Author's Notes:

So, I have no business starting a brand new story, but I'm in the middle of reworking both my Star Wars saga fic and the Edge of War's End (which I'll be updating on this site to catch you all up).

I'm so in love with how this story is heading. I already have 5 chapters written and ready to be released. I'll try to update every 3-5 days at a maximum!

This is hardcore pining/romance, so saddle up!

Chapter 1

Winterfell

Sansa

"Lady Stark." The dragon queen lifted a brow and joined her hands together at her hips. Drowning in her white furs in a room crowded with the highest ranking people in her camp and the North who wore blacks or tattered, dreary navys, Daenerys pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "You've been uncharacteristically quiet. Am I to assume you're in agreement with our plan?"

Nothing on Sansa's face budged, features as frozen as the dirty, bloodied snow outside the castle walls. A master of control, the Lady of Winterfell's cold gaze dropped to the large table in the council chamber. The plan made sense for simple minds, but even a novice of battle strategy could see the gaping holes and the inevitable catastrophic loss the dragon queen, the North, and the people of King's Landing would suffer. Daenerys, as far as the leader of a rebellion went, was going into this battle blind. Everyone who could make a difference and appeal to her sensibilities or what little compassion the foreign queen had was stuck abed nursing life-altering injuries from the battle they'd endured the night before. What was left of the Dothraki, the Unsullied, and the Northmen all rallied together to gather the bodies of their fallen comrades, so they could burn the bodies and carry out a final, proper mass memorial to honor their sacrifice.

"It's a pretty plan, Your Grace." Sansa lifted her chin, allowing her extra height as she straightened her spine, hands tangled behind her. "...in theory."

"In theory?" Jon sighed, rolling his shoulders. The bulk of the people in the room hadn't rested in more than a day. He stepped closer to her and gestured to the table in front of them. "Sansa, how would you conduct the battle, then? You're no expert war strategist."

The deliberate disobedience the Lady of Winterfell weaponized against the brother she'd once thought to be her savior thawed her cool expression enough to permit a small grin to grow on her mouth. However, it was his dragon queen who interrupted him from across the room.

"You will let her speak, Jon," the queen regarded her lover, Sansa's own brother, about as kindly as Joffrey once regarded animals. Steering her focus back to the copper haired lady, she nodded. "If there is a better option that would help turn the tides of the upcoming battle, I should think we ought to hear it. I've lost one of my children and more than half of my army and people for your cause."

"You do not know Cersei, Your Grace." Varys and a few other men squirmed, all remaining silent. Speaking out against a tumultuous queen was not wise, but Sansa could afford a bit of risk with Arya, her unlikely ally, standing at her side. "Neither does your Hand."

Daenerys was not her preferred option for a ruler. The woman was too unpredictable. Power fed her preordained arrogance to the point of absurdity; however, Jon made it abundantly clear he would not be king, his natural right be damned. Learning of her brother's true heritage had almost made this whole ordeal worse. The longer the dragon queen stayed in Winterfell, the more poisoned her once strong relationship with him became. It was sad. She'd always mourn the trust she'd once established with the man.

"And you do?"

After a few seconds, Sansa stepped to the table and dragged her eyes over each person until she anchored her attention back to the Targaryen queen. "I know that the only person in the whole world designed to love Cersei left her side to fight for the North. I know she loved her children-that without them, she's as dangerous as both of your remaining dragons. She has the right family name paired with the madness of your father."

"With all due respect, Lady Stark, your experience with the false queen ended once you fled King's Landing with Littlefinger, so says my Hand."

Sansa politely smiled. "With all due respect, Your Grace, your only experience with the woman is mostly ill-advised hearsay."

"I will forgive your insults so far, Sansa." Looking over to Jon, Daenerys shot a hand out between them, drawing her head back as she waited for a reply.

"Your forgiveness is not needed, Your Grace. I merely believe I have a better alternative."

Daenerys leaned over the table, palms flattening as she sighed. "What do you propose, Lady Sansa?"

"The chances of winning a battle against Cersei or King's Landing are slim to none without suffering tremendous casualties. Where we have less than half of our combined forces, she'll have an entire army fresh and ready to fight all our remaining tired soldiers. Not to mention all the wildfire still underneath unknown parts of the city," Sansa ignored Jon's groans and regarded her sister before sliding her gaze back on the dragon queen. "In order for you to secure and maintain your control over the iron throne, you'll require at least the troops remaining. Instead of risking your whole army, I suggest we send one."

"One battalion?" Varys asked, sending her an unreadable look.

"One person."

Daenerys bit her lip. "And you propose?"

Arya stepped forward, hand resting on the hilt of Needle. An easy grin flopped over her lips until she angled her head and slipped her arm in Sansa's elbow. "Me."

Jon pried the two sisters apart, back to Arya and scowling at Sansa. "Over my dead body."

"You will be dead if you march or sail on King's Landing." Arya laughed. "Stark men do not fare well when they travel south." Shifting between her siblings, she resumed her place at Sansa's side. "Luckily, Stark women find a way to manage."

