Book II – Chapter 1: The Demon's Reign

"Did you stand, or did you fall?
Build a bridge, or build a wall
Hide your love, or give it all
What did you do?
What did you do?

Did you make 'em laugh or make 'em cry?
Did you quit, or did you try?
Live your dreams, or let 'em die
What did you choose?
What did you choose?
When it all comes down
It ain't if, it's how they remember you."

*Rascal Flatts, How They Remember You.

Unbound

"Hey, you! You're finally awake!"

Arya's eyes fluttered open, early morning sunlight weighing against her eyelids. Her head ached something fierce, and her muscles were sore from the constant jolting of the carriage as they rode through the night. They were still surrounded by tall trees, though, and Arya couldn't tell where they were.

"You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Valemen ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."

The speaker was a tall man, a soldier by his build and clothes. Blonde-haired, with a kindly face and vivid blue eyes. The thief was very different. Clothed only in rags, he had a scruffy, brutal look about him, and when he spoke, there was a definite note of cruelty there.

"Damn rebels. Before you showed up, the lands between the Neck and the Bloody Gate were barely patrolled. Could have stolen that horse and been halfway to the Stormlands by now."

"Rebels?" Arya asked, rolling her shoulders in an attempt to ease the aches there without moving her bound hands too much. The rope was starting to sting.

"Aye. We're loyal to the true Queen of Westeros, not Stannis and his Mooton backstabbing friends," the first man said proudly, the ghost of a smile touching his lips as he gestured to the fourth and final man occupying their rickety cart. He was old but strong-looking, eyes closed and mouth gagged.

The thief glowered towards the gagged man.

"And who are you supposed to be then? Someone important by that dress."

The thief was right. The old man's mail and leathers were considerably better quality than the rebel's garb. Like a Lord – and there was a sigil embossed on his coat. A fish. Like Arya's mother's house.

"Watch your tongue!" the rebel snapped. "You speak to Brynden the Blackfish! Last living member of House Tully!"

"Last?!" Arya exclaimed, louder than she should have. The carriage driver turned around in his seat and cracked Arya's hands with his whip.

"Shut up back there!"

House Tully was gone? What of Arya's mother? Her uncle and grandfather? No news had reached the North of events in the Riverlands, so Arya had no idea what had been happening in the south before she crossed the swamps.

"Mooton," the rebel snarled, though he lowered his voice so as not to annoy the driver. "He killed Jonos Bracken in the middle of Riverrun, and his men murdered Lord Hoster and Lady Catelyn. Dozens died, maybe more. Then the Knights of the Vale came riding down from their mountains, capturing towns and holds. They set Fairmarket to torch, but Lord Blackwood marshalled a resistance and pushed Stannis and his forces back across the Green Fork. We were trying to get to the Twins to cross that way…."

Her mother was dead.

The wolves had been right. She'd… she'd thought she imagined it. The body of Catelyn Stark floating in the river, throat bloody and slit red.

What about Sansa and Bran? They had been in Riverrun too.

"The Blackfish?" The thief muttered, now clearly afraid. "If they've captured you… Gods, where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going," the rebel said, "but the seven heavens await us there."

The trees finally parted not long later, and Arya realised the column of carriages was longer than she'd thought. At least five wagons, filled with prisoners, the Knights of the Vale riding on all sides. They weren't the only ones here, though. Arya could feel it. Knew it, thanks to all her lessons with Willas.

There was no sound of birdsong overhead, despite the sun only now rising over the Mountains of the Moon, silhouetted behind her. Birds only fled when they sensed a predator.

The carriages shambled towards a town on the banks of a broad, rushing river, Knights and guards patrolling the outskirts. The echo of hammer and chisel was loud in the air, and it wasn't hard to see why as they grew closer. Dozens of men were hard at work constructing something outside the small village. A large raft, maybe? Or no. Not a raft. A ferry.

"Gods… that's why there were so many more men than we thought," the rebel whispered, eyes wide. "They're going to cross the Green Fork and take the rebellion by surprise."

Arya's uncle finally opened his eyes. He scanned Arya's face for a moment, then fixed on the town ahead. He didn't know her.

"General Hawick! We have him, ser!" The Knight riding at the head of the column proclaimed, gesturing to a man in heavy black plate with an odd sigil of a flaming stag on his breast stood atop the low wall surrounding the town. Arya didn't know the symbol, though to be fair, she'd never paid much attention in those classes.

"Well done, Ser Vardis! The Red Lady is waiting."

The Red Lady? Not Stannis himself, but a servant of his certainly.

