Author's Notes: Welcome back, everyone! I hope this chapter finds you in good spirits today. Thank you so much for all of your support. To write a story you enjoy is one of the few pleasures in my life.

I will be taking next posting day off. I've been feeling fatigued lately, however I'm also approaching some really exciting parts of the story, so we'll see how the next few weeks treat me. Next chapter will be posted 7/23/22.

Catzrko0l, you continue to be such a huge help. Thank you so much for being such an amazing beta and friend. You're wonderful!

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Chapter 119

Jaime XL

Jaime wiped the sweat from his brow as he and Brienne finished up a training session, but there was little in the way of banter. A pall hung in the air. The servants were quiet, the lords in attendance only ever whispered in conversation, and the Starks all moved around like ghosts.

Lord Eddard Stark lay dying. Jaime had not heard from the Maester, but he was familiar enough with such injuries that he imagined it was hopeless. The arrow had gone into the middle of his chest and done untold damage. It was only a matter of time.

No matter his cross feelings for Lord Stark, his pending death left him uneasy. All of that work and effort to change the fates of those around him and yet Lord Stark barely lived half a year beyond his previous life. Was he fated to die early and so that's what would happen? Was it then possible that Robb Stark, his mother, and fellow Northern lords would meet an untimely fate? Jaime sincerely prayed that was not the case.

It was also aggravating that Winterfell would soon fall under the leadership of Robb Stark. He hadn't been a bad leader before, but he was not the same man. Thankfully, he wasn't rising into the position with the responsibility of waging a war. However much it had annoyed Jaime, the original plan called for Lord Stark to go beyond the Wall with him to negotiate with the wildlings. They were bound to encounter the Others, and Jaime was not so sure about having such a young lord with a baby mere weeks from being born accompanying him. Did he dare risk his life and potentially leave Winterfell in the hands of a baby? Margaery would no doubt use a deft hand to run the household, but it would leave the Starks slim on heirs.

Furthermore, it seemed it would come down to him to tell Lady Catelyn that he was to escort Bran to the Three-eyed Raven for his training. He'd already sent a raven to Aemon asking for a decree in case Lady Catelyn gave him grief, but it was not something he would do with gusto. He had left his cruelty behind him.

Jaime kneaded his forehead, feeling a headache beginning to build. In the same letter asking for a decree, he'd been forced to inform Aemon that his uncle and father figure was dying. This was far from the celebratory atmosphere that Jaime had been hoping for with the death of Roose Bolton.

Although the household remained somber, he could hardly contain his glee about Cassian. His boy had suffered, though not as bad as he had previously imagined. He was still quiet for a babe, but he was starting to warm up to him. Maester Luwin had apparently squirreled away the letters he'd sent and hid them from Roose Bolton's sight, much to Jaime's relief. With little else to do, Jaime would take Cassian into his room and softly read his letters to him, stroking his blond hair and holding him close. It had been less than a week and yet Cassian had already fallen asleep with him once during the reading sessions.

Still, the child did awaken and would wail when he did so. Under normal circumstances, the babe would be handed off to the wet nurse, but she was apparently rotting amongst the corpses that had been in the courtyard. He was eating solids by this point, but a new wet nurse would have to be found to nurture Cassian. Until then, Jaime was pleased to have some time with his son.

Myrcella was a font of information about what happened while Roose Bolton had control over Winterfell. The noble children were left untouched and treated as their status demanded, but Myrcella and her siblings were bastards. Joffrey was beaten into training as a soldier. Myrcella was made to be a servant—a minder for her sister and half-brother—and Jaime was fairly certain she was raped. He hadn't yet worked up the courage to ask after her condition. Perhaps it would be better if Brienne did that, he thought, but he could only imagine how horrible it was.

Julianna had nearly met a similar fate, but Roose did not tolerate that particular harm for a mere child. He flayed alive the one man who tried it. While Julianna was treated like a servant as well, she still suffered less for it. She had always been a sensitive girl and so, whenever Jaime reached out to her, she insisted on being held and would often cry into his shoulder.

Joffrey was … distant. After initially tailing him like a lost puppy, he became standoffish and quiet. Jaime was uncertain about what to do with him. He had always wanted to train the poor boy in sword fighting and now he was afraid the training he had received was so poor that it needed to be corrected. It was clear that the lessons he had received hadn't made him keener to enter the training yard. Joffrey skirted it like he expected it to be a trap.

