As every minute passed, more sweat dotted Daenerys's forehead. She grinded her teeth together to suppress another scream. She should be giving birth in her bedchamber, not on a pile of blankets on the cold stone ground in the Winterfell crypts, surrounded by tombs and statues.

Dany wanted to shut her eyes. She must still be trapped in a nightmare and in any minute, will wake up on her bed. No, what was happening…it could not be…it couldn't be real. Two Stark guards did not carry her carefully down to the crypts on Maester Luwin's orders an hour after her water broke; Alys Karstark was not told to bring as many blankets and pillows as she could possibly carry; Jojen and Gwenysse were not instructed to run to the kitchens with two more Stark guards to collect as much stored food and skins of water as they could manage to hold in hampers; and Maester Luwin most certainly did not tell Lyanna Mormont, Meera and Arthur to arm themselves and protect Rickon. For the sake of the old and the new gods! Arthur was only a boy of six!

No, it was all a nightmare.

A sharp contraction jabbed Daenerys out of her fearful thoughts. She lifted her head from the two stacked pillows and looked around quickly. Stationed closest to the entrance were four Stark guards who stared intently at the ironwood door, their swords drawn and ready. Huddling close to the statue of Lord Rickard Stark were a frightened Rickon and an oddly excited Arthur who whispered nonstop to Lady Lyanna Mormont who sat on his right. Somehow Lady Lyanna had the time to change from a gown into patched leather armour and was now sharpening her sword. On the ground next to her were an array of knives, daggers and dirks and even what appeared to be a small spiked mace. Lady Lyanna had claimed she had packed them under her clothes in her trunk before she journeyed to Winterfell. It reminded Dany of Arya. When Arya was younger, she would steal one of the boys' practice wooden swords and hide it under her clothes. Septa Mordane would end up finding it and Arya would be forced to find another hiding spot.

Daenerys smiled wanly as Meera walked up to her and sat down. "You alright?" said Meera, concerned.

"Frightened," said Dany truthfully. She had never really spoken to Meera much before as Meera was oft hunting for frogs, spending time with Jojen or training in the courtyard with Lady Lyanna whilst Dany was busy trying to manage affairs at Winterfell. "I never thought I'd be giving birth here," Daenerys continued, "or in a siege or battle. I…I never expected it."

"We were all born children of spring and summer," said Meera quietly. "When true winter comes, everything expected becomes unexpected."

Daenerys cracked a smile. "That sounds like a song."

"It is part of a song," Meera agreed. "'The Children of Summer'. My mother used to sing it to me when I was a child."

Another contraction pain caused Daenerys to wince. She never knew birthing a child could be so horrible. Septa Mordane had said repeatedly that a noble girl's future all gathered around birthing children. "Lord Stark's mother had given her husband four children," Septa Mordane had droned. "Lady Lorra Royce had given her husband Lord Beron Stark seven children." Apparently Lady Starks had given birth to an average of four children in the past. How? Daenerys winced again. She was in dire pain giving birth to one child.

"Jojen received another vision," Meera murmured.

Daenerys groaned. "Why're you telling me this?" Was it another weak attempt to frighten her into a motherhouse? It wouldn't work. She was Robb's wife and it would remain that way until her death.

"Did you not wonder how organised Maester Luwin was in sending us here? It was a surprise, the bandits. We didn't expect them to come a little after midnight. Maester Luwin should be a little hesitant in his decisions but he wasn't."

"I'm in labour!" said Dany, exasperated and impatient. She moaned in agony as another shot of pain stabbed her.

"This is meant to be," said Meera patiently. "Jojen had many green dreams that revolved around the crypts. They differ but they always had one part in common: a dragon howling in pain." Her green eyes were fixed on Daenerys. "The other ah, parts, of the visions change every time, but the dragon howling in pain – that is a consistent part of Jojen's green dreams."

Oh gods. Oh no. "I am not a dragon," lied Dany. "I am Robb's wife."

Meera arched her eyebrows. "Jojen and I never keep secrets from each other. I know who you really are." She lowered her voice. "Daenerys Targaryen. You hide behind the Stark name, but for how long? I'm not threatening you," she said with haste. "Only warning you. Jojen is at a loss. He is ailing due to his frustration at an inability to fully decode his green dreams."

Please Meera, not now. "What does it have to do with me?"

Meera's expression turned sad. "So much." She squeezed Dany's hand. "I can't tell you much more. I'm sorry."

"You told me nothing!" Daenerys growled in discomfort as the twinges of birth contractions seemed to come closer. "Absolutely nothing!"

