The Prodigal Mother - A Shadow and a Wolf sequel

by Gracques

Twenty-two years after the Great War, Westeros is united under the rule of the one true queen. However, the new dynasty is already aging and showing signs of fatigue, as decisions made in the past come back to haunt the supporters of the regime and a new generation of rulers begins to emerge. A sequel to A Shadow and a Wolf.

Hi everyone,

About three years ago, I completed my first fanfiction in the Game of Thrones universe. This short story takes place in the same universe, twenty-two years after the end of ASAAW. For those who haven't read ASAAW yet, I strongly encourage you to read it first before reading this short story, as it contains many spoilers on events in ASAAW.

Now, let's see how the heroes of Game of Thrones and Westeros as a whole are faring more than twenty years later.

---

THE PRODIGAL MOTHER

Rhaegar

"Wake up, boys. It's time."

As like every other day, Rhaegar woke up to the groans and complaints of his comrades, groans and complaints he shared. Still, he managed to get on his feet, despite not wanting the night to be over. It had been one of the best nights he had in his life. Sleeping next to him was Boros, the recent addition to their group and the youngest among them all, who struggled a little more to get up this morning. He gave him an elbow in the ribs, earning another louder groan.

"Come up, young boy. The hour of the wolf is long past."

Rhaegar went to the water bucket where Seron had just washed his face. He was done quickly, leaving the place to Rhaegar who proceeded with the short task of washing his face and hands. Once it was done, he headed back to his bed where he proceeded to dress up for the day. Boros had just finished washing his own hands when Rhaegar was ready.

"Don't be late," Rhaegar told him as he walked outside the dormitory he shared with five fellow knights, hitting Boros on the shoulder on his way.

Once he got out, his face was hit by the breeze and the light of the sun. Inhaling the air a short time, he headed left, towards the main hall, walking across the main courtyard. At this time of the day, there were only a few servants working. No one yet trained at this place. It would change later. But first, Rhaegar had to break his fast.

The main hall was already quite filled. He took a bowl of stew from the cook who stood on the side of the large place, then joined the two other knights who he shared a room with and who had arrived before him.

"So, Sal, how are your feet today?" he asked Salmyn, who everyone called Sal.

"They could be better. Enjoy it while you're young, Rhaegar. One day, this will happen to you too. You'll wake up some morning and realize the pain in your feet you felt the day before hasn't vanished during the night."

"In your dreams, old man."

"You're the one speaking, baby," Sal retorted with a wicked grin. That was their usual banter.

"You can't call me that anymore. I may be only 22, but we have a younger lad in our midst."

"The younger lad heard you," Boros said as he sat among them. He was the last to join. Their group of six was complete.

"You're all babies to me," Sal commented. "Just listen to the sounds you make while you eat."

This had the effect of having not only Rhaegar and Boros, but also Seron, Osmund and Renyn being careful to not make too much noise while emptying their bowls. The old Sal was grumpy and never missed an opportunity to humiliate one of them in front of their comrades, but he was also like a father figure to many of them. In Fawnton, he was an institution, having served House Cafferen as a household knight for over thirty years.

Sal had fought for Lord Robert Cafferen during the War of the Five Kings, when he first joined Renly Baratheon's forces, then Stannis Baratheon after his brother died. He had fought at the Battle of Blackwater, having enough chance to not be in the first wave of ships that were destroyed by the wildfire at the beginning of the battle. When he described it, how the fire consumed men alive and that even water didn't seem to quench it, describing how disfigured were the few who survived, Rhaegar couldn't help but shiver at the thought that the man who did this was now Hand of the Queen.

He was among the knights on the battlefield who didn't get slain by the armies of Joffrey the Bastard. He was instead brought before the boy with his liege, Lord Cafferen, and they both swore fealty to a third king to avoid being killed. Then later, after the bastard was poisoned and succeeded by his brother, another bastard, Lord Cafferen was the first among the lords of the Stormlands to swear fealty to Daenerys Targaryen when she landed on Westeros. Perhaps Lord Cafferen hadn't wanted to end up like his father, whose head was sent to the Mad King after he betrayed him.

And then, Sal had participated to the one war he would never forget: the Great War, the War of the Dead. The old knight and Lord Cafferen had followed Daenerys Targaryen when she marched on King's Landing and defeated the Mad Queen. He then followed her in the North and participated to the battle against the White Walkers.

Sal seldom spoke about them. He did talk of the war, that he did. He spoke of the harshness of the North and winter, about the mighty dragons flying over his head, of the Wall when he arrived at its feet and realized for the first time how tall it actually was, and of the Red Priests who fought with them like demons. He remembered in particular one with red hair who threw fire with her hands, and another one, his face covered with a mask and wielding a huge flaming sword, slashing through the enemies like they were made of straw. And he spoke of the single time he spoke with the prince, Jon Targaryen, then the King in the North, when he had approached Sal and just asked him how he was after the Third Battle of Winterfell.

But of the White Walkers or the wights, he never talked about. He only ever mentioned them in passing, and refused to ever extend on their subject. And if Rhaegar's childhood stories were any true, and if they were as fearful in real life as they had been for the child Rhaegar was back then, perhaps there was a good reason behind Sal's refusal to broach the subject. The fact Rhaegar's father perished in this war didn't make him have a romanced vision of those ice demons.

"I hope you don't feel in danger of being accompanied by babies on a hunting trip," Seron told the old man.

"In fact, I'm relieved. Since I have to watch each of you, this gives more chance to the animals to escape. Maybe I'm getting soft, but I'm beginning to feel sorry for the poor beasts."

"And what about the poor lads we are who will never get the joy of killing the beasts?" Rhaegar sarcastically asked.

"That's your problem, not the beasts'. And don't forget there's another reason why I'm watching over you. We are just as dangerous to those beasts as they are for us."

All men, including Sal, snorted in derision. Despite Sal's words, all men here were accomplished hunters. Lord Robert Cafferen, who was now in the late stages of his life, never went to hunt without all his household knights accompanying him. This meant twelve knights in total, two groups of six, one which was led by Sal. And since Lord Cafferen remained an assiduous hunter despite his age, a knight in service of his house would always be better at hunting than swordsmanship, due to the abondance of practice in the first domain and lack thereof in the second.

Rhaegar shot a glance to the dais where his lord was breaking his fast. Lord Robert Cafferen was today in his mid-fiftys. Of strong constitution, he had sired two sons and three daughters. Only the youngest was yet unwed. He had survived Robert's Rebellion as a child, and survived the Great War as a man. Despite his age, he was still strong. Despite his regular hunting trips though, those closest to him couldn't ignore his declining health. His son, Robert the Young, would probably not have to wait much longer to become Lord of Fawnton.

"How long will last the hunting trip this time?" Rhaegar asked.

"I don't know. Maybe two or three days," Sal replied. "I think Lord Robert has some important matters to attend to. He won't stay in the forests too long." This was a hidden way to indicate their lord's health didn't allow him to go on long hunting trips like he used to.

"With luck, we might get a boar or a deer," Osmund hoped.

"Or perhaps we will have to contend ourselves with some rabbits or birds," Renyn replied.

"I hope not. I've got a brand new bow. The craftsman who gave it to me said my arrows would travel two times faster with it. I can't wait to use it."

"He gave it to you? Or he sold it?" Sal asked.

"Well, I bought it, of course, and quite a little fortune. I spent almost a month of my earnings."

"You should have kept the money, Osmund. Something's telling me you were fooled."

"No, I was not. I already tried it in the courtyard. My arrows reach the target more often than ever."

"Well, I can't wait to see that. Only one thing, though, Osmund," Rhaegar said. "If you touch a boar with your bow, you carry it alone to the castle."

"And you won't have your share then," Osmund retorted.

"Neither will you. You'll never bring it back alone."

"I'll help him," Renyn said. "But in exchange, I want half your catch."

"A quarter," Osmund countered.

"A third."

"I accept," Seron plunged before any of them could accept or refuse. "But I want the other third."

"It's not fair," retorted Osmund. "If I kill it, I must have the bigger part. I'll keep half of it and give a quarter to each of you two."

"No way. I said a third," Renyn complained.

"And I want a third me too," Seron supported.

"And I never accepted," Osmund replied.

"Stop it, you lads," Sal interjected. "You know all the meat will go the game warden. He sells it for the lord. So stop bickering like little girls for something that will never be yours."

Such banter was usual before a hunting trip. The real banter, the one involving bets, would start later, once they would leave the castle.

They had finished their breakfast quite quickly. Lord Cafferen might be older and slower, but he nonetheless left early for the hunt. As soon as he raised from his seat, his twelve household knights did the same. They would all follow him to the hunt, as was the custom.

And so barely half an hour after they woke up, Rhaegar and the eleven other knights, along with Lord Cafferen's squire and a few other servants left. Lord Robert was riding on his horse while the others walked. Three other horses accompanied them, unmounted, carrying provisions for the trip. They would also serve to carry any catch they would make.

And so the small group began their march towards the woods where only their lord could hunt. But first, they had to travel through the small town outside the castle. It didn't take much time. Fawnton was indeed a small town, with barely two thousand souls living there. It had its own mill, butcher, apothecary, and even stables. The latter were huge, famous across all the Crownlands. Many lords came to Fawnton just to buy one of their famous mounts. But aside from that, most of the inhabitants were servants who worked at the castle but didn't live inside its walls, and the town mostly served as a market where various small shops allowed the farmers from the surroundings to sell their surpluses, once they had given its share to Lord Cafferen.

When they came across the main inn of the town, Rhaegar shot a look in its direction. And there she was. Washing the tables and preparing them before the opening like she did every morning, Gisela looked up when the procession walked by her workplace. When her eyes met those of Rhaegar, she smiled. And she smiled in that way that meant she was eager for him to come back. Rhaegar as well was eager to come back, especially after what happened last night.

Rhaegar never had that much success with girls. The first girl he knew as a woman was when he was sixteen. The girl, a servant in the kitchen, had been fifteen or so he thought. They made it hidden behind bushes, one evening he drank too much for the first time in his life. There had also been the daughter of another innkeeper, during one of their hunting trips, when he was slightly injured and she came to comfort him. And there had been the few times he went to the local brothel, which didn't count. In fact, none of these times counted. But with Gisela, things were different. She was the niece of the innkeeper. Her mother had died at her birth, and her father perished last year. Ever since he saw her for the first at the inn, serving ale to her uncle's patrons, Rhaegar had been smitten by her shining brown hair and intense green eyes, accompanied by a round and lovely face and discreet but enticing curves. He courted her the right way. He had never done so with another woman. And last night, escaping the vigilance of her uncle who never allowed her anywhere close to a man, and who kicked outside of his inn any patron who dared to raise a hand on his niece, they met in an abandoned house. And for the first time, Rhaegar truly felt he found his woman.

But for now, he had to focus on the hunt. He would have time with Gisela later. He returned her smile, trying to convey through his facial expression that he longed for her as well. Quickly enough, they had left the perimeter of the town and engulfed themselves into the thick forests that surrounded it and the farms that were part of Lord Cafferen's domain.

Rhaegar joined the conversations that soon began within the company. Osmund was showing his new bow. Sal warned them of coming obstacles, like he always did, even if everyone saw them. Boros stayed close to them, still afraid he might get lost inside this forest he wasn't used to yet. Around them, they noticed squirrels and rabbits, who ran away at their sight, despite their hunting clothes designed to limit their noises and visibility. No armor today, and swords remained in their scabbards. They spoke in low voices, but animals could hear them at good distance. When you had a lord who spent so much time hunting, you knew all the tricks after some time. Especially when the lord in question was a relative.

"Rhaegar, come here."

Lord Cafferen had spoken. It had already been a few hours now that they marched. The morning was coming to its end. Rhaegar hurried forward to walk next to his riding lord.

"We should arrive at our camping site very soon. You remember what are the first things to do when we reach our spot?"

"Yes, my lord. We install the tents, prepare our weapons and light the fire with some meat inside to attract the preys."

"Well summarized, my boy," Lord Robert, patting his shoulder. On all trips, Lord Cafferen would ask him questions about hunting skills, just to ensure he remembered his lessons.

As far as he could remember, Fawnton had always been Rhaegar's home. And Lord Cafferen had always been the closest thing he had to a father. Rhaegar's mother died in childbirth, and not long before his father had found his end at the Third Battle of Winterfell. And thus Rhaegar Cafferen had become an orphan. His father had been a distant cousin of Robert Cafferen, and so he took care of Rhaegar. It was Lord Cafferen himself who named Rhaegar, in the honor of the then new queen's brother and the prince's father. A few years later, Lord Robert's last daughter would be born, and he would name her Daenerys, again in their queen's honor.

Rhaegar was never treated like a son by his lord. He was, after all, even if he bore his lord's family name, only a distant relative. Their common ancestor was someone like Lord Cafferen's great-grandfather. Still, he was offered a chance in life, and Rhaegar took it, becoming a knight at only sixteen-years-old and joining his lord's household in a very good position. Now twenty-three-years-old, Rhaegar didn't have to complain too much about his situation. He had a very good life, friends, and while he didn't have a family, he had people who cared for him since his birth, and now a beautiful woman who he would marry the moment he got a chance.

"It is so strange, Rhaegar. I never thought it this way, but I think I'm getting old."

That surprised the young man. Never had his lord ever said something like that, nor allowed someone to say so. "My lord, you still have many years in front of you."

"That, I know, my boy. I feel no different from how I felt twenty years ago. Only, on these days, when we're on our way to another hunting journey, I feel that I like traveling between the trees more than I like pinning a stag with my longbow. Before I was eager to get to destination, be done with walking and begin hunting right away. Now, I wish this step of the hunting trip would last longer."

"Personally, I don't mind, my lord. There's more to hunting than just lowering on the ground and aim for the nearest beast."

"Don't get too soft, Rhaegar. You're a Cafferen, remember, and a young one with that. And Cafferens must be ready to fight, whether in times of peace or war. That's why we must hunt and train regularly, to be ready for any possibility. We never know what could befall us."

Rhaegar knew the refrain. His lord had lost his father when only a child, and he had known the War of the Five Kings and the Great War. And between them, he had known what it was to fight robbers and poachers, to keep him alert once again. This man would never drop his guard.

He and Rhaegar kept conversing for the rest of the way, until they reached their destination where they settled their hunting camp. Remains from their last visit indicated where to place the fire and the tents, and everything was settled in no time. Lord Cafferen then led them deeper into the forest, but not very far away. They only had half a day left, and this wasn't enough to conduct a true hunting operation. The only things they caught on this day were a few rabbits, which they cooked and ate heartfully this evening. The bigger catches would be for tomorrow. After listening to Osmund blaming his brand new bow for not catching a single animal today, they all went to sleep and woke up early the next day.

They all quickly broke their fast of dry beef, the kind of meat that could be kept for a very long time, then left the camp while dawn had barely settled. Robert Cafferen led them on foot. He might ride to arrive at the destination, but he would always walk during the hunt itself, though it was obvious he wasn't as fast as before. He had taken the head of their group, so the younger knights had to be careful to not outpace him.