I'll work later on straightening him out, Jaime thought, shaking his head ruefully. He and Brienne angled for the stairs to go up to their room. He glanced around and stopped short upon seeing Robb standing in the shadows off to the side, glowering at the floor. His dire wolf Grey Wind was at his side, peering up at him hopefully. It let out a low growl when Jaime approached, but he did his best to remain unfazed. Robb merely flicked his eyes over to him.

"Any news?" Jaime asked.

"Any day now," Robb replied, his voice a sullen orange. "The maester can do nothing for him. His lungs are filling up with blood."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Jaime said, his own voice blue with tranquility.

"Are you? You're not just saying that because of your courtesies?" Robb snapped, the red anger of his voice lashing like a whip.

"Yes," Jaime replied. I'd much rather a seasoned lord in charge of Winterfell than a boy with a budding new family, he thought, but kept that to himself. "I may not like your father, but he was still a loyal ally to be counted on and a seasoned warrior. His will be a great loss."

Robb peered up at him, a muscle working in his jaw. Then he turned away and said quickly, "Why do you hate my father?"

"Your father named me kingslayer, as you well know. That is not a reputation lightly shed. It dishonored me when I did not deserve it. I have been forced to live with that shame for the better part of … fifteen years," Jaime said, his voice a low growl. Closer to 40 years at this point, he thought bitterly.

If it made things clearer, Robb didn't show it and went back to staring broodily at the floor.

"Do you want revenge?" Jaime whispered.

Robb glanced at him sharply. "Revenge how?"

"Roose Bolton is dead, but he has a bastard, Ramsay Snow. By the king's orders, I'm to bring him to justice," Jaime said, his lips twitching with a smile and his voice changed green with his excitement.

The boy was quiet for a time and then said, "I thought we weren't to judge the children by the father's sins."

"Then it's good that Ramsay Snow has a long list of his own sins. You'd think him the true heir given his bloodthirsty nature. A number of … peasants have gone missing in the town of Long Hollow in the Lonely Hills. I intend to lead a search for him shortly," Jaime said. "Will you come?"

"Robb?"

They both turned to see Margaery near the kitchen door. She bustled over as best as she could and smiled at them both, though it clearly did not reach her eyes. For the first time since Jaime met her, Margaery looked exhausted and a smidge forlorn.

"Will a lemon cake from the kitchen help? I know they're Sansa's favorites, but the cook mentioned you liked them as well."

"That would be lovely, Marge," Robb replied, trying to return her smile.

"Any news?" she asked.

"No, it's the same," Robb whispered. "I doubt father will last the night."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, dear," Margaery replied, enveloping him in a hug.

"What are you doing? Maester Luwin told you to rest."

"I'm doing what I can. I was just heading to bed, I promise. It's just that your mother is … occupied and so I thought I'd familiarize myself with the hold. Winterfell is truly majestic. Your stories haven't done it justice," she said.

"I'm glad you think so," Robb replied quietly. "Shall I take you to our room?"

"That would be lovely. We haven't been able to spend any time together since I arrived," she said, taking his arm and resting her head against his.

Jaime had to look away and roll his eyes at Brienne. She however remained stony, so he just shrugged and left the young couple to it.

As soon as the door closed, Jaime was shedding his clothes in preparation for a hot bath.

"Why did you do it?"

Once he was rid of his shirt, he turned to Brienne with a quizzical look.

"Do you think it wise to foster this revenge in Robb? He must still live with the Boltons as his neighbors. This could worsen their relationship."

"Worser than what they've done to themselves?" Jaime asked haughtily. "The boy needs a focus for his anger. Best direct it towards something that will do a real bit of good. You remember what I've told you about Ramsay Snow."

Brienne nodded grimly. "Yes, I recall. But it seems dishonorable to judge the child by mere rumors and hearsay."

"His father murdered the lord paramount of the North," Jaime hissed. "Domeric is the odd one in his family, not the standard. Perhaps he can do what his father couldn't and turn the house's reputation around; he has an uphill climb."

"We're not talking about Domeric, we're talking about Ramsay. He's just a child."

Jaime scoffed. "He's just older than Robb's age, a man grown. It is time he suffered the consequences of his actions."

Brienne's eyes flashed in irritation and she sat down on the bed with a huff. "I know you don't have proof of his misdeeds. You told me so yourself."

"Whether we get that proof or not, Ramsay Snow is to die. The king has declared it and I will take great pleasure in delivering it if I don't give it to Robb."

|-The Dragon's Roar-|

Daenerys XIX

She blew on her tea and sipped on it. Her stomach roiled and she closed her eyes until it settled. The sickness had crept up and it seemed even her usual herbal remedies were doing little to curb her nausea. Under normal circumstances, she would be having tea with the ladies in the garden, but she had scaled back her activities. She sent Jhiqui and Irri out to deliver her excuses to the other ladies. The notes had been written with no small amount of relief. Daenerys had done the tea parties weekly since the Northern lords had started their journey and she honestly found them quite tedious. While they contained tidbits of information about the noble families, they quickly became vacuous and dull affairs. The other women only ever heaped praise upon her, but she wondered how many hid their venom behind kind smiles.