Meera looked pained. "I'm so sorry, Daenerys Targaryen Stark," she said softly, standing up. "I shouldn't have come to talk to you. Don't worry. Jojen and I won't tell anyone the truth."

"How did you find out?" whispered Dany, her face pale.

"Jojen's green dreams, assumptions…" Meera paused. "Northmen might take a natural child or two into their households, but the bastard daughter of his wife's brother? No lord will take her into his household. Even the most honourable and good Lord Eddard Stark wouldn't do that without good reason. My father knew a second after he heard there was a Daenerys Sand in Winterfell. If you don't mind me saying, your name almost gives it all away. If Lord Stark wanted you hidden it might have been wiser to have named you Danny – a northern name."

"Does Jojen know when I will die?"

Meer was silent. "Perhaps," she said finally. Without saying another word, she went to join Jojen who stood hovering near the stone statues of Lyanna Stark and Brandon Stark. Dany stared at them. Perhaps they know when she will die?

"You must relax." Maester Luwin had appeared at Daenerys's side. "Take deep breaths. It won't be long now."

"How much longer?" groaned Daenerys, her nails digging into the palms of her pale hands. "I can't bear this-!"

"It will not be long now. Soon you will have a babe in your arms."

"And then what? I will be giving birth for the rest of my life?"

Maester Luwin said nothing. "Is that not a woman's duty, my lady?" he said at last, his grey eyes bearing no expression. "Surely Septa Mordane told you? Lords need heirs and Robb Stark is no different. With winter coming, it will bring fevers, plagues…deaths." He placed a basin of clear water on the ground next to Dany. "It will be a long winter and many will die. The old, the healthy, the young. Babes oft die in winter. That is why a woman's chief duty is to bear her lord husband many children. It sounds cruel, but it is the truth we all well know. Children die young – that is why lords desire so many sons. Robb may be content with one child, but it may also be the case that he desires more children. Do not fret my lady. You don't want your child to be born in a sea of worry, now do you?"

Daenerys managed a small, forced laugh. "My child will be born into a world of war already." She quietened. "Will the bandits gain entry to Winterfell?"

Maester Luwin shook his head. "Ser Rodrik had issued orders that no one – no matter if it is a woman, child or the wounded – will enter Winterfell. Soldiers will be sent out to fight the bandits in winter town. We are all safe here."

"For how long? What if Robb is dead?"

"Calm down," soothed Maester Luwin. "You must relax, my lady. Do not worry about Robb. If it will calm your nerves, I will have one of the men ride out to have a look if Robb and his men are any closer to Winterfell. I will do it the moment all the bandits are dead or captured."

"No! Do it now!" She watched as Maester Luwin sigh and shuffle to talk to one of the Stark guards. She touched her belly in hopes it would comfort her. "It'll not be long now," she said softly to herself. "It'll not be long now."


After what felt like years of agony, Daenerys finally opened her eyes. "Where's my child?" she said, her voice hoarse from hours of screaming. She attempted to sit up but slid back down almost immediately. She felt like she had no strength to even lift a finger, let alone sit up. She forced herself to sit up as no one replied.

"Where's my child?" Dany repeated. A feeling of dread brushed her heart. No – my baby did not die. My baby did not die. My baby did not die…Her body protested as she struggled up more.

To her utter amazement, Maester Luwin smiled. "Congratulations my lady. The old gods have blessed you with twins. Twin girls."

Dany gasped in wonder. Twins? She tried to remember labouring two children but her mind was all fuzzy and she was too tired to think clearly. Daenerys could only recall screaming, pain and Maester Luwin urging her to push. Visualising did not help either as Dany had her eyes closed the whole time. Her eyes widened as Lady Alys and the maester presented two sleeping babes, both wrapped in warm linen blankets. Tentatively, Daenerys lifted her arms. "May I?" she said in barely a whisper. She had held babies before – Rickon, Arthur, Gwenysse and even Bran – but never her own.

Maester Luwin handed her one of the sleeping infants. Daenerys gently rocked the baby in her arms, mesmerised by the child's tiny fingers and serene, innocent sleeping expression. "She is the younger of your twins," said Maester Luwin with a tired smile. "Your daughters were born an hour apart from each other."

"I do not remember giving birth to them," breathed Dany. The maester's smile seemed more strained – only for a second. Daenerys looked up from her sleeping younger daughter and beamed at her good-siblings that gathered around her and Lady Alys to look at the babies.

"They are so small," remarked Arthur, looking at the baby in Dany's arms with curiosity. "Is it a boy?"

Dany shook her head. "Both are girls." Her smile widened. "You are now their uncle, Arthur." She grinned at Rickon. "You too, Rickon."

