Chapter 38
The Winter Guard
Viserion usually bucked and fought all the way back down into the Dragon pits, but a long night ride back to The Red Keep had left him almost as anxious to be home as Aegon. Almost, but not quite.
Dawn was breaking, bringing red and gold back over the edge of the world. In this light, the Red Keep looked as if 'twas on fire. If only, then he could sweep down on his Dragon and carry Lady Sansa away. Then they would both be free.
Aegon had no idea where the outlandish notion of freedom came from, save riding through the cold night air with naught but a Brother's habit for warmth. He had spent the long lonely hours huddled over the neck of his Dragon thinking. He had done a hell of a lot of thinking.
Everything, for all of his life had been dedicated to winning back his Grandfather's throne, which should have been his father's and now was his. He had the Iron Throne and what else? Nothing. And no one.
He had always thought being King would be enough; nae he had always been taught 'twould be enough. Now he had it, he realised that reclaiming the throne for the Targaryens had not been his dream, it has been Varys' and Jon Connington's, it had been Daenerys', seven hells, it had been most of Westeros', but never his.
The realisation that he could walk away from it all and not look back had shaken him to the core. One day he had been Aegon the Bold, Aegon the Self-assured, Aegon the fucking Arrogant and the next he had been as lost as Valyria. Despite the crown he wore and all the power and status he could wield, he was hollow and empty inside.
That was the day he realised Lady Sansa Stark was as lost as he was. He had lived other people's dreams for them and she continued to sacrifice all of hers for the good of Westeros. Yet the Iron Throne and Westeros and all of its people would continue the relentless struggle for survival long after Aegon Targaryen and Sansa Stark lay dead in their crypts.
They were made for one another, he was sure of it. They each would fill the emptiness inside the other and together they could be whole.
Viserion extend his wings, catching the weak morning thermals as sunlight reflected off those damn red walls, soaring higher, circling afore beginning his descent, spiralling, losing speed to glide down into the shadowed darkness of the pits. Aegon screwed his nose up as the acrid smell of Dragon shit assaulting his nostrils. A rumbling growl, akin to a cat's purr, vibrated through Viserion's neck and Aegon's thighs. Far below Drogon and Rhaegal screeched blood curdling welcomes. Home sweet home.
Scale suits worn by the Dragon Maesters glinted gold and green in the morning sun. Tyrion had suggested their construction from carefully collected scales the three Dragons periodically shed. They were cumbersome and unwieldy, but by The Gods they worked. If he was totally covered, a man could survive a full on assault from Dragon fire. His skin would burn and peel from the searing heat, but he would live.
Half a dozen of these Masters were waiting with chains as thick as Aegon's thigh, ready to shackle Viserion as soon as he came within their reach. Aegon signalled at them to back away. Their dubious skills would not be needed by him.
A weary Viserion was quite happy to land gracefully in the centre of the sand arena of the pits and obediently fold his wings. He even lowered his neck to let Aegon slide off; the King's stiff limbs protesting at being forced to move after hours cramped in the same position.
"What news?" Jon asked, striding briskly out from the shadows afore Aegon's boots had even touched the sand. Jon stopped beside the Dragon to rest one hand on Viserion's streamlined skull, but his attention was all on Aegon, waiting for his report from The Quiet Isle.
Aegon was, as always, fascinated by the effect Jon had on the Dragons. The sides of Viserion's cruel muzzle had curved upwards, in what could only be a Dragon smile. Another deep, rolling purr of contentment rumbled through Viserion. Although he was standing six feet away, Aegon could feel the vibrations through the soles of his feet.
"For fuck's sake Aegon," Jon hissed impatiently when Aegon did not immediately deliver his news. Jon's change of mood caused Viserion to roll one golden eye open, the lid slipping back sideways in that disconcerting Dragon way. "Is my sister alive or dead?"
Aegon clasped his fingers together and pushed them up above his head, stretching his arms, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tight knots in his muscle while shifting his weight from one hip to another. He grimacing as blood flowed back into his cold, heavy limbs, all the while rather enjoying making Jon wait.
"I presume you mean Arya?" Aegon eventually asked, unable to resist the opportunity to tease his Brother.
"You are such a fucking arse sometimes," Jon snarled. Without warning, Viserion whipped his tail against Aegon's thigh. The pain was both unexpected and stinging. With no leather britches and only the bloody Brother's habit to protect him, his thigh would be throbbing for days. Aegon cursed under his breath, wondering if that particular assault had been the Dragon's idea or Jon's.
"Easy! Easy! They all live," Aegon muttered, holding his hands up in surrender while stepping backwards until he was well out of the reach of Viserion's viciously twitching tail.
"And are any hurt?"
"Only a windmill."
Jon sagged with relief and began absentmindedly stroking the Dragon's scaly head again. Aegon wondered what gift was better; being a warg or being impervious to fire.
"What happened to the windmill?"
"Viserion mistook it for a rival; with predictable results. I can only think he mistook the canvas sails for another Dragon's wings."
"I shall bear that in mind," Jon said, finishing his ministrations to Viserion with a tug of one wickedly curved horn. The Dragon rumbled with pleasure again. "Where is the best place to land Drogon and Rhaegar?"
"One side of the island is given over to fields. Land there. 'Tis not far to the Sept and what's left of the windmill."
