A/N: Longclaw: Happy New Year, guys! Sorry this got out a little late, but we're here and we're better than ever!

Bruh: Hey, we're back.

I'm swamped by life on a daily basis. This process is slowed as a result.

Enjoy!

Chapter 53: What was once lost

A large tarp with the sigil of House Stark was draped over the body. Arya stood with her hands behind her back, biting her lip as it was slowly brought in by four guards of House Stark - Brienne of Tarth in the van. The powerful lady warrior looked close to collapse, eyes red and barely put together. Completely understandable, for Podrick Payne had been her squire. Her only squire.

"Why is he in Stark colors?" Rickon asked, pointing to the corpse. He had dressed in his full armor, ones that bore the grey Direwolf. Had there been more people than the odd half-dozen - excluding the guards - within the crypts, some might've raised more of a stink on it.

As it sat, Arya didn't have any qualms about it. "He was our sister's love. He was family, brother. Regardless of the formal shit."

"Oh… I understand." Sometimes she forgot little Rickon was wise beyond his years.

Sansa, unlike Brienne, hadn't shed a tear. Dressed in dark grey with a thick black cloak draped upon her shoulders. She clasped her hands in front of her, eyes never taken off Podrick as he was brought to the prepared tomb and slowly lowered into it. Waiting for Brienne to whisper her final words to the boy so long by her side… then walking till she was by his head. "I love you, Pod," she murmured loud enough for only Arya and those close to her to hear. Sansa leaned down, kissing his lifeless head. "I shall see you one day, and we will be happy again."

Wincing at the sorrow that was clear in Sansa's soft words, Arya thought back to when she had raced into her chambers. Witnessing Sansa in a hysterical state, bruises all over her throat and body while Brienne was wounded and bleeding. Both screaming and crying over a dead Podrick, a pool of blood around him and face completely pale.

Only after Maester Wolkan had sedated Sansa into a fitful sleep with milk of the poppy did Brienne finally stammer out what had happened. Arya couldn't believe it. Podrick turning traitor? Trying to hurt Sansa, yet Sansa still mourning over him? How could he have done it? How? She wanted to hate him, to comfort Sansa as such, but truly Arya didn't think him capable.

That's what truly gnawed at her to that moment.

As the lid of the sarcophagus was dropped atop the tomb, Arya noticed Sansa's shoulders sag. Her composure began to falter as her frame shuddered and trembled. The Wild Wolf's heart broke for her sister. Quickly turning to embrace Sansa tightly. "Oh, Sansa."

While a full head taller than Arya, Sansa still buried her head in Arya's shoulder. Sobbing softly. "I can't… I can't."

"I'm here, Sansa. I'm here." Never had they been close before, childish spats and worthless posturing always getting in the way, but here they were. A family culled in tragedy after tragedy. Father, Uncle Benjen, Robb, Mother… by some stroke of luck she, Sansa, Jon, Bran, and Rickon escaped their respective hells and traumas, only for reality to remind them that no happy endings were forthcoming for the Starks. "Just let it out."

"He deserved something more than this… as a grand ceremony, with armored knights and garlands and trumpets. A send-off for the hero he was. My hero…" Her words dissolved back into sobs.

"I believe he would understand the need for modesty." Winter grew worse and worse by the day, resources needed to be husbanded lest they be stretched thin when the time came for war again. We buried a knife of dragonglass into his neck just in case, as Jon ordered. "To be buried in the crypts as a Stark would, an honor greater than any ceremony."

Sansa pulled back but kept her hand clasped to Arya's. "I will be buried next to him when the time comes. When my life is over I shan't be apart from Pod for a moment longer…" Her lip quivered, but aside from a few tears down her cheek, she kept her composure. "Yet I cannot, not yet."

"We all have our duties for the wars to come. We will fight together, I promise."

"Aye, but not just that, Arya."

Raising her brow in confusion, it dawned on the younger Lady Stark - though only titularly on her part - when she noticed Sansa cupping her belly with her free hand. Oh, my gods. "You're…" She couldn't even finish.

A wan smile formed on Sansa's face. "With a child? Aye, I am." She sighed. "Wolkan told me last night. I still can't believe it."

"But… but… how?"

"I think you should know that," Sansa tried to jape, but it didn't help elevate her mood.

"Not that… how did you let it happen, given what is coming our way?"