Was Stannis, or this Red Lady, behind her mother's death? What about her brother and sister?

"This is Riverbend. I used to be sweet on a girl from here," the rebel said as the wagons rolled into the city, people pouring in from all directions to point and mutter. They rounded a bend, and one by one, gasps of shock came from all the visitors.

Stannis's men had clearly been here for a while. They'd built an impressive watchtower beside what had clearly once been a town square, though it was only half-finished. A low wall had been built around the perimeter, and though Arya was no expert, the amount of crushed grass around it suggested recent construction. Of more immediate concern was the large pyre built in the town square. Ready for use. Arya had heard that Stannis had taken up with some priestess from the east who burned people alive, but she'd assumed as most had that it was just some rumour to discredit him.

Maybe not.

The doors of the stone keep swung open, and a gorgeous woman dressed in red silks emerged from within. The 'Red Lady'. She gestured with a hand towards the keep, and a moment later, a banner displaying the same sigil was unfurled. A crowned stag of gold, surrounded by flame, on a field of pitch-black.

"Oh gods," the thief said. "It's all true. She really is going to burn us alive!"

Arya looked skyward, concentrating on a black spec she could barely glimpse.

Where was Stannis himself? If he wasn't here, was the Red Lady, this witch, burning people at his command, or despite it?

Stannis was a no show either way, which was what Arya had hoped to discover by getting captured. But the ruse was up. She wouldn't learn anything else here.

Crossing into a warzone had been a considerable risk, especially when she didn't know the current climate. She needed to get to Jon, but if she was going to pass through the Riverlands anyway, she could gather what news she could for him. If Stannis wasn't here with the Knights of the Vale and House Mooton, he must be fighting with Renly and Myrcella in the Stormlands. That was intelligence that could make or break the war. And if Stannis had taken up with a fire witch, Jon would need Arya's help – even if he didn't know it. Especially if he didn't know it.

She needed to make her escape, preferably before she was committed to the Red Witch's fires.

The woman stepped up to the pyre and started chanting to the skies as the Knights in their stunning silver plate dismounted. Had she really enthralled all these men in such a short time? Two knights grabbed the Blackfish, unlocking his chains then dragging him out of the carriage and towards the pile of logs.

The spec was a bird. A large one. Wedgetail maybe? Good.

"No! Please! You can't do this! I'm not a rebel!" The thief shouted. The Blackfish didn't so much as struggle. It seemed that all the fight had been kicked out of him.

Well, Arya wouldn't just sit back and let some fire worshiper kill her. She was a daughter of Winter, and her blood was the wild.

"It's been an honour, Blackfish," the rebel muttered.

Willas had taught her that the key to taming any beast was to prove that you weren't afraid of it. Animals can smell fear. They sense it, and that sense tells them if the thing before them was predator or prey. Arya had spent many long hours in the aviary staring down the hounds, hawks and stallions Willas owned, learning how to project authority, serenity and control.

'Remember, little wolf. Animals don't see you as a little lady. They don't care about the things men do. You are food, threat, or kin. Which are you? This is the one place your size doesn't matter. A wolf is just as like to attack you as it is the Mountain if it sees you as a threat or food.'

Arya wasn't afraid of the beasts of the wild. She knew them, understood them, better than she understood most people.

Which was why she could slip the binds of her body and cast her mind into the eagle soaring above.

She wasn't sure how she did it. The first time had come that night on the banks of the White Knife. The direwolf pack had stood guard around her, shielding her as she recovered from the trauma of her blood. That night, she had dreamed of hunting in the woods, and in the morning, something had been… different about her. Enough to let something else in.

A moon had passed since then, and Arya had taken to wandering the woods with her pack beneath the stars. Then, even during the day.

The eagle resisted, at first. It was a creature of the sky, born free. It did not like sharing its body, being tied to the ground. But Arya was the master here, and with the temptation of food and curiosity, she guided the eagle towards the town.

"Lord of Light! Come to us in our darkness! We present to you these traitors of your chosen King!"

Circling overhead, the eagle eyed the pyre warily, unsure what it was but sensing Arya's unease. Arya nudged the creature instead to turn its head towards the cart. Arya's body remained bound to the wood, but her eyes had turned to white, and she sat deathly still. The rebel was staring at her in confusion, nudging her with his foot. He was so distracted that he didn't even notice the thief breaking free of the guards pulling him to the ground.

"You won't burn me!"

"Archers!"

Now!