There was something else Aegon had to tell his half brother and there was no easy or indirect way to say it. "Our father is buried in the yard of that Sept."
Jon lifted his head slowly and turned to Aegon. His expression was blank, unreadable, his eyes black as pitch, but every muscle, every movement radiated tension.
They were interrupted by the sound of jingling coins, they both turned to see Daenerys approach, swinging a velvet bag as she came.
"I was just about to tell Jon that he would need a hefty purse of gold, but as usual you are one step ahead of us," Aegon grinned, hoping the arrival of The Queen would break the tension.
Although Daenerys smiled at the comment, her smile never reached her eyes, which Aegon could now see were red rimmed. Her face was blotchy and her hair less than sleek. 'Twas unheard of. Daenerys always took great pride in her appearance, much as he did himself. But today he was wearing a brown and dun robe and she had obviously been crying. What a sorry excuse for a Targaryen King and Queen they were.
"As you seem pleased with yourself, can I presume Lord Baratheon's mission was a success?"
Aegon and Jon nodded while the four Crows accompanying Daenerys tried hard to suppress their mirth at King Aegon's dramatic change in appearance. While they would not dare comment on his appearance, Daenerys had no such qualms.
"By the Gods, what is that . . . thing . . . you are wearing?"
Aegon looked down, pretending he had only just noticed he was wearing a Brother's habit.
"I lost all my clothes."
Daenerys raised her eyebrows and said archly, "I do not wish to hear about whatever debauchery led to your being reduced to borrowing that. Just get changed. I find the sight of you dressed as a pious Brother strangely disturbing."
Aegon clutched at his heart as if she had just wounded him. "You doubt I am pious?" Aegon gave Daenerys his best hurt and offended expression.
Daenerys gave him a don't-you-try-that-with me-I-know-you-too-well look and sniffed, "I would wager this bag of gold dragons and a whole lot more, that you have never tried to be pious in your selfish little life dear nephew. Not even once."
"Touché," Aegon admitted with a smirk, "However, I intend to try from now on. I find I have been most affected by my visit to the Quiet Isle."
Jon shot him an enquiring look, no doubt assuming finding his father's grave was causing him to behave so out of character.
"And pigs might grow wings and breathe fire," Daenerys snorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Daenerys' belief that he could not change; that he would always be an incorrigible rake stung. Aegon could be anything he wanted, 'twas just that he had never wanted to be particularly good before. He had wanted to be King and he had made it so. If he wanted to be pious and win Lady Sansa's hand, then by The Gods, he could do that too. Daenerys' doubting his ability to change annoyed him more than he had expected and he found himself scowling down at his aunt.
"Stop pouting my sweet." Daenerys patted his cheek, "It rather spoils the pious air you are trying to cultivate."
"We should make haste if we want to be there and back afore sundown," Jon interrupted, signalling to the Dragon Maesters to release Drogon and Viserion.
As the massive portcullis gate that caged the Dragons was hauled upwards, the two Dragons began to screech at ear splitting volume and thrash their tails in excitement. Aegon drew Daenerys aside just as Drogon let loose a ferocious jet of fire that shot thirty feet across the yard. Men screamed and the wash of heat from the fames blew Aegon and Daenerys' hair back.
Jon narrowed his eyes and focused his thoughts on the black Dragon. Almost immediately, Drogon dropped his great shoulders and languidly turned his massive, horned head towards Jon. Eyes of molten lava regarded the warg with a mixture of curiosity and grudging respect. At least no more fire spewed forth from those black, smoking jaws.
The suited Dragon Maesters began prodding Drogon and Viserion with long wooden staffs. The two Dragons lumbered forwards into the morning sunlight; Drogon's smouldering, red, snake eyes never leaving Jon.
"My boys are in high spirits today," Daenerys smiled indulgently, but neither Aegon nor Jon shared her enthusiasm for the Dragon's conduct. 'Twas the most dangerous time now; released from their cages, the Dragons were feisty, full of pent up energy and barely contained resentment towards their human captors. Though they had never spoken of it with Daenerys, both Jon and Aegon held the view that Drogon was now beyond even her command. If 'twas not for Jon being a warg, 'twould have been too dangerous to let the largest, black Dragon live.
But that was not what Aegon wanted to talk to Daenerys about. Taking her by the arm and inclining his head towards her so no one could overhear, he asked, "Why have you been crying?"
The Queen looked up at him with shimmering, sad eyes. "Jon told me about Arya's . . ." Daenerys could not even bring herself to say the word babe.
Pulling her closer, Aegon murmured, "Your time will come."
"My time has passed," Daenerys said firmly, pushing him away. "I am delighted for Arya and Gendry. 'Tis Jon I weep for, not myself."
"He loves you deeply. No matter what," Aegon sighed, wishing there was more he could say or something he could do.
"You will just have to have enough heirs for us all," Daenerys scolded, making a brave attempt to shake off her melancholy. "What about Lady Shireen? She will make an excellent wife."
Aegon's eyebrows shot up. "I have honestly never considered that," he said diplomatically. 'Twas no lie. Shireen would be a useful alliance he supposed, but there were so many reasons not too; having Lord Baratheon as a Good Brother being the first and foremost amongst them.
"Then you should. She has child bearing hips and if you look beyond that greyscale, you will see she is beautiful, inside and out."
