It's the first part of the last chapter, next one probably coming in two weeks. I feel like my ending might actually end up as correct in some ways, but I guess we will find out when the show comes back for its last season. Enjoy!
The Targaryen Wolf, part I
"The task you entrust me with is very risky, your Grace. It won't be easy for people living in King's Landing to accept a dwarf, a traitor of House Lannister, as their leader. Especially if I'm about to rule on your behalf."
"That's why Unsullied and Dothraki will go with you, Tyrion." Daenerys settled down comfortably on the pillows, reflexively laying her hands on her belly. "You have my permission to kill every person who opposes the authority of their new queen."
Tyrion swallowed but did not comment on her mention of killing people. He looked at his companions standing beside him. Daario was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, while Jorah was standing close to Daenerys' bed as if ready to help her at any moment. Jon was sitting on the chair and stroking the fur of his direwolf, who had been accompanying him all the time since the battle.
Six weeks had passed since the carnage that plunged Winterfell into the darkness. Dany had been constantly losing consciousness and recovering it. The Red Woman had explained that the reason for her well-being had been purely psychological. Drogon's death had influenced Daenerys' health, making her physically weak, haunting her with images from the past and driving her away from reality. Fortunately, her son's life was not threatened.
"Your wish is my command," Tyrion said, giving a little bow. "In this case, I will be waiting for your arrival at King's Landing."
"There is a chance that my takeover of the throne will be impossible. If I die while giving birth to my firstborn," Dany closed her eyes, not wanting to see their reaction, "then you will rule on a behalf of the rightful heir to the iron throne unless he decides otherwise."
When she opened her eyes, Jon's questioning stare did not surprise her.
"My Queen," he started ardently, "I've already said that I will renounce my claim to the throne. I'm a man of my word."
"I do not think you have a choice, Jon. You will rule until our son is old enough to wear the crown. According to the Red Woman, his destiny is to bring peace to this world and you shall help him."
"You speak as if your death was certain, your Grace," Daario noticed.
"Perhaps it is."
Daenerys' voice was calm, devoid of any emotion. She loved these men for always believing in her, for being ready to do anything for her. But now she had to say farewell to them because they could no longer follow her. Not where she was heading.
"You promised you would never give up." Daario knelt beside her, taking her hands in his. "You are The Mother of Dragons, The Breaker of Chains, The Unburnt. The iron throne has always been yours. Your destiny is to take over the whole Westeros, not to die while giving birth to a child who is supposed to be some kind of a hero the world is waiting for. You are queen Daenerys of House Targaryen. Do not give up."
"Take as much gold as you need and take the Golden Company back to Essos," she told him as if his words did not matter at all. "Thank you, Daario. For your precious help in the battle and for your loyalty. I will always remember you."
Daario Naharis leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Dany felt another piece of her heart fall apart as he pulled away and made one last bow to her.
"May we meet again, My Queen."
And then he left. She couldn't let herself think too much. The only important thing was to make sure that her son would be born. Only the future mattered. The future she might not see.
"I guess it's time for me as well," Tyrion admitted. "I have to prepare for a long journey."
"Of course." Dany gave him a half-smile. "I want you to know that I am very grateful for having you as my Hand. Although sometimes I did not listen to your advice and not all your ideas were correct, your devotion has been always appreciated. I believe that with your help, the Seven Kingdoms will become great again."
"It is an honour to serve you, your Grace. You will always be remembered as the saviour of mankind and I will never let the memory of you die. I hope, however, that it's not the end of your story."
He kissed her hand and then walked away. Dany closed her eyes, suddenly very tired. At the thought of Drogon, Viserion, Missandei, and Grey Worm, tears filled her eyes. The next goodbye could be as difficult as thinking about those she had lost.
"Ser Jorah," she whispered. "Come to me."
As she reached out, he gently grabbed her hand. Feeling his soothing, familiar touch, Dany let the tears stream down her face. She opened her eyes and met his gaze; anxious, tender, full of love.
