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Chapter Thirty-Six: Rebirthing

"Wildfire," Jaime spoke in a hoarse whisper as his gaze roved over the tent's interior. Like he thought they had a secret cache of their own hidden away somewhere. The green flash snuffed out, leaving them with only candlelight to see by. As the distant crack and crump of the explosion also faded, he relaxed again and even tried his hand a jest. "Dragon or no, at least Aerys will be smiling down him."

Neither he nor Lyanna laughed.

"He wanted to burn you, didn't he?" she asked. Often, she wondered what those final few hours of the Mad King's life were like. Those final, frantic spasms of Aerys' death throes. "Is that why you killed him? I wouldn't blame you for that, not at all. If anyone tried to kill me or mine, I'd have at them no matter who they are."

"Me?" Jaime repeated, laughing drily. "Well yes, I suppose he did want to burn me. But he wanted to burn the whole city along with me. Rhaegar was dead, so Aerys had wildfire rigged up all around the city, in the underground tunnels and vaults. Rossart, the pyromancer, had been made Hand of the King, and Aerys gave the command to blow the city as Robert's forces drew near. So, I went and I killed Rossart myself. Then I killed Aerys."

Lyanna was silent for a moment, inwardly recoiling from what he had told her. Two questions sprang into her mind simultaneously: why had he not told anyone of his heroism and was the damn wildfire still under the city even today? Their gaze met and she thought she had the answer to the latter. Her voice was barely a whisper when she asked: "Does Varys know?"

"Surely, if Varys was going fulfil Aerys' final wish, he'd have done so while we were all still inside the city," he posited. "Just think of it: you, me, Robert, Lord Stark, several Stark children, Stannis, little Shireen and Renly … all gone in the striking of a single flint. Aegon could have just walked into the ruins of the city and taken up residence unopposed."

"But Varys isn't stupid," said Lyanna. "He wouldn't resort to so drastic a measure from the off. No, I think he would keep it as a last resort."

Jaime just shrugged. "Perhaps. But we'll catch the bastard before he has a chance to enact it."

Varys hardly mattered. The fact that the wildfire was still under the city was the key issue. It could have blown at any second over the last fifteen years. So long as it remained there, growing older and more volatile with age, it could still blow at any second henceforth. But when Jaime spoke again, he reverted to the subject they had reached before the second explosion had thrown them off course.

"I wanted to go with Rhaegar to the Trident," he said, eyes unfocused as he slipped back into the past. "It was he who told me to stay and guard his father. He told me that, when he got back, there would be great changes. I took that to mean that he would be king and his father overthrown."

Lyanna nodded. "That sounds about right. But, was there a baby swap? Did you see Elia?"

Jaime's expression clouded. "No. I did not. If I wasn't guarding the King, I was guarding the Queen. Never the Princess, even after Llewelyn Martell was sent to the Trident. The truth is, your grace, invalidating or disproving Aegon's story is going to be difficult. Unless we take his handlers alive."

"But, in the meantime, I have these," she stated. She rose from the table and crossed the room to where she had her documents kept safely out of the way. They were locked in a box, hidden inside a larger chest her clothes had been packed into. Handing them to him, she added: "Take a look."

He did so in silence, turning each parchment toward the light of the guttering candle. All the while, she thought of the wildfire percolating beneath King's Landing. It gave her something to focus on, at least until they were both startled by the tent flaps being suddenly thrust back and a dark figure falling through the opening. But it was only Jon. He smiled at the sight of her and let a burlap sack fall at his feet. She could see at least three large, heavy objects inside and she sincerely hoped they were what she thought they were.

"Look what I got," he said, holding up the sack for her to see. However, having clearly expected to find her alone, he faltered at the unexpected sight of Ser Jaime.

Even so, Jaime raised a smile as if all were normal. "Don't tell me, I think I can guess. It's the heads of Aegon, Varys and Jon Connington?"

Lyanna laughed, gesturing for Jon to enter properly. But all he did was hold the sack open for her to see the eggs, then promptly took them over to the table and placed them there still inside the sack.

"Lady Stark refused to leave Sansa's side," he said, returning to her. "I need to find Lord Stark, he has no idea… why are you showing him those documents?"

"Jon!" she chided him for the rude tone of his question. In return, he met her gaze with a look on his face that said: 'but he's a Lannister.' It was time they both faced facts and she softened her stance, adding: "In a few hours, everyone will know. Go and find your father and stay with him. Under no circumstances leave his side."

