TW(s): Heavy depictions of violence, mentions of SA, character death.

I.

Pathos

"My sweet, sweet Daenerys."

The cry of an infant echoed in the dreary, forlorn stone walls of Dragonstone. The coo and hum of a dying mother whimpered through the storm that pushed sleet and rain to pound against the fortress of the Queen's namesake. If stone walls could talk, they would repeat a history of longtime, tremulous suffering at the hands of men and women with too much pride and little honor. The maester worked to stop the bleeding, but it soaked through the furs and ran down the bed. Her hymn and singing began to die down, a slow —haunting hum that encased the walls as she clutched the babe closer to her chest.

Her song muted the wars of the past, muted the loss, muted the sorrow of this world and what the Gods brought with it.

"Your Grace—" he quieted when he besot the Queen slowly losing consciousness.

Akin to the raging storm outside, the Princess cried at the clutches of the sad sea. The roar of the ocean cheered for the birth of another Targaryen. Perhaps the Gods were celebrating, readily deciding on the coin that would determine her life. Lightning thundered proudly amongst black, burly clouds that made the water and sky touch in an inky blackness, only lit up by a quick shot of light that attacked the dragon's home.

"Please, Pycelle — please don't let him hurt her," she weakly begged the grand maester.

Such a sad sight, but one so common.

"She's Daenerys…Stormborn Targaryen…My sweet daughter."

And on that night where the sea sunk ships and the wind ripped through trees and forced the record keepers in Old Town to recognize it as the strongest storm in decades — the kind and ethereal Queen Rhaella died with her daughter beside her, the faint traces of her family's song sweet on pale lips until nothing could be heard but the storm.

—

When the siege rang around the halls as a false report — The Mad King was quick to burn the men that he sought as liars. More men that proclaimed their innocence or travesty as a mistake would burn alive as five hundred men watched. No one spoke but, no one said a thing — but watched with tired eyes. After so many men with ear curling screams as the wildfire melted their skin, their faces blended together.

At least, Jaimie Lannister felt as such.

On the morrow, there were whispers that the Queen had passed giving birth to the princess. They would be back in a fortnight, choosing to wait out the storm.

When they did return, and King's landing returned to a semblance of some normalcy, the last Targaryen babe was guarded at all hours. When he first laid eyes on her, she was in the hands of Rhaegar — she reached out to him, and her violet eyes bore into his soul.

Daenerys.

The crowned prince covered the grieving loss of his mother with the happiness of his little sister. Yet — there was something else that brought him true sadness behind his incontestable behavior. He knew it all too well.

—

"Ser Jaimie," came a soft voice from the gardens, "look what I picked for you!"

At the age of five, Daenerys wanted nothing more than to spend her time amongst the lemon trees and rose bushes. Playing with her cousins Rhaenys and Aegon, the trio would run around laughing and tripping over themselves — and it almost befit a false narrative that the world wasn't a forsaken mess. He would stand guard, watching and noticing the whispers among the men and women within the gardens. They were everywhere.

Liars and schemers, spiders and webs.

He didn't have the ire or brain to deal with the politics that came with court, but he supposed that watching the children beat watching men burn alive.

The lion knelt before the small Targaryen and looked at the red flower she picked for him, "is this a red tulip?" he asked her, twirling it between his fingers.

Ashen, silver hair bobbed up and down in loose braids, "yes — it's the color of your house!"

He smiled, keeping the tulip and fitting it into the notch of his breastplate so it stood proudly against the gold of his kings guard uniform. "How does it look?"

Looking so much like her mother, she reached forward to fix it for him. "Good!"

And then she was off, chasing her older cousins until Elia Martell gathered them — and he followed in pursuit, only until Ser Barriston cleared his throat behind him, "the King requests your service, Lannister."

Waving bye to him, Daenerys followed after her family — and he sighed, what atrocities would he bear witness to today?

—

Time went on like this.

It was a miracle they didn't lose Daenerys as she found herself fit to search and scrape over every corridor and hidden hallway within the castle. She held no sense of fear within her, and more often than not she would hurt herself in her proclivity adventures and have to take a visit to the maesters to get patched up. Whereas Aegon and Rhaenys were held firm by their mother and instilled with a sense of duty — without her brother Rhaegar present most days and Viserys keeping to himself and his own spoilt nature, Daenerys was astute to be forgotten about.

