Jaime

"I always thought I'd be bowing to you as Lord Jaime," Marion said, another awkward dinner between the unlikely guests of Lord Roland Crakehall. "When I heard your father took the city, I thought for a few weeks it'd be Your Grace."

"I'd have been an awful king," Jaime grumbled, not wanting to revisit that tedious history. Out of all the doomed scenarios he envisioned in his head when left Cersei for Winterfell so long ago, having to sit with the same old dull relatives he'd grown up with and listen their same old stories was the last thing he'd envisioned he'd have to endure. Would any of the seven hells would be as ironic, when he inevitably landed himself there?

"Better than most of the ones you've served," Marion said, prompting an "aye" from Roland beside him.

"Even our Queen," Jaime asked, gleefully catching his hosts in a trap, a rare interesting moment. "That would be treason, wouldn't it?"

"I referred to kings only," Marion said glibly. "But yes, if I had to pick a Lannister to sit on that damned chair, I'd pick the only one that's not a complete cunt."

"Lord Marion," Sansa said in faux shock, not able to help herself. She had withdrawn back into her shell again, after this latest setback, but at least some of the conversation amused her. The girl fooled no one with half a brain years ago in King's Landing, though she did enough merely to maintain enough pretense for Joffrey and Cersei to keep her alive. She was better at the pretense now, occasionally opening herself up to act as if an honored guest rather than the unhappy hostage.

"It's true," Marion said, glad for some spirit from their guest of honor as well. "Tywin was a cunt. Joffrey was a cunt. Cersei...well, you know."

"What about Tommen," Jaime asked, daring the old Lannister to insult his youngest son, though he'd admit that Marion was better company than he remembered, without Tywin present, but who in this realm had dared to show off their wits at the expense of his father? Who in their right minds, that is.

"The late king never struck an impression upon me. I understand there's exceptions to the rule, of course. Myrcella...she was a sweet girl. I was devastated when I heard the news, my wife cried for days. And your brother...he's something, isn't he?"

"He's a lot of things," Jaime said. Once again, they found themselves on opposite sides of the world. They had little news from the east since riding off, and he supposed Tyrion had little time, nor inclination, to send him ravens just now, whilst he plotted to destroy their sister.

"A traitor, first and foremost," Roland said.

"Traitors can be charming," Jaime said. He liked Roland enough, but he would not allow him to insult Tyrion. Even the best of their relatives and vassals had not bothered to treat him with any semblance of respect when they were children, and Jaime forgot few of those insults.

Sensing the unease, Marion stepped in. "Fat Robert was a lot of things too. An ass, to be sure. But not a cunt. But like I said, that trait seems reserved for our happy family."

"Am I a cunt, Lord Marion?"

Sansa's vulgarity accomplished their effect, shocking them all, Brienne especially, face turning wholly red. Podrick looked down at his food, though Jaime thought he saw him holding back a grin. He laughed first, and to his relief, Sansa laughed, across from him. A joke here, a few snide comments there...it was an improvement.

"If the Queen Cersei asks, then categorically yes." He raised his glass up for a toast, and they all raised theirs, even Brienne, who followed Sansa's lead. "But truly, you're a remarkably pleasant guest..."

"Hostage," Sansa corrected, even with the courteous smile still plastered upon her face.

"I regret this, Lady Sansa, I truly do," Roland said remorsefully after yet another awkward pause. "I'd ask you again to consider Cersei's offer, but I know your answer already...you are Ned Stark's daughter, after all."

"You'd be surprised," Sansa retorted back, giving her sister a look across the table. The little one never spoke at all, merely intent on gobbling down as much food as she could on the nights she deigned to show up. No moping from her though. "I'd consider it if were the least bit possible."

"Possible," Roland asked, though Marion remained silent. "I don't understand, it is possible. The offer is at hand now, it was commanded by the Queen herself."