She pursed her lips in anger. "You think I planned this?" Sansa hissed. "That I'd want my child born into this… this hell? But I do not regret it. Something of Pod's shall live and grow and breathe and love when memories of him fade into near nothing. A babe of both of us, one I love already." She rubbed her belly protectively. "Podrick's child, not Ramsay's…" Sansa was insistent on that point. "The child of my love."

Arya smiled in spite of herself and embraced Sansa. "One I love as well, my niece or nephew."

Having overheard, Rickon gasped. "You're pregnant?" He ran over and joined the embrace. "I wish father and mother were here."

"So do we, little pup, so do we." Trapped willingly in the embrace, Arya noticed Bran sitting on his wheelchair a distance away. Completely passive in that way of his lately, though for a single moment she could've sworn that a ghost of a smirk was upon his face.

But it was gone in an instant. Is my mind playing tricks on me? It had to be. Their brother was… changed from his time north of the wall, but malicious he was not.

Who among them hadn't been rendered colder since this all started? Jon, Sansa, Rickon, Bran, and I. All hardened by reality.

The gusts of winter wind cleared her mind, Arya tightening the cloak about her as she hurried to the side of the woman she sought to speak with. "Brienne."

Shivering herself, the blonde warrior looked down to see the diminutive fighter falling in step beside her. "Lady Arya."

"Do you have time to speak?"

A shrug. "What else can we do? Better than dwell on thoughts that are universally dark."

Not the best, but permission was granted. "I need to know if you thought Podrick was capable of this."

Brienne stopped in the middle of the courtyard. Sansa was still in the crypts next to the sarcophagus while the rest had quickly dashed inside, leaving the two of them alone in the snow. "I remember everything of that night, Lady Arya… and I do not wish to relive it again."

"It's important."

"No, I can't." Fight the Hound though she could, Brienne was unable to handle it. Such memories were too painful. "I don't care how important you think…"

"Sansa's with child." Brienne's eyes widened like saucers. "And I'm sure you know who the father is. For the sake of Sansa and the child, I want to know if you think my niece or nephew's father is a traitor, a rapist, and murderer in the making?" She felt slightly guilty at the manipulation, but it was necessary.

It also worked. "No… I do not believe so."

"Why?" Arya said over the howl of the wind. "I've met many cutthroats and thugs, and Podrick wasn't one of them. I've met many abusers of women, and Podrick didn't seem like one, but you knew him better than I did."

"Look, many men seem good only to turn out to be horrible in private, but Podrick wasn't like that. However, I make my determination based on that night and that night alone."

"Why?" The question repeated.

Brienne sighed. "He simply seemed… out of it." Gods, it was painful. "Like in a trance. Perfectly lucid and angry but it simply sounded like someone else with his voice."

Arya knew that feeling, but it couldn't have been a faceless man. Perhaps they came up with some sort of bewitching curse? Turn the real confidants of their targets into assassins. "Anything else?"

"I… I'm not sure… Lady Sansa would know more than me. She saw him at the end, when he was dying… it was as if he had woken up from a dream only into a nightmare of his own making. The old Podrick returned, confused… yet in agony from dying." A tear fell down her cheek. "From my killing blow."

Nodding, Arya reached up to pat her shoulder. "It's alright, Brienne. You need not speak more. I know what I need." Heading back to the keep for some warmth by the fire and in Gendry's arms, Arya knew that this was just one layer of the onion she needed to peel.

Fate had brought her back to Winterfell… and perhaps the God of Death would obtain his sacrifice here in her childhood home rather than elsewhere. Only death can pay for life… and only life can pay for death…

"You are tense, your Grace."

Eyes narrowing, Daenerys glared at Missandei with frustration. "I am astounded with your keen observation, Missandei." As her loyal handmaiden flinched at the unnecessarily biting comment, Dany's gaze softened. "Forgive me, it is not you that deserves my ire… yes, I am tense. Why wouldn't I be tense without Jon Stark?"

"You truly love him, don't you?"

Aside from Jon and at that one disastrous session of her Small Council, did Daenerys ever tell anyone of how she felt for him? She felt Missandei knew from the beginning the depths of her feelings from the beginning - how hateful irritation morphed through several stages into the deepest love. But now came the explicit question. "I do… by the gods, I love him more than I ever thought it was possible to love a person."

Missandei smiled. Of all of them, she was the only one to care about Daenerys the person, not just Daenerys the Queen. "I am happy for you."

