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The Victors

In the Garden

After an entire day of arguing with the Council, Jon Arryn could not wait for the hot bath that was already prepared in his chambers. He was old – too old for petty arguments and Targaryen tantrums. But then, they were not only Rhaegar's. Everyone at the Council seemed to behave like a child, stomping their feet on the floor and demanding, demanding, demanding…

He longed for the Eyrie. He longed to take in the sight of the great mountains that were his true home. That he had not seen in six years. King's Landing was too hot, too smelly, too insincere. And politics crushed him under its weight. Maybe if it was Robert I was toiling for, it would have been easier, a tiny voice said in his mind – a traitorous snake he was too weary to push away.

In the Tower of the Hand, a few guards from the Vale bowed and let him pass. Even inside, Jon did not let his shoulders stoop or his gait lumber as he headed for his private chambers, intending to bathe and rest before he joined the court for dinner.

But he was not to rest today. In his solar, a note awaited him, a note bearing the dragon seal. He sighed and read the few short lines. The Queen Dowager asked him to join her for a stroll in the gardens on his leisure. The letter ended with her beautifully written signature, Queen Rhaella.

A real lady, he thought. Jon Arryn admired real ladies – a quality many women lacked those days. Quite ungracefully, he thought of the Queen's signature that he had seen a few times – a real mess of titles, as if no one had bothered to explain to her that she should sign herself only Lyanna. Everyone knew who the Queen was. Rickard Stark lost his money on her septa, Jon thought. But then again, who would have thought that the little wilding would become a queen? The King's mother, on the other hand, was raised in a royal court and obeyed to the notion that now, when she was no longer the Queen, she needed to add a specification to her name, for she could no longer expect that Rhaella would be recognized.

On his leisure or not, he knew an order when he heard one. He entered the bathchamber and looked with regret at the steaming water. Lysa was always attentive to his comfort, he had to admit. If only she could give him a living child… It had been three months since the stillbirth. He should resume his marital visits soon.

He sent a note to the Queen Dowager that he'd meet her soon and washed his face and hands before leaving.

In the gardens, Rhaella waited for him, seated at a small stone bench. Not far away, Jon noticed Princess Daenerys and the young boy that disturbed everyone so, Prince Aenar Targaryen. There was a second girl there, too, slightly older, her hair shockingly dark against the silver of the other two. Jon looked at Rhaella, surprised, even as he bowed.

"They immediately took a liking to each other," she explained. "Daenerys told me that she's never seen anyone who looked like her before."

Jon looked at her and raised an eyebrow. She laughed lightly, the last light of the sun bathing her, making her younger, more carefree. "We don't count," she said. "Even Viserys is too old. She is fascinated to have others like her, children like her."

Jon didn't know much about children. He looked aside. In the distance, the Queen appeared, followed by the Sword of the Morning. She walked slowly, as if she were in pain. Jon looked at Rhaella again.

"Tell me about the war," she said.

Here he was again. He had barely left this behind with the Council but he started talking as they slowly walked around the beds of roses and sunflowers.

"The court is overjoyed at the Battle of Seagard," Rhaella said. "Do you think the tide had turned?"

Jon shook his head. "I am not sure, Your Grace," he said. "Certainly, it is a major setback for Balon Greyjoy but it is in no way a sure sign that things are going as fine as we'd like."

Rhaella looked thoughtful. "So I thought," she said. "It's a Riverlands territory, after all. Of course the Mallisters would protect it and the Tullys would help."

Jon did not quite look at her. He knew what she was hinting at and didn't want to either confirm nor deny. Hoster Tully was father to Ned's lady, Catelyn. And lately, there had been rumours that the Starks and Tullys would not fight as fiercely as they could. Jon was always quick to remind of everyone about Ned's loyal character. Deep inside, though, he knew that there was some truth to the detractions. Through the years, he and Ned had retained their closeness but they rarely spoke of politics in their letters. Still, Jon had some idea of the power of the North – and that power was not what Ned was showing now. The North remembers, a boy's voice echoed in his head. He could not recall the exact circumstances Ned had said that, only that he had been very young, recently arrived at the Eyrie. Jon remembered how stricken he had been at the hard glint of the calm smoky eyes, the cold edge in the friendly voice. The North remembers – and there was so much to be remembered. Lady Lyanna should have done more to smooth the relations between her lord husband and her brother, Jon thought, but then, since when is the girl capable of thinking rationally? She was the one who brought us into all this mess – and she dared address me as if she expected me to talk to her when I didn't need to. As if a few sweet words would make amends for their deaths. His nephew, Robert – he had not forgotten them. Sister or not, Lyanna had betrayed Ned just as she had Robert. Jon had no doubt that keeping the defiantly named young Robb here was a very smart move on the King's part.

The Queen Dowager was studying him. Jon almost twitched. He was doing his best to preserve the kingdom. He was. But he would never say anything that might incriminate Ned. There was only so much he was willing to take for the unity of the realm.

Rhaella smiled – a smile of sad understanding that made him both angry and grateful. She touched his hand. Her fingers were surprisingly cool, for a dragon. "I see," she said. "I will ask no more questions, my lord. I am just asking you to not lie to us. Never."