"I want you to go with Tyrion," she explained, no longer hiding her emotions. She wanted him to know how much she cared about him. "Before you protest, you must know that it doesn't mean that I don't want you by my the side. I just think it will be better. Dothraki will follow you, and Tyrion will need help. You're the one I trust the most."
"Khaleesi, please, let me stay," he begged; his voice full of pain.
"You have been by my side from the very beginning. You saw the birth of my dragons, you saw me change from a scared girl to the queen. I would not be here right now if not for you. You are not only my adviser and protector. You are my dear friend."
"Forgive me, My Queen. Forgive me for betraying you. Forgive me for not being able to save you."
"Oh, Jorah." She took his face in her hands and kissed him on the forehead. "Nobody has ever loved me as much as you do. I've never deserved that kind of love, I could never reciprocate it. Yet it's as hard for me to let go as it is for you."
Jorah took her hands off his face and kissed them gently. Then he put his hand on her belly. The tears flowed down his face, but he seemed not to pay any attention. He smiled at Daenerys. At the love of his life.
"Your son will be as strong and courageous as his mother. I will be faithful to him as I am to you. I will be always loyal to House Targaryen. And when I will look at your son sitting on the throne, I will think of his beautiful mother. The queen whom I will never stop loving."
Dany was sure that Jorah took the last part of her heart with him when he left without looking back. Jon sat next to her as if he knew she needed him. He kept hugging her even when she fell asleep, plunging into another dream full of people she had lost.
Her long red hair fell casually down her shoulders as Sansa sat down at the dressing table. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, it was hard to recognize that sad woman who seemed to be a completely different person. She ran her hand over her pale cheek, then her pursed lips. Her eyes were dry as they had already shed too many tears. Sansa covered herself with a warm mantle, but it was still cold.
The last few weeks had been a tangle of sadness, suffering, and chaos, of which Sansa mostly remembered the cold. It had been cold when she had watched Arya and Bran's bodies burn among the fallen. It had been cold when Theon had mourned his sister, Yara. It had been cold when Jon had been spending all days in his queen's chambers and leaving only to attend next funerals. It had been cold when Sansa had been laying alone in bed and crying herself to sleep and then dream of her family.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. It had to be Brienne. In Sansa's opinion, Brienne was the strongest woman in the world. Still mourning the death of her beloved, Brienne did not let the pain change her. Sansa admired her determination, whenever Brienne would come to her and encourage her to eat, to walk, to keep living. They did not talk about Arya, nor Bran, nor Jaime. There was no place for tears and reopening wounds. After all, Sansa found a sort of comfort in Brienne's presence.
"Come in," she permitted.
But it was not Brienne. A sudden feeling of warmth spilt inside her and for the first time in weeks, it was no longer cold. Tyrion walked slowly into the chamber and closed the door behind him. When he turned to face his wife, he seemed a little hesitant.
"Lady Stark," a gentle smile lighted his face, "I don't mean to bother you."
"You don't, my Lord. Take a seat."
Tyrion took a few steps forward and awkwardly sat down on one of the chairs. Sansa felt a sudden rush of sympathy for her husband.
"There have been a lot of things going on lately, making it hard for us to talk." He tapped his fingers on the table as if he didn't know what to do with his hands. "I just want you to know that I'm very sorry about your siblings. I'm aware that it's not truly comforting, it won't make you feel better, but Arya and Bran died in a beautiful way. The world will remember them."
"I'm sorry about your siblings, too. I know how much you loved your brother. Ser Jaime made some mistakes, but in his last moments, he proved to be a good man."
Surprisingly, talking about it with Tyrion did not hurt her. She did not want to cry, shout, ask him to leave, and stay alone with her pain. She felt very calm as if Tyrion was the only person she could talk to about all the bad things without another heartbreak.
"Thank you, Sansa," he said in a soft voice.
The way he said her name as if it was his favourite word, made her wonder if it was a common way of speaking for men in love. She had never felt that kind of love. Reciprocated, pure, selfless. No one had ever loved her the way her father had loved her mother, the way Jaime had loved Brienne. Whenever she saw Jon sitting at Daenerys's bed, she thought of the love she had never experienced.