To distract her from the nausea, she and Missandei were muddling their way through a game of cyvasse . They hadn't heard the official rules and were having a delightful time making up their own.

"I will do two jumps and take this piece," Missandei said with a teasing smile, taking one of Daenerys' favorite pieces from the board.

Daenerys mock gasped. "How dare you! Well, I can just move here and take this one."

"I thought we decided those were two jumps?" Missandei said.

"It's three; I'm certain of it." Both women dissolved into giggles.

It ended a few minutes later when Missandei did a dozen jumps across multiple of Daenerys' pieces and reached the other side. "I've won."

Daenerys burst out laughing. "So you have. A well-played game."

"How do you think we played?"

"I think Lord Tyrion would have cried into his wine if he saw this spectacle," Daenerys replied with an unladylike snort and soon both ladies were laughing again.

Missandei looked out toward the door and caught the slim shadows. "Oh, the sun is nearly at its highest point. The Grand Maester said you should try to eat."

Daenerys grimaced. "My stomach still feels delicate. Not sure I can."

"At least try, Khaleesi. I will return with something gentle," Missandei replied and patted her hand consolingly.

Daenerys sighed and nodded. She continued sipping on her tea, her gaze drawn to the gentle swaying of the curtains on her balcony.

"Khaleesi?"

She jumped and turned to see Ser Jorah had let himself in. "Is something the matter?" she asked.

Ser Jorah sighed himself and approached. "I wish to revisit our conversation from the other day."

Daenerys scowled. "There is nothing to revisit. My mind is set."

"You're with child," he stated. "You don't need King Aemon now. You can rule in your own right."

"And how would I do that?" Daenerys said frostily. "The Targaryens are the royal family here in Westeros. This is where I belong."

"You had a vision, Khaleesi. You wished to free all of the slaves."

"Would that I could," she said, feeling the beginnings of an ache in her heart as she remembered all of those slaves who were needlessly suffering in Essos. "I freed whom I could. They have been brought to a land where slavery is outlawed. They are now the masters of their own will."

"Westeros is hardly a paradise for those poor souls."

Daenerys grimaced. "Perhaps not, but they eagerly became servants here in the Red Keep. They have shelter and a full belly. They do not get whipped at the whims of a master. There is little more that I could guarantee them if I took them away." She thought back to those days when the Khalasar had split after Drogo's death. Many had died in the march to Qarth; it pained her that their fates had not improved with their loyalty to her.

She stood up once he was mere feet away. His expression was dark and troubled.

"Better you than under the rule of a mad king."

"Aemon is not mad," Daenerys said, her temper rousing.

"Your father wasn't always mad. It settled upon him over time. I fear King Aemon will suffer the same fate."

Daenerys remained silent but resolute.

Jorah suddenly reached out for her hand and enveloped it in his. Slowly, he pulled her hand up towards his face. He kept his eyes locked with hers. She furrowed her brow in confusion but did not stop him. Then quite suddenly he placed her hand on his cheek and leaned into it.

"I have always loved you, Khaleesi. Ever since I first laid eyes on you," he murmured.

Daenerys scowled and tried to draw her hand back. "My love has only ever been for Aemon."

"How can you be so sure?" he asked.

"Because his love makes me feel whole. Complete. Warm. Drogo was cold and distant. I thought you were my friend. There's no love here; I feel nothing for you," she ground out, trying to pull her hand away again.

He stiffened with anger and suddenly grabbed her shoulders and forced his mouth onto hers. She tried to push him off, making noises of protest before biting down on his lip savagely. Yet he seemed not to notice.

A sudden gasp drew his attention. They both looked over to see Doreah had come out of one of the smaller rooms in the apartments. Her eyes were wide and she had her hands over her mouth. Upon meeting their gazes, she ran for the door.

Jorah scrambled after her. Daenerys's eyes flickered around her and grabbed a small statuette and hurled it across the room. He grunted. She found more things: a candlestick, a book. Doreah screamed in fright, clumsy in her attempts to open the door, but it was enough to catch the guards' attention. The Hound, Rakharo, and Aggo pulled their swords and swarmed. Jorah made to reach for his sword, but his moment of hesitation cost me and he earned himself a knee to the stomach to wind him. When they pulled him up, it was then she saw a trickle of blood running down his lip from where she had bitten him.