"Jon, she alone defeated the Night King, saving Theon Greyjoy and Bran. Cersei Lannister is safe in the Red Keep. Innocent people will burn if a battle ensues," Sansa said, all but forgetting Daenerys Stormborn across the crowded room.

"I didn't realize you cared about the people in King's Landing so much."

"I care only about the Northern men you'd send to their slaughter," she admitted. "King's Landing is honestly of no consequence to me."

Daenerys cleared her throat. "How could a single person kill Cersei with the Mountain guarding her at all times? Not to mention all the Queensguard stalking her shadow…"

Lady Stark regarded Daenerys. "A wise, terrible friend once told me that one man can be worth ten thousand."

Varys chuckled, his hands revealing from the pocket at his hips. He was possibly the only person in the room Sansa could not read well. Sometimes, it bothered her that someone else could possibly best her. "Sounds like a very wise friend, indeed."

"I had Arya kill him when he was least expecting it for the unspeakable schemes he puppeted that led to the death of nearly my entire family."

"Subterfuge...you'd ask me to risk my crown, my birthright, and my future on this plan of yours?" the queen asked, muttering something underneath her breath.

"So many people—they risk so little. They spend their lives avoiding danger. And then they die." The words left her chest hollow and throat thick with emotion that didn't reach her eyes. Sansa hated Petyr Baelish. He'd ruined her innocence long before Ramsay carved it from her body. Meticulous, calculated maneuvers, slowly over a long stretch of time, was how Littlefinger had pilfered power from those around him. As much as she detested who he made her to be, there was merit in his strategy, though weaponizing it thrust you into a field flooded with wildfire under a thunderstorm. You had to be quick to dodge the strikes and explosive fallout, or you'd collapse under your own misfortune or weakness. "Wouldn't you risk everything to get what you want?"

"I've risked a great deal to come this far, Lady Stark."

The pause was deliberate, necessary as Sansa took stock of all the possible replies to the foreign queen. As the Lady of Winterfell tinkered together the perfect response, she noticed a dangerous lethality brewing in the stormy violet eyes across the table. This queen thought, at least for a fraction of a moment, about how she could kill Sansa. She couldn't say anything to fertilize the garden of dark thoughts and paranoia seeding in this queen's mind. The look of death was something that, by now, she was rather an expert in recognizing. Afterall, she was the once jaded Lady Lannister and the once tortured Lady Bolton. It was the same look that she'd also employed when Ramsay had left her bed during the day to sink his teeth into other victims. Plotting his death had shortly become the only thing she'd done to keep sane.

"If House Stark could be so lucky, I imagine we'll one day be family, Your Grace. I'm sure you can understand my need to protect my people and what little family I have left standing. I risked my life when I trusted Arya to kill Littlefinger. She will not fail you, either."

Maybe in a different world-a better world-Jon woke up from the spell she'd casted over him and assumed his rightful place on the iron throne. But they didn't live in that world. Jon Snow was half Targaryen, half Stark. The most important blood coursing through him was of Lyanna Stark, the aunt she'd never know. The time to exploit this information was not now. Perhaps it never would be. Sansa would never stand against Daenerys if she could be a decent ruler. Once a child grew in her belly, though, no harm would come to family. Daenerys, however, couldn't be family in her current unpredictable state. Tyrion not only believed and feared in this woman. He loved her. A man like him in love was almost a kiss of doom for the world, shown in the many miscalculations made in the lead up to their Northern arrival. Likely in the name of keeping his queen, not her cause, safe. But, for better or worse, Sansa trusted him. She would continue doing so, until he gave her reason not to.

"Cersei won't expect an assassin when you're known for your dragons." Bringing her arms behind her, The Lady of Winterfell added, "She thinks, much like Tyrion and you believed, an army marches south. I suggest you do. People will send reports of your troops to her. Let her think her walls will protect her for a time. My sister knows how to sneak into the Red Keep. March south, but don't go to King's Landing. That way you'll be in a position to take over the city with your dragons holding the bulk of her forces back. Without a queen to rally behind, most of the people are hungry and afraid and will bend the knee. Let the few naysayers find their way into dragonfire if you must. Taking the city would be easy for the Mother of Dragons."

Jorah, the Dragon Queen's most trusted advisor, groaned, limping his way to her side. Like many, he'd suffered a nasty wound; but, his was not lethal. "Your Grace, I believe this plan is the best option. Lady Stark is right. If we're to rule over the kingdoms, we'll need an army to subjugate your remaining enemies and instill a prosperous peace. We should not risk your children anymore than we have to."

The Dragon Queen narrowed her eyes at Sansa. "You'd risk your sister's life for my claim on the iron throne?"

"Nobody wants to see Cersei Lannister's throat cut more than House Stark." Nothing on the Lady of Winterfell's face thawed enough to budge. "The North remembers, Your Grace. You said you redirected your focus on the North because of my brother. It's time we repay your kindness. With interest."

Daenerys stared between Arya and Sansa for a moment. Her features went tight as she swallowed, sighing as she nodded. Her eyes swept the room, but it was Jon she anchored her gaze. "Let the Last War begin."

Please leave your thoughts! Reviews help me know I'm doing something right. I'd love to hear what you think!