So on this day, when the other kingsuard and her septa couldn't find her, Jaimie took it upon himself to find the little dragon.

More often than not, she loved to play with the dragon bones beneath the Red Keep. Aerys kept the large bones of Balerion the Dread in the throne room for auspicious intimidation — marking the future of many of the men and children that died in there. The ones in size similar to small pets were thrown in the cellars beneath the Red Keep— and Daenerys loved those. So unlike her father. And just as he thought, she was stuffed in a corner with a candle — telling the small bones about the story of their ancestors and lineage from the old lands of Valyria.

Like a lion on the prowl, he crept around the corner and watched her pet the small dragon bones, animately speaking and giggling to herself.

What an odd child.

He wondered if this was the beginning of her madness.

The young kingsguard stepped forward from his corner, "you shouldn't be hiding from your septa, Princess."

Daenerys flashed a look at him once before resuming her story, "—and once, the dragons flew around the large buildings of Valryia."

"Your Grace—"

"Until the Doom killed all of the people within Valyria aside from those that fled with their dragons—"

"Daenerys."

A hollowed look swept over her features, and she stopped herself to set down the minuscule dragon skull. Her candle burned brightly beside her, and absently she put her palm over the flame. Most would have jumped to save her hand, but she didn't flinch, didn't cry, and her skin didn't burn. "Ser Jaimie," the Princess voice was taught, "do you remember my mother? What was she like?"

Like himself, she lost her mother to childbirth. Viserys cruelly liked to throw that in her face when given the opportunity, which was much like the dynamic of his family — and the unfortunately clear memory of his sister teasing and violently bullying Tyron for killing their mother forced him to sit beside her. She had grown, and each passing day she reminded him more and more of her mother, "she was a kind, sweet woman. Too kind for this world." On some of his first nights being inducted into the kings guard, he was forced to listen to the poor Queen Rhaella submit to the vile man each night. It seemed to be each year, and especially since the Queen's death — his madness only grew and grew.

"Viserys says it's my fault for her passing…"

"Ignore him," the kingsguard bit out, "it was no fault of your own."

If only he could have mustered the decency to tell his youngest brother these words in their youth. Tired of witnessing her sabotage her own hand, he grabbed it from the flame and turned it over to inspect it, "does it not hurt?" As he thought, there were no burn marks.

Daenerys clutched her hand to her chest, eyeing him widely in confusion, "…no, should it?"

Dragon's blood.

Somewhere in his childhood, he could remember the stories of Old Valyria and the dragon riders being able to withstand flames, part of him had phased the words out — only enticed to remember the tales of old Knights and kingly men. He had no interest in magic, of all things.

"I don't know," he answered her, genuine in his tone.

There were many men that would put the Targaryens to death, their reach and power was slowly diminishing under the rule of Aerys, and it was his death that would crown Rheagar as the King of the Realm and perhaps restore faith and power in the throne once again. Truly, Jaimie did not care. His worries were in his sword and protecting the people. He swore himself to the gold cloak so he could stay by Cersei's side, and for a year now his family was back at Casterly Rock, leaving him to defend the Mad King.

Pitying the young Targaryen, he continued with a few more stories of Queen Rhaella to the best of his memory, forgoing any of the atrocities the king inflicted on her mother. Jaimie Lannister told her of the times her mother would sing, rare but a true gem for a man that had to stand outside her door. He told her of her love for animals and the gardens. By the end of it, Daenerys had a calm, gentle resolve to her with tears wetting her cheeks.

Perhaps no one spoke to her of Rhaella.

"Thank you, Ser Jaimie — You're a true knight."

No, he was selfish. A true knight would see the worth of his title, his only true attribute was his love for the sword and his sister.

"Thank you, Your Grace."

—

Another year, and Robert's Rebellion began.

The rumbling of battles, the paranoia of the King, the calling of their bannermen.

One day, Daenerys got too close to the throne room when Aerys lost his temper, and he jumped in to usher her back to her quarters. The other men of the kingsguard warned him to not intervene, and when Aerys found out — he demanded her presence alongside her brother's to watch him burn thieves.