"If I could trust Cersei to keep her promises were she to win. If I trust Daenerys to not ride west and burn me were she to win. But neither of those possibilities are possible, are they?"

The table sank back into a sullen silence once more.

"Those dragons scare the shits out of me, if I could be honest," Marion said, ignoring her first point. He took a deep drink. "My ancestors marched with King Loren when he gave battle against the Conqueror." He pointed at Jaime. "His blood may have survived that battle to kneel as a king, rise as a warden. Mine didn't. I read those stories when I was a wee child. Most boys hear about those dragons and dream about riding one, conquering the realm like jolly old Aegon. Me, I thanked the Gods every day they died off, and prayed they would never return." He laughed mirthfully. "Guess piety has never been a Lannister thing, has it?"

"No one should be allowed that much power," Sansa whispered to herself in her corner, though it was heard by all.

"Aye, especially a Targaryen," Roland added. "Cruel trick of the Gods they're the only ones who wield it, eh?"

They all drank separately, and ate the rest of their meal in relative quiet. As Roland motioned for the servants to collect their plates, a grim faced maester stepped into the hall, wordlessly handing his lord a long scroll.

As he read its contents, his face burst into a wide grin. He turned towards Marion. "Your prayers may have been answered yet." He looked around the rest of the table. "Word from King's Landing. Euron Greyjoy ambushed the Dragon Queen and her fleet on their way to Dragonstone. He got one of the scaly fuckers. Injured another too, got its wing, some say."

Marion clapped his hands in triumph, and even Sansa smiled, before she caught his eye. Her smile disappeared when she saw he wasn't smiling.

"Just one killed though," Jaime asked.

"Aye, one less now for her."

"May I," Sansa asked Roland, and after some consideration, he handed her the scroll. Her expression was unreadable as she examined the whole of its contents. When she finished, she looked directly at Jaime.

"The Greyjoy fleet captured Missandei. Queen Daenerys's translator and good friend," she explained to the two western lords who had not been present at Winterfell. Neutrally, she continued through the letter. "The Queen's traitorous brother attempted to plead for peace before the walls of the city, in an attempt to trick the Crown into releasing the foreign invader, but Queen Cersei delivered the Crown's justice before the usurper herself, who flew back to Dragonstone afterwards with her army and Hand."

She looked quickly to Brienne, then back to him. "She's a fool."

They both knew which queen she was referring to. He couldn't disagree.


Daenerys

By the time Grey Worm and the Unsullied brought Jon Snow into the throne room at Dragonstone, she had forgotten what she was thinking about. Was it Missandei, the sight of Cersei's brute ruthlessly slicing off her head whilst she stood helpless in chains, yet defiant until the very last word? Was it a sweeter memory? Of Drogo, when she was young and conquest seemed a shiny goblet easily taken and drank from? Was it the noble Barristan Selmy, telling her of sweet Rhaegar and his songs to the smallfolk, before he was murdered by the slavers? Was it Ser Jorah, who loved her, who she by her own hand had robbed each other of valuable years together? Was it Daario, who still loved her, except his love did not come with an equal claim to the Iron Throne, alongside a treacherous, scheming sister? Was it Drogon, his left wing still shaky, whom she could not bear to look at without remembering his two brothers, the two children she had lost it seemed, in less than a fortnight? As it all those nightmares, blurred into one, alongside ones which she did not even know of...Lannister assassins murdering Rhaegar's wife and children? Her own mother, sad, weeping and lonely when she died? Her father, the Mad King, whose eyes she'd never seen, yet they haunted her from the shadows all her life.

"My Queen." He had taken his time, arriving in Dragonstone. As did the rest of the Unsullied and Dothraki, those behind him who did not sail, who did not suffer the pirate lord's attack.

"I have news from the west," she said calmly, all her nightmares she forced away from her mind.

He reacted viscerally. As she expected him to. But it was still disappointing. "Of my sister?"

She nodded. Beside him, Tyrion narrowed his eyes as well, while Varys looked...more concerned than usual. She hoped their worries were rightly placed.