When she raised her head to look at Tyrion again, she caught sight of something she had not noticed before. Tyrion was wearing a fur coat suitable for a long journey and a brooch that emphasized his position as Hand of the Queen.
"You're leaving," she whispered. It wasn't a question, rather a statement of the fact.
"Yes, I am," he admitted, suddenly extremely tired and sad. "The Queen ordered me to go to King's Landing and rule on her behalf until she can do it herself. However, if the queen does not survive childbirth... then I will rule on behalf of the rightful heir."
"Jon."
"Yes." He nodded. "Jon."
Sansa did not like the prospect of losing both Jon and Tyrion.
"Those who leave Winterfell usually do not return," she told him. "If you leave, we may never see each other again."
Tyrion seemed surprised at the fact that this very matter caught her attention. He was staring at her for a moment, in silence, and it occurred to her that he was really ready to say goodbye to her.
"I believe that despite all of this we will be able to annul our marriage." Tyrion grimaced, hardly speaking the words. "I do not know the details of this procedure, but I think-"
"Tyrion," she interrupted him, her tone gentled a little. "Come closer."
It took him a moment to understand the meaning of her words. He probably did not even suspect what she truly intended to tell him, but he fulfilled her request by walking over to her.
He took a step closer, close enough for her to see the scar that marred his face, Lannister's golden hair and eyes that were a mix of green and black.
Sansa wanted to fully see his reaction to the words she was about to say.
"I've made a choice," she told him. The whole world around them froze. "I wish to remain your wife."
Relief. Tyrion was so relieved that Sansa struggled with the temptation to hug him. She felt lighter as if she had thrown some invisible weight off her shoulders.
"Do not get me wrong, I appreciate it very much, but... Oh, Sansa, I'm not the right man for you." The pain crossed Tyrion's face. "I'm too old and let's face it, I'm a dwarf! I'm not a man of your dreams and I never will be."
"I used to think so as well. I used to dream of a prince who would take me on long walks in the garden, who would give me expensive presents and assure that he would never stop loving me. I used to imagine a prince who would be handsome, faithful and kind." She took his face in his hands, making sure that he would not stop looking at her, that he would not lose a word. "I used to be a naive, stupid girl, but that girl is long gone. So is her idea of a perfect man."
"Sansa-"
"Listen to me, Tyrion. Do you know how men treated me? Men who should protect me? One of them had me beaten, held me against my will in the castle, sentenced my father to death and forced me to watch the execution. The second one raped me several times, sometimes it would last hours, he tortured me, taking away all my faith in men."
Tyrion seemed very moved, but he did not look away, interrupt her, nor pull back from her touch. He looked at her with great affection, without disgust and fear as she opened her heart to him.
"You are different," she continued. "You are kind and decent, and the only man who's ever put my needs above his own. You're not perfect, neither am I. I don't want a prince from a tale. I want someone honest and gentle. I want you, Tyrion, but only if you want me too."
"Of course, there is nothing I want more, but I cannot give you much, Sansa. For what it's worth, I can only give you my heart."
"It's enough. You're enough."
His shy smile brought light back into her broken life.
"Well then, Lady Sansa of House Stark, I swear to love you until my last breath." He never took his eyes off her. "I swear to protect you with all my strength. I swear to make you happy and I swear that no man will ever hurt you again."
Most women don't know what they like until they've tried it, Margaery Tyrell had once said.
Sansa found what she had been looking for in Tyrion's arms. His soft lips against hers as he traced the shape of her mouth with his. His gentle hand sliding down her back. The speed of his heart, the warm of his body being so close to her.
She was no longer scared of men's touch. She was no longer overwhelmed by the pain. For the first time in many long years, she felt her heart open and knew love as more than a memory.
"You loved him," Tormund said. "The golden lion."