"Hmmm," murmured Aegon noncommittally. The woman he wanted was beautiful on the inside too. If Lady Sansa caught greyscale tomorrow or was as badly burned as that Hound, 'twould make no matter to him now. He had been bedding the prettiest women since he was but a youth and not one of them had made any impression whatsoever on his heart. It had taken a selfless woman with sad, blue eyes to do that.
Daenerys made ready to leave, fastening the velvet bag of coins to a thin, braided belt around her waist while Jon checked his sword belt and other weapons. Aegon did not want them back too quickly and he had thought of a good way to delay their return for a while.
"I saw a caravan on the King's Road flying banners of white and grey. They were heading south. I presume 'twas Brandon Stark and the party from Winterfell."
Jon looked up from refastening his sword belt, displaying none of the excitement or surprise Aegon had expected. "Nymeria and Ghost left two nights ago. They are with Bran now."
Aegon blew out a heavy sigh. Why had he forgotten about the Direwolves? Of course Jon would already know where the Northerners were.
"All the same, you could pay them a flying visit afore they arrive," Aegon said, unable to resist chuckling at his own joke.
Jon merely shook his head, but Daenerys seemed taken with the idea. "We could stop on the way back. I am sure Arya would wish to see her brothers as soon as possible."
Aegon's ears pricked up. Brothers. There was more than one? "Rickon lives?" he asked, looking from Daenerys to a stony faced Jon and back.
Daenerys flushed pink, "Ooops! 'Tis supposed to be a surprise. Oh please do not tell Sansa," she pleaded.
"Of course not," Aegon agreed solemnly. He had no intention of provoking Jon's wrath, at least not for something as trivial as that. Still, Daenerys mentioning Lady Sansa gave him the opportunity he had been waiting for.
"I thought Lady Sansa would have come with you, to hear the news," And to greet me, he thought, imagining himself riding Viserion, catching sight of that unbound auburn hair blowing in the wind as Sansa waited atop a tower for her first glimpse of his return. Her soft, curvaceous body would be ready to welcome him and only him. Best of all, he would be the only one who could ease the worry and the pain in those sad, blue eyes. Aye, a man would never want to leave his home again if he had Lady Sansa awaiting his return. Banishing such wishful thinking, Aegon focused instead on maintaining his usual bored, disinterested facade.
"She has been in the Sept since you left, praying for her sister's safe return," Daenerys said.
Alas not mine, he thought.
"Pyp, would you take a message to Lady Sansa for me?" Daenerys asked, turning to one of her favourite Crows.
Pyp grinned, relishing the Queen's attention. As he stepped forwards to receive his instructions, Aegon interrupted, "No need, I shall go."
Daenerys gave her nephew a surprised, sideways look.
"'Tis important news and I should convey it myself," he explained, hoping he had not seemed too eager. Aegon did not want to arouse any suspicions and ensure there was no possibility of interference until he had time with Sansa alone.
"She may have questions only I can answer," he said, with what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug.
Daenerys face broke into a broad smile. "How very thoughtful of you. Mayhaps you are turning over a new leaf after all."
Aegon bowed low to The Queen, in part to acknowledge her complement and also to hide the delight he was having a hard time keeping from his face. He would soon have Lady Sansa alone.
"The Quiet Isle and my headstrong sister await," Jon said as he walked over to and climbed on Balerion's back, every movement radiating grim determination. Daenerys gracefully leapt onto Rhaegal as Aegon and the Crows retreated to a safe distance.
With a final, ear splitting farewell cry to Viserion, first Drogon and then Rhaegal stretched their necks and extended their wings afore seeming to pounce and grab at the air. Monstrous leathery wings beat frantically at first, sending grit and leaves and great drafts of air scudding around the pit as the Dragons clawed for height. Aegon and the Crows were forced to shield their eyes against the debris and wind.
By the time Aegon was able to look skyward, the two Dragons were already above the walls of the Red Keep, spiralling, searching for the thermals that would take them soaring up into the clear blue sky and off to The Quiet Isle. Aegon allowed himself a swift, satisfied smile afore he turned on his heel, motioning for Pyp to follow him out of the pits. The Black Brother fell into step beside him.
"Do you know where Ser Duckworth is camped?"
Pyp chuckled, "If I didn't, I could easily find him by following the path to his tent worn deep by servants carrying roast oxen and women seeking his bed."
Aye, the ferocious appetites of the Golden Company's captain were hard to miss, as was the ginger mane that made him look like a loveable marmalade lion. Rolly had been tasked with keeping the peace in the army encampment outside the city walls. Ser Duckworth's air of affability made him eminently suited to the task and he made it look as if keeping so many men in line was easy. However, any misbehaviour or dissent in the ranks was ruthlessly crushed by The Duck. Those who knew him well and those who were foolish enough to cross him, were not fooled by his amenable appearance. Burning ambition, a ferocious temper and a will of steel were hidden under that deceptive, easy going exterior.
"Go t him and tell him to gather sixty of his best men. They are to wait for me outside the Royal Sept."
"Sixty?" Pyp repeated carefully. The men of the Night's Watch rubbed along easily enough with Golden Company, certainly better than Bad Company did, but nonetheless, they tended to keep to their own areas; the Night's Watch guarded the Red Keep and Aegon's larger Golden Company the city itself. The thought of sixty of Golden Company's finest within the walls of the Red Keep made Pyp uneasy. He wanted to ask Why? He would have asked Jon, for they had been friends and brothers in arms long afore the Commander of the Nights' Watch sat on the Iron Throne, but questioning King Aegon was another matter entirely.