"He truly does make me happy, that I can actually wake to more than just my drive for the throne…" Even if I will never have children.

If Missandei noticed the melancholic thought upon her expression, she said nothing. "You defended him against the attacks from Tyrion and Varys… and the concerns of Barristan." Her word choice was odd, as was her omission of Garlan and Theon. Theon would support Jon, while Garlan could care less, she thought.

"Do you think there is something to what they say?" They both walked on the beach, Dany's bloodriders posted far behind them. Dressed in their leather dresses and cloaks, both looked truly their best, but alone they needed to be. Under the howl of the sea wind, that was the safest place they could go - even if it did remind Dany about when she traveled down this path with Jon

When she had first truly begun to fall for him.

"Honestly, no. They are wrong about him. He is loyal."

Her heart soared, but Dany's face was expressionless. "Why do you think so?"

"I could say that I trust you… that I do. I could say that what he is pushing you to do is actually a prudent course of action… which is true. What I can tell you is that I can read people. Read those that were in bondage as I was, their fronts and facades that they wore when around their masters and mistresses to hide what they truly were." In these moments did Dany remember just how battered and bruised a life that sweet, delicate Missandei had to harden her. Form the steel beneath the softness that Dany also possessed. "The only time Jon Stark has that is when he is forced to speak with your council. When he looks at you, that is genuine."

"You truly believe that?"

"I believe it since it's the truth."

Daenerys smiled. "Thank you." She took Missy's hand and then hugged her lightly, a hug that she returned. Her happy expression fell though, thoughts shifting. "What of Tyrion? Of Varys?"

Missandei's expression changed too. "Varys is hard to read, though he reminds me a bit of myself when I was with Kraznys… as for Tyrion." She shook her head, grimacing. "Watch out for him."

"Why?"

"If anyone would betray you, it is he."

Daenerys blinked. "I value your opinion, Missandei, but that seems a bit harsh."

"He's a snake, not a lion, Your Grace. Be wary." They began walking again, boots kicking up bits of wet sand. "His sister is dead and his brother is in your care… Jon's care, and that will keep him from betraying you in the form of actual treason, but what consumed Daario at the end will do so with him. Worse even."

Her eyes darkened, violet turning almost black. "Nothing could be worse than what Daario did to me." Jon, her beloved Jon, dead upon the floor of the throne room was her worst memory. Only the death of Rhaego matches it.

Missy pursed her lips. "Forgive me, your Grace, but hear me out. Daario did what he did out of his supposed love and loyalty for you. When Tyrion does worse, it will be to impress you… only to keep his position, or to gain vengeance on you for giving Jaime Lannister to Jon… or rather vengeance on him. Mayhaps you should take over Jaime's care?"

Brow raising, Dany looked at her closest friend. "I'll consider it." It could lower the burden on her Jon, and it wasn't as if Jaime had anyone left to betray her for. "Well, what do you think about…" Dany stopped mid-sentence. She gestured up the beach to a skiff arriving on the shore. A few men pulled it in. She noticed two women still sitting in the boat, both wearing bright red. A man dressed in all black, with a hood over his head. "Who are they?"

"I'm not sure, Your Grace," Missandei frowned.

"Shall we go see?" Dany said.

"Might as well," Missy replied.

The two women strolled on toward the small crowd. She quickly realized the women were Red Priestesses. Her brain began to race. She gathered one of them must be Melisandre. The one who brought Jon back to life. But a second one?

The man dressed in black stayed in the skiff. While the Priestesses got out of the boat. As they got closer, the two Priestesses in question started moving towards them. "Isn't that the woman who brought Jon back to life?" Missy asked.

"Yes, and she's brought a friend," Dany said.

Melisandre opened her arms and bowed slightly. The other Priestess mirrored her. "Your Grace, It is good to see you again," Mel said, smirking.

"Certainly wasn't sure I would see you again," Dany replied. "Your departure last time was rather mysterious."

"I had places I needed to be."

"Who've you brought with you?" Dany said, gesturing to the other Priestess.

"I am Kinvara, Your Grace," the woman said. "A fellow follower of R'hllor."

"You need not explain, I am familiar with you from when you were called to Meereen by my advisors," Dany said. "Though both of you have performed services for me, why have the both of you come, exactly?"

"The last time Melisandre was here, she brought Jon Stark back to life, yes?" Kinvara asked.