Arthur wrinkled his nose. "Both girls!" He pouted. "Girls cannot fight."

"Yes we can!" called Lady Lyanna indignantly, walking over to them. "I wager I can win against you the next time we spar!"

Would Robb want his daughters trained for combat? Daenerys pondered as she listened to Arthur and Lyanna Mormont bicker for probably the thirtieth or even the fortieth – if not even more – time. Daenerys hadn't really thought much about her child's future. Almost certainly like all first mothers, she'd assumed that her child would be a boy. Dany did consider that her child could be potentially a girl, but she had never really mulled over on whether her daughter should receive the extensive education that Dany herself was given or if it should include perhaps a class or two of sparring.

"My lady?" Maester Luwin's voice brought Dany back from her thoughts.

"Nothing," said Daenerys, managing a smile. "I was only wondering what Robb would want for our daughters."

"They are beautiful," said Jojen, who had also walked up to her with Meera. He studied both of the babies intently. "You are a lucky woman, Daenerys Stark." He smiled faintly as the babe in Dany's arms stirred and opened her eyes. The infant had pretty violet eyes, just like Robb's. And mine. Daenerys's fingers caressed her daughter's soft brown hair. She looked at her other daughter in Lady Alys's arms. The older of the twins also had brown hair like her sister, though a darker shade. Does she have purple eyes too? Or are they Stark grey? It would be quite delightful for both the girls to look almost identical with their brown hair and violet eyes. It is strange though, contemplated Dany, that Maester Luwin did not tell me that I'd be having twins. Was the maester even aware she'd been pregnant with twins?

Daenerys couldn't resist a yawn. The baby whimpered.

"You must rest," said Maester Luwin gently, taking the baby from her. "You are still exhausted from your ordeal."

"Is it normal?" Dany asked, her eyes slowly fluttering shut. "For women to be a little tired after giving birth?"

Maester Luwin nodded. "Perfectly normal my lady. Now sleep."


"…so what do we do?"

"It's not bandits-"

"We can't just hide here like cowards!"

"How did they get in?"

Daenerys rubbed her eyes and stood up for the first time in two days. She still felt drowsy, but in better spirits than before.

"You are awake," said Maester Luwin, hurrying to her. He handed her a slice of bread and a waterskin. "Broths would have been more suitable," he admitted, his eyes studying Daenerys. "Much more suitable, but as we won't be venturing into the kitchens or our chambers for a few more days, bread will have to suffice."

"Why?" Daenerys frowned as she hungrily bit into the bread. She swallowed a mouthful and inquired, "Are the bandits not subdued yet?"

"We have made a grievous error," said Maester Luwin gently. "It wasn't a band of brigands that attacked winter town; it was a Bolton army."

Daenerys almost choked on her bread. "What?" She quickly drank some water. A Bolton army? She had the urge to throw up what she just swallowed as a clear vision of a flayed Robb appeared in her mind. "Domeric would never declare war on Winterfell," Dany said adamantly. "He lived here for most of his life and thinks of Robb as his brother – why would he attack us?" A chilly shiver scuttled down her spine. "Did Lord Bolton command him to?" she asked fearfully. "Is he here, at the main gates at the head of an army?"

"No," spoke Meera who took the bread from Dany. "Both of them – Lord Roose and Domeric – are dead. It's the Bastard of Bolton at our doorstep."

Who? Dany failed to connect a face and name to the Bolton bastard. She found it hard to believe a man such as Lord Roose Bolton had a bastard – was he even a man who had moments of lust?

"Ramsay Snow," said Maester Luwin, glimpsing Dany's bewilderment. "A cruel and vile man. He now calls himself Ramsay Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort. He also claims to be Lord of Winterfell too."

"How do you know?" Daenerys asked. Maester Luwin stepped to his right and nodded in the direction of the statues. Lying on the ground was Ser Rodrik Cassel, his leather armour covered in blood.

"He was stabbed by the Bastard himself," said the maester quietly. "Ser Rodrik was sprung upon by three or four of the Bastard's men and he managed to defeat two of them before the Bastard stabbed him. Ser Rodrik fell and the Bastard and his men left to hunt down other Stark men. Ser Rodrik was very lucky to have not been caught by any other Bolton man when he came here. I managed to bandage his wounds and stop the blood, but there's nothing much else I can do for him. He has been asleep since."

"Will he live?"

"Only time can tell, my lady."

"Will this Ramsay Snow find us here?"

"Again, only time can tell. The Bastard of Bolton may wish to eventually come and investigate the crypts, or he may have no interest in it at all. However…it will not be long before we run out of food. There is ah, plenty for now, but if we must hide here for another month…" Maester Luwin shook his head.

