Thank you to everyone for all the feedback, comments and name suggestions I got on the last chapter. It really means a lot, so thank you. The names I picked were: Sanya, Rhaegon and Rhaeanna. Several people suggested those names, so thank you to all of you!
Chapter Thirty-Seven: A Subversion of Nature
"Mother." Lyanna stirred as she felt herself being rocked back and forth. The sharp motion abruptly ceased, but the damage was done and she was waking. Injuries ached and pained her, more so than the day before when Robert inflicted them. Bruises had blossomed overnight like glasshouse flowers, covering her pale skin. Regaining consciousness felt like swimming through thick treacle. "Mother, wake up. Wake up now!"
She tried to speak but could only wheeze. Her muscles ached and her throat burned. The last thing she remembered of the night before dropped back into her memory, physically jolting her. She saw Jon walking into the flames, she struggled to stop him before Jaime Lannister halted her. He wrapped his arms tight around her middle, shouting in her ear: 'You're too late, your grace.' Already pained by the loss of her niece and the husband that tried to kill her, she lapsed into hysterics until someone forced the dreamwine on her. The last person she recalled seeing was Eddard, dazed and silent, unable to say a word as a new nightmare unfolded before him.
"Mother, get up!"
'Mother, he called me mother'. Lyanna jolted again, forcing her heavy eyes open as she struggled to sit up. Wrapped in Ser Barristan's Kingsguard cloak, he greeted her with a tight embrace. His skin was smudged with soot and dirt, to her own heartbreak, his hair was gone. Otherwise, he was unhurt and she wept with relief. A million questions stormed through her head, but she couldn't pick out just one and they were all left unasked. Nor could she deny that her relief was matched by a moment of anger. She wanted to smack him for giving her such a terrible fright.
"Am I mad?" she asked, her voice a hoarse whisper. "I thought you were dead."
He hopped up onto the bed with her, holding the cloak closed securely. "I know, I'm sorry. I would have told you, had I known myself. But, mother, there's something you need to see. Come."
Rolling off the bed again, he headed right for the door and paused to let her catch up. Her injuries slowed her, but she pulled on a cloak and fastened it tight around her middle. Seeing her difficulties, Jon came up to her and offered an arm to lean on.
"Why?" she asked. She meant why did he walk into the fire. It made no sense, but she was still too groggy from dreamwine and grief and confusion to question anything in any great detail. She found herself letting it all happen, waiting for it all to start making sense.
"I'm not telling you," he replied with an impish smile "I want to show you."
All eyes turned to them as they emerged into the open, but none dared approach. Everyone seemed to have gathered in the paddocks Robert cleared, the centre of which was now dominated by the scorched pit of the former king's funeral pyre. Lyanna shivered as she noticed it, momentarily losing track of where Jon was leading her.
"This is why I needed to go into the fire," he said, helping her through the front of his and Robb's tent. He was as keen as a puppy to show her this thing. "Look! What do you think of them?"
She didn't see at first. Robb and Margaery were in there, both staring avidly into a wooden box that had been used to transport victuals. The girl was cooing at the box's inhabitants. Robb, still painfully subdued from the death of his sister, smiled vacantly as he reached to touch whatever was inside. They saw her coming, quickly withdrawing to give her space to look inside. Even then, it did not register. She thought it might be some joke. She thought they might be puppets or painted toys. She waited for Jon to explain the jest, but all he did was look from her to the baby dragons curled up in the box. Wisps of smoke curled from their nostrils and one awoke: the silver and gold, who turned its ice blue eyes to hers.
Lyanna gasped aloud, her knees buckled. Jon and Robb caught an arm each, preventing her fall. Her hands flew to her face, to disguise her jaw hanging open like a lackwit. Meanwhile, the red and black stirred and lifted its head. Lyanna felt her heart melting.
"What do you think, mother?"
She flinched at the sound of that particular noun. But she then realised: everyone knew, there was nothing to hide. No more secrets. No more hiding. Everyone knew and they must have seen the whole thing. They must have seen Jon walk into the fire and come back out again with three hatchling dragons. She saw the way the people outside all turned to them as they emerged from her tent and now it made sense.