Dany was hesitant to answer, for some reason. But replied, "Yes."

"Well, we have used R'hllor's power for that same purpose again," Kinvara said. "We found someone for you."

"He was also lost to the darkness," Melisandre added. "Just like Jon Stark."

She was confused, but wouldn't show that to these two - Dany didn't trust them, even if she wouldn't be hostile to them. "Well, that is interesting," Dany said. "But what does that have to do with me?"

"You know him, Your Grace," Mel said. "You know him quite well."

As if on queue, the man dressed in black stepped out of the boat. He walked directly at them. "The Lord wished for his return, Your Grace," Kinvara said. "He still has things to do here."

Priestesses with the power to bring people back to life. What great power they hold. Who else did they bring back? Why had they brought this person to her? About five seconds later, Dany's questions were answered. She and Missandei had gotten close enough now. The man dressed in black tossed his hood back, revealing his face. A shocking sight, a man she thought had been lost to her.

Jorah Mormont, in the flesh, standing before her. She froze. "No… it can't be…"

It could.

Jon was brought back to her. Why not…

"I swore I would return to you, Khaleesi," he said, voice hoarse with emotion - both like he was before… and so very different. "You made me swear, and I serve only you."

Hand trembling, she reached up to touch his cheek. There were scars barely visible on his neck from the greyscale, but the skin was warm to the touch. Scarred but healthy. "You're cured."

"Aye… took a lot more than I expected, but I am." He reached up and clasped her hand in his. "And my sword is still yours."

"Jorah…" Without hesitation, Dany threw her arms around him. Uncaring of her title. He had gone from her, and just as Jon, he returned. Jon… "Do you… do you remember me, Jorah?"

"How could any man forget you, Khaleesi?" Tears pricking at her eyes, Daenerys simply tightened the embrace.

By the grace of the gods - if there were any, that was - those lost so treasured to her had returned. Jon twice, Jorah twice as well. I am blessed, it seems to me. Feeling Jorah's arms around her, Missy's loving touch on her shoulder, perhaps she truly was.

It truly heartened her for the storm that was sure to come.

"There you are, my Lady."

My Lady.

"Lady Martell, do you mind sitting still… I must finish with your hair."

Lady Martell.

For the longest time, Tyene hadn't truly cared that her name was Sand and not Martell. In Dorne it did not matter, her parents were both of noble blood even if her mother was also a Sand, and those around her didn't truly care about such blood - it wasn't an issue in Dorne, and with her Uncle Doran having three healthy heirs then nothing was likely to occur where she would need to be legitimized.

Once she was old enough to travel with her father, the sneers came from those with better blood than competence - she and her eldest sisters had adopted it as something to be proud of. Beautiful women that everyone lusted for but could slit throats if need be. Eventually, all the scum were fearful of them.

But never did she ever imagine being legitimized. Perhaps in the instance that her uncle Doran's line went extinct, but never this. Never to be Tyene Martell, Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms.

Mother Rhoyne truly had a sense of humor. Mother, father, you would find this truly amusing. Her sisters would likely tease her till the end of time.

Tyene wished they were by her side, annoying as they would be. Gods, she was alone.

"There, all done." Her hair had grown out, and in the mirror cleaned and truly beautiful. "His Grace will gasp at your beauty."

"I am sure he would… though in his own way. His Grace is… not very expressive." Thankfully - almost astonishingly - Stannis seemed truly besotted with her, and that brought her certain… leverage. All her maids were Dornish, for example. There were many in the ruins of King's Landing, and loyal to her as could be.

I wish my family was here, though.

A knock on the door revealed one of the Kingsguard. "My Lady." Tyene hadn't bothered to learn any of their names aside from that of the Lord Commander, one of Robert Baratheon's many bastards. "His Grace has a guest for you."

"Oh, someone he wishes for me to treat?" she said, sarcastically.

Scuffing feet followed until a voice made Tyene tense. "Ty?"

Rising and turning, Tyene gasped. "Elia…"

The slender woman in a modest Dornish gown - much like hers but less extravagant - found tears in her eyes. Tears returned as they rushed to each other. "Thank the gods… we all thought we lost you with mother."

Tyene hugged Elia Sand tightly, thinking if she opened her eyes this could all be a dream. "I am so relieved to see you." Elia, her full-sister and the closest one to her own age - they had been kept at the Water Gardens and thus were safely in Arianne's care. "Stannis sent for you?"

