Rhaenys

'It is time, my lady.'

The voice came from the doorway, and Rhaenys slowly turned her head toward the interruption. Eddard Stark stood there, solemn-faced as he always was when entering Aegon's bedchamber, his hands clasped awkwardly together. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but clearly thought better of it.

'You wished to say something, Lord Stark?' Her voice was weak and croaky after these past few weeks of disuse, but it became clear that he could hear her without issue when his furrowed brow rose in surprise.

'I, well, yes,' he began, clearly unsure of how he might word whatever it was he wished to say. 'Ahem. I simply wished to inquire about the health of Lord Aegon.'

Rhaenys resisted the urge to laugh. 'The health of Lord Aegon—you mean, my brother who has been comatose for this past week, with no indication of recovery or any change whatsoever? Yes, his health is fine, and he said to tell you that he looks forward to evening tea tonight.'

'You misunderstand me, my lady. As you know, my son Robb has been very busy over the past week, helping her grace prepare for tonight's coronation, running himself ragged so that everything might go off without a hitch. He'd wished to be able to visit Aegon at some point but has simply lacked adequate time. With that in mind, he asked if might come down here and provide any update on the situation. I see that I have caused offence, however, so I will apologise and take my leave.' He gave a short bow, and moved to turn away.

'Wait.' She took a moment to collect her thoughts, breathing deeply as she did so. 'It is I who should apologise, Lord Stark. You show rare kindness for a man of your station, and receive nothing but scorn in return.'

'I assure y—'

'Of course, I understand the boy's concern—he and my brother seemed close, and I could tell Aegon had fondness for the boy. His absence is understood, and wholly accepted, especially given the manner in which he is currently helping our kin.' She sighed again. 'I had hoped he might be awake for tonight's coronation, to see his plans for a united Westeros to come to fruition, but…I see that was not to be.' Seeing his face, drowning in bandages, scarred and bruised and mutilated as it was, was near enough to bring her to tears. 'No, he would surely understand.' She swallowed. 'How long until the ceremony?'

'Two hours, my lady.'

'That will be time enough to get ready. Please, convey my thanks to your son for his concern, and my hopes that he might be able to visit Aegon once the dust from the coronation has settled.' She gave him a small smile. 'Might you also be so kind as to also call for my maid?'

Stark nodded wordlessly and left the room, leaving Rhaenys alone once again. She wasn't alone, of course—Balerion and Meraxes were tussling in the corner, as young dragons were wont to do, and the shallow breathing of her brother provided a quiet ambience, just as it had since he'd first been placed there. The dragons were on top, once again, and the realm was united in a way it had never been.

Still, sat there as she was, Rhaenys Targaryen had never felt quite so isolated.

Griff

Jealousy wasn't the right word for it; nor anger, nor bitterness. No, as he watched the castle making last minute preparations for his aunt's coronation, he was struck with a wave of wistfulness, a strange sort of curiosity—what if it had been him taking the throne, just as Jon had always intended? He'd not been on the flagship when it had pulled into Blackwater Bay—rather having taken charge of his own contingent who'd mercifully avoided much real bloodshed, apart from their final push through the city—but he'd still been among the first to see Daenerys Targaryen set foot on Crownland soil.

In all his years of imagining his own conquest, touching the land of his ancestors, he'd never once imagined it to look like it did. In his head, it'd always been an elegant affair—he'd step off the ship, slowly and confidently, ready to take the throne with ease.

Upon his own landing, his aunt had closer resembled someone who'd narrowly escaped a forest fire than a conqueror. Her voice—and those of all her lieutenants, with whom she was huddled in a tight circle, whispering in hushed tones—was raspy and cracked, her skin was bloodless and coated in ash with the whites of her eyes webbed in red. It was her posture, however, that had given Griff the most pause. The sloped shoulders, the motionless hands, and her neck's slow movement upon hearing his footfalls had been lethargic at best—this was a defeated woman, exhausted despite barely a few hours of combat, during which the sheer volume of their ships had carved through Greyjoy's fleet like a knife through butter. Following such a victory over the world's most feared corsair, what could've elicited such a response?

Later, he'd be told tales of the dragonbinder, of his ancestors' battles with the Crow's Eye, of the scent of Greyjoy's burning flesh on the air. But none would compare to the gut-punch of seeing Aegon, first of his name, lying pale and bloody on that beach.