He was burning to gainsay her, she could tell. He hesitated a moment too long, torn between doing as he was told and trying to think of something better. But Jaime was there and it was clear Jon still mistrusted the man. His presence seemed to make Jon's efforts not worth the while. In the end, he kissed her cheek and left without another word.

Alone again, Lyanna and Jaime faced one another across the small table. Between them, a single candle swayed in the small draught.

"Rhaegar was a good man," he said, at length. "I keep having this dream about him, where I'm lost beneath the mines at Casterly Rock and he's there. He's just a shadow, but I know it's him. I did nothing while his mother, the Queen, was beaten and raped by the Mad King. I wanted to save her, but I did not. I know I failed them both…" The rest of his sentence was left hanging as his gaze slid out of focus as if he was reaching far, far back into his memory. A cavern in his mind where he never went. "I was sworn to protect the Queen as well as the King. But Jonothor Darry said: 'aye, but not from him.' And if you show Robert these documents- "

"You don't have to worry about that," she cut in, second-guessing where he was going. "This is my doing and mine alone. I'm not important. If you feel you have failed Rhaegar or Rhaella, get to Jon and get him to safety. Don't let Robert kill him- "

"Jon?" he cut in. "Your nephew?"

He wasn't comprehending what she was saying. And before she could clarify any further, Robert returned in a towering bad temper. Eddard was close behind him, harassed and dishevelled. Both men paused, regarding the scene before them for a brief second.

"Stannis is dead," Robert declared. "Ser Jaime, get out there and see to it his body is returned."

Lyanna's heart folded in dismay, but she kept her composure as she discreetly slid the documents off the table. As she did so, she nodded to Jaime signalling to him that she did not object to his absence. Like Jon moments before, he hesitated before obeying his king. Lyanna watched as he slipped out into the frantic night before turning to her brother. "Lord Stark, Jon is searching for you. He has news of Sansa and Lady Stark."

"Go, Ned," Robert urged him. "Go, you're not needed here."

Robert flopped down in the chair Jaime had just vacated, asking her to fetch him some wine. With her documents burning a hole in her pocket, she did as he asked and poured herself a good measure into the bargain.

"I know you were not close, all the same, I am sorry for Stannis' death," she said, handing him the wine. "Wildfire is a cowardly way to decimate a fleet."

He said nothing, but she sensed his grief. Or, maybe, it was regret. She had never heard Robert say anything about either Stannis or Renly that wasn't a complaint, an insult or underpinned with anger. But under that blustering exterior, there was some semblance of brotherly love there. She would have bet on it.

Robert downed his wine in one and buried his face in his hands. "What am I to do about that wretched bastard?"

"I may not know for sure," she said, sliding into a seat opposite him. "But I think I know a good starting point. Robert, there's something I need to tell you."

He lifted his face from his hands, a small glimmer of hope in his bright blue eyes. It almost pained her to see it.

Although she wished her mother was safely away, Sansa was never more grateful than to be in her arms than she was at that moment. For a long time, they didn't even talk. They just held each other as chaos broke out all around them. The Golden Company had wiped out Stannis' fleet and now they were cutting down whatever sailors and soldiers had survived the wildfire as they waded ashore in search of safety. But all they found was steel, fire and death. Meanwhile, she hid in her rooms and was too afraid to even look out of the window. She trembled at the thought of seeing what she was hearing. What she had thought to do was take the stolen key she had and secreted it down her bodice.

Earlier, Aegon had come down from the battlements with a busted nose and a temper like a charging bull. He berated her and Catelyn for Jon attacking him then promptly signed a death warrant for him. "That's treason," Aegon had muttered all the while. "There's only one answer to treason and I'll cut his damn hand off, first."

It worried her, at first. Until her mother assured her that death warrants drawn up against real princes by bastard pretenders weren't worth the parchment they were written on. All the while, the real explosion was just waiting to happen. And waiting was the worst part. When it finally happened, she was almost relieved.

It was around midnight, or shortly after, that the castle was rocked by the sound of a dozen doors being kicked in all at once. Aegon was raging, the sound of his voice echoing down the halls and galleries as he called everyone outside. Servants shouted, crockery was smashed on stone floors and running footsteps thundered overhead. That was soon followed by the muffled sounds of a hasty and violent search being conducted. Aegon had definitely discovered the theft of his dragon eggs and it would be minutes if as long as that before her chambers were reached.

"Sansa, stay close to me," Catelyn urged, gripping her hand tight. "Whatever happens, I won't let them take you. But if we get a chance at freedom, and I tell you to run, you run. Understand? Even if you have to leave me behind, you run for your life."