Honour demanded of him not to lie. As High as Honour, their words were. But where was the honour in what the King had done? Jon had never doubted that the honourable thing had been to call his banners. Now, he didn't know. Rhaegar lacked the true support of the Starks and Tullys – the ones who were most capable of dealing with the rebellion. Jon wanted the peace to be restored. But he understood how those Houses felt. The animosity between Dorne and the Reach hadn't subsided either – and the things with the Martells seemed to be worse than Jon had expected, if their bannermen's behavior was anything to go by. The Queen Mother was right to be concerned.

Luckily, the Princess gave him a brief reprieve when she ran to them, breathless. "Look, Lady Mother," she exclaimed. "Look what I've got!"

"Daenerys," Rhaella said sternly. "You're forgetting your manners."

The child rolled her eyes but curtsied to her mother and nodded her head at the Hand. Then, she looked over her shoulder and eagerly extended her hands. The other two children approached, carrying something to give her. Rhaella gasped. "Daenerys! What… where did you take it from?"

Jon thought that "what" had been a very good start of a question. She was holding something like an egg, but so huge that she could barely hold it in her hands. It was burning black and scarlet against the dying sun, so fragile that Jon was afraid that she'd drop it and it would break.

"A dragon egg," he whispered, awed. He had heard much about those but he had never seen one.

"Aenar gave it to me," Daenerys explained as the boy bowed and the girl curtsied. Jon noticed that the girl was dressed like a lady but her skirt was quite dusty from running over. Her hair was black as a midnight sky, her eyes shone in that incredible purple that so few people had.

"Ah," Rhaella said, almost to herself. "Aerys and I, we were wondering where the eggs had gone… It never occurred to me that they might be with my uncle."

She gave the boy a long look. "Do you have one?" she asked and Jon noticed a peculiar note to her voice. "Did they place it in your cradle?"

The boy laughed, as if it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. "In my cradle? No. They were so well hidden that I found them by chance. My father would have nothing to do with dragon eggs. I think he still doesn't know the eggs are missing. Maybe he doesn't remember how many of those there were," he added hopefully. "I only took two."

One for him and one for the Princess, Jon concluded.

The Queen Dowager pursed her lips into a thin line. "And you brought one to my daughter?" she asked. "That's very nice of you. Did you, by chance, bring one for the Crown Prince?"

The boy looked confused. "No, Your Grace," he said. "He is a wolf. She is the Queen of the Dragons. The egg belongs to her."

Rhaella smiled faintly. "No," she said. "She's a dragon princess."

Aenar tossed his head at one side. "She is the Queen of the Dragons," he said, emphasizing the wording. "I dreamed of it," he added, as if that settled the matter. "Look," he added to the girl. "Isn't this your lady mother?"

They all looked at their left. The Queen and Ser Arthur were still there, she walking slowly, he following, all attention. On the white marble stairs from Maegor Holdfast, two women appeared. One was holding a little boy's hand, preventing him from running downstairs, and the other was descending more closely, holding to the railing. Jon recognized her - Alynna Dayne. The purple-eyed girl stepped behind Aenar.

"She's scared that her mother would notice her and question her about the state of her attire," Rhaella explained to Jon in whisper. He noticed that she was very pale.

The first woman reached the bottom of the stairs and that was when the little boy saw his chance of escape – he whisked his hand away and ran forward. "No!" the two women called at the same time.

And then everything happened in a blur. Arthur Dayne turned sharply, Dawn already swinging down. Lyanna ran for him, crying at him to stop but she was too far away. The young woman who had been walking the boy – a girl, actually, Allyria Dayne for whom many said that she was more beautiful than even her sister – screamed and threw herself on the ground, trying to drag the child away. There was horror on Arthur's face but he could do nothing to bring back the heavy sword that was already landing down. In the last moment, he managed to swing it aside, so it only cut the emerald silk of Allyria's overskirt before sticking into the ground.

"Mother!" Allyria breathed and clutched the child to her. "Oh Ned! What would have happened!"

Looking away, Rhaella realized that Lord Arryn was no longer standing next to her. He was helping Lady Dayne who had stumbled and tumbled all the way downstairs rise. Her eyes were wide with fear, her hair falling wildly. She looked dazed but she headed for the boy, stumbling, holding onto Lord Arryn's hand.

"I… I'm sorry," Arthur Dayne whispered. "I didn't mean to…"

By now, everyone had gathered around them. Rhaella saw how pale the Kingsguard was. The thought of what might have happened had shaken her to the core, too, but she could not summon even an ounce of sympathy for him when Lady Alynna paid him no mind, leaning over to grab her child and clasp him tight. Finally, her tears flowed. Now, Rhaella saw that the boy could not be older than three, with his uncle's fair hair and violet eyes. His mother shook him fiercely and then clasped him to her again.

Allyria gasped. "Alynna," she said. "Alynna, are you… are you hurt?"

Her goodsister looked at her, incomprehending.

The girl's hand slowly rose and pointed at the red line following Alynna.

The older woman's eyes, tear-filled as they were, widened in horror. She looked down at her gown. Everyone followed.

On the front of her gown, a red stain was spreading.