Robb guided her into a seat before she fell down. She pinched herself, to make sure she wasn't dreaming. And Robert be thrice damned, for she could not physically speak the great rush of words and thoughts that were racing through her mind. She tried all the same.
"Miracle," she rasped. "Miracle."
Jon nodded, pulling up a chair to sit beside her. Robb and Margaery, sensing their need to be alone, quietly departed the tent. Outside, she knew, the forces were gathering to chase down the Golden Company. Before that, however, Jon pulled over his box of dragons.
"The red and black is named Sanya," he said. "After Sansa and Arya. The white and green is Rhaegon, after Rhaenys and Aegon." Jon paused and picked up the silver and gold, letting her take hold of it. "And this is Rhaeanna, after…"
The hatchling squirmed in her hands, its supple tail curling around her wrists with surprising strength. All the while, tears slid down her face and she was incapable of stopping them.
"Rhaegar and Lyanna," she murmured, finishing the sentence for him. "If he could be here now … if he could see this…"
Her throat dried, sapping what was left of her weak voice. But she had the feeling this didn't need to be said. They both knew it already. All the same, her heart ached for Rhaegar. For the first time in fifteen years, she let herself feel the devastation of his loss. Although she had grown to also love Robert, in a way, it had never been safe to admit even to herself that she loved Rhaegar still. Now he was really a dragon reborn. The dragon spread its wings and flew to Jon's shoulder.
"Melisandre made it possible for me to walk into the fire and hatch the dragons," said Jon. "Now she's going to help Sansa. I think we should let her try, before its too late. Can you convince father?"
She look in Jon's dark grey eyes, weighing him up for a moment as she mustered up her firmest whisper. "You are king. Command."
"Everyone knelt when they saw the dragons," he ceded. "But no one has sworn to me as their King yet."
"They knelt," she replied. Trusting her legs to hold her up, she rose and caressed his newly bald head. The poor thing blushed self-consciously.
"The Maester assured me it would grow back," he said. "It might not even take long."
"It's awful," she sighed. "But worth it."
Somebody, somewhere, must surely own a spare hat. In the meantime, Sanya landed on his head, acting as a makeshift hat until a real one could be found. If anything, she only seemed to emphasise her master's newly shorn state. He picked the dragon off and disappeared behind a screen where she heard water being poured into a bowl. He had clean clothes somewhere, which she soon picked out of his strongbox. A white cotton shirt and woollen breeches, matched up with a grey tunic. Ghost lay curled up and asleep in a far corner. She hoped he wouldn't feel neglected now that the dragons were here.
As soon as Jon was washed and dressed, they stepped out together with the infant dragons trying to take flight. Until the day before, she had been the Queen. She was used to people looking at her. But Jon seemed self-conscious and lowered his gaze. They paused on the way to Eddard's tent to let some young squires look at the dragons. Then Ser Barristan fell into step with them, dazed and happy as he clicked his fingers to get Rhaegon's attention. After him, Jaime appeared from a press of Lannister fighting men.
Both she and he stopped, her heartbeat fluttering at the sight of him. He wasn't looking at the dragons, he was looking right at her as he closed the gap between them. The night before, she had no voice at all to thank him for saving her life. Once, a long time ago, he let a queen be raped and beaten. Now both had exorcised those old ghosts of the past and there were no words. She kissed his cheek and choked back a sob.
"Your grace," he said and touched the spot on his cheek that she had kissed. "Your son is the heir-"
She pressed her index finger to his lips to silence him. Tywin held back, watching over the audience with great reticence. As well he might.
"Later," she said, sounding like a croaking frog.
She looked to Jon, but he was continuing toward Eddard's tent. If Jon took the throne, Tywin was going to be a real problem. There was no getting away from the fact that he ordered the deaths of Elia, Rhaenys and the real Aegon. But Tywin was shrewd and might be just shrewd enough to join his forces to Jon's, get him on the throne, swear fealty and then retire to Casterly Rock and never show his face in King's Landing ever again.