"Aye, sixty," the Targaryen King confirmed tersely. Pyp knew he was pushing his luck, but he screwed his courage up further and asked,
"Armed?"
Aegon stopped walking and turned to fix Pyp with a regal, ice cold stare. Pyp swallowed hard. Those unfathomable lilac eyes seemed to burn straight through him. Holding his gaze for far longer than Pyp found comfortable, Aegon finally drawled,
"What use are guards to me if they are unarmed?"
As suddenly as it had been turned on, the compelling, intimidating, invincible air of authority was gone and the Targaryen King was affecting that disinterested, lazy tone he was so good at, the one that fooled almost everyone into thinking he was a mere fop. But Pyp knew better; Pyp knew there was battle hardened steel under the silk Aegon usually wore. Pyp had seen Aegon hold ten thousand men in thrall and have every one of them prepared to lay down their life for him. Gendry might be the Commander they loved the best for they all saw themselves in him, Jon the one who held their loyalty for his unwavering determination to do right by them, but Aegon was the one born to lead and he scared the shit out of Pyp.
"Ser Duckworth and sixty of his best men," Pyp confirmed, relieved to finally be able to break that disconcerting eye contact by giving a tight bow and marching off to carry out King Aegon's orders. Seven buggering hells, he hoped Jon returned soon.
Aegon dismissed the rest of the Crows. Lady Sansa awaited him in the Royal Sept; even if she did not know it yet. He would have Duck and his sixty men swear fealty to Sansa, not to him. No matter what came to pass, Aegon wanted Sansa to be safe. Once Golden Company swore their oath, he knew Duck and the rest of them would die to protect her.
He would name them "The Winter Guard." Aegon had decided upon the name during his midnight Dragon ride and was well please with it. He would dress them like the men of the Night's Watch, in leather and fur, only white. Of course he would let Lady Sansa have the final say in how her guards looked, but he hoped she would agree with his choice. And he wanted Sansa to know they were hers to command. They would answer to no one but her, not even to him. Above all, even if he were dead, or worse, if she rejected him, he wanted Sansa to be safe.
Who would have thought that a woman could have made him a selfless man? Mayhaps they'd call him Aegon the Chivalrous after he was dead. He shook his head and smiled to himself as he set off to implement the next stage of his plan. For that he needed someone far less astute than Pyp.
Beyond the Dragon Pits he spied four men rolling barrels; presumably bringing ale from the brewery. Being a Dragon Maester was notoriously thirsty work; not only did the men foolish enough to volunteer for the job sweat like pigs in their Dragon scale suits; they seemed to prefer to do the job half drunk. It irritated seven hells out of Jon, but Aegon could not blame the men; when your life was likely to end shortly, either in an inferno or in a Dragon's jaws, why not spend what was left of it in a pleasantly drunken state?
Snapping his fingers, he beckoned to the eldest man. "You are Murmison, are you not?"
The brewer's eyes widened in surprise and he immediately bowed low, casting his eyes down as he confirmed his name with a respectful, "Aye Your Grace."
Following Murmison's lead, the other three also bowed low. Good. Aegon made it his business to remember something about everyone he met and invariably it paid off eventually. He recalled having a conversation with the Master Brewer several moons ago about watering the army's ale down even further and Murmison's name had been mentioned in a positive way by his Master. Aegon could not remember why, but why was irrelevant. The man could be trusted and he was awestruck that the King knew his name; 'twas enough.
"I need you to carry a message to Lord Willas Tyrell for me."
The brewer quickly nodded his assent.
"Tell him that Lord Tyrion requires to converse with him urgently and he is to make all possible haste to the canal site." The current excavations were half a day's ride from the city walls. That should keep Willas out of the way for a while.
"Aye Your Grace."
"And Murmison, if he asks any questions, plead ignorance." Aegon favoured the kneeling man with a conspiratorial smile, knowing loyal Murmison would play his part well. The man nodded his confirmation.
"Do this for me and I will commend you, in the highest terms, to your Master. He is getting old and 'tis about time we put our minds to appointing his successor, is it not?"
Murmison's eyes shone with pride. Aegon would speak to the Master, for he believed a King should always keep his word. Such attention to detail was key to bigger things. Every man should be treated with respect. Tyrion had taught Young Griff, the arrogant boy, that lesson and Aegon the man had remembered it well.
Once Murmison was on his way, Aegon dismissed the older two and indicated for the apprentice to stay. "I have a task for you. Do you think you can also do your King's bidding?"
The boy nodded so enthusiastically, Aegon thought his head might bob off.
"Go to the Tower and tell the Maester to send a raven to Lord Tyrion on my behalf. If the Maester gives you any trouble, tell him I will cut his cock off and feed to his beloved birds."
The boy grinned with wicked delight.
"Willas is coming. Delay him overnight."
Aegon had the boy repeat the message three times afore he sent him on his way. Tyrion would do it, Aegon had no doubt. They had an unspoken understanding since their days on the Shy Maid, that either would help the other when asked. The 'understanding' had been invoked infrequently, but every time to the great advantage of one of the parties and Aegon needed this advantage now. He needed Lady Sansa to himself for a day and a night. However, for some inexplicable reason, Tyrion seemed to like Willas and would no doubt extract a hefty price from Aegon for having to waylay the Lord of High Garden.