"Word is she has been taken in warmly by the lords of the west...as an honored guest of Queen Cersei. She takes walks with the lords and the Kingslayer along the shores of the Sunset Sea during the day, and dines and drinks with them at night."

"That's...that can't be right," Jon stammered. Of course he would defend her, despite everything she'd already done.

"Can't it? She seemed very amenable to Cersei when they made their peace."

"She hates Cersei," Jon answered back, certainty in his voice. "Whatever she did, Sansa would never cooperate or ally with her."

"Would she not?" She looked over at Tyrion and Varys. They were her strategic minds. Jon was many wonderful things many fearful things, but strategic was not one of them. "What if she and Cersei found a common enemy they each hated more than the other? What if Cersei were to promise her the North?"

"Your Grace," Varys said, stepping forward in her direction, "I've had word from the Westerlands as well. It may seem as though Lady Sansa is...taking her time with the hospitality of Lord Crakehall and the Lannisters, but I do hear that she is in fact their prisoner, upon Cersei's own orders."

This news seemed to affect Jon even more so than when she accused his sister of treason, as he stumbled half a step backwards. Still he takes her side. "Perhaps we should rescue her then, my loyal Lady of Winterfell. Maybe I should ride west and ask her to her face, myself, just what exactly she thinks of Cersei."

"Your Grace." This was Tyrion now, and she had no doubt he was about to go and defend Sansa, like everyone else in her small council seemed wont to do this day. "This is exactly what my sister wants, to drive a divide between us, right before the battle. I've no doubt she ordered the lords to keep Lady Sansa hostage all the while claiming her a guest, in order to distract you from the throne upon which she sits."

Her Hand's words made sense, even if she did not want to listen to them. And why shouldn't she want to listen to them. They were encouraging, were they not? They told her she had fewer enemies that she had previously imagined. Or were the words meant to distract her, render her blind?

"We should focus on King's Landing," Tyrion continued, "and winning this war." He turned to Jon. "I've no doubt your sister's in danger..."

"We sent her into danger," Jon argued back, guilt evident on his face for his part in Sansa's predicament. "We knew what we were doing." For a moment, she regretted sending Sansa west as well. It clearly hurt Jon, the possibility that she was truly held captive to Cersei. She knew she herself would shed few tears if Cersei changed her mind regarding Sansa's hospitality and ordered her killed, but could Jon ever forgive her were that to happen? Could he ever forgive himself? What broken shell of a man would remain, having lost so many of his family already?

This was all assuming, of course, that Sansa was innocent of any further treason.

"We can't change it now," Tyrion said. "The sooner we unseat Cersei, the sooner she'll be safe. Lord Crakehall is an honorable man...you may not believe me, but he is. Sansa will not be mistreated, as long as she's under his protection. Once King's Landing is taken, we may all march west to demand her release."

Jon shook his head. They were all so preoccupied over Sansa now, that damned woman. Even so close as they were to the real war.

"My fath...Ned Stark...he didn't go and seek my mother until after the war. It was too late then."

His words were expected, yet they cut her deeper than she should have let them. "Do you wish to abandon our cause and ride west?" When he didn't answer immediately, she continued. "I can win a war without you, Jon Snow. I have, many times before."

"I continue to honor my pledge, Your Grace. I will help you take King's Landing first. I have faith Sansa can manage on her own until then."

He made the right choice. It took him more time than she would have liked, but it was better than the alternative. Although, for the first time since learning of Cersei's treachery, she wondered whether she ought to keep Cersei alive. After all, taking her throne did not meant it secured, and she would be curious to learn of what traitors may be inclined to continue plotting behind their rightful Queen's back. But even as she considered it, she remembered the Lannister woman's smug face, just before she took Missandei's life, and Daenerys decided that she must burn.


Cersei

"Your Grace."

"My new Master of War, what is your concern? Because you do look concerned."