He fidgeted when Daenerys stood near her father, and although they were kin — other than their silver hair and violet eyes, there was no resemblance between the two. Being sentenced to watch this familiar scene was customary to him, and he kept his eyes trained on the prince and princess — frustrated there was nothing he could do to stop this.

"Bring him forth," Aerys demanded. Ever compliant, the other men donning the gold cloaks brought forward a man trembling and crying.

"—Please, please Your Grace! — I'll do anything, I'll wear the black! Please!"

Pity, a man should take his death with grace.

But not like this.

Although keeping a strong resolve, he could see Daenerys nervously twist her hands in front of her.

"Rossart—Bring me the wildfire."

"Your Gr-Grace, no! Please!"

"Silence!" He roared, leaping out of his chair.

The man, now sniveling on his hands and knees and realizing the short leash of his mortality sobbed like a man that lost his child — it was enough to break the Princess in half. "Father," she said brazenly, emboldened — she dare look at him, and it made Jaimie shift defensively. He wouldn't let him harm her. He wouldn't.

Aerys II slowly looked at his daughter, anger sought and rigid in his aging body, "…do you—"

"Why not take his hands, instead?" She held it together, but his keen eye could see she was shaking, and the whole room ushered their credible silence. "He's a petty thief, there would be no point in wasting the wildfire."

Even Viserys was stunned, he who normally never sought to be quiet was beguiled by his sister's tongue.

Like a muzzle noosed in the throne room, the silence permeated the air. He waited. Gaze unwavering, he realized this would kill him — all the titles and lands that were already taken from his by his oath, truly everything would truly be meaningless. His only regret would be leaving before Cersei.

The Mad King contemplated his daughter's words, and he sat back down. Somewhere in the vile hive of his mind, he came up with a better plan to teach his youngest kin a lesson. Or so Jaime thought.

Instead, Aerys II motioned for Ser Iilyn Payne, and the executioner came forth from the crowd with his great sword. "My lovely Daenerys," the King's mouth trembled in unbridled trepidation, "you're right — why waste wildfire?"

The entirety of the room held their breathe. Jaime realized he was right, and kept his hand obscurely hidden, ready to save the Princess.

"…This man will still die today, and it will be under your command. And once his head is chopped off, you will help the maids clean up his blood — understood?"

Daenerys, for all her might in such a small body — kept her brave facade under the tight scrutiny of her father. Her defiance spoke volumes, but she couldn't compete with the power her father held. Her attempt at a clean justice to save a life failed, and although she wanted to test the waters further to show compassion, she took a step back.

"But-"

"Now," he threatened, tone sick and gangly enough to make her waiver.

In a display that surprised everyone in the room, Daenerys took a steadying breath and faced the petty thief. The man, having lost the glimmer of hope for his life being saved, sobbed uncontrollably as the executioner kicked him down into a kneeling position and lined up his sword.

She knew the words.

Jaime knew she knew the words.

Violet eyes held a sympathy for a world she knew little about. This man could have been a raper as well as a thief, a drunk, or any of the God forsaken shithole men that lived in flea bottom — but she still held compassion in her heart.

"I, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen sentence this man…To die."

The screams and pleading of the man clearly affected the young princess, but she kept a steel reserve. Ilyan Payne waited for her motion, and the subtle shift of her head was enough. The great sword came down on the man's neck, and blood splattered across the room. Truthfully, this was the start of when the notoriety and repertoire began for Daenerys — as she didn't flinch or cry in defiance of her father.

Hours later, when the maids were done and the throne room was clear — Jaime found Daenerys sitting in a corner with her knees drawn up to her chest. There was a long, forlorn look on her face. Her eyes never left the throne. Blood clung to her dress, and she didn't greet him when he stood next to her — both stayed silent.

After a few minutes, Daenerys let a single tear fall, "am I a bad person?"

It was an innocent question, but there was no black or white answer, "…no, Your Grace."

"Then why do I feel so awful?"

"Because death is awful, in all forms."

She looked up at him quizzically, like a learning pup that tilted their heads — trying to comprehend the words, "then why do you kill?"

"Because it's necessary, Your Grace. Life and death coexist for a reason. It's a shame you witnessed it first hand like this. That man didn't deserve to die for such a petty crime, I'll admit — but you saved him from the wildfire, and I think that's enough."

By now, he had already seen men die at his hand, more than he could count.

If not by him, then by Aerys.