With Daenerys and Jon gone, Willas about to be distracted and Rolly on his way, Aegon could finally direct his attention to Lady Sansa Stark.
He had intended to change out of his dun and brown robe afore greeting her, but he had almost forgotten how pious she was. If Sansa had remained in the Sept all this time, mayhaps it would help her to see him in a different light if his appearance was also different. He would keep the Brother's robe.
With his heart beating fast in his chest, Aegon set off for the Royal Sept. 'Twas a fair distance from the Dragon pits in the bowels of the Red Keep to the Royal Sept, but afore he knew it, Aegon was at the doors of the Sept with no recollection at all of how he got there.
By The Gods, when was the last time he had been this nervous? Nerves never normally affected him, but his palms were sweating now and a trickle of sweat rolled uncomfortably down his back as he stared at the carved doors. He clenched and unclenched his fists and tried to regulate his hammering heart. He tried to focus on the ornate images of the Father and the Mother fashioned by some long ago master craftsman; so different to the Sept on the Quite Isle.
She was inside and when he stepped over this threshold everything would change, one way or another. But would it be for better or for worse? For the first time in his life, Aegon was about to open the impregnable walls he had built around his heart and he had no idea whether his surrender to love would bring him victory or death.
With a final murmured prayer to the Father and the Mother, King Aegon Targaryen the Sixth of his Name, and as much a fool for love as any man who had ever lived, pushed the carved doors open, ready to meet his fate.
-o-
The frantic clanging of a bell woke Arya up with a start. She sat bolt upright, dragging the cover off Gendry. He huffed and grabbed at it, pulling it back over his shoulder.
"Seven hells what is that?" Arya was instantly fully alert and already half out of bed.
"I think you will find the Brothers have just spied Drogon and Rhaegal," Gendry grumbled sleepily, snaking one strong arm around Arya's waist, preventing her escape.
Sure enough, at that moment the frantic cry of "Dragons! Dragons!" penetrated the sanctuary of their little cottage.
"Elder Brother will insist on greeting the King and Queen properly, so that just about gives us time to…"
With unexpected speed and impressive strength, Gendry suddenly hauled her backwards. Arya found herself pinned under a huge, hot slab of muscle, faster than she though a sleepy Gendry could move. He was obviously wide awake now and, judging by the insistent pressure his cock was exerting between her legs, he was already hard and raring to go. Again.
Looking up at him through the curtain of his long hair,Arya could not prevent the little gasp of pleasure that escaped her lips as he rolled his hips against hers. Another day's growth rendered his jaw black; reminding her of the way he looked in Jon's solar seven moons ago. How could she not have recognised him then? The laughing eyes that saw her more clearly than anyone else, had not changed at all in all those years.
"What?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows as he watched her watch him.
"I love you, Gendry Waters," she said, catching him unawares as she levered her arms against his shoulders and used her legs wrapped around his thighs to flip him over. She was top, albeit hanging over the edge of the narrow bed. "But 'tis well past noon and I will not be caught by my big brother still abed with you."
She had just enough time to worry about the smirk that appeared on his face afore she found herself swung over the side of the bed. Only one of his hands wrapped around her wrist and one of his legs hooded behind her knee prevented her from hitting the floor, or more accurately his sword. It had been carefully placed by the side of their bed during the night.
"Stormbringer!" she yelped.
She was instantly hauled back into bed and crushed to his chest while he craned his neck to see over her shoulder.
"Damnation! I forgot I left it there."
During the night, when they had been woken by the cold, Gendry had hopped out of bed to feed the fire. To Arya's amusement, he had brought his sword back to bed with him.
"Do swords get cold too?" Arya had teased as he laid it carefully between them. He had given her an insolent look and not even dignified her question with an answer.
The two of them had lain on their sides, heads propped up with their elbows, looking down at the sword between them. Gendry stroked one finger down the flat of the blade, from point to hilt. A glowing trail of fire appeared under his finger tip, causing Arya to shiver. No matter how many times he told her 'twas just Valyrian steel, she remained convinced that sword was somehow alive.
"Stormbringer," Gendry murmured. The whole blade seemed to shimmer with light as he gripped the hilt. "This sword will belong to our son one day. He will wield it to protect the Stormlands. I pray that our son's son and his son after him will wield it with honour." And although he did not say it aloud, for he did not wish to worry Arya, he prayed he did not have to swing Stormbringer in protection of the Stormlands, or Westeros or any other damn place himself.
Sensing the burden he felt when he spoke of the future, although not understanding it, Arya covered his hand with hers. "And as long as the Baratheons wield that sword, they shall speak in awe of Gendry, the 'prentice smith who rose to become Lord and made Stormbringer with his own hands."
Gendry lifted his eyes from their hands to gaze at her with all the love he thought he would never have. "And they shall tell of how he won the heart of his beautiful Lady Arya Stark with patience, determination and his great big …." He paused for effect and glanced down at his erect cock.
"They will not!" Arya shrieked, playfully slapping his shoulder.
"Sword! I was going to say sword!" he laughed as he carefully removed Stormbringer and set it on the floor at the side of the bed. He had loved her again after that and Stormbringer had lain beside them, forgotten until Arya had nearly fallen on it.
With their wedding night over, Arya planted a chaste kiss on the end of Gendry's nose. "We must go and find Jon afore he finds us."