Arya dove down to the carriage, grabbing the rebel's hands in her talons while the guards were distracted by the fleeing thief. He jumped and nearly shrieked in terror but caught himself as he realised what the eagle was doing. Arya's claws had torn through the bindings.

The thief died with five arrows in his back.

"Brynden Tully. You were riding to the Twins to cross the Trident and align with those who deny the true King," the witch proclaimed, stepped up to the Blackfish as the two knights forced him to kneel.

"Do you deny it?"

The eagle was growing agitated. It wanted away, clawing at Arya's mind to release it. She pulled back a little but didn't let go, letting the bird carry her on fast wings towards the distant tree line. A little further…

The Blackfish spat in the woman's face, and one of the Knights struck him across the face.

They reached the forest, and Arya jumped free of the eagle. The eyes she opened now were yellow and belonged to a body much stronger than a bird. Birds didn't like Arya's mind joining with theirs. They valued their freedom too much. But the wolves welcomed Arya like an old friend. As if they had been together for a long time. She was part of the pack, just as any of them were, and was welcome to hunt with them any time.

"Very well."

Right now, the wolves smelt something… unnatural. A scent of ash on the air they didn't like. Arya was right at the heart of it, and direwolves possessed a deep-seated desire to protect their own.

"Lord of Light! We bring before you, Lord Brynden Tully! Let your fires cleanse him of his sins so he may join you in the light. For the night is dark and full of terrors!"

Go!

Arya's tether to the wolves snapped as a gauntleted hand grabbed her shoulders. She blinked awake, trying to focus and dismiss the smells and sensation of running low to the ground.

"Get up bitch, or I might just fuck your little cunt before the priestess has you," one of the Knights said, stepping up into the cart and grabbing Arya by the shoulder.

The red witch grabbed a smouldering torch as the guards moved away from the Blackfish, now tied to the pyre.

"Lord of…"

A bitter and icy wind ripped through the town, and the torch winked out of existence. The next second, a giant direwolf with snow-white fur and red eyes leapt over the low stone wall on the far side of the courtyard. Without pause, Ghost leapt atop the guard standing nearest to him, then three more direwolves jumped the fence, all of them darting around the edge of the courtyard as the gathered crowd dissolved into screams, fleeing the scene. Another three.

The rebel slammed his fist into the knight gripping Arya, and he fell backwards off the cart, crashing to the cobbles. A second later, the rebel was on him, grabbing the man's sword and shoving it through his neck.

A horrific snarl echoed through the courtyard, and the wolf Arya had dubbed Swiftpaw launched herself to the cobbles. She was the fastest of the entire pack, coloured gold with vivid green eyes. Down the cobbles she dove, bolting across the stone towards the red witch. A half dozen guards formed up around her with blades bare, but Swiftpaw didn't stop, and the woman was not afraid.

Wary and suddenly terrified, Arya reached out to the wolf, but her mind was so focused Arya couldn't connect. Swiftpaw jumped over the guards, knocking the red woman to the ground and coming to a stop atop her chest. She was about to rip the woman's face off, then froze as if suddenly paralysed. The jewel at the woman's throat gleamed.

The four guards drove their blades into Swiftpaw, and she and the tether Arya reached for vanished away.

"NOO!"

The red woman shoved Swiftpaw's corpse off her body and stared at Arya with a curious expression, studying her. All around, the wolves continued to feast and screams bounced off the walls. The Blackfish was gone.

The red witch raised a single hand as she stood up, entirely unfazed, and pointed at Arya. The guards, faces taught in panic, followed the woman's direction.

"Come on! The gods won't give us another chance!" the rebel exclaimed, grabbing Arya's arm and dragging her away from the courtyard. The other direwolves started howling in anger.

Flee!

They felt her plea, and the pack leaders turned back towards the forest, the others following behind.

The rebel beckoned Arya into an alley between two thatch houses before yanking her back as a stampede of horses galloped past the entrance, two direwolves in pursuit. He waited a moment, then pulled her out into the street again, turning after the horses and racing towards the low wall.

"Your wolves, will they attack us?" the rebel asked, breath hoarse as they ran.

"No. They won't harm you so long as you're with me."

"A damn good place to be then!"

They vaulted over the low wall and started racing towards the tree line as three direwolves fell in beside them.

"We have to cross the river into Blackwood territory!"

"How?!" Arya exclaimed, glancing towards the rushing river beyond. "There's no crossing between the Ruby Ford and the Twins!"

"We have to try, or their mounted knights will find us!"