Unlike when they travelled to the camp the day before, this time they had to remain silent. If they spoke, it had to be through whispers, and if they exchanged too many, their lord or Sal would reprimand them. They didn't leave for long before Osmund told him to stop. He was looking to the left of their group. Slowly, he took an arrow from his quiver and nocked it to his bow. He made a few steps forward, then raised the bow, drew it, and let the arrow loose.

"I got it! Yeah!"

Osmund went immediately through the bushes and came back with a rabbit, holding it by the ears, an arrow still protruding from his chest.

"I told you this bow wouldn't let me down," he said, which wasn't exactly true.

"Good shooting, Osmund, but this is a small catch. We're after a bigger prize. Remove this arrow and we continue on our way," their lord told him. They were back on their track in no time.

Ser Rhaegar Cafferen fell back a little within the group, finding himself walking next to Sal before he could realize it.

"Don't want to be there, do you?" the old knight asked.

"Pardon me?"

"Come on, baby. I've had a baby like you once. I know what it is. And I saw you eyeing that girl before the inn," he whispered even lower. Rhaegar immediately blanched, but tried to keep his composure.

"What if I was? The others look at girls too."

"True enough, but they don't look at them the way you did last morning."

Rhaegar tried to do as if nothing was amiss, while continuing to whisper as low as he could. "Even if I did, what's the problem?"

"The problem is ahead. You're a household knight. Don't forget you need your lord's authorization."

"To see a girl?" He immediately regretted his choice of words.

"See her? Well, it's quite different from looking at her. It confirms what I suspected."

"Forgive me, Sal, but this is none of your business."

"This is your lord's and distant cousin's business though. And don't think because he's your cousin that he'll be ready to let you go."

"What do you mean?"

"You're still too young. Just an advice, don't get her with child."

"Why would I?" He wanted to get out of that conversation now.

"Because I know what kind of look you threw to that girl, and I know you came to the barracks very late the day before. I'm no fool."

Now Rhaegar was angry, not only because he was caught, but also because an old man was giving him lessons of morale.

"I have nothing to tell you. I did nothing wrong," he whispered angrily.

"Then stop seeing her before you do something both wrong and foolish. Because Lord Cafferen will not let you marry her, and she'll get married sooner or later."

"You don't know that."

Rhaegar quickened his pace, providing some distance between him and Sal until they were separated enough. He outpaced most of his comrades, ending right behind his lord, still boiling internally from his recent exchange with Sal.

"Wait."

Robert Cafferen had spoken softly and raised his hand. The group stopped on the spot. Their lord didn't make any more noise, nor did they. Then they heard a distinctive growl ahead of them. After so many hunting trips, Rhaegar would recognize it among thousands of other sounds. There was a boar ahead of them. Lord Cafferen must have recognized the sound as well for he turned to face them. With a few moves of his hands, he designated Rhaegar and Seron to follow him. They crouched and slowly proceeded towards their target.

They all had their bows and arrows ready. They hid behind bushes. Standing up a little to see over them, they could all see the boar, all alone in the clearing. Slowly, they readied their weapons like their lord did. Then they targeted the beast, and all together, three arrows flew forward.

In an instant, the arrows dug into the deep skin and fur of the animal. Emitting a plaintive sound, it fell to the ground, deadly injured.

"Got it!" Lord Robert roared, followed by all his men. "We're going to have a feast tonight, boys."

It was in these moments that the Lord of Fawnton let himself be who he was deep in the heart, a young hunter. He would never call the other boys in any other circumstances, but the thrill and joy of hunting made him look younger than ever.

"Alright. We got a good catch to bring. Rhaegar, take care of it."

"Of course, my lord." Then he thought about something. "My lord, there's something I would like to talk to you. Once I've taken care of this beast."

"Of course, don't worry. I think your arrow got him in the eye. If any of us killed it, it was you. We'll discuss on the road."

Rhaegar could consider himself lucky. Lord Robert talked to the others more than he allowed the others to talk to him. These moments when you could ask something of him were rare, when he was best disposed, like right after he killed a huge beast. Rhaegar headed towards the boar, lying inert on the ground, putting away his bow and unsheathing his hunting knife. This would end the creature's suffering while also giving him the opportunity to do the first steps of the skinning. This wasn't the most interesting part of hunting, and Rhaegar would have gladly done without it, but it wasn't the time to refuse his lord when he had to discuss such a sensitive matter with him.

Thinking about Gisela and her beautiful eyes, the feeling of her body pressed against his, her hair slipping through his fingers as he had made her his, he knelt next to the beast and deftly plunged the dagger where its heart might be.

The moment the dagger went through the skin, the beast roared and turned on itself. The last thing Rhaegar remembered was the feeling of something very hot against his chest, then flying as the world turned around him, and finally of a huge pain against the back of his head before all went black.

---

Sansa

She was woken up by the handmaiden who brought her breakfast, like most days. Sanera, a fourteen-years-old girl from Dorne, placed the tray on the table and left. She would come back later, when her mistress would have had time to eat.

She looked on her right to see no one else in her bed. Of course, there would be no one else. That was the routine. They sometimes went to bed together, but he was always up before her. She grunted after casting a look around the room to make sure no one else was present. She would never dare to grunt with someone else present around, aside from her husband, who she took this bad habit from. Grudgingly, she left her bed and put on a nightgown, then approached the glass to look at herself.

Sansa Lannister of House Stark, Lady of Casterly Rock and Lady of the Westerlands, Lady of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North, looked shortly at her reflection. Her face looked tired, no wonder after the evening that preceded her sleep. They had a late family dinner that lasted long after the sun had settled. And this time, this was a large family dinner. This meant that the whole of Sansa's and Tyrion's families were there, which included their children, along with her cousin's wife and her own children, and of course the queen. This was a Targaryen dinner, although no one would dare to call it that way and many participants were not aware of its nature.

Sansa had talked a lot during that dinner, with her husband, with her children, and of course with the queen. And she had drunk as well, especially after the youngest had gone to bed. She also danced, even with her own husband, which showed how drunk they both were. She and Tyrion had ended these early festivities in the privacy of their bedchamber, where the activities they performed in no case contributed to increase their energy for today.

Sansa could feel the small lingering headache. She had drunk more than enough water before she fell asleep, but that wasn't enough. She thought not without irony that she was no longer in her youth, hence in no position to make follies. These were strange thoughts for someone who was never disposed at all for that kind of follies, despite the fact she was married for over twenty-five years with Tyrion Lannister. And she was still in her thirties, although at the end of them.

She sat at the table and savored her breakfast, drinking again a lot of water. When her handmaiden came back, she ordered to be dressed right away. A little time later, she was ready to go, and that's what she did.

The last few days had been a storm of activities inside the Red Keep as a huge tournament was organized in honor of the tenth anniversary of prince Benjen Targaryen. When he was born, Sansa had wondered if Daenerys would allow Jon to name his one and only son after his uncle who was in the Night's Watch. In the end, if she had any reserve, she didn't oppose the name. Perhaps she was content with the fact Jon and Margaery named their first two daughters Rhaenys and Visenya. No matter, the queen nonetheless threw great festivities for the anniversary of her nephew, the boy who would become king the day Daenerys Targaryen would die.

As she walked through the corridors of the Red Keep towards the gardens, Sansa thought with regret that Jon didn't stay long after the tournament. He left early with Robb, Sansa's fourth child and soon-to-be Lord of Winterfell. Sansa wouldn't remain Wardeness of the North for a very long time.

Once in the gardens, she located her friend very quickly, sitting under a gazebo and with a cup into her hand. She was alone, which didn't happen very often. Sansa headed immediately in her direction. When Sansa arrived at voice's length, she was taking another sip of her cup.

"Tell me you're not drinking more wine after last night," Sansa told her.

"Do I look like your husband to you? If you start having such ideas about me, Sansa, then you surprise me," Margaery replied. However, she laid down her cup. When Sansa looked into it, she saw a transparent liquid.

"So, you need water this morning you too?"

"I'm not as prude as you are, Sansa, but I'm not dissolute either. At least, not on that point." The Lady of Highgarden made a movement of her hand, indicating to Sansa she could sit. "So, did you sleep better than I did?" Margaery asked, a barely hidden mischievous smile at the corner of her lips.

It was an old game between them, that slowly developed ever since the day Sansa got married. Despite the years, Margaery remained playful with Sansa when it came to the subject of her private life with her husband. Some of the late Lady Olenna's spirit seemed to have taken refuge in Margaery when the matriarch had died. However, Sansa was no longer the shy maid she used to be. Lady of two castles and two kingdoms, mother to five children, including two who one day would become wardens of the West and the North, she didn't blush anymore about the subject, and she didn't talk about it with timidity to her best friend. Nor did she talk about it at all.

"I did," Sansa replied, letting Margaery decide what this meant like usual.

"Well, I regret my own husband wasn't there. Would you have imagined him with us yesterday? With everything we did?"

Sansa couldn't refrain a smile and a chuckle. No matter he was named Stark or Targaryen, Jon remained the spitting image of her own father Eddard Stark. At his age he looked very much like Sansa's father before his death, which made her both happy and sad when they met. And of course, since Jon looked so much like his adoptive father, not only in appearance but also in behavior, that meant he remained aside from frivolities most of the time.

Sansa looked at Margaery. Just like for Sansa, years had taken their toll. But truth be told, Sansa still considered herself and Margaery to be beautiful women. At least, for herself, she had her own husband to remind her of her beauty on a regular basis. As for Margaery, Sansa only witnessed slight differences when compared to the first time she saw her friend, back in the day when Sansa was a frightened girl, held hostage by the family she finally joined. Margaery was already a lady at that time, an expert in court intrigues, a beautiful woman, and she still was today. In the same span of time, Sansa had changed from a frightened child to a lady. But still today, Margaery caused heads of men to turn on her passage, especially since her husband was often absent.

Sansa thought of Jon, who had become so much like her father, as Targaryen as he was. Her cousin spent most of his time in the North, preparing Robb to assume his role as Warden of the North. Sansa had been grateful when Jon took on himself to prepare Robb. Sansa had four other children who needed her, and Tyrion of course. She couldn't rule the North while staying with the rest of her family, and she couldn't abandon her other children only for Robb. Plus, she no longer felt at home when she went to Winterfell. Everything in the North seemed so foreign to her now. It wasn't a place for Sansa Lannister, but it was still a place for Jon.

However, Margaery and her children had paid the price for Jon's decision. They seldom saw him. Sometimes, Sansa felt Jon was running away from them. Margaery once told her that the first two years of their marriage had been wonderful, but then Jon had grown distant, focusing more and more on his duties. Not that Jon was ever cold or evil with Margaery. Quite the opposite, when Rhaenys fell terribly ill, he ran from Winterfell, killing five horses by pushing them to the brink of collapse. He was there when there was anything important. But it was obvious he didn't stay longer than what was required. He was a temporary presence who only appeared from time to time. And it was the same thing in his duties. He performed them well, but never took credit, never put himself forward, letting Daenerys or Robb or Sansa take the credit for everything he did. He was like a soldier, fighting like the devil on the battlefield, then letting his general celebrate the victory he brought to him.

Sansa felt sorry for Margaery. But if her friend had been disappointed and saddened by Jon's growing distance at first, she took it with grace, finding other distractions and taking care of the education of her children almost alone. She spent half the year at King's Landing, the other half at Highgarden, ruling over the Reach while ensuring her children's place at the court. Even now as she spoke about Jon, she didn't seem to care much. But Sansa knew that like any true lady, Margaery was good at hiding her true feelings. And she knew Margaery well enough to discern that she was affected by Jon's early departure.

"The next time, I can arrange for him to stay longer if you want," Sansa told her friend.

"Thank you, Sansa, but I don't think you will succeed. Anyway, I can't complain very much. Our reunions are always very… spicy. I make sure of that."

Images appeared in Sansa's mind that she chased right away. Though these were not images of Margaery and Jon, but of Tyrion and herself, reminding her of the ritual they followed last night before they fell asleep.

"I don't know how you do," Sansa said. "Being separated from him for so long. I don't think I could."

"Oh, I know that, Sansa. Wherever the Imp is, the she-wolf follows. And wherever the lioness is, the little Lion is already there in advance." It was a common saying, almost as widespread as a Lannister always pays his debts. "By the way, how is he?"

Margaery's expression had turned a little more concerned.

"Better," Sansa ensured, though a feeling of uncertainty remained in her stomach. "I make sure he doesn't drink too much."

"Quite a feat."

Despite the laugh they shared, Sansa couldn't help but worry. Tyrion wasn't getting younger, and his life habits had finally caught up on him. He was already in his thirties when they met, and time had not been kind to his body. Sansa was still waiting for the first strands of grey in her hair, but Tyrion's aging was definitely showing. And she was afraid he wouldn't follow the recommendations of the maesters. Her husband had been too used to luxuries his whole life. Changing his eating and drinking habits was a lot to ask from someone used to hire the best cooks and keep in reserve the best wine of the world. Sansa was already worried that he began to use Myrish glass to read.

"Sansa." She felt a hand on her arm. "Everything will be fine. You have the best maesters and remedies. You still have many years ahead together. His father lived very long, don't forget."

A pity. Sansa still wished today that Tywin Lannister had never existed. The only good thing that had come out of his existence for her is that he forced her to marry the man she would eventually come to love. Still, every year, at the date when her mother and Robb were slaughtered at the Red Wedding, she would spend the whole morning in the Stone Garden of Casterly Rock or the godswood of the Red Keep, praying in their honor. Tyrion had offered to spend it with her at the beginning, but Sansa had refused. She knew he meant well, that he still felt guilty after all these years for everything his family had done to her, but she needed to spend this time alone. And one year, it had been on that very day that Robb had come into this world. She would then carry him with her to the godswood the following years to spend this morning with him on this day, until he left for Winterfell.

"And furthermore, his dragon blood should keep him from getting sick," her friend added.

"Tyrion has no dragon blood," Sansa repeated for maybe the millionth time.

"Of course," Margaery mocked.

Sansa never disclosed that information to anybody. Not even her own children knew about it, but she knew Margaery was clever enough to suspect something. Only the fact Viserion chose Tyrion as his rider was proof enough that her husband had some tie with the Targaryen family.

"Look, Sansa. Why don't we stop worrying about our respective husbands? Let's talk about our children. And speaking of the lioness, there is one just there."

Margaery's gaze wandered away. Sansa followed it to see shortly a young woman in the beginning of her twenties, who bore a troubling resemblance to the Mad Queen. Joanna went through an external corridor before she disappeared inside the Red Keep, not allowing enough time to her mother to call her.

"When is she going to marry?" Margaery asked, sarcastically again, knowing full well the answer.

"Never." Sansa's answer was provided on both a regretful and playful tone.

You really have a very unhappy alternative before you. Your mother will never forgive you if you do not marry him. And if you do, since you don't want to marry him, I'm the one who will never forgive you.

Tyrion's words were still fresh in her mind. That was how her last attempt to marry her daughter ended. Her husband gave leave to Joanna to never marry. A few years after the facts, Sansa was still stuck between cries and laughs when she thought about it.

"Too many men are afraid of the Mad Queen's reincarnation?" Margaery asked again playfully.

"No more than they are afraid of ending like toast for Viserion," Sansa retorted, playfully as well.