She went to reply, but the sound of her voice was drowned out as their door smashed to splinters. Half a heartbeat later, armed men were storming inside and two of them dragged Sansa and her mother out. She almost tripped, but Catelyn had a steady hold of her. Catelyn berated them, only to be hit in the face so hard that even Sansa screamed. Without further ado, their chamber was being torn apart.

"Into the common hall now," Harry Strickland commanded them. He was outside, overseeing the search but too craven to take part.

They made their way as quickly as they could, clinging to each other even though Catelyn's mouth was bleeding heavily. Whoever hit her had done so with a gauntleted fist, opening her lip and cracking her front teeth. Sansa wept at the sight of the blood but composed herself before Aegon could witness her distress.

He was there but standing by the hearth and talking to Varys, rather than sitting at the high table. Septa Lemore was there, also. She was sitting with little Edric Storm. Ser Cortnay Penrose was overlooking the hall from nearby, talking with Jon Connington and Rolly Duckfield. Sansa watched the men for a moment, their discussion seemed heated. Then her attention was drawn by the sound of the hall doors being barred, trapping them inside. It made her feel sick, at first. But the servant's door, always forgotten, was still unsecured.

"No one leaves this hall until either my dragon eggs are found, or…" Aegon began. Looking right at Sansa, he added: "or, someone confesses what they have done with them."

Angry at her mother's busted lip and Jon's death sentence, she looked right back at him. It took every ounce of her courage not to falter, but she didn't.

"There are hundreds of people in this castle," she said. "What makes you think we know anything."

"Because it's obvious, isn't it?" Aegon retorted. "Your brother comes in here, sweet-talking his way into the castle, tries to threaten me with talk of another prince and the dragon eggs mysteriously vanish with him."

"If you think it was Jon, why are you holding us?" Catelyn demanded.

Aegon rolled his eyes and Sansa noticed a broken blood vessel on the left. A souvenir of Jon's punch, or so she hoped. "How could he have known where they are? Someone helped him. A certain sister who thinks's he's the gift of the gods to all mankind."

Catelyn laughed. "Do you mean Sansa? She would not help Jon. My other daughter, for a certainty. So, before you accuse my daughter of thievery- "

"No one's accusing anyone of anything," Varys interjected. He still smelled of rosewater as he wafted his way into the centre of their gathering. "Look, the dragon eggs are useless, they're only stone and this here," - he broke off, gesturing to Aegon – "is the only dragon that matters. We're merely making enquiries to find out what happened."

"The only dragon that matters," Catelyn was laughing again, but it sounded hollow and weary. She wiped her sleeve over her mouth, turning her gaze to the Master of Whispers. "You were good, Varys. I'll give you that. In fact, you were very good, back in the day. But your day is done and you're not good enough anymore. You failed. There was a piece of the game hidden right under your nose and you never knew he was there, did you? Seven hells, he was in my home and even I didn't know. Perhaps, had you known about him, you wouldn't have had to resort to this pretender?"

Everyone was looking at Catelyn now, especially Septa Lemore. She drew closer, while Aegon frowned and almost backed away.

"What's she talking about?" he asked. "Woman, you're raving mad. What are you talking about?"

"Rhaegar annulled his marriage to Elia so he could marry Lyanna Stark," said Lemore. "They had a son. A son raised in secret at Winterfell, not even his own mother could acknowledge him for fearing the secret would get out."

"These are lies," Aegon spat. Sansa could see he was trembling. Fear or rage, she could not tell but hoped it was both. "You've been my septa for two years nearly. Why are you lying?"

But Lemore did not answer him. She got up and approached Varys. "You know who I am, Varys. You knew that when you sent Jon Connington to find me. Lady Stark speaks truly. Jon Snow is Aemon Targaryen, son of Lyanna and Rhaegar. You know I know. I nursed Princess Elia all through that bad business. She consented to let Rhaegar go, and it broke her heart. I was there through it all. End this farce, tell us who this boy is? For his sake, as well as ours."

Aegon lunged at Lemore, but Connington got between them. The Septa didn't even flinch, but hasty words were exchanged between Aegon and his men. Sansa strained to hear what was said but couldn't make it out. Connington and Duckfield immediately left the room, barking out a command that the door be unbarred for them. As they left, the shadows in the room shifted and warped. The air around them grew cold.

"They've been sent to kill Jon," Catelyn whispered in her ear. "Pray he stays with your father and the Queen."

"No!" she cried out. Before she knew it, she was on her feet and facing the pretender. "Face him in battle or die a coward!"

But Aegon was silent, immobilised by the realisation that he was undone. His face was white, the blood draining rapidly from him. He retreated to the sides, looking sick. Varys wasn't faring any better.