"Cousin Arianne sent me here, though Stannis did ask for her to come. Safer this way, given the other claimants to the Iron Throne."

Understandable, and best left unsaid. "At least you are here."

Nodding, Elia just clasped her hands. There were questions dancing in her eyes, but thankfully she would save them for later. Instead just smiling. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you." She trembled. "Just stay close."

"I will… and I brought another friend." She stepped aside to reveal Ser Daemon Sand, another confidant, and her father's squire. Tyene hugged him too, and Ser Daemon extended his hand to offer her an escort. To give her away. With this and Elia by her side, Tyene took in a breath. Ready to see this through.

She had no choice, and it could always be worse.

The ceremony was to be in the throne room, Iron Throne looming high in lieu of the statues of the Great Sept of Baelor - destroyed long ago by Cersei Lannister. The retinue of the Baratheon court watched her, differing emotions on their faces. Some such as Randyll Tarly had thinly veiled hostility towards an 'avowed enemy of the Crown,' while others such as the allied Crownlords and Stormlords were neutral… if supportive.

None could compare to the awed gaze of the Stag King himself. Dressed in his fine royal doublet with the burning stag of his house emblazoned on it - the crown of his brother on his head - his entire, sour expression lit up as she arrived. Yet another man that lusted for her, but this was the King.

Clearing his throat, the old Septon looked upon the bastard bride and kingly groom. "Who comes before the gods tonight?"

"Tyene of House Martell," began Daemon Sand, himself trying to keep a neutral but polite tone. "Daughter of Prince Oberyn of House Martell and his paramour, Ellaria Sand. A woman of age." Legitimized by decree as it was, no one could allege that Tyene Martell was true of birth according to the dictates of the Andals, and they wouldn't pretend such.

"Who gives her away?"

"Ser Daemon Sand, sworn sword to her cousin, Princess Arianne Martell of Dorne." Her absence was noted by most, but Daemon and Elia's presence was good enough.

Enough for Stannis at least, the one person among all of them to hold a bright smile - as bright a smile he could give. "Who prepares to claim her?" continued the Septon

The tiny smile widened, many surprised at how the dour old stag was genuine in his joy. "Stannis of House Baratheon, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, the Prince who was Promised, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." Reaching out his hand, Stannis graciously took Tyene's when she left Daemon's side, stepping with a trembling gait but firm set in her eyes to position directly beside her soon-to-be husband.

Father… what would you think of me at this moment? A pragmatic man when it came to it, she knew that Oberyn wouldn't begrudge her this. A viper does not attack till the right moment… till the prey is too close to flee and too relaxed to attack. Words she took to heart,

The Septon, white-haired and stooped, cleared out the phlegm in his throat. "You may now cloak the bride," Tyene heard the Septon drone, "And bring her under your protection." Turning, Tyene shivered with apprehension and slight fear as Sannis' warm fingers brushed her bare neck, lingering lustfully in removing her orange cloak.

The marriage was political, yet he desired her all the same.

She knew not what to make of that… only that it gave her some form of protection as Elia had said. One she would need to use and use wisely.

"My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."

Knowing her role, Tyene reached out to weave her fingers into his. Making his eyes widen, but then soften. Regardless of his age, those blue eyes didn't lose their vibrancy. A tiny smile curled onto her face, forced - but not really. A husband actually in desire of her was better than a monster or brute seeking her as a conquest. She vowed to ensure he knew of her appreciation of that.

The Septon slowly took the ribbon, tying it around their joined hands. Literally tying the knot that would seal their marriage. "Let it be known that Stannis of House Baratheon and Tyene of House Martell is one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder." There truly were only two that could do so - herself as the viper she was or the Dragon Queen - woe to be to the one that faced a dragon in battle. "In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity."

And so it is done. Behind the King, Tyene could see Lord Hand Baelish eye her - was that hunger of his own, or something far more sinister. If I can have him killed, that would be safest for me.

"Look upon each other and say the words."

Tyene spoke simultaneously with Stannis, his eager and hers… it sounded eager to the untrained eye. "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger..."

"I am hers…"

"I am his…"

"And she is mine…"

"And he is mine…"

"From this day, until the end of my days."