"I must say, I admire your daughter, Sansa. She stood her ground, and she's making her way into a world that is very hard for women, especially for the unwed. I guess she wasn't content to make the best of her circumstances. I think she instead wants to ensure her circumstances are better."

"Tyrion and I will not always be there for her."

"Well, she seems capable of taking care of herself. And judging from the way she rules Casterly Rock and gets along with Gerion, I don't think she will end in a bad position anytime soon. And a husband does not guarantee safety, Sansa. Remember our personal experiences with Joffrey."

Sansa preferred not to think about the first boy she was betrothed to. She always thought of Joffrey as a boy because he was no man at all.

"Or mine with Renly. Or yours with Loras," Margaery continued. "Or Cersei with Robert Baratheon. Or Lysa Arryn with Littlefinger. Or Elia Martell with Rhaegar Targaryen. Or even our actual queen with her Dothraki warlord…"

"Thanks, Margaery. I understood. A husband is no guarantee of safety. I know it only too well."

"So do I. And so do all the women in this world, Sansa. In some way, Joanna may even have a chance to live longer than any other of your children. There are many women who die in childbirth after all. She won't be exposed to that risk."

"Maybe, but she will never know what it is to be a mother."

On that, Margaery ceded. "I cannot argue against this. I wouldn't give up Rhaenys or Visenya or Benjen for everything in the world."

"Neither would I." Sansa thought about her five children. She knew them enough to know what they were likely doing as they spoke. Joanna was with her father, discussing matters of both the realm and the Westerlands. Gerion was practicing in the training yards. Serena was spending time with her betrothed's family. Ned was pouring through books in the library. And Robb was riding to Winterfell with his cousin.

"I have to admit, I worry for Benjen. He's only ten, I know, but… How to explain? I'm worried. He's my only son. I learned to survive in the universe of courtly intrigues but… I guess I don't want to live in this universe where my children could be in danger."

"He has a kingsguard following him everywhere. He lives in one of the safest places in the Seven Kingdoms. He's receiving the best education, training and care someone can receive. He's healthy, and strong. And we've had no war since the White Walkers were defeated." Sansa was trying to reassure Margaery as much as she tried to reassure herself. She worried for her own children all the time as well.

"You seem to forget the thorn in our west side, Sansa."

Of course, she hadn't forgotten. She had worried so much when both her husband and her eldest son had gone to war. Not so much for Tyrion, almost unreachable as he was on Viserion's back, but Gerion, a knight like any other in the ranks, caused her to worry almost to death. Margaery had been of a great support back then to reassure her, like she did today.

"It is better not to think about that," Margaery said. "Wars happen all the time. Even under Jaehaerys the Wise there were conflicts. It's not for nothing the Targaryen words are Fire and Blood. But there aren't many now. And they have nothing to see with Robert's Rebellion or the War of the Five Kings or the War of the Dead."

"No, indeed."

"Though the ancient wars can sometimes put us in danger. Visenya knows something about it. Do you remember when she was talking about how she fell from her horse yesterday, hence her broken nose."

"Yes, I regret it happened to your daughter, Margaery," Sansa sincerely said.

"Well, I talked with her in ushered voices later in the night, and she told me this is not at all what happened. Her saddle belt didn't rupture. She literally tumbled upon your son."

"What?" Sansa asked, awakened and worried by the possibility that Ned or Gerion were injured, without realizing they were perfectly fine yesterday at dinner.

"Yes, she went in the library to take a book, and tripped over a small obstacle. Apparently, the said obstacle was walking while reading. He barely realized he made a princess fall."

Sansa burst into laughs at the realization of what had happened. "I told Ned he shouldn't walk and read at the same time."

"Especially when he's at the corner of two rows in a library where a princess happens to be?" Margaery asked, playful again.

"Perhaps I should have specified," Sansa uttered, still laughing.

"Like I should have specified to Benjen that he shouldn't approach the mud next to the horses in the stables. Before he got the idea to jump into it."

They continued exchanging stories about their children, and about their husbands as well. Sansa felt good. This was a beautiful day. She had good and sincere friends, Margaery being the best, who she could rely on. She had a husband who she loved, and five beautiful children, who she all loved despite their respective flaws, and even if sometimes they got on her nerves. Her life was not a song, she learned it the hard way a long time ago, but it was a good life, and she enjoyed it, like in this very moment.

The charm was broken when a squire arrived and interrupted their exchange. Margaery was proposing that Sansa and Tyrion visit Highgarden in the near future when he arrived.

"Lady Tyrell, please forgive me, but the queen requests your presence."

"Well, I guess we have to leave it here, Sansa," Margaery said.

"I'll accompany you on the way. I don't have much to do today, anyway."

And so they left the gardens together. Both Margaery and Sansa asked the squire why the queen desired to meet Margaery, but he didn't seem able to answer. Squires were expected to remain quiet about their masters' business, though some didn't keep secrets very well. Anyway, Sansa and Margaery lost nothing by asking. And the squire still revealed that the queen was with the Master of Whisperers and her Hand when she gave him his mission. That meant Sansa would likely be able to stay for this meeting. Daenerys knew Tyrion and Sansa had no secret for each other. Keeping Sansa outside would be useless if she wanted to hide anything.

After a while, Sansa realized they had taken a very unusual road. They weren't heading for the Throne Room, nor for the Tower of the Hand, and neither for the queen's private apartments. Instead, they went deeper into the Red Keep. Sansa crossed the path of her daughter Serena at the arm of her future husband, and they shared an encouraging smile. But soon, they ended before a door Sansa seldom came across. These were the apartments of Lord Varys.

When they walked inside, Sansa only saw the queen standing next to a bed, and Tyrion sitting next to this same bed. They turned towards the intruders as the door opened.

Sansa couldn't deny Daenerys's beauty when they first met, nor her determination and ferocity, and even though time had left their marks on her like for everyone in this room, it had changed nothing to the impression the queen gave to people coming across her. Fierce, proud, always her head held up, she was still ready to listen to anyone who had to say something. Though she expected unconditional obedience once she said a word.

Through the years, and after spending so much time at the same place due to Tyrion's position as Hand of the Queen, Sansa had developed a good friendship with Daenerys. The queen kept her distance from everyone but her family members, which meant Jon and Tyrion. In some way, Daenerys was to Tyrion everything Cersei wasn't. She noticed more than once how Daenerys avoided laughing at Tyrion's japes, only allowing a thin smile to creep on her lips, but her eyes were clearly laughing. Daenerys also respected Tyrion's advice more than anyone else's. And after some time, she and Sansa managed to get along quite well, though Daenerys was so focused on her duties as queen and gave so little time to anything else that it was difficult for her and Sansa to develop the same kind of friendship she had with Margaery. And Sansa remained the half-sister-in-law. She would never be as close to the queen as Tyrion was.

Her husband sat next to the bed. His grey hair and the wrinkles on his face bore witness to the high age he reached. He was developing problems to his legs, which explained why he stayed on a chair. Still, his mind had lost nothing of its sharpness, and he still looked at Sansa with the same love they shared for over twenty years now. However, by the way both Daenerys and Tyrion looked at them, Sansa understood pretty quickly the matter for which Margaery was summoned was serious. She looked at her friend, whose face remained a mask of courtesy. When it came to Daenerys, Margaery never managed to get along as well as Sansa did with the queen.

"Your Grace. You summoned me?" Margaery asked.

"I did, Lady Tyrell. Tyrion, Sansa, could you leave us please?"

Sansa was quite surprised. It was odd that Daenerys didn't want her own brother and Hand to be present. But Tyrion didn't protest for he let himself drop from the chair right away. Sansa then noticed Lord Varys, his thin and sickly frame stuck to the bed.

"Of course, your Grace," Tyrion replied. He arrived at Sansa's level and offered his hand. She took it and walked away from the room. Before they were out, she cast a glance towards Daenerys, who sent her an apologetic gaze.

"What's going on?" she asked Tyrion as the doors closed.

"I'll explain everything to you, Sansa. But not here. It's not the right place."

They walked away, mostly in silence, until they reached their private chambers. And there Tyrion told her about the tragedy that just happened.

---

Margery

A huge gust of wind threatened to make her tip once again. But for the thousandth time, she didn't. The special saddle held her firm on the back of the huge black beast whose wings flapped the wind around. The queen's dragon indeed was a powerful force to be reckoned with.

Margaery never liked to fly on a dragon's back. She was always afraid to fall to the ground. It reminded her too much of how her third husband died, after he jumped from a tower. But she would execrate it even without this fact. She hated it the few times Jon made her climb on a dragon's back with him. And now that it was with the queen that she flew on the back of a much wider dragon, she didn't hate it any less.

But she didn't care. Right now, the only thing that mattered was their destination, and reaching it as quickly as possible, before it was too late.

"How much time until we arrive?" Margaery asked for the hundredth time to the queen.

"It won't be long, now. We're close."

Margaery chanced to look down, only the necessary time to see the landscape before she got dizzy. Moors and grasslands were to be seen. Mountains and hills were a rare occurrence now. She supposed it was good news, since this meant they were definitely in the right territory.

She looked ahead, staring at the back of Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the First Men and the Rhoynars, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, Warden of the East and Protector of the Realm, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons, Doom of Death. She heard the titles so often over the last twenty years that she could tell all of them in the right order without hesitation. Even to Margaery, this accumulation of titles was ridicule.

Through the years, Margaery had managed to get along well enough with the queen. She managed to put aside her bitterness that stemmed from the queen's decision about Margaery in the very beginning of her reign. But she couldn't forget that pain that was inflicted upon her on this occasion. As a result, Margaery remained courteous with the queen, but never brought their relationship anywhere deeper. She was the wife of his nephew, and that was all. And the queen didn't seem to bother. Daenerys Targaryen never stroke Margaery for a woman looking to make friends.

However, in this very moment, she felt so distressed that she would have given up a part of the Reach to the Crown (only a part of it) just to make sure she would arrive in time. And although Margaery complained, both inwardly and externally, about how slow they were, she actually couldn't fault the queen from doing everything in her power. That wasn't everyday that the queen of Westeros had one of her bannermen climb on her dragon and fly with her to arrive more quickly at a destination.

Margaery's heart was beating feverishly. Her breathing was also very quick. What if they arrived too late? Even with the benefit of flying, it took more than a day to reach the small town. If they were to add the time it took for Varys's spy to send him a message, and the time for the Spider to actually receive the message, read it, then inform the queen about it and then for the queen to inform Margaery about it… They had lost days. Why were news so slow to travel? Sansa's husband devoted so much energy to enhancing roads both on land and sea, so why did it take so much time? She would tell Tyrion Lannister what she thought of his improvements the next time she talked to him. And to think her family actually considered marrying off Margaery to the Imp after Joffrey had died. Her parents truly were the stupidest people in the world. And why Jon wasn't with her when she was told about all this? Why was he spending so much time in the North, away from her, away from their children, away from his family? She wanted to kill him right now. For once in her life she had needed him by her side, and he wasn't there. She made a fist with her hand, thinking in her angry state of mind what she would do to her husband the next time she saw him.

She felt the saddle somewhat give away under her legs. They were losing altitude.

"Are we there?" Margaery asked once more, still desperate and hopeful.

"Yes, we are," the queen shouted.

Margaery's heart pumped blood even more quickly. She gripped the sides of the saddle more firmly. She wouldn't fall, not now. Maybe a few minutes, and for the first time in over twenty years, she would be with him.

They kept lowering down. Margaery noticed a castle, a sept, then smaller buildings into the town. Drogon finally landed abruptly, then shrieked.

"Come, now," the queen, which was a useless order since Margaery was already unstrapping herself. She hugged her robes around her body more tightly after she climbed down from the black beast. She wasn't used to wearing those kind of clothes. Daenerys Targaryen was on the ground with her in no time.

"Follow me," the queen ordered. "And make sure no one recognizes you."

This meant Margaery would have to speak the less she could. She brought a hand to the hexagonal stone around her neck that was supposed to ensure she would remain incognito.

It wasn't long before three knights on horses arrived before them. Margaery and Daenerys had landed just outside the town, but it would not be long for the knights of Fawnton to arrive, their shields displaying their two white fawns over green fields.

"Your Grace, I am Ser Salmyn Rodroth, knight in the service of Lord Robert Cafferen, Lord and Protector of Fawnton. I apologize we didn't welcome you in any better way, but we weren't aware of your coming."

"I hope Lord Cafferen will not mind, Ser Rodroth. I need to talk with him as soon as possible," Daenerys Targaryen told the old knight.

"Of course, your Grace. We will escort you to him right away." Ser Salmyn then looked at Margaery, an uncertain look on his face. "Is your guess going to…"

"Lady Fringilla is one of my advisors, Ser Rodroth. She will accompany me."

"Of course, your Grace."

And then, he turned away and both Daenerys and Margaery followed him. To any person looking at her, Margaery currently looked like a woman in her twenties, with short black hair and deep green eyes. This was the result of a necklace with a special gem that the High Priestess gave to her before they left. This allowed to change Margaery's appearance to the others. She looked like a young and seductive Red Priestess. When she looked at her reflection in a glass, for a moment, Margaery had wished she still looked so young, until she reminded herself of the reasons for this disguise. No one was to know that Margaery Tyrell had come to Fawnton. She may be able to remove the necklace and recover her true appearance later, but for now, to everyone else, she was a priestess named Fringilla.

People looked at her on her passage, some with hostility, others with admiration, some with reverence, and others with indifference. Most of the gazes were on the queen. Everyone knew she was often accompanied by the High Priestess or one of her subordinates when she travelled. It was Lord Varys, the aging Master of Whisperers, now stuck to his bed most of the day, who suggested Margaery made everyone believe she was a Red Priestess to remain unknown. The people in the former Stormlands were decently opened to the religion of the Lord of Light, having been the first kingdom where Daenerys Targaryen landed in Westeros, and having been ruled by Stannis Baratheon previously. A part of its population had converted. Cohabitation with the Faith was hard at times, and Margaery herself never felt attracted to this new faith, but the queen ensured freedom of religion to everyone in her realm, as long as people bowed to the Iron Throne.

The castle they walked to had nothing to differentiate itself from the common castle of Westeros. Margaery had seen many of these small forts in her life, across all the Seven Kingdoms. They were small fortresses, meant as a last line of defense for any invader who ravaged the surrounding lands, and provided limited comfort for the lord and its family who lived inside, often only with a small retinue and garrison.

Still, they were decently welcomed, especially given how they arrived unannounced. The Lord of Fawnton was clever enough, and welcomed the queen on the floor of the main hall, instead of standing on the dais. Despite his advanced age, Margaery noticed he still stood firmly on his feet, and when he bowed to the queen, he had no trouble standing back afterwards.

"Your Grace, welcome to Fawnton. I'm sorry I couldn't welcome you better. We weren't aware that you were in the surroundings."

"I needed to address an urgent matter, Lord Cafferen. Something I could only deal with in person. I wasn't looking for any special welcome, anyway."

"Well, you reassure me, your Grace. I think you have already met my daughter."

A very young woman, richly dressed by the standards of the place, stepped forward and curtsied before the queen.

"Lady Daenerys," the queen said. "The last time I saw you, you were still a little girl. You've grown up into a beautiful lady. Your father must be proud of you."