She read him better than he read himself, and Alac Hightower, her said new Master of War, actually blushed before her presence.

"I do not wish to question your judgment, Your Grace..."

"But you're going to do it anyway. So say what you mean to say."

"I...was it wise?" He gulped, afraid to finish his thoughts, even though she knew already what he wanted to say, before he said it. Nodding, she meant for him to continue. "To provoke the Dragon Queen like that?"

"There, that wasn't so bad, wasn't it?" She said, her voice almost comforting. "Once you say it out loud." He didn't know how to respond to this, so she continued. "You may have heard many things about me, Lord Alac. Most of them probably aren't true. Some of them might be. But I don't bite. So long as you are loyal to me, you may speak openly with me, because it's in my interest to heed the best counsel. Both our interests."

"Her Grace speaks true," Qyburn added from beside them. "I have served the Queen for many years now, and have spoken honestly with her near every day."

"How old are you, Lord Alac?"

"Twenty and five years, Your Grace."

"Have you fought in a war before," she asked, surprised by his age. He looked older than he was, apparently. And the truth was, there were few lords from the greater houses willing to serve her at the moment, so she had to make do with those who stepped up willingly. They were all waiting, the treacherous snakes, to see the outcome of the battle, her own Lannister kin amongst them. They would not be rewarded for it afterwards. Younger men, men like Alac before here, were more prone to be loyal. And she intended to reward his, and his family, for their loyalty.

"I marched with King...the pretender Renly in the last war," Alac admitted, quickly realizing and covering his initial slip. "I was but a squire, to Ser Jonas Redwyne. When Renly died, my father called me back to Oldtown."

"And Ser Jonas?"

"He died at the Blackwater, Your Grace."

"Your father was wise," Cersei said. She knew all of this, of course, but letting the young man tell it to her made him feel important. Even powerful. "Had you joined Stannis, had you survived even the Blackwater, you would have died in the northern snows."

"I know, Your Grace. Aye, Stannis was no friend of the Crown, but he was a great commander. It always makes me wonder how he lost to someone like Ramsey Bolton."

She smiled. He was going exactly where she wanted him to go. But he was smarter than he let on. It was very likely that he was allowing himself to be led.

"Stannis had the larger army, the better reputation. To win, Ramsey Snow had to provoke him, play tricks...force to attack before he was ready, while his mind was distracted. We must do the same. The Dragon Queen will be rash, now that we've provoked her. She'll be more apt to mistake, and she will die for it."

"Your Grace is wise," Alac said, bowing. "I must return to the walls, but I will keep your wisdom in mind."

"One more thing," Cersei said, as he was turning to leave. "I hear your brother has been escorting the Stark girl through the Westerlands."

This caught him by surprise, his face reminding her of Jaime, when she revealed that she knew about his little meeting with Bronn and Tyrion all along.

"He has been," he admitted, truthfully. "I'm afraid..."

"Don't be afraid," Cersei said, her voice still motherly. Some things could not be forgotten. Would not have to be, she thought, as she rubbed one hand over her belly.

"I think he's in love with the girl," Alac said meekly. "My brother has always been...impulsive...quick to act...quick to feel. If...if she weren't a, a, a...traitor, I would think he'd mean to propose to her. He may still."

"Your brother's young," Cersei said, containing her anger. Because there was little value in anger. But there was use for this. There was use for anything, as long as she looked hard enough. "He's a man, and men think with but one thing sometimes."

"He's barely a man," Alac said, affectionately. So they did love each other, these brothers. It was a weakness. It had been Jaime's, that soft spot for Tyrion.

"He may marry her yet," she said, and he craned his neck in shock. "Once the Dragon Queen is dead, we allow her safe passage home...with a nice, young southern husband in tow from a great family, the brother of the Lord of Highgarden, no less. In her gratitude, she may reconsider her position. As may her lords."