Stannis began to recite the words he had longed to say since seeing this beautiful creature - her radiant comeliness evident even under the grime and shit of Euron Greyjoy's brutality. "With this kiss, I pledge my love…" He had barely finished the last word when he lurched down, kissing her with all the passion he allowed himself to express.

Tyene was surprised at the reserved Stag King's forwardness, but she forced herself to reciprocate. It was inexperienced but firm. Powerful. Not entirely unpleasant. Perhaps this Stag could be molded to be… not entirely a chore to bed.

Given what she had heard, this man was essentially a virgin, after all. No man or woman would truly wish to bed that hag of a wife.

A large feast, a glorious feast. Ones always useful for placating one's supporters and wooing neutrals - which included a few Dornish Lords that accompanied her sister Elia, but Tyene heard whispers that Stannis shed his brooding prudishness and ordered a lavish celebration of his wedding. A feast akin to those Robert threw. Plenty of fine food, plenty of the finest wines, captured gold of House Tyrell and House Lannister paying for the best. He himself never was far from her side, and rarely removed a hand from her body.

Certainly, he was reserved as would a shy virgin, but unable to help himself - enchanted by his wife.

"Your Graces." Tyene looked up to see Lord Baelish bow low. "Many congratulations on your marriage."

"Thank you, Lord Hand," Stannis answered for both of them.

"And how does the Lady feel?"

Tyene paused, pursing her lips. "Thankful to have married someone that shows himself to appreciate me so." Completely the truth and the absence of any lie seemed to stump him a bit. He shows no weakness, but the silence is clear.

Stannis replied before Baelish could. "Aye, my Dornish Rose." He raised his hand and kissed it. "Those of my House have fought Dorne for generations, but it is not the roses from across the Red Mountains that have harmed me… instead they bring light back into my life."

Tyene was surprised, as was Baelish. "I knew not you were a poet, Lord Stannis."

A snort. "You know very few things about me, Littlefinger. You are my Hand, not my wife or mother."

Littlefinger bowed again. "I admit I could not begin to compare to their beauty, Your Grace. I wish your marriage well." At a node from Stannis, he departed.

Leaning into Stannis, Tyene whispered in his ear. "Is there a reason he is your hand… rather than the last one that greeted us? Ser Davos?"

"Davos… he was a good man, but his loyalty is suspect due to his good heart. Littlefinger is a snake but I am the only one he can work for - he'll support me well."

"Whatever you say, husband." Something I'll need to keep an eye on.

Stannis was a gentleman above all, and thus there was no bedding ceremony. Her maids and Elia guided Tyene back to the royal chambers and helped her undress into a loose nightgown. "Good luck," Elia said, kissing her cheek. "I have been granted a chamber in the Red Keep as Arianne's ambassador in a manner of speaking. She's sent one to Daenerys as well."

"We will talk in the morning, I promise." Once Elia was gone, Tyene's smile faltered. Sighing and wrapping her arms around herself protectively.

She was a Martell for all of a weak. Now she was a Baratheon. Stannis had put the stag cloak about her shoulders himself.

Speaking of Stannis, he arrived in naught but a tunic and trousers. "Wife."

"Husband." She rose. "We are alone, so may I be frank?" Tyene rehearsed this in her mind for the longest time. Stannis was firm and decisive in all else, but his obvious inexperience in the bedchamber made her speculate he might be… mayhaps able to be led?

She had hit a treasure chest. "You… you may?" The look in Stannis' face was of a green boy.

"How many lovers have you had? I know you were married and have a daughter, but are you truly… experienced in matters of sex?"

He put up a brave face. "My wife… and Lady Melisandre, once." Stannis seemed ashamed of that.

Giving him a gentle smile, Tyene let her nightgown fall to the pool at her feet, leaving him speechless at her nudity. "Kiss me, please." His head lowered, while hers raised, leaving their lips to lock. Delighted he was… but also apprehensive and hesitant. Something that brought a bit of frustration to her. "Let me do this," Tyene sighed. She gave him a stiff push. Stannis tipped over onto his back on the bed. "I can handle you."

Stannis huffed, "What do you mean?"

Tyene began to climb on top of him, "Just let me. It'll be easier this way."

"What way?"

Tyene straddled him, beginning to unlace his trousers. "Will you stop asking questions?" Down they came, revealing his tightly bandaged leg left dry and… an artificial smell. But his cock… truly in spite of his confusion, he did find this arousing. "Just sit still. You will like it, trust me."