So no, he wasn't jealous of Daenerys by any means. True, once upon a time, he believed he was meant to be king, but he now knew a very simple truth—had it been him leading the fleet, him who'd watched Aegon fall, him who'd had to straighten his back and wipe the ashes from his face, he wasn't so sure he'd have managed it as Daenerys had.

Still, he'd have looked damned good in a crown.

Jaime

'You're going to tell me what's going on. Now.'

The voice hissed out in the darkness, sharp and quick, and Jaime was practically jolted out of his musings. There'd been precious little to do since he'd been taken to the black cells other than muse—well, that, worry incessantly about the fates of his children, and cry tears for a sister who hadn't truly existed for a long time—but the voice jumping out of the dark was hardly a welcome surprise.

'What?' Jaime's voice was a scant whisper, but immediately met a response as flint struck steel, and a torch came to life. The light was blinding, but his eyes adjusted after a few moments.

After however long he'd been in here—it might've been a few days or it might've been a month, for all he knew—feeling nothing but sorrow, fear, or sheer apathy, the rage that currently bubbled in his gut was a refreshing change.

'You,' the serving girl said, 'are going to tell me what the fuck is going on.'

In spite of his anger filling every crevice of his brain and body, warning bells began to sound. She was…different, somehow. Her eyes were no longer pointed to the floor and deferent, and her voice had lost the nervous quality that would inevitably come to accompany those who'd served Cersei for any period of time. Of course, it could simply have been that she'd been changed after killing someone, but the coldness in her voice (which, now he thought about it, sounded nobler) spoke of a certain detachment and practiced ease. No, something was not quite adding up here.

'Why the fuck should I tell you anything?' Jaime scoffed back. 'You killed the woman I loved.'

A smirk. 'As far as I remember, it was you who killed her, Ser Jaime. I suppose they could also call you Queenslayer n—'

He lunged at the bars and was more than a little relieved to see a twitch in her eyes, silver pools glimmering in the orange firelight. She was evidently trained to hide reactions to such actions—there's been no flinch or bodily movement—but there were few that could fully hide the emotions in their eyes.

'Get the fuck out of here, girl, or I'll call for the guard.'

The serving girl remained unmoved. 'The guard's asleep. Feel free to try, though.'

Damn.

'Tommen is safe,' she ventured. 'Tell me what I wish to know, and I'll ensure he stays that way.'

'You'd threaten a child?'

'I would. As would you. This is war, Ser Jaime, and there's no point pretending that either of us are anything but killers.'

Jaime frowned. Sure, he was out of the loop, but he'd assumed that once Daenerys took the throne, the war would be over. 'War? The war's ended.'

'Wars never end. They may stop for a while, but they'll always start up again.'

'Isn't someone the cynic?' Jaime sighed. 'Fine, girl. Tell me what you want to know, and then you fuck off. Is that a deal?'

She nodded. 'Very well. When Tommen and I left you during the battle, we were met almost immediately by Riverland soldiers. Clearly orders had been issued regarding his wellbeing, for he was taken unharmed.'

'Unharmed? You swear it?'

'I do. Anyhow, I was forgotten about almost immediately—clearly, there'd also been orders regarding conduct toward women and children. Unseen as I was, I heard strange whispers among the soldiers. At first I disregarded them as rumours or even outright lies, but they persisted. Again and again and again, I'd hear talk of a name. So tell me, Ser Jaime,' she siad, leaning closer to him. 'How is it that Eddard Stark in in King's Landing right now?'

Her voice cracked at the end, and Jaime was sure he could see some real human feeling in her eyes.

Her large, grey eyes.

It clicked.

The eyes, the hatred for Cersei, the investment in the rumours regarding Ned Stark.

'Very well, Lady Stark,' he began with trademark smugness, her mouth opening in shock for a moment before immediately schooling itself into neutrality. 'I'll tell you everything I know about your father.'

Gerion

Speaking as both a Lannister and as a man who'd spent the better part of the last decade on a deserted island, Gerion knew splendour very well, and was acutely aware of its absences. Looking around the sept of Baelor as he was, however, he could spot no such absences. Every inch was glimmering, with the sunlight and stained glass giving the illusion that he was standing in a rainbow. Such fantasies were childish, of course, but sometimes a little childishness was needed.

He had a sinking feeling that there's be precious little opportunity for any in the coming months.