"That...that is generous, Your Grace." But there was an uneasiness in his words, which meant he understood her completely. And he seemed unwilling to force a marriage upon the wolf bitch, even if it was his own beloved brother. So he was soft. Pliable, but soft. It was good she knew this.

"Worry not for your brother. Our war is here. Not with him."


Sansa

"Are you sure about this?"

"I am, Lord Roland." She wasn't sure at all, which was why she spoke so formally to him.

They found the Kingslayer not in Brienne's quarters, but sitting by himself in the solar. He didn't react when the light of their torches illuminated the room. Not at first.

"Come to rub it in?"

"You're worried about her," Sansa said.

"Only one wounded dragon left," Jaime said, as if in a daze. "She has a chance yet." It sounded like it was himself he was trying to convince.

"She doesn't. Cersei should have recognized her how weak she was. Come to terms, take a boat to Pentos...do whatever it is the opposite of what she did."

"She made the Dragon Queen mad. Perhaps she'll make a mistake in her rashness."

"That's a good strategy, isn't it? Making a Targaryen mad."

"Why do you care," he asked defensively, showing his trademark pique which she had not seen for some time now. It meant she was edging too close to the same truth he had acknowledged the moment they both heard the news.

"Why do you," she retorted. "What about Brienne?"

"I love her." He didn't reply too quickly, or take too much time to respond. Which meant he was telling the truth.

"But you still love Cersei." Now he didn't answer. "More than her. Even now. Even after she betrayed you, declared you a traitor. Even after she tried to kill you."

He did not deny it. Instead, he said, "I love our child too."

Beside her, Lord Roland's face paled. "It's true," he whispered. "The rumors were all true." Turning to Sansa, he looked as if he wanted to get on his knees and beg her forgiveness. "Your father...he wasn't a traitor after all. The war...it was all a lie."

If Jaime cared about the magnitude of the secret he just revealed, he did not show it at all.

"Just like Robert's Rebellion," Sansa said, remembering the Godswood, her and Arya listening to Bran and Jon. Thinking of her father, looking at the Kingslayer, slumped pitifully before her, she recalled the truth of what happened in the throne room. How Ned Stark had not been entirely perfect either, not when it came to Jaime Lannister. "My father was many things, but you'd be a fool to believe he was ever a liar."

She sighed, questioning herself one last time before leaping. "Brienne will hate me forever for this."

"What are you saying," Jaime asked, at first confused, then disbelief creeping into his eyes.

"Go. You have some time, you both do, while her last dragon heals. Tell her to flee the city, take her gold and sail to Essos. Save her if you can. If not her, the child."

Roland repeated his words, stuttering as he spoke. "Lady Sansa, are you sure about this?" Her actions already made no sense to him. Now the truth of Jaime's relationship with the queen seemed close to breaking his mind.

"I made a vow. Ser Jaime won me the Battle of the Twins."

"It made no difference," Jaime said, somehow still trying to hurt his own case. "Not in the long run."

"Still," Sansa said, thinking about Jon's recriminations towards her in the tent. About her father, and Robb, and their mother, what they would do in her place now. "Lannisters aren't the only ones who pay their debts."

"I pushed Bran," Jaime said, "out the tower." She already knew, but it another startling admission before Roland.

With every word he continued to condemn himself. Or save himself, depending on how one looked at it. To her right, Roland gasped at learning yet another dark truth behind the War of Five Kings.

"Consider the battle reparations for that," he continued. Sansa shook his head. She was determined, now that she had set upon it. A fulfilled vow did not cancel out a broken vow, but it was better than two broken vows. Tywin Lannister would never think this way, she thought. Nor Cersei. I'm not that far gone yet.

"That's Bran's debt, not mine. I doubt he'd ever look to collect though."

"No...he wouldn't." He understood. Fully, she imagined. He rose, and they walked through the halls of the manor without exchanging another word. Reaching the stables, Jaime found his horse, well rested and well fed after more than a week in Crakehall, and led it down towards the castle's gate. Sansa found herself following him, not even Roland trying to stop her, though he trailed her by several paces. Maybe to keep his eye on her, so she didn't use this as a ruse to escape with him. Maybe because he couldn't just help himself.

