turned out laughably horrible. How Visenya would always place a priority on training, to the extent she would have to be dragged off the yard.

As she talked, her heart began beating with that old ache. Gods, it had been seventy years and she still missed them. There were days when she woke up and still hoped to see them in the bed with her. And every time, her heart hurt when she didn't see them. When Elia had died, she had hated the Dornishwoman for a moment, just because she knew she would be reunited with her children. But the moment passed.

When she was all done talking, Rhaegar was restive. He was falling asleep in her arms. "I think it's time for his nap," she remarked to Gywn.

She took her son back into her arms. "I'll put him down and come back with Aemon," she said. "You could use the company."

"Take your time, Gywn," she told her granddaughter. "I'll stay here." She watched silently as they left.

She leaned against the tree again, feeling so tired. People said that she had ruled the last ten years on pure stubbornness, refusing to die. That might be true but she knew that ever since Ghost had passed on, she was getting weaker. Her time was coming with each passing day. Perhaps it was time to let it go and have Aemon finally take the Iron Throne.

"No," she thought to herself. "The work's not done." Still, she was tired. Perhaps if she closed her eyes and rested, she would be better. So that's what she did, leaning against the trunk of the tree and closing her eyes.

She opened them with a snap. There was a woman standing over her. "Who are you?" she demanded.

The woman smiled down at her. She looked like a Stark. "Hello, Joan." She sounded like she knew her.

But Joan had met many Stark women, all her nieces. She didn't know this one. "Who are you?" she demanded again.

"You don't recognize me," the woman said. She didn't sound disappointed, just expectant. "I understand. I only held you the once."

"Once?"

"Come now, Joan. Surely you must know who I am?"

She did look at her, long and hard. As she had seen before, she was a Stark. But she hadn't been a Stark she had seen before. There was something familiar about her but she couldn't place it. It was like something from an old dream, barely remembered. When she did figure it out, the first thing she said was "Bother, I've finally gone mad."

The surprised look on her face was very humorous. "I'm sorry?"

"I must be going mad if I'm seeing my mother." She looked at Lyanna Stark. "Why else would you be here?"

"You're not going mad, Joan. Something else happened."

She started to ask what it was, only to stop when she made the connection. "I died?" She was dead? How? When did it happen? That was a foolish question. In the back of her mind, she knew she must've died when she closed her eyes. Did Aemon and Gywn find her? They probably did.

But as she realized that she was dead, she realized what that meant. She looked up with new eyes. "Mother?" she said, her voice changing, becoming less cynical, more hopeful.

Lyanna smiled motherly. "Hello, my little dragonwolf." She reached out a hand.

Joan took it and stood up. She hugged her mother tightly. It was a feeling she never thought she would have. Her mother was someone rarely discussed and she knew it was never in front of her. But now, she was here and she was hugging her. "I'm not going mad?" she asked, wanting to be sure.

"No, Joan, you're not going mad," her mother told her. "It's just time for you to come home. Everyone is waiting for you."

She latched onto those words with a sudden hope. "Egg's here? Rhae? 'Senya?" They were all here? She stopped as she realized how long it's been since she had seen them. "I'm so old now." It was vain but she didn't them to see her like this.

Lyanna laughed. "Age doesn't matter here, not to us. We are who we think we are." She held her arms out. "Do I look like I'm six and ten to you?" She didn't. She was in her forties, with wrinkles on her face and some grey streaking through her hair. How did Joan miss that?

But then she looked at her own hand. It wasn't wrinkled with age or gnarled. Her skin was smooth and clear, like it belonged to a young maiden. Her arm was the same and when she looked at her hair, it wasn't white. It was brown. Stark brown. "I'm young again?"

Her mother just smiled. "Come." She took her by the hand. "Quite a few people want to see you again. I know one who's most eager."

Joan heard the rustling in the bushes. It was an old familiar sound. So when the white direwolf came bounding up to her, she smiled and knelt down to hug his ruff. "Ghost, it's so good to see you again."