Brienne observed snowflakes settle on the railing. She tried not to imagine Jaime's face, but she could not help but feel that his figure was forever engraved in her memory.
"Yes, I did," she admitted, not letting her emotions flow to the surface.
"Lucky man. He died, knowing that there was a woman who would mourn him."
As Tormund had approached her, Brienne had been too surprised to make any assumptions. Nevertheless, she had never expected that their first conversation would be about Jaime.
"I do not think Jaime would agree with you if he still was here. He would never want me to mourn him, fall into despair, change my life just because of his death. He would rather want me to live on, keep fighting. That's what I'm doing."
She put her hand on Widow's Wail's handle. It was a reflexive gesture that she always made while thinking of Jaime. When Brienne looked up, Tormund smiled at her. There was something positive and calm in his smile as if despite cruel winter, there was still place for the bright light of the sun.
"You are a warrior, Brienne of Tarth. I admire you. I've never met such a woman before, but I understand that you do not feel the same. Even if the lion is gone, your heart belongs to him."
"Yes," she admitted, remembering the last time Jaime's eyes looked at her. "I believe it's true."
"Such a pity," Tormund stated, but his smile did not disappear. "We could make beautiful babies."
"Undoubtedly."
He did not seem offended by the mocking tone of her voice.
"If you ever change your mind, I will return. One word from you and I'm yours."
"Your devotion is very flattering to me. Thank you."
Watching him walk away with his people in order to fix the damage of The Fallen Wall and settle down in the north, Brienne felt as light as never before. As if the conversation with Tormund, though short and a bit strange, cleaned her mind and throw off a burden from her chest.
"My Lady." Podrick Payne stood beside her, exactly where his place was. "Is it a smile that I'm seeing on your face?"
"What? Do not be ridiculous, Podrick. Come on. Today I have not had the chance to win a duel with you. Yet."
When Podrick gave a loud, silly laugh and Oathkeeper shined in her hand, Brienne came to the conclusion that everything would be eventually fine. Sansa was inside the castle. Podrick at her side. Jaime in her heart. She was where she was supposed to be. At some point, Winterfell had become her home.
Theon Greyjoy embraced Sansa Stark with some degree of uncertainty and fear of rejection, but when she threw her arms around his neck and gave him a tender hug, he immediately relaxed. Above her shoulder, he noticed Jon gazing at them.
"It's your heritage, Theon," Sansa said, pulling away from him so she could look into his eyes. "Your destiny is to be the Lord of the Iron Islands. To do this, you have to reconcile with the past and accept the person you've become. Do not let remorse and memories ruin that for you."
"Thank you, Sansa. For everything," he spoke with the power that flowed straight from his broken heart. "North would never wish for a better queen."
Sansa smiled, tears gleaming in her eyes as she kissed him on the cheek. Then she stepped back in order to let Jon approach them. Not sure what to do, Theon reached out and Jon grabbed his hand. After a brief moment of awkwardness, Jon hugged him tight and patted his back.
"I hope you know who you are."
"I'm a Greyjoy. " He did not hesitate, saying, "I'm a Stark."
"Indeed." Jon gave him a half-smile. "Winterfell will always be your home. House Stark will always be your family."
"I wish Robb could be here now."
Whenever he thought of Robb, Theon felt the pain in his heart, but this time he decided to take advantage of it, turn pain into strength. There wasn't time for sentiment or wallowing in self-pity.
"Aye," Jon sighed. "Me too. And Arya, and Bran, and Rickon."
"And father, and mother, and our direwolves," Sansa added.
For a moment they were standing in silence, allowing the memory of the dead to bring peace and tranquillity. And then Theon walked through the snow to his people. He expected them to leave him. He expected them to oppose his will and his pitiful reign. He would have done it himself if he was one of them. Those people deserved a better leader.
All eyes turned to him. Theon swallowed and lifted his chin, not letting fear to be a force of his actions. Never again.