He led his horse to where the path east began, before realizing she still followed. His eyes looked more dazed before when he sat in the solar, as if the Kingslayer himself was about to weep.

"I wish you good fortune, Ser Jaime. Champion of The Twins. Champion for the living."

He looked down as his feet, and for a second she thought he was going to ride off without a word.

"What about you?"

"I have no armies for you to command now," she said wistfully, those hectic, nervous days in the Riverlands before that battle a pleasant dream now. "Brienne may abandon me too. I would were I her, ride straight to Daenerys, or Cersei, or all the way back to Tarth. But if they're determined to kill me, what difference do two knights make? One with a broken hand, no less."

She forced herself to laugh at her own remark, even though none of them found any humor in it. Jaime walked back towards her, and she did not shrink back when he took his left hand and cupped the top of her head in it.

"There's a sweetness to you still, Sansa." His eyes were distant as he spoke, as if his thoughts were transfixed completely in a different time. "Cersei had it once too, but our father crushed it out of her far too early, so early that it's long forgotten by both of us. Our own brother never had a chance to know his sister before she...became Cersei." Looking downwards, he wiped his eyes, no doubt thinking about Tyrion, and Sansa realized that they may not meet again either. She wondered if they had had a chance to say goodbye ebfore.

Then he looked at her again, and she saw him, truly saw Jaime Lannister, for the first time. Perhaps the only time. "It'll take a far stronger man than Tywin to crush it out of you, but no one can push against it all. Not forever. Don't..."

But he never finished the sentence. Perhaps he didn't know how to finish it. Like a ghost, he vanished into the night, as if she had never known him in the first place.


"You let him go?"

She couldn't tell whether Marion Lannister was more perplexed or angry.

"I did," she answered plainly.

"What could possibly possess you to do such a thing?"

"It was the honorable thing to do," Brienne said behind her, her knight's face a mess of emotions that a woman even as strong as she was could not hide. Yet, she still stood behind her, even though Sansa imagined she would like to plow her sword right through her heart at the moment. 'He may return yet,' she told her, though neither one of them believed it. 'Once he gets her on a boat, perhaps he rides back to you.'

Sansa did not tally long after delivering her the news, knowing that Brienne would never allow herself to reveal, and let go her true emotions in front of the lady she served. Before she left her chambers, Sansa told her she could consider vows released as well. Still, Brienne stayed, and Sansa wondered how horrible that was, to gaze into her eyes and always feel the unspoken recriminations within.

"I swore to Ser Jaime, in exchange for his service commanding the northern armies." She did not need to justify herself further. Not before these men, at least,

Covering his eyes, Marion groaned. "Aye, no wonder you Starks die like flies when you leave the north."

"We can't let Cersei kill her," Roland said, stepping up. She was so focused inside herself that she barely registered his words, his tone. "Not after everything we've done to the Starks. Everything about the war...Joffrey, Cersei...Ser Jaime..."

"Yes, yes, you told me already," Marion said, cutting him off, and she wondered what else they had discussed that morning. Lord Marion glared at Arthur Hightower, who just stood, his face empty and stunned, jaw ajar, across from Roland at the table. "No need to repeat it all again before all of Westeros."

"You have to let her go now," Arthur said, coming to her defense, like Roland, with desperation in his voice. "You can't continue to keep her a prisoner here. Not after what she did for Ser Jaime. She doesn't deserve that. A prisoner for a prisoner, that's what's right!"

"Right it may be." Roland sighed sadly. "But still treason all the same."

"The Lannisters owe you a debt," Marion started to say.

"Like I told Jaime," Sansa said, cutting him off, "our debts between each other are both equally paid." There was little desire in her to think more upon debts and vows and all such nonsense.