"I do everything so that he is, your Grace," the lord's daughter, Daenerys Cafferen, replied. Margaery was impatient. For once, she, the queen of courtesies, wanted to be done with them as quickly as they could.

"You can stay here as long as you want, your Grace," the lord said. "We will make arrangements for you."

"Thank you, my lord, but I will need to leave before the day ends. And I need to talk with you in private."

"Of course, your Grace."

And so Daenerys and Margaery followed Lord Cafferen to his solar, which took way too much time to Margaery's taste. Daenerys threw her a look to remain patient a few times as they climbed the stairs.

"Well, your Grace, I'm listening," the Lord of Fawnton said as soon as they were alone in his study.

"This is about the robbers who currently infest your lands, my lord," the queen stated.

"Yes, indeed. This is a problem. We're doing our best to deal with it."

"This is not enough. Recently, they dared to attack nobles and their retinues. Hamlets and isolated farms are also being raided. You are not the only lord in the Crownlands with this problem, Lord Robert, but I'm wondering if you take this problem as seriously as you should."

Daenerys Targaryen had pointed out that Lord Cafferen's territory was part of the Crownlands, a reminder to the fact that the Stormlands officially didn't exist anymore. Although many still used the expression and its inhabitants still identified themselves as Stormlanders, no official declaration or document ever contained the name. This was part of the queen's general strategy to make people understand the Stormlands were now under the direct control of the queen, and also to remind local lords that they had to respond directly to the Iron Throne instead of Storm's End now.

"The truth is, your Grace, they are expert at hiding in the woods. They avoid our patrols and our garrison and keep their attacks to isolated places, often very deep into the forests. We can hardly send men to hunt them down. They can't find them."

"Which doesn't stop you from doing hunting games in your woods, if I'm not mistaken, Lord Cafferen. You say your men cannot find men in these woods, but you don't hesitate to go on long hunting trips with a large part of your retinue. I heard a cousin of yours was gravely wounded recently, and that your maester didn't think he would survive. You know I have ears and eyes everywhere."

This was well known across all Westeros. Daenerys Targaryen made an honor to show people or make them think that she knew everything that was going inside her realm. But right now, the only thing that mattered for Margaery, just as her heart raced and Lord Cafferen's face decomposed, was the cousin who was wounded.

"Yes, your Grace. He was one of my knights. He died yesterday."

Silence was complete in the room. Everything was frozen. And Margaery was frozen. She said nothing, moved nothing, but her lips started to quiver. And inside of her, her world was collapsing. The voices she heard seemed to come from another world.

"This is a great tragedy, Lord Cafferen. I'm sorry for your loss. Maybe Lady Fringilla could give the Lord of Light's last blessings to him? The Red Priests had their own way of saying goodbye."

"Of course, your Grace. One of my servants will accompany your priestess to him."

What happened next was a blur. A servant was called, Margaery left with him, Daenerys shot her a sympathizing look, then she made the whole way down to the castle's little sept, her legs almost giving away as she descended the stairs, left the main hall and walked through the courtyard to a small building in the shape of a seven pointed star. Just as they were about to enter the sept, a brown-haired girl and a pair of green eyes filled with water rushed into Margaery and made her way past her without acknowledging her presence. Margaery barely gave attention to her, as she entered the sept to meet the spectacle she dreaded.

"Leave us alone. Close the doors," she said with a croaked voice. She would hope that her disguise hid the feelings in both her face and voice. The servant obeyed. He had probably converted to the religion of the Lord of Light, or else he wouldn't have obeyed an order to leave an apparent Red Priestess alone, inside a sept. But Margaery wasn't a Red Priestess, and she wasn't alone as the doors closed behind her.

Exposed to everyone's view, a body laid at the center of the sept. This was the body of a man, still clad in his armor, his hands gripping a sword lying across his body, but with his helmet removed, and with stones painted with blue eyes on his own closed eyes. Eyes that Margaery would never have the chance to contemplate.

She slowly walked to the body, her legs still threatening to shatter, as well as her insides. There were two things she noticed right away when she stood right next to the knight. First, there was his nose. The way it was traced reminded her of someone she lost a long time ago, the person who should have been Lord of Highgarden in her place. Loras somehow had found a way for Margaery to remember him through this nose. Second, there the hair. It was blond, shining blond, the same color of a husband she was briefly married with, a husband she didn't love as much as he would have deserved.

Slowly, tentatively, she approached her hand, until it touched one of the gloved hands that held the sword. This hand belonged to a young man everyone knew as Rhaegar Cafferen. And to this very thought, everything broke out. Margaery burst into tears, her legs gave way underneath her, she found herself gripping to the hand she touched, on her knees, her eyes closed and burning from the loads of salty water they were throwing.

This boy was not Rhaegar Cafferen. This was the name a perfect stranger gave to him, a minor lord who had the chance to be the first to bend the knee to Daenerys Targaryen when she arrived in Westeros, and whose cousin had died fighting wights in the North. The wife of this cousin had died as well, along with the baby she carried, and as a reward for Lord Cafferen's loyal services, he was tricked by the Spider into thinking the baby had survived. And Lord Varys's minions gave the baby to Lord Robert Cafferen, the baby of a dead king, taken at birth from his wife who was at her third marriage. And now this baby, who had grown into a handsome man, was gone, and his mother was kneeling, shedding all the tears of her body as she had collapsed next to him.

Margaery Tyrell had been brought by the Queen of Westeros to see the son she never got to know before he died. But the queen had just brought her for Margaery to realize she had lost her son forever. The son of Tommen Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell was dead.

---

Daenerys

"This is a serious matter, Lord Cafferen. Ever since I claimed the Iron Throne that was rightfully mine, I did everything to ensure that every man, woman and child was free to believe in the gods he wanted, and to worship them as well."

"Of course, your Grace," the Lord of Fawnton replied, "and we do everything we can to prevent any sort of persecution."

"This is definitely not enough," Daenerys stated, anger boiling inside her, but still containing it. "All the people who were attacked by these robbers on your lands were followers of the Lord of Light, or working for people who worshipped him. This is not tolerable. And from the look of it, you give the impression that you spend more time hunting than protecting your people."

"I assure you that I take it very seriously, your Grace. But we are stretched thin. These bandits… They hide very well. And they stay at the frontiers of domains in order to avoid us better. They only attack remote places."

"Which does not excuse you from your responsibilities towards your people. Some of the victims told me your officers didn't care to investigate the attacks. I expect you to take serious action. If you cannot defend your lands or the people who live on it, I could eventually give the responsibility to someone else, or force you to pay the damages inflicted by these bands."

"I understand, your Grace. You have my word that I will do everything possible so that none of your subjects are victims of these criminals again."

He would better do. He already failed to keep Lady Margaery's son alive long enough. She didn't even have the chance to say him farewell.

Daenerys continued to talk with Lord Cafferen for some time. Then she offered to pay her respects of the young man he believed to be his cousin, for which he thanked her for. He even allowed her to go to the sept alone.

The queen made sure the doors were opened only enough for her to enter the sept, and she closed them behind her as quickly as possible, without seeming suspicious. It was a chance, for if anyone else had entered, they would have found a Red Priestess weeping at the feet of a knight she never met before. Daenerys knew the truth, that this was a mother crying over the death of a child she never got the chance to know.

Daenerys walked carefully to the center of the sept, but stayed at a generous distance from the Lady of Highgarden. This moment and this place did not belong to her. Her eyes moved to the body. Rhaegar Cafferen, as everyone knew him, was dead, the only grandchild of Jaime and Cersei Lannister, their only offspring who could still eventually pose a threat to her. A part of Daenerys was somewhat relieved. Even though Lord Varys had taken every precaution to make sure the truth of this man's origins would never be known, Daenerys knew from the Blackfyre rebellions that contenders' descendants could be a threat for many generations. She would be lying if she she wasn't happy in some way that the legacy of the Mad Queen was all gone.

But the truth was Daenerys did not see the body as a threat. All she saw was a dead man, who never knew who he actually was, who his parents were, or even that his mother was still alive. He didn't know that he was taken away from her at his birth, then hidden, and presented as the son of a distant cousin of Robert Cafferen, a son who actually died at his birth, without anyone knowing about it. He didn't know his father had been a king, although an usurper, that his grandmother had been queen, his grandfather a kingsguard, and that his living granduncle was Daenerys's brother.

Taking away a baby from her mother's arms had been one of the most difficult decisions Daenerys ever had to do, not long after she arrived on the shores of Westeros. She didn't kill him. She would never have dared to do such a thing, but made the best choice she could in those circumstances, allowing the baby to live, while ensuring he would never be a threat. Despite this, Daenerys felt guilty for what she did, much like after she executed Mossador, or when she chained Rhaegal and Viserion.

All this guilt had come crashing back on her when her Master of Whisperers told her the news. Lord Varys had become very old. He was so weak that he was stuck to his bed most of the day, and whenever he wasn't bedridden, he was in a half-sitting position. The Grand Maester said he didn't have much longer to live. Still, his network of spies and informants remained operational, and he continued working for Daenerys. And this morning, he summoned her to his chambers, since he couldn't move by himself to seek Daenerys. Tyrion was already with him, defeated.

Varys had hesitantly told her what had happened at Fawnton, his voice laced with guilt. Daenerys wasn't the only one to regret what she had done over twenty years ago. After learning the fate of Tommen Baratheon's son, she took the only decision she could think of after a moment. She summoned Margaery, and after sending Tyrion and Sansa away, she and Varys told the Lady of Highgarden what had happened to her son. And it crushed her. Back then, they only knew he was fatally wounded and dying, but perhaps still alive. So Daenerys had not lost an instant. She took Margaery with her on Drogon. At the very least, she owed Lady Tyrell the right to see her son before he died.

But they came too late.

Daenerys looked at the woman lying on the floor, still weeping. The queen had lost her son as well. At the very least, she gave this one a chance to live, but she took a child away from his mother nonetheless. And of course his mother was crushed by his loss.

Daenerys remained in retreat, allowing both time and space to the Lady of Highgarden. Finally, Margaery Tyrell stood up, but her gaze didn't leave her son. One of her hands was gripping his right fist, the other one caressing his hair.

"He's got Tommen's hair," she whispered after a moment. "And Loras's nose."

Daenerys didn't answer to that. She didn't think Jon's wife was looking for a reply from her.

"He seems so strong. Did he have children?"

This was without any doubt a question for Daenerys. "No, he didn't."

Margaery Tyrell sniffed. "Good." This surprised Daenerys. "I don't want a grandson to be taken away from me."

From the tone she used, Daenerys wasn't sure if it was meant to hurt her. She decided to let it be. She had taken rash decisions in moments when she lost someone dear, only to regret it afterwards. She wouldn't begrudge Margaery Tyrell only for words spoken out of grief.

"Did he have a wife? Was he betrothed?"

"No, he wasn't."

"He must have been in love with a girl. Or with a boy."

Daenerys didn't reply immediately. For a rare moment in her life, she was unsure how to behave with someone. The queen she was felt powerless in the presence of a grieving mother.

"I don't know. Lord Varys should have more information. I can ask him to tell you what he can when we return to King's Landing."

She got no reply from the Lady of Highgarden. Her back remained turned on Daenerys. Nothing else was said between the two women, who currently lived in two different worlds. Daenerys could see that Margaery's world was actually limited to the body of her lost son. Daenerys's mind, in the meantime, turned to the people she cared about the most.

She was wondering how she would feel if she lost someone dear to her, again. It had already happened in the past. Missandei, Ser Barristan, Ser Jorah. Among her family, the only loss she ever experienced so far was Viserys, who she didn't care about in the last moments in his life, when he threatened to carve her baby out of her belly. The only she lost and who she actually cared about was Drogo, her first husband, and Rhaego, her son who died before he saw the light of day. Back then, she had used her grief to become stronger, burning the maegi responsible for this, and giving birth to her three dragons. She had lost one much later, at the end of the Great War. When she thought about it, she never truly grieved for Rhaegal. How would she feel if she lost Drogon or Viserion or Margarion? How would she feel if she lost Jon or Tyrion? Would she just keep going, ruling the Seven Kingdoms as before?

She thought about her half-brother. It was strange, but she had come to appreciate him very much. Tyrion was nothing like Viserys. He even managed to make her laugh sometimes. And he was getting old. Daenerys had the Grand Maester inform her regularly on his health. She even asked Sansa about it from time to time. And it wasn't getting better. What would she feel if it was her half-brother who was exposed? Or if it was Jon, killed in the middle of a battle? Her nephew might still be in his prime, but his life was far riskier than her half-brother.

Daenerys realized she had no idea. Every time someone close to her had died, she just focused on something else, often looking for justice for their death. She didn't look for justice when Viserys died for his death itself was justice. When Barristan Selmy was murdered by the Sons of the Harpy, she went after those who she suspected supported them. When Missandei was murdered by those same Sons of the Harpy, she waited her moment to kill them all. When it was Jorah… She didn't look for justice. He had died in battle, and the woman he fought with was killed by her Unsullied not long after. And when Rhaegal was gone, she didn't seek justice either, for the White Walkers were gone as well. Justice had already been done.

What would she do then? Would she feel nothing? She looked at Margaery Tyrell, utterly broken. Daenerys had no children. Her dragons were the only children she would ever have, and she didn't cry when she lost one. In that very moment, she wondered if being queen, if all the sacrifices she had made, were worth it. Sometimes she thought about Daario, who she had left on the other side of the Narrow Sea. She didn't feel anything when she broke up with him. She was just impatient to get on with it. And years later, when she heard he had died fighting the slavers for her, she didn't feel anything either.

Margaery Tyrell silently contemplated her son for hours. In the meantime, Daenerys stayed in retreat, and looked at the mother grieving her son, feeling farther and farther away from both the living and the dead.

"I'm ready to leave," Margaery said after a very long time, removing her hand from her son's. Just before they left, she leaned over him and kissed him on the front. Daenerys realized this was the only kiss that boy would ever get from his mother.

The journey back to King's Landing was silent. Daenerys focused on Drogon's flying. She had lost days, but a queen's work never stopped. There were several matters that required her attention, from the ongoing troubles in the Iron Islands to the uprisings of former masters in the Bay of Dragons, while fanatic plunder groups attacked those who embraced the Lord of the Light all over the Seven Kingdoms. Although these attacks were isolated for now, they could become a huge issue eventually.

Daenerys was relieved when they landed in one of the courtyards of the Red Keep. They had been gone for four days during which Tyrion would have to deal with all the Seven Kingdoms problems without her. All that because she wanted to give a mother a chance to spend some time with her son before he died. And even that she had failed to provide.

Sansa wrapped her arms around Margaery as soon as they disembarked. Tyrion was also waiting for Daenerys, with more dire news.

"Varys is dead. He passed away the day after you left."

At the end of this day, she was alone in her chambers with the only relative who was within her reach. And for the occasion, both she and Tyrion drank. This evening, neither of them cared about the recommendations of the maesters for Tyrion.

"To Varys, the Spider," he had said when he first raised his cup, and Daenerys had raised it as well, taking a quarter of it, if it wasn't more.