They ducked into the forest, and only then did Arya and the rebel stop to breathe. Darkeyes, a wolf of deep brown fur and matching eyes, padded from the darkness, coming to a halt beside them, muzzle tinted red. She sniffed the rebel for a moment, then butted Arya's arm with her nose. Arya weaved a hand into her fur, letting the direwolf hold her upright. The rebel kept staring at her, blinking his eyes in a mixture of wonder and fear.

"What are you?"

Arya didn't know. That was what scared her.

Flight of the Raven

Bran stared out of his tiny cell, eyes focussed on the guard standing at the bars. Three, two, one… The man's head drooped, then jolted upright once more, and Bran bit his lip, gaze flickering to the knife in the man's boot.

This man was on rotation every three days, always during the gloaming hours when the rest of the castle slept. If Bran had to guess, he'd say the man was probably being punished for something, so had been condemned to guarding two children in the bowels of a castle they had no hope of escaping in the middle of the night.

At least the cell was nice. Two proper beds with blankets and pillows, a chamber pot, and regular meals. But they were still prisoners. They had been since…

Since Bran's mother had died in front of him, just as the raven had warned.

'You must learn to fly!'

Bran didn't want to learn how to fly. He wanted to go home. Wanted out of this place, and he would succeed. His dreams said so. Every night since his mother had died, Bran had dreamed. Sometimes he stalked the woods through the eyes of a wolf, Arya running beside him – either as a direwolf with yellow eyes or mounted on her sand-steed filly. Other times he could see Sansa kneeling in the snow before him as the leaves rustled overhead. There were even times he caught glimpses of his uncle, Benjen, running beyond the Wall, pursued by some invisible force Bran dared not name.

But Bran also dreamed of a castle. This castle. The halls outside the cell, the way to the surface. He walked the corridors in his dreams, memorising where people would be and where they would not. He knew the walls near the southern guard tower were in need of repair, and that someone small might be able to slip between the cracked foundations.

It was in his dreams, walking unseen, that he learned where he was. Stone Hedge, it was called, the castle of House Bracken, whose lord had died the same night Bran's mother had. That made sense, as it was Lady Barbara Bracken who had ushered Bran and Ysilla away from the carnage in Riverrun. He'd tried to reach Sansa, but someone else had pulled her in the opposite direction, and Lady Barbara was far stronger than Bran had ever thought a woman could be. She'd dragged them both towards the kitchens, killing three people who tried to waylay them with a throwing star she'd somehow had tucked up her sleeve. From the kitchens, they'd escaped down to a small cove under the keep, where Barbara had met with three Bracken guards. House Bracken had been expecting something to happen and planned accordingly. It didn't save their lord. The guards had bound, gagged and blindfolded Bran and Ysilla, then dragged them aboard the skiff docked in the cove and rowed away as fast as possible.

Bran had woken up days later in this same cell, and no one had come to visit them since. But Bran had learned a great deal during his dream time wanderings. He knew that the Lannister armies were marching down from the Golden Tooth and would undoubtedly arrive at abandoned Riverrun soon. Stannis Baratheon – whom Bran hadn't known existed until a week ago – had stopped all movement up the Trident, and none were allowed past the Ruby Ford without his permission.

And Robb had apparently abandoned them.

'To all the Great Houses of Westeros and whomever else it may concern;

The North remains loyal to the Iron Throne and will take no part in a civil war amongst House Baratheon. When a new ruler sits on the Throne, House Stark and the North will bend the knee as we always have. Until that time, we will continue to trade and treat with any who wish to do business with us. But we offer this advice to all of you: Winter is Coming, and you would do well to prepare.

Robb of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.'

No one was coming to save them; the North had chosen to sit out the war. Robb wouldn't avenge their mother's death or try to save Sansa and Bran. And yet… Bran had dreamed of Arya running south with a pack of wolves.

Bran would need to escape on his own.

He glanced towards his cellmate to make sure she was sleeping. Ysilla Royce, daughter of Yohn Royce of Runestone, had been with him and Sansa in Riverrun, only a year and a half older than Bran. She lay fast asleep on her cot, cinnamon brown hair falling loose around her shoulders. Go time.

Bran steeled himself for his plan. He'd spent a week and a half putting it together. Now was the best time to try. He knew the Brackens wouldn't kill him. He was too valuable a hostage, but he couldn't just sit here and do nothing.

Trying to hold back the trembling fear at what he was about to do, he crept towards the cell bars using every skill his climbing had taught him to stay utterly silent. He reached the metal, and the guard didn't notice him.