"I will understand if you decide to leave. If you decide to kill me and choose a leader in a more bloody way. That would be simple. Sometimes we choose to do the easiest thing because we are afraid of challenges and we struggle with our own weaknesses." Theon never looked away, his voice never broke. It was his moment and he had to use it well. "I speak from experience, as you can probably tell. I've made a lot of mistakes. I've been a coward, I've betrayed the people who showed me kindness, I've failed to save my sister. I cannot make amends for the things I've done. I cannot bring Yara back to life."
What would his father say if he could see him now? What would Eddard Stark say? What would Yara say? What would Robb say? Would they be ashamed to see the person he has become? Would they be proud of him? Would they forgive him?
He could not forgive himself, but he did not really need forgiveness. He needed a little faith. Enough to start living again.
"I'm not like my sister. I can never reach the level of her leadership skills. But in my veins, the same blood flows. I refuse to be a broken man, a coward, and a traitor. At this point, while I stand before you, I decide to be Theon Greyjoy and I swear that I will do everything in my power to make our House great again. We have survived the Great War, but this is just the beginning. We have a long way to go. I'm giving you a choice. Choose the easiest way and leave me or follow me and together, we will make sure that no House will ever look down on us. Nobody will ever underestimate our power. Let's bring House Greyjoy back to glory!"
As they chose him, repeating his name all over again, he tilted back his head, looked at the dark sky and finally found himself.
Seven months later…
He found her in the godswood, the quietest place in Winterfell. The only place that has not seen the cruelty of war, that has not been stained with blood. She was turned back to him, and a cascade of silvery hair, partially braided, was falling on her back.
Taking a step forward, he also noticed Melisandre. She bowed slightly, then leaned forward and whispered, "It's the day."
Jon gave a little shiver as Red Woman headed towards the castle to let them have a moment of privacy. So they could say goodbye. He knew what her words meant. The day had come. Birth of his son. Death of his beloved.
As he approached her, Dany slowly turned to look at him. Tears shimmered on her cheeks, crystal clear and innocent. Jon reached out and gently wiped them with his fingers.
"What's the matter, my love?"
"Oh, Jon." She hugged her cheek to his hand. "Little do you know."
A host of memories rushed into his mind. Ygritte, her red hair, the cave, the dead body of his first love in his arms. When Ygritte had died, Jon had thought it would be impossible for him to fall in love again. Then he had met Daenerys and willingly given her his heart, let her become his whole world. And now she was about to leave him, too.
Dany handed him a letter from King's Landing. Jon found out that a rather tense atmosphere reigned there. People demanded an immediate appearance of the queen because the word of a dwarf was not enough for them. Tyrion acknowledged that many people had tried to end his life, what had led to many executions taking place.
"As soon as our son is born, you have to head south," Dany said when he stopped reading. "Westeros needs a king."
"Westeros needs a queen. It needs you, your Grace."
"I cannot fight destiny, Jon. Even if I truly want to, and believe me, I do want to be the queen. I want to sit on the throne, I want to have the obedience and love of my people, I want to see my son grow up and I want to marry my beloved. Instead, I will die like my mother, like yours, like Tyrion's... I will die giving life to my baby."
The snow creaked beneath her feet as she started to walk among the trees. Jon was walking beside her, feeling that she was already sliding away from his embrace of love, going where he could not follow her.
"Do you regret it?" His voice was filled with sadness. "Do you regret meeting me and falling in love?"
For Dany to be capable of answering, there had to be a short moment of silence between them.
"As far as I remember, I was always fighting for survival. As a young, defenceless girl, my destiny was dependent on the temptations of my brother, who would never hesitate to hurt me. I was nothing but a toy, a pretty sister to be sold and raped. It was only when I became Khaleesi that I got a chance to feel the power, the pleasure of knowing that no one could command me because I was the queen." When she stopped and looked at him, Jon could swear that he saw a fire burning in her eyes. "My desire for power grew with each passing day. I conquered new cities, enlarged my army, sentenced to the death anyone who would oppose me. I had three dragons and thousands of people ready to die for me. My only purpose was to get the iron throne, get what was meant to be mine. And then I met you."