Jaime raised a pained smile and offered her an arm as he escorted her the rest of the way. "I think you are Queen Mother, now."
It made her laugh to think of it. It made her sound ancient. Like an old dame, presiding over a court being rapidly overtaken by the next generation. She was still in her early thirties, other women her age was still bearing children, but the latter was true. It was the turn of the next generation now and she wished them all the luck in the world as she watched Jon and Margaery fall back into step with one another. There had been something between them since they first met. A spark she couldn't define. She saw it every time they looked at each other, building up over time as they tried to contain it. He was a legitimised bastard and she was the most eligible Lady in all the land. However, she did not think Mace would object now and she had a feeling she was looking at the future Queen. Lyanna did not envy her.
"I don't know what I will do now," she said.
"The not knowing part is what makes it fun," he laughed.
She returned his smile, but it felt strange as the truth of his words dawned on her. Eddard would never have forced her to remarry. All the same, Robert had stipulated in his will that she was to be a free woman, at liberty to remarry – or not – at her leisure, to whoever she wished. She could live where she wished and her dower's portion and royal pension gave her ample means. She could go anywhere and she thought she might do just that.
However, in that moment, the only place she was going was to her brother's tent. She didn't know what to make of Melisandre and less of her powers, the fire god R'hllor. Thus far, she had viewed it all with deepest suspicion. All the while, Jaime viewed the dragons with similar sentiment etched in his features.
"I cannot even comprehend what occurred during that fire," he eventually said. "Maybe I never will. But I know my brother will be itching to see real dragons. Would it be a lot to ask if one of your final acts as Queen were to be to make an irascible dwarf a very happy man and summon him to court?"
Lyanna raised a smile that hurt her bruised lip. "I'd be delighted to."
Pale and cold as ice, Sansa's body lay on a trestle table. Her hair was wet and Eddard knew she wouldn't like that. A fine white cloth covered her body from the underarms down, after she had been stripped and washed by a Septa and the Red Priestess, the only women on hand who could have done it. That was the only time he had left her side and returned to the camp, just in time to see Jon walking into the flames. He was too far away to stop it and it had been bewildering and horrifying in equal measure.
As for the result … he fretted, as he fretted about many things. Every time he thought of Jon, he thought of him as he did any of his children. He thought of them as just that: children. Children playing in the snow at Winterfell, chasing each other through the yards and their laughter ringing through the halls. He of all people knew childhood passed in the blinking of an eye, but his heart kept telling him they were children still. Now one of those children was about to be king, a position he received no training for. Another would be Lord of Winterfell in all but name if he were kept on as Hand. And another lay dead on a trestle table right before his eyes.
It didn't seem possible, it didn't feel real. It was like someone had made a mannequin of Sansa and tried to pass it off as her. He remembered the songs she sang so prettily, the games she played and the dance steps she learned by heart. So full of life and music and warmth, this shell laid out before him seemed as far removed from Sansa as the moon from the sun. Even her skin was like the surface of the moon. Pale, translucent and unblemished, freezing to the touch.
Even her wound had been neatly stitched up and now covered by the cloth that preserved her modesty. A small dignity afforded her in death. The sound of footsteps from outside drew him from his musings but, before the newcomer could enter, he bent down and kissed his daughter's brow.
"Lord Stark." Lady Melisandre's voice lilted with the accents of the East. "It is time, my lord."
He did not turn his gaze from Sansa. "Will you put her in a fire, like Jon?"
"No," she assured him. "This is different, it's not magic my lord. R'hllor may bring your daughter back, he may not."
R'hllor definitely wouldn't bring her back if the priestess didn't even try. Eddard felt he was betraying his own faith. It felt wrong; a subversion of nature. All the same, he could not accept her life ended here. It was wrong, it was completely unfair. So much potential had been snuffed out through the actions of one bitterly angry man and it laid waste to Catelyn sacrificing her own life to save Sansa. A double waste, a crippling tragedy, and he couldn't even think of how he was going break it to the younger children that their mother was dead. Never mind their sister, too.