If Bran's dreams were true, then the man should yawn…

The guard reached back his head and scrunched his eyes closed as an involuntary groan escaped his lips. Bran reached through the bars and gripped the hilt of the dagger in the man's boot with the lightest of fingers. Then, as the guard reached up to rub his eyes, Bran slid the blade free in one smooth movement. He back peddled, scooting along the stones with the dagger in hand. The guard scratched at his head, shook himself, and with a long sigh returned to his previous position – hand on his sword hilt, forward gaze focussed on the torch across the hall. Not once did he turn around to look inside the cell.

He had done it.

Don't get excited. That was the easy part.

Bran slinked to the back of the cell, and with his free hand, cupped Ysilla's mouth. She jerked awake, and Bran gestured for quiet. The fright that jumped into her sapphire blue eyes eased, and she nodded. Bran removed his hand, then stood up and held his blade before him.

Ser Jaime had taught Robb for near six months with swords, daggers, axes and hammers. Bran had watched every single lesson, Sansa sitting beside him, instructing him on the things Bran didn't understand. Bran would then go away and practice the same moves with a blunted tourney sword. He wasn't as good as Robb, certainly not Jon, who was a demon with a blade. Bran was only two and ten name days old.

Maybe, one day, he would be as good as them. Right now, he just needed to be as good as he could be.

The guard didn't wear a helmet, dressed only in leathers and mail. His neck was an easy target from behind.

Don't think Bran. Just do it. Ready…

No. He wasn't ready.

He couldn't do this!

He could. He would. Or they'd be stuck here forever.

Bran grit his teeth, heart pounding. Surely, that would be enough to alert the man?

It wasn't, and he never realised his peril until Bran was running across the floor to get a few paces of momentum, then jumping into the air and shoving the man's knife into the back of his own neck. It plunged straight through and out his throat, blood spurting in both directions. His hands came up, grasping at his throat, then he was falling. Bran forgot to let go, and his head slammed into the bars as the guard pitched forward, then crashed to the ground. Dead.

He had killed a man.

Bran's knees hit the stone, and he vomited what little he'd eaten all over the floor.

"Bran!"

Ysilla dropped to his side, rubbing circles against his back. He had… he'd… he'd done it.

Fly. The raven had said. You must learn to fly!

If Bran wanted to become a knight, he would have to kill people. He… he had to escape. Back to his family. Get Ysilla away from here.

"Are you okay?" She whispered as Bran's retching finally stopped.

"I think so."

She looked towards the dead guard, then out into the hallway.

"What do we do now?"

"Turn left. The fifth door on the right leads to a staircase. Guards outside the door, but we can hide under the stairwell until the shift changes. They'll leave, then we run up and slip into the servant's passages. There's a hole in the south wall that leads to the outside."

Ysilla's lips parted, a sparkle appearing in her eyes, and Bran felt something in his chest swoop. Was he going to be nauseous again?

"How do you know that?" She asked, voice lightening in that way Sansa's voice did when she talked about knights and maidens from the stories she used to read to him. For some reason, that seemed to bolster Bran's confidence enough to get him upright once more.

"I… don't know."

That was a lie. He did know. He just wasn't sure he believed it yet.

Either way, they needed to get moving. Bran wiped the man's… his dagger off on the guard's coat, then grabbed Ysilla's hand in his, taking what support from her he could. They took the man's keys, unlocked the door, and with a single wary glance behind them, took off down the hall, following Bran's directions.

It took them two hours of waiting, but before long, Bran was helping Ysilla squeeze through the crack in the foundations, and then they were racing away to freedom. Neither noticed the raven keeping watch or how it followed them as they disappeared into a town near the keep.

A Targaryen Alone

The warm sun of Meereen and the salty sea breeze were heaven for Rhaenys as she stepped out of the galley's cargo hold and set her eyes on the City of Meereen. It was stunning, regardless of its history. The alleys were all clean, buildings free of salt stains, and the main streets were well-kept and maintained. Shopfronts lined the docks and promenades, owners shouting about their wares in High Valyrian to any who passed.

It wasn't hard to see the changes Daenerys Targaryen had brought to the city. The shop owners were dressed mostly in rags rather than the flamboyant silks Rhaenys had expected, and there was not a single person wearing a collar in sight. Unsullied soldiers stood guard in pairs at every few intersections, eyes darting around and searching for thefts or violence. People were even comfortable enough to approach the Unsullied and ask for help, the soldiers giving directions or investigating arguments. But they weren't just there to mitigate conflict; they were a not-so-subtle reminder not to start any. There were undoubtedly still those here who hated Daenerys Stormborn for ending slavery, and the woman was taking no chances.