"A long time ago, he sent a man to kill me. I would never have thought that one day I would be drinking for him," she confided. A silence followed that her half-brother finally broke.

"When I first arrived in King's Landing to act as Hand during the War of the Five Kings, Varys found out about how I was hiding Shae. He made it clear to me that he could use that information against me. He never used it. But I guess that if things had been different, if I had ended on the wrong side, he would have betrayed me without hesitation."

"You really think so? I remember you once told me he was one of the very few people you trusted in the world."

"Oddly enough, yes. And that still is the case. I trust him more when he's dead than many other living people. But he also made it clear several times that he wouldn't give his life for mine. And I would certainly not have given mine for his." He took another sip, and sighed. "How did it go at Fawnton?"

"Her son was already dead. All I did was for naught." She took a sip as well.

"I don't think so. You gave her the chance to say goodbye, even if he wasn't alive. You did the best thing we could."

"Did I?" He didn't answer, so she continued. "Do you think Varys died because he felt guilty? Over what he… what we did to that child?"

He laid down his cup. "I think Varys died because he was old, and because his body failed him. And I think he and you gave that child the best life he could hope for. I looked at the notes he took about Tommen's son. He had a good education. He was knighted. He had friends. He was in love when he died. And he was loved back. Many people cannot say when they enter a coffin."

"Is that really the best I could do? What kind of queen am I, if I cannot ensure that a mother may safely raise her child?"

She thought of the huge responsibilities befalling her. She thought of the power of both her name, her armies and her dragons granted her. She thought of the enemies who bowed before her, and all those who refused and were reduced to dust. She thought of the millions of people she ruled, the large spans of land she controlled, all the powerful lords, ladies and knights across all the Seven Kingdoms and abroad who obeyed her. And yet, as powerful a queen as she was, she couldn't do such a simple thing.

"Do you know what frightens me? I watched a woman crying over the body of her son for hours. And I felt nothing. I was just impatient to get on with it. I just wanted this to be over and be back, and be the queen again."

Tyrion moved in his chair to take a better position. He closed his eyes, then opened them back.

"A long time ago, long before I met Sansa, back when I was very young, maybe seventeen or eighteen, I went to a brothel in Lannisport. I paid in advance to sleep with one of the girls, I entered the room, and there was a child. A little girl. She was barely six or seven. I didn't understand what was going on, and truth be told I was repulsed, angered that someone might think that I could want to sleep with a child. But then the girl for who I actually paid came in. She took the little girl in her arms, quickly brought her outside and came back to do her job. But before, very quickly, she kissed the little girl on the cheek, and hugged her tightly. And the little girl said Mommy. I didn't pay much attention to that right away. The young woman came back in the room and we did what I came for. But on my way back to Casterly Rock, I couldn't stop thinking about what I saw. I couldn't stop thinking about how this young woman, a whore, kissed her daughter with more love than I had ever saw in my life. I couldn't remember a time where my father, or an uncle, or an aunt, or even my brother or sister hugged me, kissed me, or did anything to show me any love. And that's not only because they hated me. My uncles, Genna and Jaime did love me, but the best I can remember receiving is a shake of hands or a poking on my head. And I'm no different with my own children. I love them, but I never hugged any of them, I never gave a single kiss to one of them, and even when they were babies, the only time I held them into my arms was when Sansa asked me to do so. Even with Joanna."

Daenerys saw how decomposed Tyrion's face was, especially after he mentioned the name of his first daughter. Daenerys herself liked this niece of her very much, and she could see how Joanna was her brother's pride, the one of his children he was the closest to.

"We are not people who show love, or feel love easily. For a long time, after my first marriage, I refused to love another woman. And when I did, it was only to get hurt further. You have no idea for how long I resisted to love Sansa. I didn't want to love her. I didn't feel I deserved her love, or even her as a wife in any way. Somehow, events forced me to love her, and I think she is the only person in this world to who I can actually truly show my feelings."

He looked back at her again.

"We do what we have to do as queen and Hand of the Queen. That's our duty. We must avoid crises when we can and calm those we cannot avoid. We must ensure the peace, the prosperity and the freedom of all people in Westeros. And sometimes, this requires very hard decisions and sacrifices, which need to be made by people like us. This is our duty, and let's face it, we do it very well. In a way, our absence of emotions, our… incapacity to connect with the others… is a blessing. No one needs or demands tears or emotions from us. They want us to make sure they have a world where they can eat, drink, fuck, curse and love before they die. And the truth is, we barely need humanity for that."

They remained silent for a very long time after he was done talking.

"Well," Daenerys said, breaking the silence this time, "as usual, you have completely failed to console me."

"Indeed. I'm very bad at consoling."

"Yes, you are. But I still need your counsel. So, is there anything that I should know which happened in my absence?"

"Nothing that requires your immediate attention. I've taken the liberty of organizing royal funerals for Varys. He spent his whole life in the shadows. I think it's only appropriate we give some light to his death."

"I agree." Again, silence settled, but Daenerys decided there had been enough of it. "You should go to your wife and to your children. You should spend time with them. You have children, after all."

Tyrion, of course, didn't miss the hidden meaning of her words. He slowly stood up, which didn't add much to his height. "Why don't you come? They're your nephews and your nieces, after all."

"They don't know I'm their aunt. And they will never know."

"A pity for them. They don't know they have the best aunt in the world."

Daenerys smiled in acknowledging the compliment. "Good night, Tyrion."

"Good night, Dany."

He left her, obviously sad to leave his sister behind. Tyrion told her more than once she was the best sister he ever had, though she didn't think it was hard to be a better sister than Cersei Lannister. Still, it was good to have a brother, even half of it, who actually cared about you.

Daenerys left her siege and went to the balcony of her private apartments. One of her handmaidens walked in to clean her room.

"Leave me alone, please."

The young girl, a third daughter of House Royce, left without a word. Even with her handmaidens, Daenerys was distant. None was ever a friend to her like Missandei ever used to be. Even to that kind of friendship, she had closed all doors.

Her balcony's view was directed towards the east. Not far away, although she couldn't distinguish it, was the seat of Dragonstone, and the other islands in the Narrow Sea. And farther away was Essos, with cities such as Braavos, Pentos, Qarth, Volantis, Astapor, Meereen, Yunkai, Lorath, Vaes Dothrak. These were the places where she had been queen for the first time, and that she left behind to take her rightful place. And yet sometimes she wished she had never come back. She wished she had remained behind. The fight against slavery was not over yet. Slavers still reigned over some cities. In the meantime, in Westeros, ever since the White Walkers were defeated, she spent her time avoiding and solving local conflicts between lords who didn't give a damn about their subjects.

She knew she was at the right place, twenty-two years after the end of the Great War. She knew what she was doing was important. She knew who she was. She was Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the First Men and the Rhoynars, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, Warden of the East and Protector of the Realm, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons, Doom of Death.

And yet, sometimes, like this evening, she felt like nothing of these things, and she longed for the time when she truly felt at home. She longed for the house with the red door, the only place which had ever really felt home for her.

---

Tyrion

He woke up early, as always. Old habits died hard. The maesters told him to sleep longer, but even with his now limited drinking, Tyrion's sleep remained limited.

The Lord of Casterly Rock looked to his side, where his wife was lying on her tummy. Like he often did when he couldn't manage to sleep, he looked at her, peacefully sleeping, which was better at making him feel good and soothing his nerves than any other remedy or therapy maesters or apothecaries could think of.

Tyrion marveled at Sansa's beauty, his eyes trailing from her hips where the covers hid everything below, then climbing along her spine, marveling at the fairness of her skin, then reaching the end of her auburn hair that laid on her back, then to her face, an art so fine that the best carver would never be able to imitate.

Even after more than twenty years together, Sansa was still as beautiful as she was on the first day they met. Of course, the first time he got a glimpse of the daughter of Eddard Stark at Winterfell, he never imagined she would become his wife. He had no desire for her at the time either, although he pitied her for marrying his horrible nephew. It was only later, after they were married, that he fell in love with her, not just because of her beauty, although it helped, but also because of everything she was. For Tyrion, Sansa never stopped becoming more beautiful as the years went on, not because she was becoming a woman in the physical sense, but because she slowly became the woman she was today.

Tyrion approached his hand to her arm and began to caress it with a single finger, the smooth skin ripping then taking back its shape under his passage. He added a second finger, then a third, then caressed with his knuckles, expanding the zone his hand covered to her back and her hair. All the while, he noticed the smile creeping on his wife's lips, while her eyes remained closed. She was still asleep. After years of sharing the same bed, he could tell whether she was still sleeping or if she feigned it.

Soon, it wasn't enough for Tyrion. He changed his position, hovering over her, then laid himself on her back, his face buried in her hair, filling his nostrils with her scent. This time, Sansa moved and grumbled in a way that left no place for interpretation.

"Sorry to have awakened you, my lady," he whispered in her left ear, hidden behind auburn locks.

"I know worse ways to wake me up," she replied in a sleepy voice. Tyrion wasn't sure of the sense of her words between the two he could imagine, but he loved how she said it both ways.

They remained in that position for a moment, Tyrion inhaling the scent of his wife while his hands kept wandering across all of her body parts, eliciting more than a single moan. In the meantime, he kept getting harder, his desire growing, all other thoughts who should plague his mind disappearing for the time being, his flesh, heart and soul solely focused on the one and only woman he loved.

No matter what the maesters were telling him, there was one domain in his life where Tyrion would never make any concession, and this was the domain to which he and Sansa gave their time and energy at dawn this morning. When they finally rested, Tyrion felt his heart was about to burst. He seized his wife's hand, who was panting and sweating just like he was, and tenderly and passionately kissed it.

That made him think of something he told a hill tribe chief many years ago, when he was asked how he would like to die. In my own bed, at the age of eighty, with a belly full of wine and a girl's mouth around my cock. Today, now that he was closer to this age, he no longer cared about dying with wine, but he wouldn't mind personally dying in his bed after such a performance with Sansa. The only problem was that Sansa wouldn't like it, so he would rather not die this way. Though at the very least, he would have died a better way than Varys in this way.

The thought of his now gone friend soured the moment. Tyrion went back to giving attention to his wife, kissing her everywhere from her belly on his way up, until their lips met and they passionately began a battle of tongues. However, they didn't keep their respective positions for long and his wife, showing Tyrion he was definitely not the one leading in their couple, reversed their roles. Tyrion didn't complain, as it gave him one of the best views in the world, his cock definitely agreeing with him and showing the maesters he wasn't that old after all.

Tyrion lost all sense of time, whispering his wife's name while Sansa did the same with her husband's. Whispers turned into shouts and cries, even curses, which Sansa seldom used. They both knew the body of the other, so Tyrion wasn't surprised when Sansa collapsed on him at the same time he would have if he had been on top. Then they were back to kissing, Sansa's hair falling all around in disorder and burying both their faces.

A sound broke the charm when the door of their chamber opened. "Are you done now?"

As quickly as someone could imagine, Sansa moved to the side and covered herself with their bed's sheets. A young slender woman in the beginning of her twenties, with long golden hair, high cheekbones, emerald green eyes and fair skin didn't hesitate the cross the doorway and stand arms crossed, far away from their bed and still in very good sight to see everything on the bed, including Tyrion in his naked state. Sansa had taken no more time than Tyrion to notice her.

"Joanna!" her mother shouted, vexed and humiliated that their eldest daughter found them in such a situation. Not that it was the first time it happened, as was displayed by the amused look on Joanna's face.

"Should I explain to you again the meaning of a closed door, young lady?" her father said, covering his private parts with the remaining sheets, though not as rashly as his wife did.

"I believed it only applied in whorehouses."

Tyrion cursed the day his daughter met her uncle Jaime. He should never have brought her with him to the Wall. And although Tyrion found some comedy to this situation, especially since he saw a face looking much like his long gone sister mocking him in a kind way rather than out of hatred, Joanna's mother was much more outraged.

"You should have knocked on the door and waited before coming in," she said, standing and going as quickly as she could without running to the screen, where she began to put on a nightgown.

"Well, I didn't knock because you were obviously and noisingly occupied. You would never have heard me. So I waited, and then I came in. I only omitted the knocking part, and this is a part you wouldn't have heard, or wanted to hear."

"That is not appropriate, Joanna," her mother lectured her.

"Well, since I'm never gonna marry, appropriateness is a little overstated in my case."

As always when this subject came on, Sansa took her scolding face, and Tyrion decided it was best, like always, to stay outside of it. It had taken months for his wife to forgive him. You really have a very unhappy alternative before you. Your mother will never forgive you if you do not marry him. And if you do, since you don't want to marry him, I'm the one who will never forgive you. Tyrion would rather not do or say anything that would remind the words he said, or else this morning's events might not happen again before a very long time.

"Why are you here?" Sansa simply asked, coming from behind the screen, this time covered by a heavy nightgown which hid all parts of her body.

"Because Lady Tyrell asked for you. Should I tell her you are busy with… whatever you want me to say?" His daughter took a tone and expression that made plain how the situation was absurd and stupid.

But at the same time, Sansa's face changed completely, as if she remembered something.

"I was supposed to see her early today." But then she was back at being the authoritative and lecturing mother. "Get out now. We will talk about all this later."

Joanna made a playful reverence and left, taking all her time, and shouting a wink at her father as she closed the door. She was Tyrion's daughter, there was no doubt about it.

"I have to hurry," Sansa said, pulling one of the small threads against the wall. This would start a small bell in the servants' quarters, indicating them that Sansa needed her handmaidens. This also meant Tyrion should make sure these young women wouldn't find him naked either. So he put on a nightgown as well as breeches and a shirt. In the meantime, Sansa was preparing her own clothes, making the work quicker for her handmaidens. And Tyrion easily saw how much work these young girls would have because of him.

"Make sure they brush your hair."

And of course, this probed Sansa to look into her glass and how intermingled it was. "One day, I should have you brush them yourself. Maybe you would be more careful with them."

"Do you really want me to stop?"

Sansa hesitated. "Forget what I said," showing clearly her preferences.

"Furthermore," Tyrion continued, not willing to let go such an opportunity, "you have your own share of responsibility in their actual state. You're quite active into bed."

"Stop it!" she snapped, turning her face to not look at him, though Tyrion knew she was hiding a smile. His wife still kept some form of shyness, even with her husband. She could tolerate, even secretly enjoy bawdy jokes, but she would never make one or actively show she approved of them. The only place where she would allow herself such behavior was when they were in bed, participating in one of Tyrion's favorite leisure.

However, Tyrion noticed something else. He and Sansa knew each other only too well. A simple glance, and one could know something was wrong with the other. But the two handmaidens arrived as he thought so. Tyrion retired to his personal solar, where he dressed for the day. His squire had left his clothes for today on his desk's chair, as usual. He barely saw his squire. He was a very discreet man, and it worked well for Tyrion. He wasn't close to any squire he had since the day he died. He had been lucky that someone brought him to Daenerys this day. Two of his friends didn't have the same chance.

He started to work, reading the messages that had come from Casterly Rock since yesterday. Even though Gerion was officially acting ruler of the Westerlands, Tyrion remained the Lord of Casterly Rock and still took part in the administration of his kingdom, in addition to his duties as Hand of the Queen. However, for now, he just read the messages and took notes. The real work would begin later.