"Tyene… dear wife…" But all words died on his tongue, Tyene's form sliding down his body and taking him in her mouth. "Fuck…"

The former Sand Snake smiled to herself. Mayhaps she could wrap this man, this King, round her little finger.

He woke up in a fit… coughing even before he opened his eyes. That had happened before, but Aemon knew it to be different. A feeling, but his feelings since first joining the Citadel had usually been correct.

It was close to the end, and he wanted his family.

Samwell, ever-present near his bedside, was leaning over him and listening to his breathing. "I'll get you a drought for that, Maester…"

"Please… Sam…" His coughs were getting worse, not better. "Bring me… Daenerys… I need to… see… my niece."

Whatever awkwardness and bitter feelings he held for the Dragon Queen found Sam strong enough to put them to rest for Jon and Aemon. It surprised him but came in handy. "I… I think her Grace is out of the keep at the moment. I noticed her and Lady Missandei journeying for the beach." Truth be told, the exotic Naathi was more beautiful than Daenerys. Given Gilly being a wildling was just as far off and exotic to Hornhill as Naath was, Sam clearly had a type.

"Then… where… is Jon?"

"Jon, he's still in the keep. I'll have him fetched for you." One of the guards was well enough for the task, allowing Sam to prepare the drought for Aemon.

It was steaming, sweetened with honey and cinnamon from the Summer Isles for Aemon's sake. He sipped it slowly, and it… helped. Such was all anyone could do for Aemon. Help. And that was enough for the man that lived over a century since he had his family with him. The last Targaryen… but she is no longer alone anymore. Not with dear Jon. To see Daenerys light up whenever he was mentioned, to see her in the most expressive of joy given what she went through, that brought a sense of peace to Aemon's heart that he had never truly known.

As all the drought disappeared down his gullet, Jon burst in. "Sam!" His face was pale. He came in with a ravenscroll gripped tightly in his hand. But he stuffed it in his black tunic. "How is he? Is he close?"

"Not at this minute, Jon, I promise," Sam insisted. "But it will happen by tomorrow… a few days at the most."

Jon's face was filled with fear. Aemon was one of the few he had clear memories of, and an instinctive bond he knew not what was the cause of. Kneeling at the foot of Aemon's bed, he took the old Maester's gnarled hand in his. "Maester. I heard the worst and came right over."

Hearing Jon's voice brought a toothless smile to Aemon's lips. "Bless you, dear Jon." He chuckled… which thanks to Sam's draught didn't set off another coughing spell. "It still brings irony that at my old age, I hold more memories of you than you do of me."

It was true, and painful to think of, but with Dany in his life Jon was content. "I do remember some, Maester Aemon. And each of those moments brings me great warmth."

"There was little warmth in Castle Black, Jon. Most of it came not from fires, but from dear friends. You were one of them." He reached over with another hand and patted Jon's. "My time is soon nigh."

"Do not say that. You have much to live for."

"I am over a century-old, my boy. That… that is plenty for any one man." Again he smiled, drifting off into the distance with unseeing eyes. "My family, I found it again. I witnessed it powerful, felt the dragon's heat beneath my palm. Oh, am I content… As I can tell you are." Gently, he squeezed Jon's hand. "You were never content, my boy, not even before all of this when I knew you. When you were of the Night's Watch."

Jon's breath hitched, as it did whenever his past came up. Memories that were still hazy, or nonexistent. When he finally would manage to return to Winterfell, he was sure such feelings would force the worst agony upon him.

"You yearned to join the Black… then you didn't. So much was propelling you, the crossroads of duty and destiny that the call of freedom with the wildlings tempted you, and for this I assign no blame."

"Don't worry yourself with this, Maester."

But Aemon tightened his grip. "No, I must say this." His voice rasped. "You were never meant to be one of the Night's Watch - to be there yes, to see the truth of what is beyond the wall - but your destiny was always to come here as Jon Stark. To meet Daenerys… to matter." Groaning with aches and pains, Aemon forced himself to sit up slightly. "You've become the man you needed to be, Jon. Now… you need to be bold. Be decisive. Act not with what rigidity that so condemned your ancestors but… with your ultimate goal in mind. Fight the dead… Restore what will pull the Realm out of the muck and mire we plunged it into."

Heady stuff, but Jon forced himself to nod. "I promise, Maester Aemon."

"Good… Good, my boy."

"Maester, may I ask you something?"