A fire flickered into life, but it was only small. It had to be if the ritual was to happen inside the marquee. Melisandre turned her red eyes to him. "I need to remove the cloth."
"You're starting right now?" he asked, barely above a whisper.
"Immediately."
He nodded and backed out of the tent. Once outside, he winced against the morning sun and tried to remind himself of Jon's faith in the priestess. But try as he might, he remained tense and anxious as the ritual began. Already, he could just about hear her voice, intoning prayers in High Valyrian. It occurred to him she could teach the language to Jon, now he had dragons to raise. The realisation came as a moment of banality in a time most extraordinary.
He had camped away from the others. Just far enough to affect a little privacy, so he attracted no undue attention as he paced outside. But he hadn't gone entirely unnoticed, either.
"Lord Stark."
The voice came from close by and he turned to find the Septa who had helped Sansa escape, before returning her body. He hadn't seen her properly until that moment, it came as a mild surprise to hear she even knew his name.
"Do you remember me?" she asked.
She drew closer and he remembered her name was Lemore. Loras had told him. Jon had briefly spoken with her but did not mention knowing her. Her dark hair was liberally streaked with silver, her septa's robes showing a lean figure. There were crow's feet lining her haunting lilac eyes. Eddard felt his heart stop beating then drop into the chasm of his roiling stomach.
"No," he murmured, brow creasing. "It's not possible. Robert told me. He told me you were dead."
Ashara averted her gaze, stepping back from him. "Things were complicated after the war. What I did, I did for the best."
Ned's head was spinning and he had other places he needed to be. He couldn't fathom why someone would have to fake their own death and claim it was 'for the best'.
"All these years, I thought I might have been to blame," he said, choking on his own words. "I remembered you so often I thought you were haunting me. I thought you blamed me, too. And now you turn up all these years later in the retinue of a pretender-"
"It's not what you think," she cut in.
But Ned wasn't listening. "And now I need to be with someone else. Another innocent victim of this infernal farce."
She said his name again, but he had already turned away. Lyanna and Jon were approaching from the opposite direction and he found himself all but running up to meet them. He didn't see where Ashara went, but when he kissed his sister and looked back, she was already gone.
"Who was that you were talking to?" Lyanna asked, trying to see past him. "She looks familiar, Ned. Who is it?"
"No one," he answered. Unintentionally sharp, he drew a deep breath and tried to pull himself together. "No, she's someone. She's certainly someone. We need to talk, but later."
Before Lyanna could press the matter further, Jon cut in and diverted them back to the reason for their being there. "Father, what's happening? Is Melisandre in there with Sansa?"
"She is," he answered. "We all should be in there with Sansa."
"Then what are we doing hanging around out here and talking to strange women. Come along," Lyanna chivvied them.
She stepped past him into the tent. Jon tried to tell her Sansa was all but nude, but it was too late. Lyanna was in, with Jon following closely. The dragons, mercifully, left at the door in the care of Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime. By the time Eddard reached the others inside the tent, the air was hot and scented with spices burned in the fire. Melisandre bent over the body, her mouth pressed to Sansa's. She breathed deeply, pressing her hands heavily over her heart. The effect was instant. As if a bolt of lightning had passed right through her, Sansa jolted violently and drew a deep, sharp breath.
Ned advanced on her, pushing the priestess aside as his daughter lunged off the table and straight into his arms. He held her so tight he thought he might never let her go.
Wrapped up in her father's coat, Sansa remained seated at the edge of the table and looked from one face to another. The brazier still burned close by, casting a warm light around the tent. Despite that, she still shivered. Her father was on one side, Robb on the other. Jon sat opposite her, while Melisandre hovered in the background. Lyanna had gone to find her a new dress.
"I was a wolf; Lady, I mean," she said, recalling it all clearly. "Almost as soon as Lord Connington … hurt me. I fell asleep and woke up as Lady." She paused and frowned. "It wasn't even like falling asleep. It was instant. One second I was me, then half a heartbeat later I was Lady."