He wasn't a prophet or poet or philosopher, he was a man that was good with a sword and had a pretty family name, he didn't care to get into the intrinsics of morality — because truthfully it made his head hurt and he didn't care.

So when the princess stood up and brushed herself off, she looked at the throne with a keen determination in her eyes, something he hadn't ever seen before. It could rival that of the men in charge of large, proud houses. For someone so young, it made his mouth jut slightly in awe.

"One day I'll sit on the throne, and I'll give a true Queen's Justice to the people in the Seven Kingdoms."

A child's wish, really.

He didn't entertain it, but he would never forget it.

"Come, let's get you to your septa — she's been looking for you."

—

The sack of King's Landing.

Robert's Rebellion.

Death and pain and madness.

Each day the rebels were getting closer to them, and from the people of flea bottom to the families trapped within the Red Keep, everyone knew of the Mad King's anger. No one was safe from the wildfire, and his madness only grew and grew. A day ago news came of Rheagar's death at the Trident, and with that Jaime slowly prophesized his death. He would die protecting the King and his family. It was his oath, and from the early age when he entered the Kingsgaurd, he knew that one day this would be a possibility.

He only truly hoped for his family and Daenerys safety.

On that morning, the gates were locked and the entirety of King's Landing bristled with fear and contempt for the rebels. Jaime kept a calm facade, but internally he wondered where his father was. Why wasn't he here? The bastard. Hiding out at Casterly Rock with the rest of his family. The Mad King made sure Jaime knew of his distaste of his father, and the threats were no longer threats and becoming reality that he would pay for his father's absence.

When time stilled and his father and large army of Lannister men swept through the city, he should have been happy, should have been relieved. Yet the cries and slaughter of the men and women and people in alliance with the Targaryens echoed throughout the kingdom. They were murderous, and truly for once — he didn't know what to do except follow his oath.

Locked within the throne room, the vehement swallows and tyranny of the Mad King bellowed throughout the room, like an animal cornered — they would all be murdered.

"BURN THEM ALL!"

Aerys II shook with a ferocity Jaime had not seen before, and he repeated it over and over and over. It shook his skull, made his ears ring — but the calamity within the castle and what his father just did caused such a panic, no one knew what to do. Elia and her children would be boarding a ship by now with Daenerys and Viserys in tow, and as Jaime and the rest of the Kingsguard readied themselves to die — he realized what was going to happen.

When he sent the command to Rossart, Jaime knew the city would burn.

Burn to the ground and all that would be left would be ash and tragedy.

The faces of thousands of women and children flashed before him.

The other Kingsgaurd began to protect their liege and filtered out of the throne room, and his heart thundered into his throat. In a moment of clarity that beseeched even himself, the hard screech and call of the Mad King beckoned him.

For the safety of this castle, for the safety of the people within King's Landing — and a deep, perilous part of him loathed the man, Jaime killed the firemancer — almost stunning Aerys out of his mad spell, but still the call to burn them all burned into his skin forever.

He ran, sword in hand as Aerys turned from him, not expecting his loyal kings guard to best him through the back.

His sword entered the back of his King, true and easily.

It all happened slowly, but the feral cry of the man he was swore to protect with his life began to cough up blood. It splattered the throne room, much like the hundreds of men that he killed. The hand on his sword didn't waver, and he twisted it — once, twice until the gurgle of blood closing Aery's throat made his last declaration a simmer of the man he once was.

Jaime tossed him from his sword and stood over the dying King.

Amongst the chaos of the castle, it was the small gasp that caught his attention.

There, in the corner that would lead to the bones of the great dragons beneath the red keep, stood Daenerys with a hand over her mouth — trying to cover her small tremors of fear at him. His sword was dirtied with her father's blood, and the look in her eyes reminded him of the boars and animals that knew their life was soon to end, petrified.

Guilt consumed him.

Not for killing him, not for breaking his oath, but for becoming a villain in her eyes.

The adrenaline pounded his heart between his ears, and he flicked his sword of her father's blood, "I told you — life and death are the same, Your Grace."

She stood there, shaking in her dress — blood on her clothes and terror in her face. She was rooted to the spot, and he began to laugh at the obscenity that would become his life. He wouldn't die, he was sure of that. Though at this moment, with the world burning he wanted one thing — his sister's cunt and the sweet cloak of death.