Dany shuddered and tightly wrapped herself in the cloak, and Jon grabbed her hands. They were cold.
"May we come back to the castle, your Grace?"
As she nodded, he took her hand and the moved forward slowly. Over them, Rhaegal hovered in the air like a spectre of death.
"When I met you, I realized that there was always a void in my heart that no power could fill," Dany continued. "From the very beginning, I felt this unspoken connection between us. You gave me more than love, Jon. You gave me a family I always wanted to have, including a son I thought I would never have. I know that if it had not been for you, my life would have looked different now. However, I do not regret anything. Your love might be the death of me, but it's worth it."
Daenerys stopped in the courtyard. Jon leaned over and his lips brushed against her hair.
"When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When my womb quickens again, and I bear a living child." she said sadly. "I leave you and my son, my new family, believing that, on the other side, I will meet my old family. My husband and my dead son. Perhaps it's what the prophecy has been always about."
"I hate to say that, my Queen, but there is no life after death." Jon lifted her chin and looked her straight in the eye. "I died, murdered by my men at Castle Black. There was nothing but darkness and loneliness. The Red Woman resurrected me."
"So do you admit that Ser Davos was telling the truth, back at Dragonstone? You took a knife in the heart for your people."
"Aye, I did. I should have told you sooner."
"Yes, you should, but that's not the point." Her eyes wandered toward the dragon flying over them, then she glanced back at Jon. "Fate sent me here so that our son could be born. Fate brought you back so that our son could be born. Well, perhaps life after death does not exist, but part of me will always exist in my children. In Rhaegal and... Choose a name."
Surprised, Jon could not speak for a moment.
"It's a great honour, your Grace, but are you sure you do not want to choose it yourself?"
"After all, our son has roots in two noble Houses," Dany told him. "His last name is Targaryen, his first name shall be derived from the Starks."
Jon did not have to wonder. He always knew the answer. It was as easy as breathing.
"Robb," he whispered; pain squeezing his heart.
"Robb. Robb Targaryen," Daenerys repeated as if trying the sound of that name in her mouth. "Robb of House Targaryen, First of His Name, the Prince That Was Promised, Azor Ahai, Last Hero, the King of Seven Kingdoms."
A delicate smile appeared on her lips, confirming her approval. Jon kissed her suddenly, but very tenderly, remembering her taste, her scent, the speed of her heartbeat.
And then Dany began to scream, and his life became a torment. Later on, he did not remember much of that. Scream, the way to the chambers, Melisandre urging him to wait outside. He was sitting on a cold floor, leaning against the wall, hearing Dany screaming in agony behind the door. It seemed to him that darkness enveloped him, that he could never see the light again. Sansa, accompanied by Brienne and the Hound, as well as Ser Davos, came by to support him, but he barely noticed any of them.
He should be with her. He should hold her hand, make sure everything was fine, but he felt so tired as if someone had taken away his will to live.
It was only a few hours later when the silence finally reigned. Jon pushed open the door and came in. He knelt beside the bed and took Dany's hand in his.
The shirt was attached to the wet body, silver hair was no longer perfect, the sheet was covered with blood. Daenerys, however, found the strength within herself to look at Jon for the last time and say her last words.
"You must love him the most, Jon. You must protect him." Her voice was weak, barely audible. "Promise me, Jon."
Promise me, Ned.
"I promise," he said, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I will always love you, Daenerys. I will take care of our son for both us."
Jon leaned over and made the last kiss on her lips, though she could no longer feel it. Her heart was no longer beating. He could not break, he could to give up. Although he wanted to do so, there was someone who needed him. His son softly mewled in Melisandre's arms. Maester Wolkan stood beside her. Jon rose to his feet, each breath seemed to be the biggest challenge he had ever faced. Yet, he managed to take the baby in his arms.
"You're my whole world now," Jon whispered.
At this point, Jon decided he would keep fighting. Even if it meant leaving Winterfell, becoming the King and losing himself in the process. He would do it for his son. For Robb.