Aggo pulled her away, asking urgently, "Are you hurt, Khaleesi?"

"Nuh-no, I'm fine," Daenerys said, but soon realized she was trembling, much to her chagrin.

"Send for the king," the Hound growled over at Doreah, who took off once more.

Aggo attempted to pull her away but she stood her ground. Jorah was being held at swordpoint, his own sword having been taken from him. He kept his eyes aimed at the floor.

Daenerys glared at Ser Jorah. How dare he! I trusted him as a friend and he does this? She felt a fury she had never felt before. Her knuckles cracked when she clenched her fists.

Aemon walked in with Ser Barristan and Ser Preston Greenfield in tow. He took in the scene, then headed straight for her and gently took her hand. "Are you well?"

"I'm fine," she replied, but her voice shook.

"What happened?" he whispered.

"Jorah. He-he kissed me but I didn't want him. I tried to get him off. I'm sorry," Daenerys said and she leaned into him.

Aemon wrapped her up in his arms. "There's blood on you. Did he hurt you?"

She gave a watery chuckle. "I bit him."

It soothed her to hear the rumble of Aemon's amusement. "That's my dragon queen. Fierce as ever." He planted a kiss on her forehead.

He then rounded on Ser Jorah. "Well, Ser, do you deny the accusations?"

"No," Ser Jorah said in a barely audible voice, but his eyes remained on the ground.

"I should have your head for this," Aemon snapped. He withdrew his sword and held it up to his neck. "It pains me to see how low the son of Jeor Mormont has fallen. You shamed yourself by selling slaves and ran away when caught. I granted you clemency and this is how you repay me?

"But while you wronged me, you wronged my queen even more. She shall decide your fate." Aemon turned to her. "Well, what say you, my queen?"

Daenerys pondered Ser Jorah. As angry as she was, it pained her to condemn what used to be such a steadfast friend to death. She simply wished to never set eyes on him again.

"I would have you go far away, never to be heard from again," she said, trying to keep her voice cool and controlled.

Aemon nodded. "Banishment is far too good for you. It leaves you to your own devices and gives you the opportunity to do something even more dastardly. As painful as it will be for the Old Bear, I can see no other path but to the Wall with you."

Daenerys shivered. She had learned quite a bit about the Wall in her history search and from Aemon himself. She couldn't even fathom its height, but he had spoken of its cold. Where Essos had been boiling hot, the Wall was frigid and inescapable. She nodded.

"Jorah Mormont, I hereby strip you of your knighthood and banish you to the Wall. May the Gods, the Old and the New, grant you mercy. Take him away!" Aemon commanded.

Once the Hound escorted Jorah away, Aemon dismissed the rest of the knights to the door. Daenerys tentatively sat on the bed and Aemon joined her. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"I-I don't know," Daenerys began and grimaced as she choked on the words. Tears were beginning to prick at her eyes, but she willed them away. Why am I crying? It's over! After standing her ground and not crumbling, she refused to crumble now.

A small knock at the door drew their attention. Missandei poked her head in. She had a tray of fresh bread, an apple, and stew. Judging by the solemn look on her face, she'd already heard from the knights outside.

"I've brought you your lunch, Khaleesi, if you still want it," she said.

"Have you eaten yet today?" Aemon asked.

"Only a little," Daenerys said.

"You don't have to eat, but you really should. You need your strength for the baby," Aemon replied.

Missandei set the tray down on a nearby table and quietly receded. Daenerys eyed it uncertainly. Her appetite had disappeared since her friend had left for it. Aemon reached for it and dipped the bread into the stew. He held it out to her.

"Just one bite, please?"

He gave her a half-smile and she melted. "One bite," she agreed.

She made to take it, but Aemon instead brought it to her lips.

"I'm not so weak you need to feed me."

"Humor me," Aemon said, his eyes now dancing in amusement.

She took the bite. The bread was still warm and soft and the stew had spices that reminded her of stews she'd tasted in the Khalasar, but it did little to lift her mood and even less to improve her appetite.

"More?"

Daenerys shook her head. Aemon set it down and drew her in close, enveloping her into a hug. She sank into his arms and burrowed her head into his chest until she could comfortably listen to his heartbeat. He felt so warm and strong. After spending so much of her life living in fear and having to protect herself, from either her vicious brother or Khal Drogo's rapacious appetite, it was so comforting to be able to feel safe in Aemon's arms.

After a time, he moved her to the bed and they continued cuddling, napping the day's stresses away in the warm autumn afternoon.