Yet.

It was her scream as Gregor Clegane snatched and threw her ten feet that doused him in reality.

Without thinking, and the prowress as a legendary swordsman, he lunged towards the beast of a man. Her body was crumpled against the floor, and the man that was the Lannister dog had an obscene amount of blood on him.

"What have you done!" Jaime reeled, narrowly dodging the giant swing of Clegane's sword. "Back down immediately!"

The man merely grunted, ignoring his command and brought the back of his elbow to crack into his face. The resounding pain that made black spots dance in his vision were unwarranted as Gregor pushed past him to get to Daenerys. The man's sword would cut her in two, but Jaime shook the dizziness away and darted between them, using the entirety of his strength to fend off his sword.

Surely now, if someone were to see him defending a Targaryen child after breaking his oath — he could imagine the trial now. Insanity.

Jutting his leg out, he kicked in Gregor's kneecap, causing the man to reel back and trip. The sound of his knee snapping from the ferocity of his weight gave Jaime ample opportunity to lunge his sword upward and under the armor of the burly man, and the satisfying squelch! of his sword crucifying his organs and jutting out the back of this man made Jaime coarse out a heavy roar and throw the man to the ground.

He sheathed his sword, he knew now that his place within this castle was to save Daenerys. Maybe it was the knight lore and valiant men that he looked up to, but it was more than that. He carefully picked up Daenerys, her body was light and her forehead was split open from when she was thrown, but he could only hope she would live.

Winding through the halls and taking the hidden paths through the castle where no one would see or follow them, he stumbled across a scene that would be etched in his memory. The grotesque, beaten body of Elia Martell who must have had the same idea as him laid strewn and tossed to the side. Obviously raped, with her dress torn — he swallowed the bile that burned his throat.

That fucking dog.

It was in the next hallway that his already cynical and smug heart broke.

The children he watched after for years now, little Aegon with his head smashed in and Rhaenys, he looked away in anger. He glanced down at Daenerys to make sure she was unconscious still. No child should see this. No human should see this. Vehement anger at this world and the vileness of humanity, he wanted to do something. And while he was preoccupied by duty and honor protecting a man that would watch a city burn, he could have saved these children.

He could still do one thing with his time here.

His cloak following after his footsteps, he ran through the desolate castle with bodies crumpled everywhere, he made it to the lost hallways of the Red Keep. Maybe it was the dragon bones that woke her, but as they passed in utter darkness, Daenerys began to flail and cry in his arms, "let me go!"

"Shhhh, Your Grace."

It was his voice that calmed her, and she clung to his armor, "he- he killed them!" She sobbed, clutching onto him like a viper on a rat.

"I know," he ushered, "I'm…I'm sorry."

"Where is he?!" She couldn't see in the inky blackness, and it was only from searching for her so many times that he knew where to go.

"He's dead now, you don't need to worry."

With a sure foot, he kept on their path, and her strangled sobs choked her throat, "you killed him?"

"Yes," he answered simply, trying to keep his composure. In the distance, he could see the faint glimmer of light. He would stow her on a boat, surely there was someone there that would have taken Elia and her children.

"Y-y-you killed my father…" her voice was listless, like everything had been taken from her. Which in reality, she had nothing now. Absolutely nothing but her name.

He couldn't say anything, he had no defense. There was already so much tragedy in her life, and he didn't want to leave her with any other impression than what he was, "I did. But I also saved millions."

Bruises were already forming on her body, and he could only assume she escaped the hands of Gregor and ran to find him, it made his chest clench uneasily. Yet there he stood over her father's dead body. She stayed silent and sobbed against his neck.

Wounding through the back steps leading to the smuggler's patch on the beach, as he assumed there was a boat with a cloaked figure waiting for her. "You're going to get on that boat, understand? Then you're going to leave and not come back if you want to live."

She looked up at him, the harsh words clearly broke her, and she clung to him tighter, "no! Please… I'm scared," She whimpered. A child's whimper, it was almost enough to convince him to go with her. He couldn't.

His ties to his family and the cloak were his life, and if he could count this one favorable act against his many sins, it only mattered that she would be safe. In the shadows, he tried to see who it was that controlled the boat, but without digging himself into a further hole that he would insufferably die in, he leaned down and set her on her feet, kneeling before her to ready her.