Together, the three of them walked out of the godswood into the Red Keep. The first thing Joan noticed was how much better the keep looked. It wasn't pristinely clean but it just looked better. She didn't notice any shit on the ground or animals wandering. The air was clean and fresh, just like out in the woods. She blinked and found herself in Winterfell. She blinked again and she was at her cottage in the wolfswood. Another blink and it was the castle in the Point. It was all her memories of home mixing into one.

But what had her attention were the people in the courtyard. It was her family, all of them. Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya were the first to see her. They looked just like she remembered. Within two seconds her arms were full of a joyous Visenya. Rhaenys and Aegon quickly follow and they engulfed in the biggest hug she ever had. Tears clung to her eyes as she held them all like she didn't want to let go. "I missed you," she said.

"You're here now," Aegon told her, smiling that warm smile that always made her knees feel weak. "That's all that matters now."

They led to the others. She saw Aerys, her son, young and happy with his wife. She saw Daenerys with Daniel, happy with one another. Baelor stood nearby, looking happily at his mother. Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon, all her cousins with their husbands and wives were there too. Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn was there too, along with Benjen and Brandon. Her father was there and so was Viserys. Both welcomed her with open arms and wide smiles. Even Elia Martell was there and she greeted her politely.

Even though she met all her family, she kept looking for one person. She searched but it didn't seem like she couldn't find him. She was beginning to feel like he wouldn't be there. But then she came to the end and she saw him there. "Grandfather."

Aerys stood there, beside Rhaella. He looked different from when she saw him in life. He was clean, his nails short, and his hair groomed. But it was more than that. There was no madness in his eyes. He was sane. He saw her and he smiled. She took a running start and slammed into his chest, hugging him for he was worth. He laughed and hugged her back. "Welcome home, Joan," he said, kissing her hair. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," she said, holding on tightly like she was afraid to let go. She never experienced this feeling when he had been alive. It was a good feeling. Now she knew she was safe. She was home.

---

In spite of her disputed origins, Joan Targaryen was crowned as the first official queen on the Iron Throne. She ruled 412 to 482 FV, where she transitioned Westeros from the Middle Age to the Early Modern Age. It became known as the Joanian Age and was considered a golden age for Westeros.

During her reign, Joan revised the yearly calendar, pushing it back a hundred years to the Fall of Valyrian. She encouraged growth of the arts, such as poetry, music, and plays. She also reworked the laws and brought back the ones made by Aegon V. While the lords of her generation protested, the threat of dragonfire prevented it from growing any more than that.

She was also responsible for abolishing the serfdom of Westeros, allowing for commercial practices to take shape. While the noble houses still held power during her reign, that power did begin it's long diminishing. She also helped established the official Westerosi army and navy, using the Golden Company and Ironborn respectively to form the core of each. She was also responsible for changing the role of the Kingsguard from a bodyguard position to one of espionage.

If there was any hint of what was then called Targaryen madness in her, it was her unrelenting hatred for Tywin Lannister. In spite of the fact that he had done nothing to insult or harm her, she hated him. It had been said it was for her grandfather's sake, as it well known her best relation within House Targaryen during her childhood was the imprisoned Mad King.

The only time Tywin Lannister appeared in her court, she insulted him to such an extent that the entire court laughed. He left the court and traveled back to the Westerlands. As soon as he arrived at Casterly Rock, he declared himself King of the Rock and that the Westerlands would not answer to the Iron Throne. Many people expect the queen to march into the Westerlands and give them fire and blood, to extinguish House Lannister like he had done to House Tarbeck and Reyne. Instead, she placed a trading embargo on the Westerlands and had the army stationed on the border. When he passed away, she infamously said, "Took him long enough," and only then marched into the Westerlands in order to ensure that Tyrion Lannister took his father's seat.

Another moment that was called madness at the time was her controversial decision to remove the Crown's support from the Faith of the Seven. But she did not drive the Faith away. Instead, she welcomed all religions to Westeros, claiming each man was free to worship their own gods without persecution.