Gendry groaned as reality came crashing back in upon him. Aye, he would have to find Jon and speak to him about Aegon. Letting Arya go, he dropped his forearm over his eyes and took a moment to offer up a silent prayer to The Gods. He prayed that there would be no more war and that this was not the only peace he would ever know.
-o-
As Gendry had predicted, Elder Brother had greeted King Jon and Queen Daenerys with a great deal of pomp and ceremony. Brothers and novices lined the route to the Sept, holding large, ceremonial banners, each depicting one of The Seven. Elder Brother led the procession, followed by the Dragon King and Queen.
Arya and Gendry walked, side by side, along the path from their cottage to the Sept. They had fallen unconsciously into step; shoulder to shoulder, both dressed in boiled leather, both with their hands on their sword hilts. Gendry loved being like this with her; not just physically close, but also in tune with her. But why did he feel as if he was marching into battle?
They could see the procession from their own path as it wound towards the Sept. With every step he took, Gendry felt the warm glow of their love making ebb away, to be replaced by the cold, hard reality of the task ahead of him.
'Twas not only Aegon that weighed on his mind, there was another matter. The plan had been that, after Gendry prevented Arya from killing Clegane, they would return to King's Landing with Jon and Daenerys on the back of Dragons. But that was afore he knew about their babe.
Arya would not like this, but his need to protect her and their child, demanded he speak his mind.
"Mayhaps we should return to King's Landing by another way?"
"Hmmm," Arya screwed her nose up, "Why? I was looking forward to a ride on a dragon."
He blew out a heavy sigh. She was not going to like this at all. "I think we should hire a wheelhouse. Saltpans would be the most likely place to find one."
"A wheelhouse?" she repeated slowly, her voice dripping with derision and contempt.
He let his gaze drift down to the buckle of her sword belt, sitting low on her belly.
"Because of the babe."
As his eyes were on her belly, her finger jabbing his chest took him by surprise.
"If you think…"
Jab
"That I am…"
Jab
"The kind of woman…"
Jab
"Who will let you spank her…"
Jab
"And ride in a bloody wheelhouse…"
Jab, jab.
When he looked up from her jabbing finger, her eyes were boring holes in him. She shoved him away and stomped off down the path. Three paces away from him she turned and yelled over her shoulder, "Then you married the wrong kind of woman!"
Gendry blew out an even heavier sigh as he watched her storm off. He had been right. She did not like that at all. Still, he had no doubt he had married exactly the right woman for him.
He caught up with her at the entrance to the Sept where she stood awkwardly beside the row of Brothers, waiting on Jon and Daenerys.
-o-
'Twas hard to try to ignore pig headed Gendry. Even his scent and the heat of him behind her, sent Arya's heart racing and sparked that familiar, needy throb between her legs. Seven buggering hells, they had made love all night and half the day and yet her body still craved more. Tying to school her head to ignore him, even if her traitor body would not, Arya tried to concentrate on Jon and Daenerys. How regal they both looked.
Her brother was tall, dark and imposing in the black garb of the Commander of the Night's Watch. Arya had never seen the black furs currently draped around his shoulders and they only added to his size and air of authority. Daenerys, in complete contrast, wore silver silk and a tunic of fine mail that sparkled in the sun light. Her waist length hair hung loose, blowing gracefully around her petite, curvy figure in the light breeze.
Jon nodded to Arya, smiling as he caught her eye and gently tugging on Daenerys' sleeve to direct her attention to the door of the Sept. Instead of Daenerys' usual, wide, welcoming grin, The Queen seemed only able to give Arya a tense, faltering smile. Arya knew immediately that something was very wrong.
Elder Brother halted the procession outside the Sept to bid Gendry and Arya a knowing "Good afternoon." He added a wink for good measure and Arya felt her face flush hot.
Elder Brother then proceeded to ask Gendry very loudly, "Was your wedding night successful?"
Gendry glanced at Arya, who was now scarlet with embarrassment. He knew that, as there was no bloodied sheet to exhibit, 'twas essential to proclaim consummation of the marriage in public. But did Arya know it? That way there could be no grounds for him to have the marriage set aside in the future. Not that Gendry would ever want to that, but some unscrupulous husbands did. Judging by the look on Arya's face, she did not appreciate Elder Brother's attempts to aid her.
"Aye," Gendry replied even more loudly, "Very, very successful."
Arya looked so furious, he thought she was going to punch him right there and then. 'Twas nothing he could do about that just now, so instead he turned to Jon and explained, "We were wed in haste last night."
Jon's eyebrows shot up, but he no time to answer afore Daenerys threw herself on Arya, hugging her tight, crying, "Congratulations on your wedding and the babe."
Arya gave Gendry a furious, accusatory stare.
She obviously blamed him for Daenerys knowing about the babe, but he had not even known for certain, so how could he have told The Queen? He gave Arya a shrug and a don't-blame-me look.
'Twas Jon's turn to look embarrassed. "The Direwolves," he said by way of explanation.
Arya glared at him too. Jon and Daenerys had known about the babe afore she had herself? Mayhaps everyone in the bloody Red Keep knew! For a fleeting moment, Arya considered changing her face, running away and leaving the whole bloody lot of them behind. But she would not. She had promised herself. Never again would she hide behind the face of another. So she made do with sending death stares to Gendry, Jon and Elder Brother in turn.