It seemed the stories she had heard on her journey here were true after all.

Tyrion and Varys appeared on either side of her as the Redwyne sail hands lowered a gangway and tied off the ship.

"Well, we're here, and I don't see any burnt buildings, so that's a start," Tyrion muttered.

"The Queen is strong-willed and quick to anger at what she sees as injustice, but she is a reasonable ruler with a kind heart, based on my observations and those of my little birds," Varys said, still wearing that ridiculous robe despite the heat. Rhaenys had shed nearly all her clothes the second they reached the Summer Sea. Now, she dressed only in light leather with her sleeves and midriff exposed, silk tassels flaring about her waist, hair flying free.

"Well, there's only one way to find out," Rhaenys said before starting down the gangway. Two Unsullied soldiers stood at the end of the dock, a Meereenese man – a merchant by his dress – ahead of them. The dock registrar.

"Greetings unto you, voyagers," he spoke in High Valyrian, "What brings a ship of the Redwyne Fleet to Meereen, city most old and glorious?"

Judging by the look on his face, he knew damn fucking well why they were there.

"Greetings unto you as well, dock master," Rhaenys answered in the same language to the man's surprise. "I seek an audience with Queen Daenerys Stormborn on behalf of House Nymeros Martell of Dorne and House Tyrell of the Reach, ancient allies of the Targaryen banner."

The registrar swallowed.

"I… I'm afraid I cannot just let anyone meet with her Grace… you understand…."

"Tell her Grace that Princess Rhaenys of the Houses Targaryen and Martell is here to reclaim her uncle and sister. She'll want to see me."

Rhaenys shot the man a toothy smile, and he bolted, leaving his mute Unsullied Guards behind. They stood unmoving for a good ten minutes before the registrar returned, a horse-drawn carriage trailing behind him.

Rhaenys continued scanning the city as the carriage trundled up the main causeway towards the Great Pyramid. The banner of House Targaryen flew over it, the Harpy apparently torn down. But it was the old sigil instead of the new one Jae had designed. A symbol Rhaenys wore around her neck.

Her brother had gifted it to her at their final meeting, before she left to find their aunt and bring her home. Rhaenys had a second, matching token tucked into her pocket. They were the last Targaryens; Rhaenys, Jae and Daenerys. They should be together. She would never forget the utter thrill of hugging her brother for the first time, and she desperately wished for something similar with Daenerys. If not… Rhaenys would do her duty to her King and face the punishment with her head held high. She wasn't there to guard her brother in person, but nothing would stop her from protecting him from afar if the need arose.

Especially now Jae was marching to war with the Tyrell host at his back.

When Rhaenys and Tyrion's ship had docked to resupply in Volantis, news of 'the Burn' was on the lips of every man, woman and babe. Aegon's city reduced to ash, the Iron Throne empty, and civil war in House Baratheon. The Slave Lords of Volantis thought the affair utterly hilarious. Rhae and Tyrion had elected to stay in the city a few extra days to learn what else they could and decide whether they should turn around. Then, Varys had found them. He had apparently been on his way to meet the Dragon Queen too, intending to tell her of the news from Westeros himself. He hadn't admitted to planning to reveal Jae's existence, but Rhaenys would bet he had been. Rhaenys had done an excellent job of not gutting the man in the weeks since, sailing around the broken peninsular of Valyria to reach Slaver's Bay. If Westeros was at war, most of the Lord's Paramount dead, and Daenerys really did have dragons, Jae would need them. If Rhaenys could secure such valuable weapons, she had to try.

The carriage came to a stop at the foot of a long marble staircase – an Unsullied standing on each second step. Several damaged sculptures and statues lined the entrance; no doubt uncouth paraphernalia torn down in Daenerys' take-over of the city. Three figures in the shape of dragons in flight had been placed before the towering iron gates into the pyramid itself, but the fresh cut of the stone belayed their recent creation.

Rhaenys strode forward with all the poise of the princess she was, Tyrion and Varys walking less gracefully behind her. TwentyUnsullied guards fell in around them as a man in the flamboyant dress she'd been expecting appeared to escort them towards the throne room at the centre of the pyramid. It took only a minute of guiding beneath tapestries depicting the Doom before they reached an antechamber, where the guards broke away to remain outside.

"Both of you wait here. I would meet my aunt alone."

Neither of them looked thrilled, but Rhaenys imagined they'd probably expected as such.

She took a deep breath, then stepped cautiously under an arch and into the room beyond.