The coronation had started by now—the procession was winding through the streets of King's Landing, moving at a snail's pace that he had known would bore him to tears, prompting his volunteering to stay at the sept and help to make sure that the ceremony would be ready to go off without a hitch. That had been ensured a while ago, so now he was simply sat, enjoying his surroundings.

Surely it wouldn't be long now.

'Move up.'

Gerion turned to see Visenya stood over him, not quite frowning, but not quite smiling either. By now, he knew better than to take that as meaning anything—she had a face of stone that would rarely betray anything short of ecstasy or despair.

'I beg your pardon?'

'Move up. I want to sit down.'

'There…there's dozens of seats around. Hundreds, even. Take one of them.'

'I want that one.'

He blinked slowly. 'I…Fine. It's bloody boiling though, so don't blame me if the seat's a bit hot.' He shuffled over, and gestured to the now-vacant seat.

'Fire cannot kill a dragon.' Her voice was dry, and Gerion thought he might even detect a hint of laughter. Would the wonders never cease?

They sat in companionable silence for a moment. And then—

'I thought you were with the procession,' he said. 'Why are you here now?'

'The bells and the incense were giving me a bloody headache, and the train must've taken an hour to make it a mile. There's enough Targaryens representing the family there anyhow, and I'll still be there for the important bit. Besides,' she continued, turning her head toward his. 'I had an entire lifetime of queenly duties—wouldn't you agree that I've earnt a break from them?'

His eyes met hers; green against lilac, neither turning away. 'Uh, yes, quite.'

Think of something witty to say.

'How's the hand?'

Ah yes, remind her of getting stabbed through the hand by a crazed pirate, who'd tried to butcher our entire ship. That'll do it.

'See for yourself.' Visenya raised a bandaged hand, turning in front of his face. The bleeding had clearly stopped, with the pristine bandages practically glowing in the light of the sept.

Gerion raised a hand to touch it, waiting for her nod before doing so. 'Does it hurt?'

'Sometimes. Sometimes it's bloody painful, sometimes it's a mere sting, and sometimes…' She trailed off as his light touch became firmer, his calloused fingers slowly wrapping around hers. 'Sometimes I can hardly feel it at all.'

Their eyes were still locked onto each other, although their faces now began to move slowly toward each other—despite their proximity, it seemed to be taking an eternity, and Gerion wanted nothing more than to rush ahead. No, it was fine. They had all the time in the worl—

The doors swung open, light spilling into the sept alongside hundreds of nobles, the High Septon and queen-to-be at their head, hushed whispers and bells and smoke billowing in alongside.

'Seven fucking hells,' he heard Visenya mutter as she pulled away slightly.

She's not queen yet, at least, he thought to himself. So it shouldn't count as treason if I told them to bugger off for ten more minutes.

The procession continued in, filling up all the seats around them, forcing the two to slowly turn away from each other and toward the ceremony. The septon's droning began, although it may as well been Dothraki for all Gerion knew.

All he could think of was the hand, still clasped with his, and the fact that it belonged to the most beautiful woman in the world.

The speech had finished; the crown was brought out, and slowly placed on the queen's head.

As gold touched silver, a pair of eyes halfway across the city—one pure lilac, one bloodshot and milky—snapped open.

'W-where am I?'

A/N: Hello again! I know it's been ages, and I know I said I'd try and update more quickly, but now university has finished for the year, and so I should hopefully be a bit better at updating (still, no promises). Quite a light chapter, but will hopefully tide you over until things start to get moving in terms of the war to the north.

I've also noticed that since I last updated, this story has become a year old, which is absolutely fucking mad to think about-it's been a full year since I decided to procrastinate revision by instead starting an ASOIAF fic. Just wanted to say cheers to all of you who have read, followed, favourited, and reviewed-knowing that people like what I write really keeps my going, and I appreciate everything so much.

Again, I should hopefully update more quickly from now on (for the next few months, at least), and cheers again,

-Kinginthenorth1

Kingmanaena: Cheers, hope you're enjoying it!

Mister LaGuardia: I won't lie, I'd fully forgotten about that aspect of the prophecy. Hope you can overlook it, or just pretend that he killed her regardless of any prophecy?:))

obliviousss: Thank you! Glad you're enjoying it!

Force Smuggler: Thanks, and cheers for the feedback!

hawk. : Haha glad I could keep you guessing, hope I won't disappoint