She didn't want to let go, and truthfully — he had become attached to the kind Princess.

"Your mother," he began quickly, knowing his time was running out to get her safely on that boat, "—was brave. Braver than any other woman I had the pleasure of meeting."

Her tear ridden eyes searched his face frantically, hoping and wishing he would go with her. But her ever curious nature made her calm down with struggling breaths to listen.

"When I was younger, before the Kingsgaurd and when I first met her — she was the sweetest woman. She protected your siblings and yourself from your father. She would want you to be brave, and you're just like your mother — I, I promise one day all of this pain will only be a memory. You are one of the last Targaryens, carry your name and life as a shield. "

Her soft whimper, along with her valiant violet eyes that were searching his own, trying to understand his words, "—someday you'll get your Queen's justice."

"Now go!"

Braver than even he might have been in that situation at that age, the princess ripped herself away from him and ran. With a heavy heart, he watched her ashen hair muddied with grime and blood trail after her. When she came into sight of the cloaked figure, they quickly ushered her safely onto the boat.

In that moment, he felt a sword lodge itself into his shoulder.

She turned in time to see the man that brutally murdered her family stab Ser Jaime.

Daenerys screamed for him, but they were already departing the shore.

The cloaked figure kept her close, keenly watching the scene unfold.

Jaime fought, clearly registering the Princess's screams for him in the fading distance. He dislodged himself from the large sword, finding his left arm completely lax. The pain thwarted his movements, but he turned and brought his sword to Gregor's armor. The pleading cries of the princess were taken away by the sounds of the shore. Their swords danced, the metal clanging together in a piercing jolt of noise. It reverberated around them, and Jaime used his good hand to jostle around Gregor like a true lion.

Although the man had strength, there was something dizzying about the way Jaime fought that gave him his reputation. Lunging forward, Clegane was already weakened from the previous fight and Jaime swiped at his leg, leaving both of his legs as useless.

Not before the mountain dragged him down by his limp arm.

His face landed in the wet sand, and the mountain used all his strength the keep Jaime pinned to the ground, gasping for air.

Briefly, he looked beyond his lashes to see Daenerys still calling for him, screaming and flailing to jump off the boat.

Good.

At least she would be safe.

And what of him?

Part of him felt like he should give up, but he refused. His pride would never let him. Using his legs for strength, he pushed the mountain off of him. With the man paralyzed and unable to get up, Jaime kicked him in the jaw.

Knowing that no one would hear him, and because he truly cared for those children, he watched the Mountain's eyes light up in horror when Jaime brought the sword down on his throat.

"For the children you murdered."

He kicked him again, effectively breaking his jaw.

When he noticed the life flickering from his eyes, he leaned down to make sure he would be heard, "I've always hated you, dog."

Limping and looking back at the shore, the boat was gone.

And so was Daenerys Targaryen.

—

When Robert took the throne, and Jaime was labeled as Kingslayer, he gladly took that name that Ned Stark so kindly branded him versus the Targaryen savior. It became known that Ser Gregor Clegane fought to stop the person who saved Daenerys, and he became a hero within the court of the Baratheon and Lannisters after his untimely death. Jaime didn't tell anyone, he would take the secret to his grave if need be, but something of a legend came about the mysterious person that was able to defeat the Mountain.

How Ned knew he killed King Aerys but not Gregor Clegane was unknown to him.

Perhaps he witnessed him murdering his liege but also saved the Targaryen girl.

Ned was known for his honor, so it wouldn't be out of character for him to keep quiet about the ordeal. The search for whoever saved Viserys and Daenerys stretched across the narrow sea, and a bounty that would make a normal man rich began a frenzy to find the last Targaryen siblings.

Jaime was forgiven for killing Aerys at the suggestion of his father — and if not for his father's last minute help with the rebellion to take King's Landing and the sudden betrothal of his sister to Robert, he was sure he would have been put to the sword.

Yet the peering, judgemental eyes of Ned Stark never left him.

Each day, and nearly everyday for the next decade — until he was sure that Robert's wrath for any and all remaining Targeryn's simmered, Jaime wondered where she was. Rumor had it that they lived in Braavos for while, but that was it. As someone close to not only the King's hand but also the Queen, he learned far too much — especially on the nights spent in his sister's bed.