Queen Daenerys Stormborn sat elegantly atop a set of marble stairs, a myriad of advisors with complexions from around the world arrayed behind her. The Queen herself was as beautiful as Varys and others had told Rhaenys she would be, silver hair braided in such intricacy it must have taken several hours to put up. Her gown was of the finest turquoise silk, lilac eyes gazing down at Rhaenys with a calculating gaze.

"You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Empress of Meereen, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons. Queen of the Seven Kingdoms," a tall woman – a translator most likely – declared in the Common Tongue.

"Forgive me for not kneeling, your Grace," Rhaenys answered in High-Valyrian, standing at her full height, no fear in her eyes or face. "But I have already pledged myself to another who claims such a title, and to bend my knee to you would break my oath as both a Princess and as a Kingsguard."

Daenerys raised an eyebrow, lips quirking into a slight smirk. Test of madness one passed. Not inclined to burn people alive simply for not bowing. But Rhaenys had still given her deference with the address of 'your Grace.'

"Kingsguard, you say? A woman? I find that hard to believe."

Rhaenys grinned in turn.

"You'll find my brother cares little for the traditional stereotypes, your Grace. He chooses those he deems best for any task, be they son or daughter, peasant or lord, priest or crone, cousin or sibling. His first instinct upon learning you lived was to send me here. To find you and bring you home."

Daenerys rose from her seat and started walking down to Rhaenys level, stopping only when they were eye to eye. She was searching her face, looking for some sign of truth there.

"How do I know you are who you say you are?"

Rhaenys opened her mouth to answer, with something along the lines of 'you didn't have me killed the second I landed and claimed to be a dead woman. That's a start. Also, you have my uncle here; ask him.' But she was interrupted by a high-pitched shriek and a shadow flying past the stained-glass windows on the left side of the room.

Every set of eyes shot towards the windows, just in time for one of them to explode inwards, revealing a large, scaled and serpentine head.

"Viserion! Stop!" Daenerys snapped, but the dragon… DRAGON! HOLY FUCK!... kept shrieking, and its molten gold eyes were fixed on Rhaenys. It was in pain, she realised. Somehow. How did she know that?

Hesitantly, uncertainly, Rhaenys feet started moving on their own, bringing her past Daenerys as her heart leapt into her throat. Stop! Rhae! What the fuck are you doing!?

The heat radiating from the dragon's golden scales was incredible, like the harsh sands of Dorne on the hottest of days. She pressed a hand to the beast's snout anyway, and its shrills instantly cut off. She trilled softly against Rhaenys hand and a flutter of something she didn't understand thudded in her stomach. She? How had Rhaenys known that?

"He… he wasn't lying…." Daenerys breathed from behind her. Rhaenys finally managed to pull her hand from Viserion's snout and turn around. Just in time for Daenerys to pull her into a fierce hug and start crying into Rhaenys shoulder.

A Targaryen alone in the world was a terrible thing. Rhaenys was going to make damn fucking sure they were never alone again.

Previously, On…

It's been a couple of months, so here's a quick recap of where everyone is at and what's happened so far. Also, I'll be using the 'Three-Eyed-Raven' instead of the 'Three-Eyed-Crow', mostly because crows in Australia are like Seagulls. Stupid, annoying, and they eat out of trash cans. Ravens are far more mysterious and actually cool. At least for me. Writing about a magical crow really doesn't sit right.

BOOK 1: The Guardian Angel

280-281 AC – The War of the Usurper/Robert's Rebellion

281 AC – At the end of the War, Olenna Tyrell receives a letter from Gerold Hightower informing her of Jaehaerys Targaryen's existence. She begins laying the foundation for her grand plan to crown Jaehaerys (Jon Snow). Margaery is born roughly four-five months after Robb, Jon and Daenerys, but in the same year.

282 AC – Joffrey Baratheon is born

283 AC – Sansa Stark is born

284 AC – Myrcella Baratheon is born

285 AC – Arya Stark is born

286 AC – The Greyjoy Rebellion

The Greyjoy Rebellion plays little role in this story and is solved essentially the same way it was in the books. Olenna plays no part in this, as Jon and Margaery are too young to reveal yet, and all her attention is on ensuring the two grow up the way she wants them to. Also, I don't really like the Greyjoy subplot, so I won't be doing it in this story.

287 AC – Bran Stark is born

288 AC – Tommen Baratheon is born.

291 AC – Rickon Stark is born.

293-297 AC – The Four Years

293 AC – Olenna brings Jon Snow to Highgarden and fosters him and Arya Stark in Winterfell for four years.

284 AC – Ned Stark returns to the North and takes on Tommen Baratheon as a ward while secretly beginning reconstruction on three major Northern fortifications.