"It matters not," he said. "No one knows of Aemon Targaryen, everyone knows of Aegon."

"And everyone knows Aegon is dead," Catelyn pointed out.

"Is he a Blackfyre?" Sansa demanded, pointing to Aegon. "I read a book about them on the way to King's Landing-"

She cut herself off as the shadows warped again. They merged and writhed as they took human form, growing before her very eyes. She screamed aloud as she fell back into her mother's arms. Aegon shouted something indecipherable but loud enough to bring Duckfield rushing back into the room. It was too late, however. Varys was already dying in the rushes, choking on his own blood. The shadow monster made its way toward Aegon, only Duckfield lunged in its path. Like Varys, in the blink of an eye, he was dying in the rushes with blood spilling from mysterious wounds.

The shadow had a face she recognised, but the name eluded her in that moment of panic. Meanwhile, Aegon fled screaming and ran right into Connington's arms. Catelyn didn't miss a beat as a storm of chaos broke over them. She gripped Sansa's upper arms and shoved her violently out of the door. "Run!" she screamed at Sansa. "Run now, get out!"

Sansa felt Lemore's arms wrapped tight around her chest, pulling her away. But at the same time, Connington look at the bodies on the ground and at Catelyn. The killer shadow was gone.

"You did this," he snapped. "You did this to free your girl-"

"It was a shadow," Sansa shouted back, but Lemore was all but dragging her away. She saw the blow of the sword, she saw her mother crumple to the ground and lying motionless in the rushes. She tried to scream again, but Lemore was dragging her and pushing her out of the door. Run, a girl's voice told her. It sounded like Arya. Just fucking run.

Still not unable to believe what she had seen, Sansa and Lemore pushed through the crowds of soldiers. They had as long as the confusion lasted before anyone realised what they were doing. All the same, Sansa crashed to a halt outside the dungeons.

"Ser Loras!" she called out. "We can free him."

Lemore was breathless, sweating. But she nodded and drew a knife from under her white septa's robes. Sansa prayed the guards were ignorant of the chaos breaking out in the castle above them. But their chances were vastly improved by the arrival of Ser Cortnay, who had run out after them with little Edric in tow. Penrose drew his sword. She yearned to ask after her mother, but she dared not and feared the truth anyway.

They met one guard, that Ser Penrose killed with ease. She fumbled for the key stolen some days ago and struggled in her haste to get the door unlocked. Once inside, they were faced with a long row of cells. Three more guards were engaged in a fight, with Ser Penrose taking out one and Lemore another with her dagger. Blood sprayed down her white robes, while Sansa wrested the dead guard's keys from his belt.

"Free them!" Penrose shouted. "Free them all."

Each key was numbered to spare the turnkey a headache, but still, Sansa was all fingers and thumbs as she paired each one to the right cell door. As she opened each one, hungry and furious prisoners burst out and rushed for the exits where they could get out and take up arms against their captors. Ser Loras was in the fourth and when he rushed out, he grabbed her in a tight hug.

"Give me the keys," he said. "I'll do it, you run. Get out of here."

He was emaciated and weak. But Ser Cortnay was strong and had a sword, she did not argue. She spun around, rushing for the exits when a blade sank deep in her stomach. She hadn't even seen the man push past Lemore. Only the flash of the steel blade, sinking into her flesh. 'Oh,' she thought to herself as she looked up at Lord Connington, 'that wasn't very chivalrous.'

Connington wrenched his sword free of her belly, then came the pain and the cold hard floor.

"Lady," she murmured as her eyes drifted shut.

When she opened her eyes again, she was out in the open and looking up at the night sky, at the red comet burning overhead. The pain was gone; only fury remained. Sansa threw up her head and howled at the stars. She howled and howled again with her wolf's voice until the stars bled and the skies opened. Her sister answered back with distant, muffled cries of grief and pain; her silent brother was so far away, but she knew he sensed her all the same. Alone in the empty castle, she was wolf.

In accordance with his wishes, a funeral pyre was already being built for Stannis Baratheon. Under direction from Robb and Tywin Lannister, the men were gathering the wood to make pallets which would be stacked up on top of each other. Work was fast, but effectively, especially since Stannis' body hadn't even been brought back yet. Lyanna watched them for a while, hoping Robert wouldn't throw her onto the pyre with him by the time the night was done.

Meanwhile, he read the documents she showed him several times. He laid them out on the table, studying them one at a time as though he might have missed something. Lyanna remained silent as he read, wary of interrupting although the wait for the explosion was an agony in and of itself.