It was like someone had shut out all the light and when it came back on again, she was somewhere far, far away. While the others insisted she had been dead, it came as a relief to know it was for less than a day. A day in which Jon appeared to have lost every hair on his head but bringing that up right now felt like it might be rude. Not to mention what could have happened to Lyanna. She was black and blue all over.
"Sansa," her father put his arms around her again, but his hold was gentle. "That's not possible."
"But it happens all the time," she said. "I saw Lady being attacked because I dreamed I was her."
Robb looked worried, his brow furrowed and his face half in shadow. "I dream I'm Grey Wind all the time. Every single night."
"It happens to me, too," Jon added. "Not every night, but often enough. Ghost led me to the dragon eggs at Dragonstone. I thought I was going mad."
Robb nodded. "Same. I didn't say anything lest Luwin have me confined. You know how he feels about visions and magic."
Ned sighed heavily, bewildered and lost. "I've seen Jon walk into a fire and my daughter brought back from the dead. By comparison, turning into wolves at night is almost logical. The world is going mad."
"I wasn't dead," Sansa insisted. "I know what I did and where I went. I saw Master Tarly who gave me beef steaks to eat. I slept by the hearth in the Queen's rooms at Maegor's. I scared a guard who was patrolling the corridors alone." She paused, turning to her brother. "Why did you walk into a fire? Is that why you're bald?"
Robb suppressed a laugh while Jon unconsciously ran a hand over his head.
"I'll show you in a minute, sister," he said.
"It's not magic," said Melisandre. She emerged from behind the brazier. "You're all wargs, bonded to your wolves. That was the reason R'hllor brought Lady back."
Her explanation was met with silence. Sansa had never even heard the word before, but her father didn't look altogether surprised. Nor did he elaborate. He kissed her cheek and said: "Go with your brothers. See what Jon has to show you. Don't worry about anything."
Worry was a natural reaction to anyone who said 'don't worry'. All the same, Sansa was reeling from what had happened and grasped at a chance to escape the questioning. Her wound didn't hurt at all. In fact, she felt only like she had overslept on a rock-hard bed and had been left stiff and sore. As such, she slid down easily from the table and followed the boys outside. She was about to ask what had been happening when she saw the dragons. A sight so unexpected, that sent her heart soaring so high, she missed the startled looks people were giving her – the dead girl who had risen again.
She shrieked a piercing shriek, jumping for joy. The red and black, her favourite, had settled on an upturned barrel and was now dining on burnt bacon donated by a passing guard.
"Sanya," said Jon. "After you and Arya."
She threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek.
Later, while she ate and washed and dressed, Margaery filled her in on all she had missed while 'dead'. Jon and Robb had been called away to plan the final assault on Aegon, leaving the dragons in their care. So, as they talked, they fed them and tried to play with them.
"Is Jon King, then?" she asked.
"In all but formal declaration," Margaery answered. "Once he defeats the pretender, it will be final. House Tyrell is already pledged to him, and House Stark and the Vale into the bargain. House Tully has been summoned, but they won't go against Lord Stark."
The mention of House Tully reminded her of her mother, of Lady Stark's last stand to get her to freedom. The grief was raw and weeping inside her, but she tried not to show it in front of Margaery.
"I so wish I could see the look on Aegon's face," she said, her voice an undertone. "But I suppose he won't even see the dragons. They'll be back here, with us, while Jon and the royal army finish off those sellswords. If you had seen the pretender with those eggs, you would understand my desire."
While her eyes fell once more on the little hatchlings, her mind's eye conjured up Aegon. She tried to detail, in her imagination, the twisted fury on his face as he beheld them. In her imaginings, his face was green with envy and contorted beyond recognition.
"What is he like?" asked Margaery.
Sansa grimaced. "An up-jumped little monster. I thought he might be a Blackfyre, but now I think he's just a foundling. Perhaps he's so angry now because even he doesn't believe the lies anymore?"
Before anything else could be said, Jon and Robb returned. Armoured and with swords at their hips, they halted before the girls, both of them smiling at Sansa. Jon had acquired a woolly hat.