He did so while his wife prepared for the day. Despite her hurry, it took her quite some time. Tyrion sometimes wondered why the time required for a woman to prepare for the day was always much longer than for a man. Tyrion thought, not without humor, that things would be much simpler if women were to spend their day naked. Though Tyrion immediately concluded this was stupid. If he was surrounded by naked women, he wouldn't be able to resist the envy of looking at them, and he didn't want any of the thoughts that might accompany them. He wanted those kind of thoughts to be only directed towards Sansa.

As he had gone through the messages from the Westerlands and started looking at the messages from the entire realm, Tyrion fell upon a report from the Master of Whisperers on the state of the Iron Islands. This was Varys's handwriting, and his signature at the bottom. This was the last report he made four days ago, before he gave his last breath. Until the end, he had worked for Daenerys and the realm, and he had kept writing reports himself, not trusting anyone with writing them in his stead.

When his mind had turned to Varys earlier, Tyrion had still been in bed with the woman he loved. He had turned back all his attention to her, which allowed him to forget about his friend's passing for a moment. Hearing the handmaids talk with their mistress, Tyrion couldn't help but feel guilty about it. It wasn't the first time he had used Sansa as a distraction from his dark thoughts. The times he felt the most guilt was when he would wake up in the middle of the night, after dreaming of another woman. It rarely happened, and the truth was Tyrion only ever dreamed of women belonging to his past. Thoughts of cheating on his wife were foreign to him. He could feel temporarily attracted by another woman, but would never allow his thoughts to go farther than finding her beautiful. He made sure Sansa was the only woman he could think about when it came to any sentimental or physical relationship.

But sometimes, Tyrion would make dreams about women who had been dear to him. A few times these dreams were about Shae, and more often they would be about Tysha. To his great shame, there was even one morning when Sansa told him he whispered his first wife's name in his sleep. Although Sansa ensured him it was nothing, he could tell she was hurt. So, when Tyrion woke up early in the morning or even in the middle of the night after dreaming about one of these two women, he often proceeded with actions that would remind who was the woman he truly loved, his wife and the mother of his children.

Tyrion was telling himself he was doing it for Sansa. It was his own way to apologize for dreaming about another woman, even if she wasn't aware of the dream. He focused on pleasuring her above all else. Her moans, her whispers with his name, and even her shouting sometimes, helped him to forget. And in these occasions, no one could stop him. Sansa sometimes told him to stop, realizing what he was doing as she emerged from deep sleep, but he wouldn't. Anyway, she ended up appreciating it. It even fitted well with their common dedication at times. Whenever Sansa wanted a child, they would avoid no occasion to increase their chances. Tyrion had a tendency to think that it was one of those sessions that began in the middle of the night that gave birth to Gerion.

Still, he felt guilty. He felt like back in the times he was in a relationship with Shae, when he would just come to her and fuck her, without even asking if she actually wanted to. For Shae, it had probably not been a big deal. After all, she was doing it for her living. But Sansa…

Tyrion chased Shae's memory from his mind once again. Though he knew he couldn't entirely, not today. He focused on the report Varys left before he died. It identified a few leaders of the troubles in the Iron Islands and suggested approaches to deal with them discreetly, to avoid another mass uprising in the Iron Islands. Tyrion would have to talk with Daenerys about it. These were Varys's last advice, and Tyrion intended to follow them, if only to honor his memory.

"Tyrion, come!"

As always, when Sansa called, Tyrion answered and left aside all the work he could continue later. Tyrion knew very well that, just like for his official father, word circulated that the Lord of Casterly Rock and Hand of the Queen was ruled at home by his wife. And Tyrion didn't mind that rumor circulating at all.

He found Sansa alone, wearing a simple purple gown. "So, how am I?"

Her hair was perfectly smoothed, there wasn't a single fold to her gown, and not a single imperfection on her face. "You're perfect," Tyrion stated as a consequence.

"Seriously?" Sansa asked, the edge of her voice making it clear she wasn't looking for flattery,

"You're perfect," Tyrion repeated, because this was what he thought.

"I hope you're right." She approached, knelt and kissed him. "And you're not going to disrobe me this morning."

"Can I do it with my eyes?"

"I don't mind," she said, smiling in the process. Tyrion realized she was having pity for him. "I'm sorry for Varys. I know he was a good friend of yours."

Tyrion nodded. "Yes, he was. Please, tell Lady Margaery that I'm sorry for her loss. I didn't get the chance to tell her yet."

"I will." Sansa didn't leave, which meant she had something else to say, which she said. "We will need a good conversation about Joanna later."

"If this is about her irruption on our bedroom, I'm fine with that. But if you want to discuss the marriage matter again…" Tyrion didn't dare to finish his sentence, for he didn't need to. The marriage matter was how they had come to call this issue.

Sansa sat down on their bed. "She's got to marry one day."

And here they went again. Well, despite Sansa saying they would need to discuss it later, Tyrion guessed it might be better to empty the subject right away.

"Sansa, we've been over this a thousand times. Our daughter does not want to marry."

"Well, she will have to, someday. She must."

"There is no law in the Seven Kingdoms against celibacy."

"You know very well what I mean, Tyrion. What is going to happen to her when we will no longer be there?"

"She will still have her brothers. She and Gerion get along very well. He will always need her to rule the Westerlands. Her position is not in danger. No more than it should be if she was married."

Sansa took her time to answer. "Tyrion, I know you married me very late. You were in your thirties when we got engaged. But you are a man. The reality of women is much different. I don't know what would be my situation if I hadn't been married to you."

Tyrion didn't dare to reply right away. This required a thoughtful answer. "And what if you had been married to Joffrey? Or if my father decided to marry you to someone else? Marriage is not a guarantee of safety for Joanna."

"We can ensure she will not be married to a monster."

"That's the problem, Sansa. We can't. Look at your father. When Robert Baratheon suggested you and Joffrey got engaged, he accepted. He didn't know back then that Joffrey was a monster. You were lucky to not marry him in the end. You were even lucky to get out of this betrothal alive."

The images of what had happened almost twenty-five years ago still haunted Tyrion, when he walked into the Throne Room to find a little girl lying on the floor, her clothes ripped off, about to be beaten by Meryn Trant. This little girl would become his wife one day, although he didn't know it at the time, and his actions back then put his own life in danger. It was never good to antagonize a king, but he did it all the same. And he didn't regret it.

"I just don't want her to be alone," Sansa said.

Tyrion came to sit by her side and took her hand in his. "Sometimes, it's better to remain alone than to be miserable with someone else. And I'm not going to force Joanna into a marriage when she doesn't want to. Sometimes, I feel you've forgotten you were forced into one as well."

"I don't regret it. I wouldn't be married with you if I wasn't."

"Perhaps, but my father wanted me to rape you. And before that there was Joffrey. And I… Sansa let's be honest. I felt terrible when we got married. That night, I was planning to consummate our marriage when we got into our bedchamber. I waited for you to undress before I changed my mind. And it could have gone the other way."

Sansa stood up. She was obviously exasperated. "This is not about you, Tyrion. This is about our daughter. It is true, I wasn't happy when we married. I was scared, our two families were at war, and… I was stupid. I still believed that life was like a tale and that I could find… I was still thinking about meeting a knight in one of my childhood stories. But we managed to be happy all the same. My parents… they didn't know each other either. My mother was supposed to marry my uncle before he died. They ended up loving each other in the end as well. And Jon and Margaery… Perhaps their marriage is not as good as it could be, but they get along very well and they had three children together. Joanna… she doesn't understand that."

"She does, Sansa. We've spoken with her. She's well aware of all that. And for every marriage that got better, there are always others that were horrible. Your aunt Lysa poisoned her husband, and Cersei killed Robert Baratheon. What I mean is, she can end up with a horrible husband. And even if we find her someone good, people change. We cannot guarantee that she will be happy in marriage."

"And what if she wants children one day? If she's not married…" She didn't finish her sentence. She interrupted it. Tyrion deducted that Sansa didn't want to voice the possibility that one of their children might have children out of marriage. Tyrion understood her concerns. Even though himself would never reject one of his daughters for bearing children out of marriage, everyone else might. His wife was worried.

"That's out of our control. Anyway, marriage would not ensure children for her. There are too many married women who never managed to have children." Tyrion sighed and stood up just like his wife. "Listen, Sansa. We know this discussion will lead us nowhere. I'm not forcing Joanna to marry if she doesn't want to. I spoke at length with her, she knows very well what this means, and I will not impose an union on one of our children when she clearly doesn't want any. I made myself very clear before, and I will not change my mind. I'm sorry."

Sansa looked for a very long time at him. Tyrion sustained her gaze for some time, but he turned it away, unable to sustain it any longer. He knew Sansa was disappointed, even angry at him, although she wouldn't use words to show it.

"I'm going to spend time with Margaery. She needs company right now. I'll see you at the funerals."

And she left. Tyrion knew that such a discussion could not end well. Hopefully, Sansa wouldn't spend weeks angry at him this time. Tyrion let a chuckle escape his throat, thinking how he and his wife had grown into what could be described an old couple, squabbling about their children.

All of a sudden, Tyrion felt old. Here he was, Hand of the Queen, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, Lord of the Westerlands and Warden of the West, dragon rider, one of the most powerful men in the world, married to a beautiful woman and father of five children. He had a good life, much better than what he would have expected, and that was the problem. In this very moment, he felt this good life was more behind than ahead of him. The last years had gone so quickly. With some chance, he would be grandfather sooner than he would realize it. And that made him feel old, even after the energic session he had with Sansa this morning. He felt his best years already slipping away from him.

Slowly, he went to his solar, intent on continuing his early work, but his mind was still filled with thoughts of age and time slipping away. Although he tried not to think about them and to dismiss them, the maesters recommendations and concerns did affect Tyrion. As someone literate, he had read about everything, including books on medicine and health. And he had read more than enough about history for his mind to be filled with examples of great kings and lords whose health deteriorated in their final years. He was beginning to feel these effects, and he cursed the gods for it.

Even as he began to read his old friend's last report, he couldn't help but think about the injustice of life. Varys had given his entire life to serving the Seven Kingdoms, for very little recognizance. He had been a servant all his life, and was seen as such by everyone, despised and feared at the same time. Tyrion was best placed to understand how his friend had felt. He had endured the same hostility for a very long time, and although things had gotten better in his late life, he knew many people still mocked him and looked down upon him because of his dwarfism. Even if his family and friends helped him, they couldn't make these feelings disappear.

He cursed the gods for not allowing him enough time. No matter how pious Sansa was, Tyrion would never be. The gods gave him his appearance, and stole the best years of his life. They should have let him be born a few years later. Maybe this way he would never have met Tysha, and the tragedy that befell her would never have happened. He wouldn't have developed such a taste for brothels and whores, and Shae would never have made her way into his life. He would have been younger when he met Sansa. Perhaps he wouldn't have seen her only as a little girl when they first met. He would have loved her early in their marriage, unburdened by the memories of both Shae and Tysha, and they would have had more time together. Instead, he lost years drinking, whoring, gambling, while the woman he loved was just waiting for him to meet her.

My father was a traitor. My mother and brother are traitors, too. I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey.

When he came back to King's Landing after the Battle of the Green Fork to act as Hand and offered his condolences to Sansa, these were the only words she ushered. This had surprised Tyrion. He wasn't confused by her words, but surprised.

It wasn't hard to understand why she said those words. Her father had been killed, along with all his northern retinue. She was afraid. She said what was required of her to say in order to stay alive. Having been a privileged outcast all his life, Tyrion was well placed to understand her position, and from her point of view, he could only approve her behavior. However, there were more than words behind all this. There had been something in her eyes, when she looked straight at him while saying the words. There was defiance. It was almost as if she challenged him to find something inappropriate in her words.

Of course you are.

He didn't push the matter further. He didn't want to cause trouble to the young girl, and he had some work to do as acting Hand, so no time to waste. Still, he sent her a glaze that told her clearly he wasn't buying it. And she had looked away.

Tyrion realized only later to what extent Joffrey had made this girl's life miserable. He heard a few words, some bribes of conversation, even received reports of Joffrey. Being Hand of a very difficult king, Tyrion didn't give much attention to the issue first. Varys had told him Joffrey didn't hit Sansa himself, pretending it wasn't appropriate for a king, and that many kingsguards only reluctantly hit Sansa on his nephew's orders. There was even Sandor Clegane who flatly refused to do so. And to his shame, Tyrion had to acknowledge he didn't consider Joffrey to be the main problem. To him, it was Cersei. It was only after Cersei admitted it was Joffrey who ordered the murder of all Robert Baratheon's bastards that Tyrion fully understood the threat over Sansa Stark's head. So he made Shae her handmaiden, to both occupy her and keep an eye on Sansa.

Shae and Varys both reported to him when Sansa was mistreated. They didn't always witness it, but Shae could always tell whether Sansa had bruises on her body. Shae had a long personal experience with bruises, which were often part of her job. Tyrion didn't address the matter immediately because it seemed Sansa was seldom hurt, and only in minor ways. It seemed Joffrey was getting calmer. Today, he knew it was because Sansa made sure she didn't get herself into trouble. He was shamed by this. He didn't give enough importance to protecting Sansa and instead allowed his mind to focus on the other matters that were more important to the realm. Because back then, that was how he mostly saw Sansa. She was a matter to the realm, a hostage that ensured no harm would come to Jaime.

And then the inevitable happened. After the Battle of the Whispering Woods, Joffrey humiliated and had Sansa beaten in public, in front of the whole court. If his memories were correct, it was Shae who warned him after Sansa was dragged out of her rooms by the kingsguards, and he headed right away to the Throne Room. It was only after he intimidated Joffrey into calming himself that Tyrion actually tried to protect Sansa, and went as far as asking her if she still wanted her engagement with Joffrey. This was no trap. In this very moment, he was ready to cancel this engagement, after witnessing firsthand his nephew's cruelty. The soft spot in his heart for cripples, bastards and broken things had taken over.

I am loyal to King Joffrey, my one true love.

And again, Sansa Stark had surprised him. Not only he understood her actions now, but he came to admire the thirteen-years-old girl. He understood she might survive his whole family. And she did. If only he had known that about a year later he would marry her…

So much time lost. He barely noticed her during his stay at Winterfell, barely noticing her lovely face. He had no evil notions concerning Ned Stark's daughter back then. His evil notions only concerned Ros and some other whores. As pervert as Tyrion might have been, his pervert ideas never extended to little girls. At most, he could acknowledge they would become very beautiful women one day, nothing more. And anyway, he barely saw her.

And then there was the time lost at King's Landing, being Hand then Master of Coin for an idiot and vicious king. And when his father announced him he would marry Sansa, he opposed, almost refused. He reluctantly accepted in the end, knowing this would make no difference. Tywin Lannister was not a man you could say no to. And it would do Sansa no good, for she would most likely be married to another Lannister. But still, this time was lost. Tyrion kept his distance with his new wife, out of love for Shae, our of his respect for Sansa. Then there was the Red Wedding, his father's death, his trial, and all the politics that came after it. Not to mention Kevan's attempt to make him repudiate Sansa and marry another lady. Tyrion's refusal had been on of the best decisions in his life. And there was the time they were separated during those damn wars.