295 AC – Princess Myrcella Baratheon is betrothed to Trystane Martell; the Tyrell delegation visits Dorne. Daenerys Targaryen is married off to Dothraki Horselord Khal Drogo; Viserys Targaryen is killed.

296 AC – Daenerys 'births' three dragons after the death of her husband. The Dragonfires in Asshai are relit, and Melisandre makes her way to Dragonstone.

297 AC – Margaery and Garlan Tyrell escort Arya Stark back to Winterfell. Arya is wounded on the Kingsroad. Oberyn and Arianne Martell are captured by the Golden Company. Jon Snow learns his true identity in Winterfell.

Late 297 AC – Margaery and Jon Snow (Jaehaerys Targaryen) get married before a Heart-Tree in Highgarden.

Early 298 AC – The Burn occurs. Summer officially ends. The Sept of Baelor in King's Landing explodes, gutting the city and killing nearly a million people. The Seven Kingdoms shatter into the Baratheon Civil War. Daenerys Targaryen conquers Slaver's Bay and sets herself up as Empress of Meereen. The Golden Company bring their captives to Daenerys.

BOOK 2: The Demon's Reign

Mid 298 AC – How things stand:

Three sides have emerged in the Baratheon Civil War.

House Baratheon of Dragonstone, led by Stannis Baratheon, is supported by House Arryn of the Eyrie and the Kingdom of the Vale, the Lords of the Narrow Sea, Massey's Hook and Crackeclaw Point. Stannis currently controls the entire east coast of Westeros, including Kings Landing. Stannis' army is currently engaged in the Riverlands, but a portion of his force, as well as the King himself, are missing. Stannis has a Red Priestess from Asshai called Melisandre in his employ.

House Baratheon of Storm's End, led by Renly Baratheon, is supported by a majority of the Stormlords and controls most of the Stormlands and Shipbreaker Bay. Renly Baratheon is currently garrisoned at Storm's End. Loras Tyrell is with him.

House Baratheon of Westeros, led by Myrcella Baratheon, is supported by House Tyrell of Highgarden, House Nymeros Martell of Dorne,House Lannister of Casterly Rock and most of the lords of the Reach, the Westerlands and Dorne. The host of King Robert's Daughter is currently split, with the Lannister Army contesting Stannis in the Riverlands and the Tyrell/Martell Army digging Renly out of the Stormlands. Jon Snow rides at the head of the Tyrell host.

Other parties include:

House Stark of Winterfell, led by Robb Stark, is the only Great House not to declare for any of the three parties, and the North has elected to stay neutral in the conflict. Sansa and Bran Stark are both missing following the revolt at Riverrun. Arya Stark is heading south to rendevous with her brother Jon.

House Greyjoy of Pyke, led by Balon Greyjoy, has not answered any attempts at communication.

House Targaryen of Meereen, led by Daenerys Targaryen, currently holds Slaver's Bay and the Ghiscari cities of Meereen and Yunkai. The city of Astapor has been destroyed. Rhaenys has just arrived in Meereen to treat with Daenerys on behalf of her brother Jaehaerys (Jon Snow).

Tyrosh is currently held by the self-stylised 'Pirate King' of the Stepstones after being sacked. The Stepstones are currently being blockaded by the Pirates.

Some further notes:

Jon Arryn is still alive, and has strong suspicions about the incest. However, because Tommen and Myrcella both left Kings Landing earlier in this timeline, he didn't investigate as strongly as he did in the original novels and the show. He has told Stannis what he suspects, but Stannis has not acted on it yet. Varys and Littlefinger both know, but haven't used it yet. Expect this to come back to bite Myrcella in the ass at some point. Margaery also knows about the incest thanks to her investigations, but because of her changed morality, she refuses to tell anyone. This includes Olenna, who has no idea, just like everyone else.

The Red Comet hasn't happened.

Daenerys storyline, alone of all the characters, matches her book timeline rather than her show timeline. That means she was still married off at thirteen and has spent the past two and a half years in the Dothraki Sea and birthing her dragons. As things currently stand, she is roughly at the beginning of A Dance of Dragons/Season 4 in her plot progression. I did this because I want to bring in Dany sooner rather than later and having her waltzing around the Dothraki Sea for ages is boring and slows down the pacing. Starting her in Meereen with half-grown dragons, however, is significantly different and much more fun. That being said, things will move much faster for her, as thanks to Jon and Golden Company, Daenerys has a far greater incentive to move towards Westeros.