"These," he said and then fell silent again. "These are real… They have your seal, Rhaegar's seal and Elia's seal. The High Septon agreed to it. These were meant for the registry at Oldtown."

He got to his feet and poured himself a healthy measure of wine. Although he sounded calm enough, she knew there was a storm brewing beneath that outward show of passivity. Just one wrong word and he'd be off. For now, she felt it safer to let him do the talking.

"All these years we've been married and never once did you let on that you were married," he said. The hurt in his voice was unmistakable, he looked bewildered and lost. Seemingly restless, he also got up and paced slowly around the tent. "Why didn't you tell me, Lyanna? What did you have to hide? If he forced you, it was no true marriage. But then, I remember all the times you defended him. Him and his family, sick and warped with inbreeding and all the evil deeds they visited upon this realm. And you, with what I thought to be a soft woman's heart, were always there: making excuses, defending him and that fucking inbred family of his. After what he did to you, I thought you were just too good for this world."

Still, she did not answer and her silence infuriated him. He gripped her shoulders, pulling her sharply and shoving her against the table. She stifled a cry as she bashed into the table. The eggs jolted in their sack but neither she nor Robert paid attention to them.

His spittle sprayed against her face as he shouted in her face. "Answer me!"

"I – I had to protect myself," she blurted out, trying to back away from him. "After what was done to Elia and the children, is it any wonder I feared you?"

"But I did this for you!" he shouted back at her. "And you gave me that ultimatum: stop hunting those children or lose you for good. I should have known then. I should have realised. You loved them. You loved him. Do you love him still?"

"That hardly matters now we're married twelve years," she protested. "I never told you and I'm sorry for it. But I couldn't risk what happened to Elia and the children."

Robert backed down. "Her death… it was never meant to happen. You know that. It was wrong and I said it was wrong. She could have lived. She could have been sent to Dorne. You knew my stance, and still, you didn't tell me. Only the children had to die, you knew that."

"Robert don't!" she pleaded as he inched closer and closer to her. Finding herself trapped between him and the table, she tried to wriggle free of him.

"Don't what?" he asked. "I'm not doing anything."

"I mean, don't go down this route," she replied. "I wish with all my heart that I had told you, but at the time I couldn't. The longer it went on the harder it got-"

"Oh, spare me, you whore!" he cut in. Colour rose in his face, crimson and clammy with sweat and fury. "You loved him. You love him still, I can see it. You were always defending him and protecting those damn children and I should have seen it-"

"Yes, I loved him," she cut in. "But I stopped you from killing those children because not to have done so would have been the shame and disgrace of all fucking humanity. Victory made you a monster-"

The blow hit her square across the jaw, drawing the metallic tang of blood on her tongue. He pulled her just so he could shove her back against the table again, causing the dragon eggs to jolt and her long dormant wolfblood to stir back into life. She cried out, lashing at his face with her nails only for him to catch her wrist and grip it tight.

"You attack me, your anointed king," he hissed at her, teeth clenched.

The pain in her wrist sharpened as he bent it back, making her hand go numb. But her blood was up, an anger she had not felt in decades simmered and seethed inside her. She looked him in the eye as she said: "I had his son. I birthed Rhaegar's son. And I would never have married you if not to protect him."

For a moment, she thought they had both stopped breathing. The light in his eyes died and left them dull and glassy. His grip left her wrist and, swift as a viper, closed around her throat in a vice-like grip. He lifted her off her feet, causing her to struggle and lash out with her feet, kicking him in the stomach. Still, he did not let her go. He slammed her back against the wall, where she hit her head so hard she saw stars. He squeezed and squeezed at her throat, crushing her windpipe as he leaned her backward over the table. Her spine was not meant to bend that way.

Unable to breathe, struggling for breath, she used her fingers to pry his grip away. But she was weakening. Pressure built up fast in her chest, her life rapidly choked out of her. When she tried to breathe, all she could do was making a gargling sound somewhere at the back of her crumpling throat. Her vision blurred, her eyes popping out of her head and grew weaker and weaker.

Blindly and in a panic, she summoned her flagging strength and reached for the nearest object. At that moment, she didn't know what it was, but she smashed it into the side of Robert's head. His grip only tightened until she smashed him again, this time in the face. His grip on her throat fell away, Robert stumbled in a daze and Lyanna was left on the floor still clutching the dragon egg. The orange and black, she noted.

"What in seven hells is going on?" Eddard had appeared through the tent flap, looking at them both.

Lyanna tried to speak but could only croak an indecipherable noise. Lord Stark had no time to react before Robert rounded on him, a hunting knife flashing its way to his throat.