So much time lost, which he could have used to better know Sansa, better enjoy the time he had with her. All this time that was stolen to him, by the gods, by politics, by his father, by his sister, by wars, by everything. He had lost time with Varys too, seeing him as a potential threat for too much time, before truly considering him a friend and actually enjoying this friendship. He had lost time with Daenerys as well, and with his brother Jaime. All this time, lost to the game of thrones, lost to schemes, lost for the thrill and desire of power. And now, he had so few time left ahead of him.

He heard the sound of the door opening very clearly. It startled him, but he soon realized who it was. For the second time this morning, Joanna interrupted him. Straightforward as always, she sat in front of him without caring to ask the permission or without even greeting. Tyrion didn't care much. He was used to and even amused by his daughter's direct behavior, but today he could only be used and not amused by it.

"So, what news from the Westerlands?" she asked. Not waiting for an answer, she seized one of the scrolls and read it aloud. "The Leffords want to increase the trading rights on all merchants passing through their lands on the River Road."

"This is no surprise, but we cannot allow it. Trade is necessary, and by doing this they will divert trade from roads in the Westerlands to Seaguard. Merchants will find it cheaper to send their merchandise by sea between the Westerlands and the Riverlands rather than through land."

"I don't think it would be such a bad thing, Father. After all, trading rights in harbors are higher than on the roads. We could increase our revenues if more supplies went through the small harbors rather than the roads. And losses due to thievery are smaller on sea than on the road."

"Not if we account for the highest probabilities of sea accidents with smaller ships. Seaguard is not a major harbor like Lannisport or King's Landing. Only smaller ships can drop the anchor there, and they are more vulnerable in the waters of the Sunset Sea. Plus we don't watch officials as closely in these small harbors, so the corruption of officers is higher."

Joanna gave him a smug look. "You don't want the Mallisters to be unhappy." She had struck right at the heart of the matter.

"I lowered the royal trading rights on both road and sea last year, but I gave authorization to Seaguard to increase the tariffs for the city, because they had already lowered theirs a few years before. The Leffords want to use this opportunity to increase their own tariffs, only they hadn't lowered their tariffs previously. I can't have the Mallisters unhappy and asking for another increase of their tariffs. Or else all the other lords in the Seven Kingdoms will ask for the same."

"Are you the Hand of the Queen or the Lord of Casterly Rock right now?"

"Both. And I order you to settle this matter with the Leffords, and to not let them increase their tariffs."

"As you wish, my lord," his daughter bowed while sitting, obviously in mockery. Tyrion smiled. The kind jabs of his daughter were refreshing. "Everyone will attend the funerals of Lord Varys today," she added, on a serious tone this time.

"They have to. These are royal funerals."

"I'm sorry, Father. I know Lord Varys and you were good friends." His daughter's words touched him more than from anyone else.

"Thank you."

"Do you know who will replace him as Master of Whisperers?"

"This decision belongs to the Queen. The truth is, I don't think anyone will ever be able to replace Varys. He was… unique. No one can ever replace him."

"Maybe I could." She said the words while seizing another parchment. She spoke of it as if it wasn't a big deal, but Tyrion knew she was doing it on purpose to attract his attention. He and his father used the same tactic very often. And Tyrion knew his daughter was ambitious. A seat on the small council was something she was looking forward.

"I'm afraid you're way too valuable in the Westerlands. Especially with your brother."

"Or maybe you could go back to Casterly Rock and I could become Hand of the Queen. I would be the first woman Hand."

Tyrion smiled at the prospect. He had started to look at a scroll as well to return the tactic his daughter was using. It was an innocent game of thrones they enjoyed together. "Thanks for the offer, but I don't think our queen is ready to let me go."

"I hope you never say that in front of Mother. You spend almost more time with Daenerys Targaryen than with her. She might start to get jealous."

Tyrion tried to look unmoved by this insinuation. It wasn't the one about he and Daenerys that troubled him, but rather the reference to potential frictions between him and Sansa, which actually took place this very morning. "Your mother and I have many matters on which we disagree, but the queen is not one of them."

She must have noticed something, in his voice or the imperceptible movements of his body, because Joanna looked over the scroll and looked straight at her father, worried. "Did I cause problems this morning?"

"Not you. It wasn't your fault. The marriage matter came up, once again."

He didn't have to wait for his daughter's reaction. Her face turned to stone, her eyes were throwing daggers. She almost pitched the scroll she was holding on Tyrion's desk. It was one of these moments she looked terribly similar to her deceased aunt. "What was it this time? Did she find me another groom?"

"Rest reassured. She only told me once again that you needed to marry. And I reminded her again that I would never force you to marry against your will. My stance remains the same. As long as you don't want to marry, I will refuse to ever speak to you again if you get married."

This elicited a short smile on his daughter's lips, but it was gone very soon. "She should just let it be."

"It's not easy for her, Joanna. She's merely trying to do what she thinks is best for you. Gerion is already married, Serena is betrothed, and it is only a matter of time before we find a bride for Robb."

"What about Ned?"

Tyrion didn't answer right away. "His case is… more complicated," he reluctantly admitted, speaking of his last and only child who inherited his dwarfism.

"If Ned has the possibility to never get married, why shouldn't I?"

"It's not really fair for your little brother, Joanna. It's not really a chance he got. You know how your mother and I ended up married. It is an unlikely chance we had."

"Well, anyway, she can dream all she wants. I'll never marry."

"I hear you, and I'm on your side. I just hope you will never regret it one day. Believe me, today I regret I didn't meet and marry your mother sooner."

Joanna nodded. "I get it, Father. But truth be told, I'm not interested in bonding myself to a man, and although I find it funny to see Mother flustered when I interrupt your fucking, I'm not interested in it."

Tyrion didn't flinch before her language like Sansa would have. "Well, next time, please, knock at the door and don't enter before we authorize you. I don't hate seeing your mother blush me neither, but your interruption somehow brought the marriage matter back on the table with an unpleasant discussion between your mother and I."

Her facial expression changed immediately. On this familiar face, Tyrion saw something he never witnessed on Cersei's traits, something to remind him of how different Joanna was from her aunt. "I'm sorry, Father. I didn't want to cause you trouble. I love you, and I love Mother too. I just wish she would let down all this marriage talk."

"She will, Joanna. Just give her some time. Your mother… She didn't get the passage to adulthood you had. I suppose she thinks that if she hadn't met me, she might not have survived the War of the Five Kings and the others that came after. And I believe she's wrong. She is one of the most intelligent and resourceful women I've ever met. Otherwise, I'm not sure I would have fallen in love with her. I think she would be alive even if we hadn't gotten married. She might be Queen in the North right now if we had not met. But I'm glad we did."

"So am I. Or else, I wouldn't be there."

"All this to say, I think she just feels insecure for you. But it will not last. We must just avoid the matter."

Joanna nodded. "I hope this will be enough."

His daughter seized another scroll. "Now, guess who is complaining about bandits infesting the roads on his lands?"

And just like that, they were back to the matters of the Westerlands, and in some cases of the Seven Kingdoms. Tyrion actually enjoyed talking about the matters of the realm with his daughter as much as with his sister and Sansa. It was strange, now that he thought about it, how he appreciated women's advice on matters of state. That was not something his father would have done. This reassured him. This meant he wasn't like him, no matter which father Tyrion was thinking about.

He was not like his father. Sansa, Daenerys, Joanna, and many other people, including Varys and Jaime back when they were still alive, had always been there to remind him of that. And that made him feel good. This was probably one of the best memories he had of Varys, one of the first men who believed in him even when Tyrion didn't trust himself.

---

Joanna

She stood behind her parents, behind the royal family and the members of the small council. Joanna remained in the second row, next to her brother Gerion and his wife on her left, with her sister Serena on her right. Her little brother Ned stood at the right of Serena. She regretted that Robb wasn't there with them.

The Dragonpit was almost half-empty for the funerals of Lord Varys, the Spider, Master of Whisperers. When their whole family walked inside the structure, Joanna noticed her father's hands forming into fists. She suspected he was angry that so few people had come for his friend's departure. He had organized these funerals himself.

Joanna wasn't that surprised. Despite the recent tournament, many lords had already left. Even their uncle Jon was gone. Still, anyone still inside the city over a certain rank was expected to attend the service. So even if they didn't want to come, they did. Though Joanna was sure some had found excuses to not be present.

The Dragonpit had been partially restored while Joanna was still a child. Daenerys Targaryen had it restored to testify of the return of the Targaryen dynasty. But in her father's advice, she kept the structure wide open so that her dragons could freely get out of it, to avoid dragons getting smaller within a few decades like for those of Aegon Targaryen and his descendants. However, with no ceiling, nothing could keep the dragons inside, and they had no reason to come inside. And so the restored Dragonpit was left empty.

Her father had not wished for the Dragonpit to remain as useless restored ruins, so he and the queen found ways to have it used, adding rows of seats all around it, turning the pit in a large gathering place for public events. Such events included the recently finished tourney, but also public funerals like today, as well as theatre shows. Daenerys Targaryen had also used the Dragonpit as the place where she officially declared war on the Iron Islands when they rebelled.

But today, the use was limited to the funerals of the former Master of Whisperers. They could still see some leftovers and marks from the recent tournament. Joanna could even smell it. However, that didn't stop people from attending the funerals, if only not to displease the queen and her Hand. The presence of two dragons at the top of the Dragonpit either encouraged or discouraged people to attend.

In the center of the Dragonpit, Lord Varys's body was displayed to everyone. Joanna could tell he had been embalmed by the Silent Sisters. His eyes were covered by two small funeral stones representing his eyes open, meaning they were closing to the world but opening to the afterlife. Three people stood in front of the coffin, including the queen. To her right stood the High Septon, richly clad with heavy clothes and his ornamented crown. To her left stood the High Priestess Kinvara, first person in the hierarchy of the faith of the Lord of Light in Westeros.

Joanna heard this kind of display would never have been possible before her birth. Ever since the reign of Jaehaerys the First, the Targaryen dynasty had considered the Faith of the Seven to be a pillar of its authority, and the short-lived Baratheon dynasty had continued this path, until Cersei Lannister, the Mad Queen, allowed the Faith Militia to be recreated, starting the catastrophes that led to her demise and the coming of the new dynasty. Daenerys Targaryen had offered amnesties to all followers of the Faith at the condition that the Faith Militia was disbanded, and that the Faith would tolerate the presence of all other religions that didn't trouble the public peace or the royal authority. Which explained how the temples of the Lord of Light spread through the Seven Kingdoms under Queen Daenerys, and why the High Septon now stood with the woman who led the main opposing religion.

Joanna found it quite funny to see this old man standing next to Lady Kinvara. He was obviously not happy to share the first spiritual place with someone else, let alone a woman from a different faith. Kinvara, on her side, didn't seem to mind. Both of them pronounced a prayer for the deceased. Then the queen stepped forward.

"Over fifty years ago, Lord Varys crossed the Narrow Sea on the request of my father. He served him for years until his death. People often think of Lord Varys as someone who fed his paranoia. The memory I retain from him for this period is that when an army showed at the doors of King's Landing and pretended to be here to help my father, Lord Varys was one of the few to advise my father to not open the gates to these men. On this day, he should have listened to Lord Varys. Many sufferings would have been avoided on if he had. Lord Varys would go on to serve three other kings, then he would help me come back on the Iron Throne, ending the tyranny of the Baratheon usurpers. Many believe he didn't fight during the Great War, but he did. Lord Varys fought in the shadows rather than in the open field or on city walls, but that doesn't mean his contribution was any less important. He served the realm faithfully for many years. Now the time has come for him to rest."

The queen turned her gaze into Joanna's direction. Her father left their ranks and advanced towards the center of the place. He stopped next to the body, and remained motionless for a moment. Then he said something that was barely audible.

"During the Battle of Blackwater, I was severely injured. I spent many days recovering, and during that lapse of time, Varys was among the very few who came to see me. It was in the time when I was forced to serve my nephew, Joffrey. I will always remember what he told me back then. There are many who know that without you the city faced certain defeat. The king won't give you any honors, the histories won't mention you, but we will not forget. Somehow, his words proved to be partially wrong, but back then, they were true to almost everyone. In the next century, very few people will remember Varys. But I will never forget him."

Her father's voice broke down in the end. Then he shouted a word in Valyrian, and one of the two dragons, his own, Viserion, flew down and landed carefully in front of the body. Everyone put distance between them and the dead man. Then her father shouted another command, and Viserion blew his fire over the Master of Whisperers.

They then stayed there, watching the body slowly burn. Joanna noticed some people were looking at it in fascination as they looked at the fires eating the flesh and bones, while others looked afraid that the two dragons might unleash their breath upon them, and others only seemed eager to leave. Joanna, on her side, was looking at her father.

Ever since the day she was born, or at least as far as she could remember, Joanna had followed her father everywhere. She didn't know why it happened, but she suspected it had something to do with her seclusive nature. To the untrained observer, Joanna was the perfect model of a lady, who had mastered all the arts associated with living at the court. But this could not have been farther from the truth.

At a very young age, Joanna didn't share the same taste for games as other children. She was solitary. But she was also brilliant. She mastered lessons taught by maesters and other teachers like no one else. And she saw her father very often. And he taught her a lot as well. Most of what Joanna knew came from her lord father. She found it funny at first how her father was of a similar height to hers, and how smaller than her mother he was. She even wished, in one of her childhood wish, that she would remain the same height as her father. Years made the wish disappear, of course.

Joanna had led a very reclusive style of life, only participating to social activities when required. She had almost no friend, aside from her own father. Even with her own mother, despite how much time Sansa Lannister spent with her daughter, she remained distant. And then, one day, when she was perhaps eleven or twelve, she surprised a group of young ladies mocking her, laughing at every aspect of her person. And it hurt her more than she could have ever imagined. It was at this moment that her father gave her the most important lesson of her life.

People like to diminish others, because it makes them feel better than they are. But this is of no use. In the end of the day, they are no better out of it. The only way we can get better is by getting better ourselves. Don't look at yourself as someone inferior, Joanna. You are not. You are my daughter, a Lannister of Casterly Rock, and also a Stark through your mother. And do you know how we can get better? We ignore that kind of person, and we prove them again and again that they are wrong, until the moment they realize that mocking us only make them look like fools, or until the moment they die and can no longer mock us. Never give them a reason to humiliate you, but understand that some way or another, there will always be fools to mock us. And we can't help but let idiots be idiots. Just let them think you're an idiot until they realize they are wrong.

His words had stuck with her. But strangely enough, this accident had been a rebirth for Joanna. She had wanted to show all these fools they were wrong about her. So she applied herself to be better than them in every domain. Joanna had always excelled in almost all disciplines, whether it was with words or numbers, writing or speaking, but she applied herself even more from now on. And she applied herself to be the most admired lady in the Seven Kingdoms. That was at this moment that she got closer to her mother, who was the only one able to teach her these things. This application to excellency and to surpass herself had finally made Joanna who she was today.