"Of course, my boy… But perhaps quickly while I have the strength," Aemon said, chuckling quietly.

"Right," Jon said. He retrieved the ravenscroll from his shirt. "I received some distressing news from Winterfell. My sister, Sansa. Her… paramour, Podrick Payne, passed on."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Yes, my sister Arya wrote to me. Apparently, Sansa is inconsolable. But his death was under mysterious circumstances," Jon said. "He acted very unlike himself. Threatening to murder my sister, speaking strange things in a strange way."

"This was strange?"

Jon nodded, only after remembering that Aemon couldn't see him. "I've fought with him before. He couldn't harm a soul, not even in battle."

"I see. What it is you want to ask me about this, child?"

"Well, Brienne, my sister's sworn sword, reported that Podrick's eyes washed over completely white before he died," Jon said, watching Aemon's face carefully. He noticed his old features tighten. "No one's heard of no such thing in my life. I figured in your old life, perhaps you might know something."

"Yes… I know of it."

Jon stiffened, "You do?"

"It sounds like your sister's husband may have been attacked by a warg," Aemon said.

"A warg? I think… I once met a warg. A wildling. He controlled a hawk. He used it to scout ahead," Jon said. Then brushed his fingers over scars surrounding his eyes. "He used the bird to scratch my face."

"Yes," Aemon exhaled. "He must have been a warg. But I've never heard of someone being controlled in that way before. Wargs can control animals. Not people."

"Someone controlled Podrick?"

"When a warg controls an animal, their own eyes wash over white. Also, the animal's eyes do as well," Aemon said. "However… Podrick's eyes should've been white the whole time he was under the control of a warg."

"Maester Aemon, I'm confused. I don't know why a warg would target Podrick. To hurt Sansa?"

"I don't know, child. But this must be a very powerful person. A very powerful warg. More than any others I've heard about," Aemon said. "He or she is very dangerous. Controlling people in that way makes them even more powerful than a King."

"I see, they can make anyone do what they want," Jon said.

"Yes. Jon, your family may be in grave danger."

Jon stood suddenly, "I'm sorry, Maester. I must write back to them with this news."

"Wait, child. There's something else."

Jon frowned, crouching back down. Aemon breathed, "There can only be one warg with that kind of power. No ordinary Warg should be able to do that."

"You know the person?"

He shook his head. "No, child. But there's an old legend. Of a man with that sort of power. You may find more information at Castle Black. An old Lord Commander's diary, in the library, he dealt with this warg. Maron Hoare, brother of Black Harren."

Sighing, Jon nodded. "Thank you, Maester. I might have to send word to Castle Black for this diary. But I also must write back to Arya urgently."

"The old warg…" Aemon's voice began to waver.

"Yes, Maester?"

"He was called… The… Raven."

Gently reaching up, his old, calloused palm meeting Jon's cheek, Aemon seemed to look at him as if his sight had returned. "Egg… Egg… you look just like him… I… I see…" Each following world brought him closer to sleep until he finally drifted off. Sighing as he fell back against his pillow, letting out easy breaths of a man entering a fitless slumber.

Rising, patting Aemon's hand, Jon turned to Sam with furrowed brows. "Egg?"

"Aegon the Unlikely, his brother." Sam shrugged. "Aemon talks of him sometimes, it's not a pleasant memory given what happened to him at Summerhall."

"Makes sense I suppose." Jon looked back at the sleeping Aemon. "Why would he say I look like him?"

A smirk crossed Sam's face, and he laughed awkwardly. "We always did say you were quite pretty, and the Targaryen men were said to be that way… I mean, Daenerys likes you in spite of your brooding."

Jon narrowed his eyes. "Shut it, Sam."

There was a short silence before Sam broke it. "He wanted to see Daenerys… I think you should bring her."

A nod. "Aye, I should. She needs to see him once more." Clasping his hands behind his back, he hurried out of the bedchamber, seeking to dress properly before going after Dany at the beach.

A/N: Bruh: Aemon is on the way out. Stannis and Tyene are a thing. Jorah is back.

Glad to see all of you who keep coming back to this. It keeps us going.

Lots of cool events on the way. It'll be ready when it's ready.

We'll see you again down the road.

Longclaw: Arya's on the case, while Jon gets some important info from Aemon.

With Stannis marrying Tyene, expect things to start going faster in the negotiations.

Until next time! Please comment!