"Traitor!" he yelled. "You fucking traitor."

A candelabra had fallen, the flames taking hold. Lyanna used what was left of her strength to get between Ned and Robert, only succeeding in having the King latch on to her again, his hands twisting and pulling at her hair. She couldn't even scream, but Eddard drew his sword as Robert tried to choke her again. Throwing his sword aside, Ned resorted to pulling them apart with his bare hands. Then it was over, when Lyanna reached for Ned's sword just as another sword cut Robert through the back of the throat. His blood sprayed over her face and clothes.

Dazed and bewildered, Jaime swayed on the spot where Robert once stood. "I swore to protect my Queen," he murmured, low and cracked with emotion. "I swore to protect the Queen."

Jon watched the new arrivals in numb disbelief. Lady Melisandre and Ser Davos Seaworth bearing Stannis' body on a stretcher, helped by a handful of others. Without much ceremony at all, he was laid on the pyre and left there. Melisandre, no longer pregnant, came to stand beside him.

"There's one more," he said, still numb with shock. "Robert's dead, too."

"Robert!" she repeated. "What happened?"

Clearly, she hadn't been on speaking terms with R'hllor in the last few hours. He barely knew himself, but he recounted all he could. Now, it seemed, his parentage was out too so he told her that as well. All the while, the funeral pyre grew taller. In the tent behind them, Lyanna was being treated by a maester while Tywin, Eddard and Jaime argued over what to do about Robert's body, what they should do next and why they were in this position at all. It was all futile, of course. Robert would have killed them all.

"Burn him with his brother," said Melisandre. She was quite matter of fact about it. "There is power in King's blood. But you need one more."

"One more what?" he asked, looking over at her.

She lowered her voice as she explained. "One more sacrifice to R'hllor. Living, if possible. Take the dragon eggs and place them on the pyre. Only death can pay for life."

"I am not burning a living person," his tone was final and he walked away.

He returned to the tent, where Lyanna was unconscious and laid out on the bed. On the table beside her, dreamwine was sitting in a little thimble. Just enough to make her sleep. The breath caught in Jon's throat when he saw her, however. Her eyes were blackened, her lips swollen and split. All around her throat, red and purple bruising marked the places where Robert had tried to kill her.

Ignoring the heated discussion between the three men in the room, he knelt by his mother's side and kissed her brow. Oblivious to his presence, Lyanna slept on. Her breathing was shallow, rattling through broken sounding ribs. Dressed only in a linen shift, he could see bruises and cuts on her knees, complimenting those at her throat. Dried blood crusted her lips and chin. He barely recognised her now that her injuries were fully blossoming.

"He was trying to kill her," Jaime was saying. "Had I not intervened he would have killed you too, Lord Stark. She told him about the boy, that's what she said before the maester put her to sleep."

"What boy?" Tywin asked. "You mean she bore Rhaegar a son?"

Jon glanced over his shoulder, but they were too busy talking about him to talk to him. His poor father was silent with grief, his face white and stricken. Just for a moment, he wondered who his father would have saved: his best friend or his sister? In the end, Jaime made the decision but he liked to think the best of his father.

"King or no, we must fight the Golden Company," Tywin was solemn and utterly unemotional. "That is our primary concern. After that, we will discuss the succession. Stannis' daughter is in the North-"

"And Rhaegar's son is right over there," someone else pointed out. It sounded like Robb.

"Tywin is right," said Lord Stark. "Golden Company first, only then the succession."

Morale was non-existent among the men in and out of the tent. Lyanna looked too weak to live, but the maester assured him she would be fine. Robert's bloated corpse lay at the back of the room, like a busted chair someone forgot to leave with the rest of the rubbish. Jon had never really dwelled on Robert, but he realised he had hated the man. They had used his cloak to snuff out a small fire. It's singed remains covered his face.

His inner-musings were interrupted by the arrival of Ser Barristan. "Lord Stark. Jon. It's Lady Sansa."

Jon rose, closing the gap between himself and his father. The old knight had a tear in his eye and he slowly shook his head.

"No!" Lord Stark's cry was full of anguish as he saw her laid out on the ground. Her auburn hair was fanned out behind her head, her white dress soiled with blood from a gaping, open wound. Ser Loras and a septa stayed by her side, only moving when Eddard approached and gathered Sansa's body up in his arms. He cradled her, stroking her hair and rocking her back and forth.

Naked and bound in chains, Jon Connington was silent and bloodied.