When Daenerys loosened the bear hug she had on Arya, The Queen's eyes were shining with tears. Not only was Arya embarrassed and livid, she now also felt terribly uncomfortable. She did not have the skills to deal with a crying Queen in front of a whole island full of men. Arya's preferred method of dealing with emotions was to ignore them completely, but how could not ignore this? She had not had time to think on how her news would have affected Daenerys. The Queen was desperate for a babe of her own and yet 'twas Arya who was pregnant, without even trying. Arya had hoped never to have to have such a conversation with Daenerys and she had certainly not expected it to happen so soon.
"I am so happy for you, Good Sister." Daenerys tenderly stroked the side of Arya's face in what seemed like a shockingly intimate gesture to Arya. "You will make a wonderful mother."
The barren Queen's selfless kindness was too much for Arya to bear. She was already wracked with uncertainty about her ability to be a good mother. Daenerys, on the other hand, would truly be a wonderful mother, yet never had the chance. Daenerys had given life and hope back to all the people of Essos and Westeros. Why could she not have the one thing she wanted above all else? 'Twas simply not fair.
Still, if Daenerys believed Arya could be a good mother, mayhaps she could do it. "I shall try with all my heart to be a good mother," Arya said, her voice trembling and on the verge of tears herself.
"Then you shall succeed Arya Stark, for you have never failed at anything you set out to do." Daenerys gave her Good Sister a lopsided smile as she tried to blink back tears of happiness that were, at the same time, shameful tears of self-pity.
Overcome with emotion, Arya pulled The Queen into a tight embrace, whispering in her ear, "And you shall be a wonderful mother. I know it."
Arya felt Daenerys' chest heave as she gulped in a great, shuddering breath, afore she replied sadly, "Alas, I fear I shall only be the Mother of Dragons."
As Daenerys' tried to stifle her sobs, Arya lifted pleading eyes to Jon, unsure of what to do and knowing she was about to cry too.
Jon rested his gloved hand gently on his wife's sob wracked shoulder. "Bran and his party are only a few days north of King's Landing. We spied their camp this morning as we left the Red Keep. Why don't we make a stop there on the return journey?"
"Really?" Arya gasped. At last. She would see Bran again. Now she really would cry.
Jon gazed tenderly down at his little sister and his wife, wishing with all his heart he could give Daenerys what she so dearly wanted. At least he could spare her from having to sit and cry through the ceremony in the Sept. "I am sure Elder Brother would not mind if you left right away."
Daenerys nodded against Arya's chest. With a final, gentle squeeze of her shoulder, Jon let his distraught wife go.
Jon and Gendry watched the two women who meant everything to them, walk away. Their arms were around each other, supporting each other, the way Good Sisters should.
"Shall we . . .?" Elder Brother motioned for them to continue into the Sept.
Knowing Jon had even less time for The Seven than he did, Gendry coughed and said,
"I would like to show King Jon where his father is buried if you do not mind?"
Gendry knew 'twas a slight to Elder Brother to ask. Jon was too well mannered to suggest it himself, but no one had ever taught Gendry manners. Elder Brother did not look too happy about the timing, but he gave his consent as Gendry knew he would have to.
King Jon and Lord Baratheon waited respectfully until the procession was safely inside the Sept. Once the doors were shut, the two friends made their way to the burial ground at the rear of the Sept. They walked in silence, save for the muffled sounds of pious chanting. Gendry lead his old friend to the spot where he had found Aegon sitting the day before.
Gendry did not relish the prospect of having to discuss his father's killing of Rhaegar Targaryen again. He would much rather have been dealing with the problems that threatened them here and now, rather than battles of the past. Still, he did not see how it could be avoided. Jon had to visit his father's grave and a discussion abut the future would have to wait until Jon had time to deal with his past.
Finding the weathered grey slab easily enough, they both stopped and looked down at the final resting place of the Targaryen Prince.
Jon stood, arms folded, legs planted wide and surveyed the grave impassively. "So here lies Rhaegar Targaryen," he muttered, as if to himself.
Gendry decided there was no point in putting it off. "I have already told Aegon I am sorry for what my father did to yours and I say the same to you now. I only wish our fathers could have found the friendship we have."
Jon nodded, but there was a long, awkward silence, with neither of them looking at the other, much less speaking. Gendry wondered uncomfortably what, if anything, he should say now. Thankfully 'twas Jon who spoke first,
"I'm standing here, at my father's gave side and do you know what I feel?"
Gendry shook his head.
"Nothing. Not a Goddamn thing."
Gendry had never bothered visiting his own father's tomb in King's Landing, so he was not in the least surprised by Jon's reaction. The things Gendry's father had given him; his height, his strength and his fondness for wine, paled into insignificance compared to the things he had not given him; the safety of a family, a home, a father's love and most hurtful of all, not even his bloody name. Robert Baratheon might have sired Gendry in a frantic moment of drunken lust, but he was no father.
Obviously having similar thoughts, Jon said, "Eddard Stark was my father. He raised me, not this Targaryen prince who died afore I was even born. To think of anyone other than Lord Stark as my father would be to belittle all that Eddard gave me." John shook his head sadly, "Nae, this is not my father's grave."
Gendry had begun to pace back and forth. Jon was not going to grieve, so they had to speak of Aegon. As soon as possible.