And so time went on.

Every rumor that milled around the castle about Daenerys over the years was dismissed until she was to be wed to the Dothraki Khal. She would belong to the horde, and amassed a talented company of savages. Shame.

According to reports from the trafficker Mormont, she had Viserys killed.

She was now truly the last Targaryen, and he envisioned his last words to her — wondering if she remembered him.

When the red comet lit up the sky, Jaime stood there idly — forgetting the tales that were told to him so long ago. He overheard his sister speaking to the council about such a rumor, and they declared it nonsense — not one would ever live through the red waste.

More time, more rumors.

Until she had garnered the Unsullied in her corner.

Higher and higher she climbed.

The more his family fell. While his family and sister dealt with tragedy and chaos in the west, she managed to gather dragons, two armies, and the love of the people in the east. Her name in rumor was becoming stronger, more well known, and a place deep within him was proud of her. She left here with nothing, and was on a trajectory to perhaps come west.

It didn't scare him.

The pride of his house wouldn't allow it though. His pride wouldn't allow it. Still — His trials a humble adventures and meeting Brienne of Tarth changed something innate within him. The veil of hungry power and vicissitude no longer blinded him. He knew his family, he knew the vile nature of his sister, and he knew the pain of losing a child. He knew too much now without the protection of Lord Twyin at his beck and call to save him. He knew what it was like to lose everything, everything important to him. His pride had been belted and beat until he was the barest hint of a man, like a caged lion pacing back and forth.

She was no longer the child that he saved or that would bring him flowers.

Daenerys Targaryen was now a woman that was unstoppable.

Madness probably descended upon her, there was no other way those beasts would listen to a normal human. She was a weapon, something that threatened the very existence that the west should fear. She held the power of King Aegon I at her fingertips, and at her command she could burn the city just like her father attempted.

His gold plated armor glinted in the summer day. As a knight of summer, as a man of summer, he noticed the way the sun was setting sooner and a chill breeze was beginning to brush through the wind. It chilled him to his skin, but he surmised that it was merely his irritability being in charge of this caravan of loot in an open field.

Bronn sat atop his mare beside him, feeling ire about their current standings. They needed to get the gold and grain to King's Landing if they wanted a fighting chance in this war with the Targaryen. The grimace on his face made Jaime scowl, "something isn't right."

"You bet shit something ain't right, I can feel it."

The sound crept on them, slow at first. It grew louder, the howls!, yips! and caws! of battle resonated in the distance atop the hill. There, in a large horde were hundreds and hundreds of men and horses of the Dothraki. Jaime froze, for the first time in his career as a knight — he was beguiled by the sight before him. Above them, a shadow covered the sun. It's inky wings were spread afar, gliding effortlessly through the sky.

For God's sake, it's true.

A dragon.

A mighty beast so large that he found himself gripping the reigns of his horse until his knuckles turned white.

And atop the gangly, disgusting beast was a head of ashen white — he could barely make out the outline of her in her armor. A black helm resembling that of her dragons sat atop her head, and she looked like the Targaryen warriors of ancient pasts. Aegon I reincarnated into a woman. He was in a trance, this couldn't be the girl he saved so long ago.

It was Bronn who geared up his men as he was lost looking at the woman that made magic real.

"Ready the line!"

"Hold the line!"

The missile of fire hit them first.

-tbc

A/N:

*Thank you, little-billie-goat for this work's cover.
This idea has been swirling in my head for quite sometime now. This is going to be a collection of shorter chapters for a pairing that gives me a lot of inspiration. I love Jaime x Daenerys, and I think their personalities and deep history is something that is interesting to explore.

I apologize for any discrepancies between the books and show and what's written here. I try my best to be as well versed and educated, but there's such a multitude of information within GOT and crossing storylines that it's hard to keep track of without constantly rereading the books.

In this series Jaime joined the Kingsgaurd extremely young (like in the books), and the biggest change is that Daenerys is born a lot sooner than in canon. I didn't want their age difference to be as extreme. I apologize if that throws any of the timeline off, but I'll do my best to work around it.
All in all, this will be my version of how I think things should have ended with GOT, and I hope that others that enjoy the pairing of Jaimerys enjoy this as much as I'm having fun writing it.
Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think~