"He was captured by the prisoners she died trying to free," Loras explained. "He killed Lady Stark, too. I thought I would bring him to you, my lord. It is for you to decide his fate."

"Is Aegon dead?" asked Jon.

"No."

"Good. By tomorrow, he will be," Jon replied. "We have nothing left to lose. My brother and I will lead the army and we will smash every last one of them."

He had no voice in the grief he felt. There was no name for the pain. All he could see was his perfect little sister lying dead in their father's arms. Lord Stark was shaking visibly, holding her tight as though he might squeeze the life back into her.

"Leave her with me."

Jon turned to find Melisandre at his side, looking over Sansa's body. "What?"

He remembered her bringing Lady back to life. Could she do that for people?

"Light the pyre," she said. "Burn the dead. You know what to do, Jon. You are the Prince That Was Promised."

"I am not burning my sister, dragons or no-"

"I will take care of Sansa," she said again and nodded to the prisoner. "But Connington?"

He remembered what he said before, about not burning a living man. But when he looked at Jon Connington, he felt his conscience slipping away. He wasn't a man. He was Sansa's murderer. Jon approached him with Loras at his side, Melisandre close behind them. Maybe Jon Stark would have listened to those earlier doubts and granted a clean death. But Aemon Targaryen had to be sterner than that. Sansa didn't get a clean death.

"I don't care what you were to my father," said Jon. "My real father, that is. For I hear you were more than fond of him. The point is you murdered my sister. And while Melisandre here has powers beyond all our reckoning, that's not the point either. You murdered my sister."

"Do what you will with me," Connington retorted. "Aegon still lives. Aegon still has the Golden Company. They will fight to the death."

"Then they will all die," Melisandre remarked. "And your false King."

Loras laughed, but Jon remained stoic and stony-faced. Inside, he felt peculiar. Maybe it was all the grief and pain of the last several hours, maybe it was the sight of Sansa so helplessly deceased. Something inside him had given way and he felt all the more powerful for it. He felt untouchable. Out of the blue, he felt like the balance of nature was stacked in his favour and he was no longer afraid of anything.

"If you don't burn the fucker alive, I will," someone said. The decision seemed final.

He drew his sword and placed it point down at his feet, his hands resting on the pommel. "I, Aemon of the House Targaryen do sentence you to die. If you have last words, speak them now."

He used his birthname, although he knew he never would again. He was Jon. Just Jon. But he wanted to see the look on Connington's face. He wanted to see the dawning comprehension in the old man's eye, of just how wrong he had been.

"Lord Tyrell, secure the prisoner to the pyre."

Connington struggled as he was led away, but Loras and the Stormlands man who secured him had little sympathy. Jon wondered how they managed to get Connington passed the Golden Company unless they didn't want him either? That was banished from his thoughts as Margaery appeared, falling into Loras' arms with a cry of joy. They held each other tight, which brought him just a twinge of sadness as he remembered Sansa.

"Light the pyre," Melisandre urged him. "Lannister men are seeing to the old king. It is time, my lord."

Stannis had already been arranged on the pyre. Connington was chained and shackled in place. Robert's bulk was trickier and Lord Stark tried to protest. It was half-hearted and he soon returned to his daughter's side. Jon wondered if he should campaign to reprieve Jon Connington if Sansa was miraculously brought back. But no. It didn't change the fact that Connington had killed her. Only death can pay for life. He would pay anything for Sansa's.

"The dragon eggs," Melisandre reminded him. "You must do this."

"So many people have tried before," he pointed out. "But on the promise, you try to help my sister, I'll do anything you ask."

"Then get the dragon eggs."

Lyanna had woken up. She watched him enter, black and blue and unable to speak. When she tried to get up, he lay her back down again.

"It's all right," he assured her. "I will look after you."

He got the eggs and brought them to the pyre. Before starting, he sought out Margaery and asked her to look after the Queen. Before they parted, he realised he had not seen her all day. And that was a very long time because he was in love with her.

"Jon, everyone's saying you're Rhaegar and Lyanna's son," she whispered low, conspiratorially. "Is it true?"

"You'll see," he assured her. "Just, stay with the Queen. Please."

She nodded and let him go on his way.

One of the eggs was crusted with dried blood, where Lyanna had used it to smash Robert's face in. Orange and black, he removed it from the sack and placed in the crook of the king's arm. The gold and silver he placed at Stannis's feet. The green and white he gave to Jon Connington.

"You're mad," he said. "This is madness."

He was probably right and he was glad no one else was paying him any attention. They were all too preoccupied elsewhere. His father with his sister, Jaime and Ser Barristan with the royal troops – now minus their titular head.