Still hardly believing what Aegon had said, that war could even be contemplated by any of them ever again, Gendry said, "Then let us talk no more of the past and instead discuss matters that concern our future."
Jon waited patiently, watching Gendry take six long strides to one side of Rhaegar's grave, turn and pace six more back. Jon knew something was bothering his friend and 'twas serious. Gendry was a plain talker and invariably blurted out what was bothering him, but 'twas obviously a delicate, difficult subject Gendry wished to discuss. Jon prayed that there were no more problems with Arya – already.
"Aegon believes himself in love," Gendry said finally, stopping his pacing to look square at Jon.
Jon's only reaction was to raise his eyebrows and say "Good. A steady woman might keep him out of trouble."
"Not this one," Gendry groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face.
Jon cocked his head to the side, waiting to hear the rest of it.
"Seven buggering hells, there is no easy way to say this," Gendry muttered, running his hands through his hair "'Tis Lady Sansa. And he claims he will do anything to have her."
Jon snorted. Was that all?
"Aegon may want her, but Sansa does not want him."
"Are you sure?" Gendry challenged. "We do not know who she wants, save 'tis not Joffrey, Tyrion or Willas. Aegon is a different matter entirely."
"But he's a . . ." Jon grimaced, struggling to find an adequate word to describe his brother.
"…A horse's arse, a selfish cunt, an arrogant prick and the closest thing I have come across to a man whore," Gendry finished for him. "But he is also charming, has a silver tongue and, as he told me himself standing right where you are now, what woman has ever been able to resist him?"
"Arya," Jon grinned.
Gendry frowned, his anger flaring at being reminded of Aegon's attempt to seduce his wife, even if 'twas for allegedly noble reasons. "She is not like other women," he ground out through his teeth.
"Thank the Gods," Jon muttered, rolling his eyes skyward as if in gratitude.
Frustrated by Jon's inability to see the danger, Gendry decided to try a different tack. "How often does Lady Sansa laugh?"
Jon thought for a moment and his expression became serious again, "Not often," he admitted reluctantly.
"Aye, so those rare occasions where she does laugh, when she appears happy and carefree must surely stick in your mind?"
Jon tried to recall the last time he had heard his sister laugh. "When she dances," he replied slowly.
"Aye. But not when she dances with Willas. Who is always waiting to take over when Willas' leg means he can dance no longer?"
"Aegon," Jon sighed, beginning to see what he had not wanted to.
"And does she ever laugh at your jokes, or mine, or anyone else's? Even Sam's?"
Jon shook his head.
"Nae, she only laughs at his."
"Seven hells," Jon groaned, massaging his temples with trembling fingers. Why had he never noticed afore? Aegon was always attentive to Sansa's needs; always the first to bring a glass of wine or an extra cushion and how many times had he seen Aegon quietly watching Sansa? Too many to count. But then they all felt protective towards Sansa; grateful, aye and guilty too, for the deal she had made to save King' Landing from starvation.
To bed Willas had been Sansa's idea from the first, but they had all gone along with it. Aegon had not raised any more objections than the rest of them and besides, Sansa had overruled them all.
Jon had thought the attention Aegon paid to Sansa was merely a way of easing a guilty conscience. Jon did it too; not one of them would ever contradict Sansa, or argue with her and they made sure she wanted for nothing. But Aegon was the most attentive of them all. He always offered to carry messages for her or to her. Now Jon thought about it, why would a King do that, when there were servants and guards everywhere, all ready to obey? Seven buggering hells. Aegon had even offered to take the news to Sansa in the Sept this morning and, once again, Jon had thought nothing of it.
"Fuuuuck," Jon swore slowly, realising all the warning signs had been there – right under his nose and he had failed to notice any of them. If only he had seen the danger earlier. Aegon could have manoeuvred into a peacekeeping mission to Volantis or somewhere even farther away, but 'twas too late for that now. What would Willas do when he found out? By The Gods, what would Aegon do to Willas first?
"He said he was willing to do anything," Gendry said softly, "Even war."
Jon closed his eyes, unable to contemplate another war. He gave himself a mental shake. Instead of worrying about what might happen, he should deal with the practicalities now. "Sansa was praying in the Sept, when we left. Aegon went off to find her."
"And he no doubt has some scheme to be rid of Willas so he can have him all to himself until we return."
Jon cast a look at towards the sun. 'Twas late afternoon. "We will not be back until near dawn."
"Then we must hope that Lady Sansa is as impervious to Aegon's charms as her sister," Gendry said, hoping Aegon was not foolish enough to challenge Willas directly and also that Sansa was able to withstand the full force of Aegon's legendary seductive skills.
Jon inhaled deeply and blew it out slowly. "Aye, we can only hope."
No further discussion was necessary. Both men knew they had to return to King's Landing with all possible haste. Even travelling by Dragon, Aegon had Sansa to himself for far too long. They headed back towards Drogon with heavy hearts.
Still not finished. I hope no one minds me taking my time to set the scene for the next story. Bran next chapter though. . .
Heartfelt thanks to Brazilian Guy and Mrs Jessie Pinkman for their support.
My weekend has not turned out as expected. I was supposed to be in Amsterdam having a good time, but alas, unforeseen circumstances have prevented that. Still, every cloud has a silver lining and I now have nothing to do except write for the rest of the weekend.
So you might get another chapter Sunday. Failing that, it should be next Friday.