Her brother Gerion was the future Lord of Casterly Rock. A knight at the age of fifteen, he had already participated to a war and was married. He had also won his own share of tourneys, including the one that just took place in King's Landing. But her brother's aptitude's stopped there. He didn't have the patience required to rule. He never had the right dispositions for administering finances, justice, diplomacy, politics, or to deal with his own subjects. Joanna loved her brother, of course, but sometimes she resented him for being the future Lord of Casterly Rock, when it was obvious he didn't have the required qualities to fill his duties. When she looked at him, she sometimes feared he would end up like Robert Baratheon, the man who won a war to become king, who was an example of courage and bravery, but spent his long reign drinking, eating and whoring while his advisors tried to pick up the pieces he left behind him. And who also ended up being poisoned by his own wife, Joanna's aunt, the woman she regretted to look like.

She looked at her father, who stood next to the burning remains of his friend. This man was the right kind of lord for Casterly Rock. He had taught Joanna almost everything she knew. It was thanks to him that she was the one actually ruling the Westerlands in place of her brother, who spent his days training and hunting, and who led their armies when war was upon them. Joanna Lannister admired her father. He had been born in a high and powerful family, but cast aside because of a deformity, and yet he had become the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms. But Joanna especially admired her father for being a good man. He had gone through so many hardships in his life. Tyrion Lannister may not know it, but his daughter knew things about him he never dared to tell his children. Such as what had happened to his first wife. Or how he died to be resuscitated afterwards. Joanna was always on her father's side, and she would always be. The fact he stood against his own wife, the women who was said to rule over him at home, to avoid a marriage to Joanna, only strengthened their bond.

Joanna's gaze went to the woman who currently stood right behind her father. The flames distorted the figures of the queen, her Hand, the High Septon and the High Priestess. And through the distorted air, she saw something. It was gone as soon as it had appeared, but for a very short moment, she had seen another woman standing right behind her father. And all that was left were the very same people around the burning remains of Lord Varys.

The ashes of the Master of Whisperers were later buried in a crypt under the Dragonpit, the new place where kings, queens, their relatives and a few lucky ones were buried. The old practice of burying them under the Great Sept of Baelor had ended with the Great Sept itself. The last king to be buried there had been Tommen Baratheon, on the orders of Cersei Lannister, during her very short reign.

Although funerals were a moment of grieving, the unavoidable gathering of lords and knights they caused led to similarly unavoidable feasts. They were more sober in nature, but they qualified as feasts nonetheless, even if they were limited to people serving themselves at large tables.

Joanna spent the first part of it with her parents, but she slowly walked away and stood aside with a glass of wine observing people all around her. Her parents were talking with the Lord of the Golden Tooth, the latter most likely bringing forward again his request to increase trade tariffs. Joanna expected she would have very long discussions with him afterwards. She wasn't sure to agree with her father. Perhaps financially granting their wishes to the Leffords would be negative, but depriving them of revenues didn't look like a good idea. The Leffords would be angry for this refusal. Though Joanna could still use it at her own advantage. What her father first refused… she could grant it afterwards. She began to think about a way that she would grant the Leffords what they wanted, making it seem she changed her father's mind. They would owe her, and she would put that debt to good use. Only, first, she had to actually convince her father to change his mind. He remained the Lord of Casterly Rock, after all. And it was better this way. She might love Gerion as a sister loved her brother, he was still not the best to rule vast lands.

"I see you stay outside of the crowd," a voice next to her said. Joanna had not noticed that the queen had positioned herself right next to her.

"Just like you do, your Grace," Joanna replied, while curtsying.

"A queen must be able to retire when she wants."

"So does a lady."

They shared an accomplice smile. Joanna liked her aunt, even if she didn't know Joanna was aware of their parentage. There was something that made her feel good, to know so much about her close relatives while they thought she ignored them.

"I suppose you will be leaving for Casterly Rock very soon."

"Yes, we will, your Grace. People say there must always be a Stark in Winterfell, but there must also always be a Lannister at Casterly Rock. So unless you want to free my father from his obligations…"

"Only on the day he will die."

"Doesn't it bother you that people start saying that you wear the crown while your Hand is the one actually ruling the Seven Kingdoms?"

"People may say things. That doesn't make them true," the queen replied, allowing a thin smile so that Joanna would understand she knew she was playing her. This did not discourage Joanna, however.

"Well, perhaps the truth is only what people make of it. After all, a wise man once said that power was nothing more than a shadow on the wall."

Again, the queen smiled thinly. "Varys used to say that. And I'm sure your father told you."

"He did," Joanna confirmed. "It is one of the many lessons he gave to me."

"Some would disapprove. Some say that armies give power. Others believe it is a crown. Others think information is power. And some foolishly believe that power is power."

Joanna grimaced. "You took that from the woman I look like."

"You know I despise her as much as you do."

"No. I think I hate her more." Joanna took a sip of wine. "You saw her once. What did you think of her?"

The queen didn't reply immediately. "She was already dying. I barely had the time to look into her eyes before life left her."

"Did she really look like me?"

"Physically, yes. She did look like you. But she is very far from the woman I stand next to. You are everything she never was."

"Which means?"

Daenerys Targaryen looked straight into her eyes. "A great lady. Your aunt was no better than a slave master."

Joanna knew how that meant Cersei Lannister was seen as a monster by the queen. And she had been a monster. What she had inflicted on so many people, on Joanna's own parents… The will to be everything but like this aunt was another thing that drove Joanna her whole life.

"I guess if he had still been alive, Lord Varys would have had many thing to tell me about her," Joanna though aloud.

"No doubt he would have."

"Who's going to be the new Master of Whisperers?"

The queen looked again straight to her. "Ask your father. Now, please excuse me, Lady Lannister."

The queen left her there, her question unanswered. Joanna was curious to know who would succeed the Spider. How could someone get a network of spies and informants as extended as Lord Varys?

Joanna's eyes wandered around the crowd, spotting her mother discussing with Lady Tyrell. There was also Gerion who was engaged in another conversation with his wife, just like Serena was talking with her future father-in-law. She couldn't see her father until she saw the queen get out of the room, with him next to her. No doubt they had work to do.

And there was Ned, her youngest brother, sitting in a corner, reading. He was always reading. Some had even started to call him the Reader. She wasn't as close to her little brother as she would have liked. He was the most lonely child of the family, and she regretted that her father, who shared his infirmity, wasn't closer to Ned. Instead, Tyrion Lannister got along the best with his eldest daughter. That made her feel guilty.

She was about to walk toward her brother when a sweet voice came from her right.

"Lady Joanna. I was glad to see you for the ceremony."

"Lady Kinvara."

The High Priestess had come to her, her mysterious smile displayed like always on her face. "I would like to talk with you, Lady Joanna. Would you mind accompanying me?"

"No, of course," Joanna said, but she looked at her little brother above her shoulder all the same before she followed the High Priestess. She would spend time with Ned later.

The woman, both dressed in red but with very different styles of clothing, progressed through an exterior corridor of the Red Keep.

"I regret the death of Lord Varys. He didn't believe in the gods, but whether he liked it or not he was serving their goals."

"Like we all do, according to you."

The High Priestess laughed slightly. "I know I will never convert you. But as strange as it may seem, people with different objectives can still work together towards the same goal."

"And which goal are we talking about right now?"

"Making sure that the Seven Kingdoms and the new dynasty survive to the Hand of the Queen."

Joanna seized the woman's arms and stopped her right away, forcing her to look inside her eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"It is no secret to anybody, Joanna. Your father will die. I have seen it myself. I don't know when our Lord will take him back, but this day will come, sooner or later."

"You have no idea when this will happen."

The priestess withstood her gaze. "No." She was telling the truth. Joanna released her arm.

"Well, I don't see the point in discussing it then."

"We must, though. I spoke with Lord Varys not long before he died. He had summoned me to his apartments and… he told me what he had just discovered. He had found out who I was, before I served the Lord of Light."

Joanna couldn't have been more surprised. "How could he?"

"Somehow, his network of informants finally gave him enough pieces of the puzzle."

Joanna's heart was beating very quickly, not sure how she should feel about what she would ask next. "Is my father… aware of Lord Varys's finding?"

"No, he's not."

Joanna stared at the priestess. "And yet, your collar stopped to work. I saw you through the flames at the ceremony. And my father was troubled on our way back from the Dragonpit. He thought he had heard something while Lord Varys was burning. He heard a voice."

The High Priestess sustained Joanna's gaze. "Maybe he heard something, maybe not. And maybe you saw something, maybe not. It doesn't matter."

"For someone who claims that the truth must always come out, you save a lot of truths for yourself."

Kinvara sighed. "No one is perfect. But there are good reasons to hide the truth to your father. During our last discussion, Varys told me that a long time ago, he thought Tyrion Lannister was one of the few people alive who could make the Seven Kingdoms a better place. He said your father had the will, the mind, and the right last name for it. And he also told me that complications were to be avoided. And he was right. Complications must be avoided."

"Like a child who could pose a threat to the claim of Daenerys Targaryen to the Iron Throne?"

The High Priestess showed a sad smile. "Sometimes, sacrifices are necessary. From all of us. No one ever gets the life he wants." Joanna understood what she meant as she spoke. "I took decisions that were hard for me, a long time ago. And yes, perhaps my life could have been different if I had done differently, but I don't regret my choices. If I hadn't, you wouldn't be alive today, Joanna Lannister, daughter of Tyrion Lannister and Sansa Stark."

Joanna dropped her eyes to show she understood. "So, he will never know."

"Not on this side. But I will be working more closely with him from now on. I will replace Lord Varys as Mistress of Whisperers."

Joanna was taken aback by this revelation, but she recovered from her surprise quite quickly. This was a logical choice. Through the red temples and related sources of information, Kinvara had a strong network on informants at her service.

"So, reassure me, my mother has nothing to fear?" she asked smugly.

"Why would she have anything to fear?" the priestess replied, innocently. "Tyrion has a part to play in the Lord's plan. He's had it since the day he was born. And you have one to play as well."

"And what would it be?" Joanna asked mockingly.

"It remains to be discovered. But the Lord didn't have us meet for no reason. When the time is right, be ready."

This woman unnerved Joanna when she spoke in riddles. It was always very hard for her to have a conversation with Kinvara. She had a huge debt towards this woman, but she wished she was more direct. She didn't care playing the game with her adversaries, but with people she considered close to her, family members, friends, she expected them to be honest and direct.

"Well, whatever it is you think, Kinvara, I don't plan on waiting for something I don't know to happen at a place and time I ignore as well."

"No, indeed. You won't. You are your father's daughter."

That said a lot, even Joanna could tell. "Well, the father's daughter is being called away. Maybe by the Lord of Light himself."

"Then follow his call." Kinvara's gentle rebuke didn't make any impression on her. But as the High Priestess was walking away, Joanna asked her something.

"Lady Kinvara, you're never afraid that my father will someday find out about who you really are?"

The woman turned again to face Joanna. "He already knows who I am. My name is Kinvara. High Priestess of the Red Temple of Westeros, the Flame of Truth, the Light of Wisdom, the First Servant of the Lord of Light. This is who I am, who I was born to be, and who I will remain until the Lord calls me back to him."

"And if he found out who you were?"

"The past doesn't matter. Only the future. His future is you, your brothers, your sister, the children you will have, the fate of the Seven Kingdoms, and his wife."

"Which wife?"

"You already know which one. I wish you a good night, Lady Joanna."

This was strange. Kinvara didn't call her by her title when they were alone. The High Priestess looked at her as if she somehow replaced Joanna's half-sister who she condemned many years ago. But as the High Priestess walked away, it dawned on Joanna. She turned to look behind her, to see Lady Margaery Tyrell heading in her direction.

"Your lady mother sent me. She was looking for you."

"Well, I'll explain to her that a Red Priestess kidnapped me."

The Lady of Highgarden seemed to find it funny. "I can't say that I understand the people who convert to this Lord of Light, but since you were saved by one of their priestess when you were a baby, I understand why you're more open to them."

Joanna noticed the humidity in Lady Tyrell's eyes. Although she suspected her parents knew about the lady's loss, no one knew that Joanna was actually aware of it. It was one of the many secrets Kinvara had told her over the years, along with her father's personal secrets, on which she had to feign ignorance. People weren't to know that Kinvara told her all this.

"Well, sometimes," Joanna began, "it only takes one person at the right place and the right moment to change a life."

"Yes. You're right. You were very lucky."

"Sometimes I wish other babies like me had similar chances."

Her words had made an effect on Lady Tyrell, although she tried to conceal it the best she could. "Yes, if only." They stayed there, not saying a word for a moment, then Lady Tyrell approached her.

"You know, Joanna, your mother told me you had no intention to marry. Is that the case? You will never marry?"

"Unless someone persuades me to do otherwise," she answered defiantly.

The Lady of Highgarden had a humorless laugh. "It may be a good decision after all. We cannot lose what we decide to not have in the first place."

The Lady of Highgarden was looking away in the darkness of the night, towards Blackwater Bay. Joanna followed her gaze. A few years before her birth, a great battle had taken place in that bay. It was during this battle that her father earned his scar when a kingsguard tried to kill him on the orders of his own sister. And it was after this battle that her mother was saved from her first betrothal. Both her parents didn't know it back then, but events were already in motion that would bring them together. Perhaps, Joanna sarcastically thought, somehow, her mother's prayers for the man she thought as the Imp back then had been heard, and the gods had ensured that her future husband would survive.

"Let's get back inside, Joanna. I'm not sure what these priests would say right now, but the night is dark and full of terrors."

Joanna approved and started to walk back towards the inside of the castle. On her way, however, Joanna said something to comfort Lady Tyrell for the loss of her son, without having her suspect anything.

"There is something I think the red priests would say. Our place is in the light, not the darkness. It is with the living, not the dead."

She didn't look at Lady Tyrell as she spoke. They arrived back into the place, where Joanna could see her father, her mother, her aunt, her sister, two of her brothers, and also Lady Tyrell's children. And just as she thought about her uncle Jon and her brother Robb, Margaery Tyrell replied.

"Yes, Joanna. You're right. Our place is with the living."

And Joanna knew she had managed to bring some comfort to a grieving mother.

---

I hope that you appreciated this short sequel to ASAAW. I had been thinking for a long time to bring closure about the child of Margaery and Tommen through a short sequel, and I used the opportunity to also show how the relationships between the characters had evolved over the years, and how Westeros was affected by Daenerys' policies. The epilogue of ASAAW had already provided some insight into it, but it was a chance for me to show even more. I particularly enjoyed showing more about Joanna, a character that I wished I could write more than a single chapter from her point of view. However, this remains a Game of Throne fanfiction, and as such we cannot expect a happily ever after for our characters. They still have their share of problems, even though Westeros is a much better place and is experiencing some sort of a new golden age, like during the twenty-year reign of Robert Baratheon.

The beginning of the story, with Rhaegar's perspective and the hunt, was heavily inspired from the video game "Kingdom Come: Deliverance", a very realistic video game set in a medieval setting. I also took inspiration from the Netflix TV show "The Crown" and the discussion between Queen Elizabeth 1st and her Prime Minister Harold Wilson in the "Aberfan" episode to build the exchange between Tyrion and Daenerys. I think that after ruling for so much time, it is normal for people to doubt themselves, to wonder if everything they did was worth the work.

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