"Sister," said Robb. "We have a plan, if you're willing and able."
Intrigued, she sat up and nodded for him to continue.
Jon and Robb rode side-by-side, surrounded by the peace banners of their standard bearers. The white silk snapping in the wind was the only sound to be heard above the steady hoof-beats. It was already late afternoon and the sun was just starting to sink over the western horizon of the realm. His realm, according to many. He still didn't know how to feel about that. So much happened in so short a time that his head was still spinning. Events had overtaken him and he racing at a chance to just stand still and take stock of it all. But Aegon was still there. Bloody Aegon, looming over the horizon in a long, chilly shadow.
Already the golden company had retreated. Where their camp and had been was now littered with rubbish and patches of scorched earth left over from their cookfires. A flagpole mounted with golden skulls had been trampled into the dirt and the air smelled of smoke and rot. He thought an unofficial raiding part might already have passed through.
Together, they crested a hill in box formation and never once broke ranks. As he suspected, the sellswords hadn't gone far. They had abandoned Storm's End, having been chased away by Melisandre's shadow magic. But still they camped around the walls, spreading out into a nearby town. At the top of the hill, they waited for Aegon to ride out and meet them.
"Aegon's the one with the bluish-blonde hair," said Jon, leaning into Robb's ear.
"I'm looking forward to this," he replied. "It's him I blame for my mother's murder."
For a moment, Jon thought their adversaries had backed out. But soon he saw them. Aegon, surrounded by new generals to replace the ones killed in the previous night's chaos. Out at sea, beyond the castle, the wreckage of Stannis' fleet still smouldered on the shore. Despite such an impressive coup against the royal fleet, they still looked bedraggled and lost. Only Aegon remained buoyant, but Jon could tell even that was a sham.
"We heard the usurper is dead," said Aegon, once they were barely feet apart. "Had I known you were set on tearing each other apart, I wouldn't have bothered with the Golden Company. I'd have just let you kill each other first."
"We have a new King," said Robb. "You're looking at him. Kneel and swear fealty, if you are to stand a chance of leaving the field alive."
Aegon sneered. "You mean the bastard?"
Jon met the pretender's gaze. Without saying a word, the kingsguard in the immaculate white cloaks moved into formation around him. Ser Barristan to his left, Ser Jaime to his right. Arys Oakheart and Boros Blount remained directly behind him. Their meaning was clear and they were protecting their king.
"The only bastard here is the one I'm looking at now," said Ser Barristan, meeting the pretender's gaze.
"Spare yourself, bastard. Turn your armies around and leave these shores," Jaime instructed. "Don't ever come back."
"You murdered a mother of five," said Jon. "Hardly a glittering start to your rein, less so for the supposed rebirth of House Targaryen."
"Your shadow monster killed my men," Aegon cut in, angrily. "Your sister talked endlessly of the honour of House Stark. I hardly think shadow-binding a shining example of 'honour'."
"Shadow monster?" Robb asked. "Never heard of such a thing. It seems the Prince of Pisswater Bend is running mad. Can't have a man like that on the throne."
"You goad me, but Princes rise above such childish taunts," Aegon replied, his tone icy. "As for your sorcery, it cost you your own sister. Sansa is dead. I saw her corpse myself."
Now Aegon was trying to goad them, Jon could see it in him. "It pleases that me you have mentioned Sansa. And you can rest assured I put Jon Connington to good use as penance for his actions."
He gestured to Ser Arys, who motioned to the others to move aside and form a path. Robb had planned what would happen next and Jon was in two minds about it. Only the thought of spooking the Pretender had won him over to the idea, as well as Sansa's willingness to participate.
"What trickery are you playing now, bastard?"
Aegon augmented his affectation of indifference with an eye-roll. But his expression soon changed to one of whey-faced horror as Sansa rode through the newly formed path. She sat side-saddle on a white charger that matched the white silk gown she wore. Her hair was arranged in a long, but untamed braid that wound over one shoulder. On her head, she wore a tiara borrowed from Lyanna, the stones glittered in the light of the setting sun. Drawn to her full height in the saddle, she did not take her eyes from the pretender. Even as the dragons were released from their cage and rose up behind her, spreading their wings in appreciation of their sudden freedom. Sanya, the red and black, flew straight to Jon's shoulder and wrapped her tail around his neck.