"At least have the decency to kill me first, you tyrant." Connington sounded weary rather than pleading.

"I would have if you at least had the decency not to kill children," he replied. "And Melisandre said it's better this way. More powerful. You will help the dragons return, my lord. Just not in a way you thought you would."

If he suffered too much, Jon would put an arrow through his heart. He resolved that much, at least. All the same, he shivered in disgust at the thought of making his grandfather proud. The kindling was alight now, crackling into a fire. Everyone now gathered around. Tywin, Robb, his father and the Tyrells. Melisandre had taken custody of Sansa, just as she promised. Lysa Arryn appeared, flanked by Knights of the Vale. Supported between Jaime and Margaery, Lyanna came hobbling out of her tent. Unable to stand, they lowered her gently in front of the pyre as it took flame.

Jon couldn't guess at how she felt toward Robert now. Her expression was blank with incomprehension. Melisandre chanted a prayer in High Valyrian, sending up blessings to her mysterious fire god. He was of the old gods and he didn't think they approved of fire. Almost as if at Melisandre's command, the flames leapt higher.

"Stand back, Jon," Ser Barristan urged. "You're much too close to the flames."

The old knight's hand closed around his arm, gently pulling him back to safety. But it wasn't hot. It was a warm breeze playing against his skin. He heard Jon Connington roar in pain, but that was soon consumed by the fires and they blazed higher. The bodies and the palettes were black shadows at its heart.

Jon felt himself being drawn closer. Ser Barristan shouted at him. Ser Jaime came rushing over to grab him. Melisandre's prayers grew more fervent as he followed the sound of her voice into the heart of the flames. Still, he did not burn. All his clothes caught fire, but the sensation was warm and soothing on his skin. He heard only the roar of the flames filling his ears, but if he opened his eyes and looked, he could see the images forming the flames.

Sansa transformed into a wolf stalking through an empty castle. The girl with lilac eyes smiled at him as she walked into a pyre of her own making. Daenerys. He knew her name, now. He turned in the heart of the fire, letting the flames lap against his naked skin. When he opened his eyes again, all he saw was the orange and reds of the flames. He saw his mother kiss a silver-haired prince who then dropped to his knees and kissed her swollen belly. "Aemon," said Rhaegar. "Aemon Targaryen, the third head of the dragon. He is the dragon."

The vision was chased away by the sound of cracking stone, so loud it was deafening over the roar of the fire. White-hot looking flame erupted within the fire but separate from it. A girl's voice sounded over the roaring flames, soft and sweet. "Wake the dragon," she urged him. "Wake the dragon." The sound of cracking stone filled his head and his body once more. The same white-hot conflagration that barely registered on his senses.

He heard his mother screaming from within a tower, saw her legs open to reveal a gaping, bloodied wound where her privates should have been. She screamed and screamed again as her labours advanced, tearing her insides out. "The dragon has three heads," said Rhaegar from somewhere far away. For the third time, the sharp, whip-like sound of cracking stone filled the space around him. Another spasm of molten flame as fire became flesh.

He knew what it was. He knew what he had done. Down on his knees in the pit of the fire, he rolled over on his back and let the tide take him. It all faded into darkness, sweet and warm, where he slept as sound as a newborn.

It was long past dawn when he awoke, naked and bald and covered in ash. The stuff was choking him every time he inhaled. He thought he saw an ember among the dead ashes, but realised it was an eye. A tiny eye belonging to a red and black dragon. He sat up and let the little creature hop onto his outstretched fingers. As he sat up, the gold and silver hopped up on to his shoulder and Jon could feel its little claws digging into his skin. Finally, the green and white scampered up his thigh and onto the crook of his arm, able to take flight just long enough to reach that particular spot.

Amazed, overwhelmed, he rose from the ashes of the pyre heedless of the huge crowds of people that had gathered around the fire pit. They saw him go in. Now they were seeing him standing, unburnt, in the morning sun with three newly hatched dragons spreading their translucent wings.

Naked as his name day, Jon drew himself to full height as the red and black dragon shrieked a greeting to the crowds. The other two joined in, filling the morning air with the sound of their shrill music. All around him, the people dropped to their knees.

Thank you again for reading. Reviews would be lovely if you have a minute.

I know I ask this EVERY time I include pets, babies or dragons: but if you have any name suggestions, I would love to hear them. I was thinking of somehow combining Sansa and Arya's names to give to one dragon. So if you have a combo, please suggest it. As for the other two, I still have no idea and this story is almost two years old. I'm hopeless at names.

Next update: Sunday, 25th March.