"For your brother then, the one in the chair."

She wasn't about to protest that one, but she did not allow herself to hope, as torn as both Roland and Marion were. Though they seemed decent, she knew better to expect, to hope, for anything more than spoken sympathy and kindness.

The last remaining Lannister in the castle looked over to Arthur, an idea obviously forming in his head. "You're charged with securing Highgarden for your brother, are you not?"

"I am, Lord Marion," Arthur replied eagerly, anticipating suddenly that there may be some way he could help. Behind him, his little squire stood up straighter as well.

"We were charged not to let the Lady Sansa leave the Queen's domains," Marion said, pacing the room, thinking out loud. "Highgarden is, indeed, still part of the Queen's domains, is it not?"

"It is," Roland answered gladly, understanding where Marion was leading.

"Were we to accompany you to Highgarden, along with Lord Arthur...well, that would not be defying our queen's orders, would they?"

"They wouldn't be," Arthur replied, the young man too happy about this for her taste. But it was better than nothing.

Marion continued. "And if Lord Arthur were to decide Highgarden fully secured, then ride south to Oldtown to report as such to his father and Lord Leyton, perhaps he can continue to escort Lady Sansa through the Queen's own domains."

A smile appeared on Roland's face, as he went to address Sansa directly.

"Oldtown is a large city, some say larger than even King's Landing. Much larger than Crakehall to be sure, quaint little village this is. Such a large city...it'd be easy for just one ship to lose itself from the harbor, would it not? All the way north to Torrhen's Square, even..."

There would be treason in the end then, except the two older lords clearly trusted the younger one to be impulsive...nay stupid enough to commit it.

"Lord Roland speaks true," Arthur said, beaming, no doubt looking forward to all the time he would get to spend with her with this plan, just the two of them.

"The war may be over by the time we reach Highgarden," Marion said, the crafty look seemingly ingrained permanently on his plump face now. "Were the worst to happen, and the Dragon Queen seats herself on the Iron Throne...well, no one can deny that Lady Sansa did her part in the west, can they?"

"Aye, they can't," Roland said, picking up Marion's sentence as if they were engaged in a most strange duet. "And we'd have no choice to kneel, or burn, do we? Lady Sansa."

"We do. But when we kneel, we would tell the Dragon Queen that we were skeptical indeed, distrustful of foreign invaders as we are. But Lady Sansa assured us the mercy of Queen Daenerys, and her generosity for those who choose to be her subjects. I see no reason why she would not give you free passage to return home after that."

"She may even carry you herself, had she any dragons left to spare after the war."

Marion frowned. A happy frown. "Though were she to lose her last dragon, her conquest would be tenuous indeed, wouldn't it?"

So it was. She was losing more companions by the day, so it seemed, her choices were between staying put, a glorified prisoner, or riding south, ever further from home, in the company of strangers, a glorified prisoner still. Perhaps she could trust them. They had been nothing but sincere and honest with her ever since she arrived at Crakehall. Could she allow herself to hope, even for a moment, that everything could go as well as the plan sounded to the lords?

It may well be an illusion, she decided, but what was wrong with a little hope, considering she had long resigned herself to the worst anyway?

"My lords," she began sweetly, putting on that familiar mask once more, "I knew Queen Margaery during my time in King's Landing. She was friendly towards me, a traitor's daughter, and her stories about Highgarden and its wonders helped brighten a young girl's days, through the horrors of that war. I've always wanted to see it with my own eyes. It seems that, with your kindness, I may finally get the chance."

Smile now. Keep smiling. Let them see your gratitude. Hide your fear from them, lest it cast doubt upon their own selves, and cause them to change their minds.


Notes and responses: After a brief respite, the plot resumes its march towards inevitability. Thanks for reading and reviewing thus far, and please continue to let me know what you think.

Jon may be far from his siblings now, but I'd imagine they'd meet again. Under what circumstances, it remains to be seen.