Her sphere of influence also extended beyond Westeros. After the Breaking War, with Slaver's Bay and five of the Free Cities burning and their secrets stolen, Queen Joan issued a proclamation. She accepted the fact that it was her choice to send her army into the war. She also justified it as her right as the last dragonlord, calling the theft of their secrets and trade as a means of punishment. She also acknowledged Braavos, calling the city "a true daughter of Valyria." For the next three decades, the Free Cities were weary of "Making Mother angry," unaware that she instigated the war. That fact didn't come out until a century after her death.

If it hadn't been for the fact she gave birth to a son, Joan would've most likely been known as the Virgin Queen. She never remarried after the death of Prince Aegon, despite pressure from many of her lords. Once she had enough, she famously declared "I am wedded to Westeros," and put an end the insistence of her being married. Although it was rumored that she had several lovers throughout her reign, the first supposedly being Mya Stone, her first Hand.

Her son, Prince Aerys, and his wife, Dalia of the Free Folk, had certainly done their part in restoring House Targaryen, having no less than ten children. It was thanks to their abundance of heirs that the term Targaryen Twins was coined for their children who were born within twelve months of one another. With each child, Queen Joan secured alliances with her lords, bringing them into the fold.

In the fiftieth year of her reign, Queen Joan removed most of her titles and gave herself the title Queen of Westeros. She proclaimed that what her ancestor had crafted with dragons, she had forged with laws and trade. While it was a gesture missed by the common folk, the title of Queen or King of Westeros would stay with the ruler on the Iron Throne up to the present day.

The peace and prosperity she brought to Westeros was extended by her grandson, King Aemon I, who was most notable for ordering the construction of King's Landing University on the ruins of the Dragonpit, as well additional universities at White Harbor, Storm's End, and Godsgrace. It wasn't until his son, Rhaegar II, that Westeros became embroiled in conflict again.

Her reign of seventy years would be considered the longest until her descendent Elaena I, who ruled for eighty-four years in the 10th century VF. She is still remembered today as one of the greatest rulers to have sat on the Iron Throne.

— Massey, Triston. From Bastard to Queen: Queen Joan's Reign. Icefire Publishing Company, South King's Landing, 1112 VF.

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End

Author's note: Thank you for all the reviews you've sent me.

I apologize for taking so long with this chapter. Editing took a lot longer than the previous chapters, as well as the conversations between me and my editor about its parts.

I'm not sure how help groups actually started but they had to have start somewhere. Of course, Sam and Joan might've also started the foundation of AA meetings with all the booze they'll be having there.

My editor and I had different views on what to do with the ironborn. What's in the story is the original version. What he wanted to do was have Joan silently avoid the Iron Islands, take Asha hostage, and offer her the Islands in exchange for continued peace, lest she wanted everything to burn down. I disagreed with the idea because it wouldn't have worked. As weird as this might seem, but the ironborn are pretty similar to the northmen. If something happens, they want to see it with their own eyes and judge it themselves. If Joan wanted to win over their loyalty, she had to do it publicly and in the open. What better way to do that than at the kingsmoot? She wanted to change Westeros. How can she do that when she follows the old method of invading the Iron Islands every time they want to raid?

In case it wasn't clear before now, Hal is Westeros's Shakespeare. And no, I didn't come up with Joss's name because of Joss Whedon. It was just a name I found on the wiki that worked.

Sending the dragons away might seem crazy (and possibly even a little stupid) but I do believe that it would've been for the best by the time she did it. Think about it. Sixty years ago, there was racial segregation in the U.S. and people argued about it. Now, we don't even think about it. We let everyone in because we grew up with the idea already in our minds. Thirty years ago, LGTB people had a lot of problems with what they wanted their lives to be. Nowadays, they can get married and it's legal. Give us another ten years and I'll bet money no one will bat an eyelash if someone comes out (hell, it's already happening). The point is that people change, get use to things that seemed so radical and different before. So they would've gotten used to the laws she brought into creation and wouldn't need the threat of dragons to obey them.

I know that there was a lot of information for this story crammed into just three chapters. A lot can be expanded upon and there could be more stuff. I might, and I heavily stress the word might, come back to this and rework it into an actual story. But I've got enough on my plate for that not to happen right now. I'm just glad this story is finally done.

I'll see you all in the next story!