Suppressing a shudder, Dany went to join Lady Alys who was teaching Rickon a song. She was also holding both the twins in her arms.

"You're good with children," Daenerys commented, as Lady Alys placed one of the twins in Dany's eager arms. "What song is it you are singing?" Alys beamed at her shyly. "The Sun in Winter," she answered. "It is part of the Songs of Winter. It's a northern song and a family song too. My father told me that the Songs of Winter was written and sung by our founder Karlon Stark himself."

"Really?"

Alys nodded. "A thousand years ago Karlon destroyed a rebel lord's army and the rebel lord himself – during winter. It was a bitter winter yet Karlon won. For his success and bravery, his father, the King in the North, granted him lands – the rebel lord's lands in fact. Many people think Karlon Stark was a warrior; he was a lover of northern songs too. An odd combination, but apparently after he retired from the battlefield due to old age, he started writing songs. The Sun in Winter's a great favourite of mine father's."

Before Daenerys could remark further, pain stabbed her stomach. She winced, but brushed the sting away.

"Did you decide on names for your daughters?" questioned Lady Alys.

"I didn't think I would need two," said Daenerys, her smile widening as the baby in her arms stared at her with interest. It was the older of the twins and she had the grey eyes of her grandfather Lord Stark. "If it was only one, Robb and I agreed to name her Rhaena…after my mother." In truth, she and Robb created the name to honour both her mother Rhaella and his late aunt Lady Lyanna Stark.

"Why not Ashara and Rhaena? I'm certain Lady Stark will be delighted for her granddaughter to bear her name."

Glancing at Lady Lyanna Mormont reminded Dany why. The Mormont girl had made it perfectly clear more than once that she didn't like her and was not happy at Dany's name choices for her babe. If a ten year old girl disliked the name, what would the northern lords think?

As more pain shot through Dany's stomach, she mumbled absently, "Excellent idea, Lady Alys." She winced and handed the baby to Lady Alys. She stood up and began to sway unsteadily.

"Daenerys?" said Lady Alys worriedly. "Are you unwell?"

"I…" Dany's vision blurred. "I…" She stumbled, almost crashing into a statue of one of Lord Rickard Stark's predecessors. She felt someone take hold of her arms and steadily guide her away. Did the winter winds venture here? Why do I feel cold and weak? It reminded Dany of the times she fell ill with fever. Dany touched her forehead. She was burning and the pains in her stomach haven't ceased. Was it a fever or stomach sickness? It couldn't possibly be both – could it? Another awful thought struck Daenerys. What if it was a contagious illness? Her babies! Plagues and fevers always found their first victims in young infants and old men. My own babes are only a day old…

Dany felt herself being gently pushed back onto her makeshift bed. She looked up and saw Maester Luwin's grey eyes staring back at her. "What is it?" Daenerys said weakly. "A fever? Stomach sickness?"

"Stomach pains?" inquired Maester Luwin.

Dany nodded. Maester Luwin's expression grew grave. To Daenerys's dismay, the maester softly uttered her worst fears. "Childbed fever." Daenerys was frozen with shock. She felt hot tears trickle down her pale cheeks. It was childbed fever that had claimed her mother Queen Rhaella Targaryen; now it would capture her too. Dany wiped her tears away. "How long do I have?"

"A few days of agonising pain or a few hours."

More tears flowed down Dany's cheeks. She glanced at her twin girls. Both the girls looked content in Alys Karstark's arms. "I only know them for a day, if not a little less," Daenerys whispered to Maester Luwin. Her eyes hazed, now from her tears. "I will never know my daughters. I will never see them again."

"They will never forget you my lady," murmured Maester Luwin, plumping up one of her pillows. "They'll never forget their mother who named them."

Names.

I could name them Ashara and Rhaena as Lady Alys suggested, but no one will like it except Robb and Lady Stark. Dany tried to wrack her brain for northern girl names that'd be accepted. "Lysara," she said finally, her last remnants of strength sapping away from her. She leant back against the stack of pillows. "Lysara…" she said again, her eyes fluttering dangerously shut. "Lysara…and Alysanne."


Well, uni started and it was a hectic week. Uni during the days and work in the afternoons. By the time I'd get home, I'd just want to sleep. Anyway, typed like mad today. Yes, Daenerys is dead. I never liked Daenerys in the TV show or the books (though Daenerys in the books was more tolerable) and I planned since I started this story for her to die. I found out that women could die days later from childbed fever, not just a few hours after labour, so I thought: why not have Dany die like that?