The stunned silence of Aegon and the Golden Company was broken by a buzz of whispers and gasps as the dragons shrieked. Snapped out of his daze, Aegon backed his mount away from Sansa looking sick to the stomach. Holding the reins, his hands shook.
"You said you wanted the dragon eggs back," she said. "Sorry. It's a bit late for that."
Aegon dismounted his horse, stepping forward to get close to the dragons only for the kingsguard to bar his path. He swore heavily, looking daggers at Jon as his own guard pulled him back. His gauntleted hand flew to the pommel of his sword, opened his mouth to speak only for Sansa to cut him off.
"That sword is rightfully yours too, Jon. It's Blackfyre. He told me on the ship during the crossing from Pentos."
"You're a lying bitch," Aegon spat at her. "When I win, on the morrow, it will give me unspeakable pleasure to have you killed all over again. By the inch, this time."
"You're deluded." Casually, Jon slid down from the saddle of his destrier and approached the pretender. Within kissing distance, he stopped and looked him dead in the eye. "Had anyone else said that to my sister, I'd be angry. But, coming from you, it all just sounds a little hollow."
Aegon replied by spitting in his face and taking a swipe at Sanya with a mailed fist. The dragon dodged him easily. Being so small, not yet capable of producing proper fire, she relied on a shrill warning shriek to ward off her attacker. Robb drew his sword, but Jon raised a hand to stop him. With the other, he wiped the spit from his face.
"Very dignified," he remarked facetiously. "I cannot imagine why the Lords of Westeros aren't rushing to name you king."
"We haven't just come here to exchange insults," said Robb, coming to join them. "Aegon, you have lost. You fled Storm's End and the servants inside won't let you back in. You didn't kill Sansa. You lost your other hostages. You've lost Varys, Connington and Strickland. I believe Duckfield is dead, too. Your cause is lost. Surrender now and spare any of these men having to die for you. Release them from their contract and disperse them."
"Meanwhile, I've hatched the dragons and united the royal army under mine and Lord Stark's command," Jon took up the thread. "The throne is mine, if I want it. Surrender now and you will live at the Red Keep as my prisoner. Alive, but a prisoner for the rest of your days."
"I'd sooner die," Aegon retorted. "I'd prefer to die."
Jon resorted to the next best thing. "Single combat, you and I."
Aegon nodded to the men surrounding Jon. "They'll kill me."
"And your men will kill me if they so much as take a step toward you," Jon pointed out. "Do something brave, just once in your life, and face me man-to-man in single combat. You have Blackfyre, a fine blade. Show me how you use it."
"Tomorrow," said Aegon. "Our armies meet in the morning, We will settle this the old fashioned way."
In the end, the pretender's expression was hard to read as he turned and walked back to his horse. Briefly, he glanced over his shoulder but Jon couldn't tell if he was the subject of that forlorn gaze or the dragons. The last parley ended, there was nothing else to say. Thwarted of a peaceful settlement, Jon had to profess himself disappointed. Sansa and Robb came to a rest either side of him, his sister giving him a rueful smile.
"It was always going to be this way," she said.
"Come, brother, enough of this," Robb cut in. "We need to move the troops to a position on high ground and I want the best spot before the sellswords can take it."
Jon nodded, turning his horse around. Before returning to camp, he glanced over his shoulder once more. But Aegon was already gone.
Thanks again for reading, reviews would be lovely if you have a minute.
Next update: Sunday, 1st April.
I didn't get around to finishing Aegon off in this chapter, sorry about that. But I wanted a scene where he saw all the dragons hatched where we could get his reaction and I wanted him to know Sansa came back from the dead. After that, the fight would have been dragging the chapter on too long.
Apologies to anyone who is also reading King's Blood. Last week was a nightmare and I just didn't have time to get an update written up, edited and posted.