?

The three figures stood over him, as they always did whenever he drifted in and out of consciousness. Two women with silver hair and striking violet eyes—one with a face of stone, and one whose lips were constantly pursed in what looked like worry—and a man who bore no resemblance to the others. He knew them well enough by sight now, but was unsure of their names—then again, he was unsure of everything else as well, remembering nothing outside the confines of the four-poster bed that he currently lay in. They'd speak occasionally, but he could never stay awake long enough to make out much of what was being said.

'He's awake.' It was the man speaking now, peering down at his prone form on the bed, with the other two rushing over. The concerned one knelt, taking his hand in hers.

'Aegon, can, can you hear me?'

Aegon. The name seemed familiar somehow, and as his lips moved to repeat the name it fit like an old pair of boots. Aegon. That…that's my name.

'I…I can.' His voice was raspy and dry as though he'd swallowed embers.

The woman's face broke into a massive smile, tears welling in her eyes. 'Oh, thank the gods. He's awake, Vis. Awake!'

The stony faced woman—"Vis," apparently—peered over, and Aegon thought he saw the flicker of a smile flash across her face. 'So he is.'

'W-water…please.' The man brought a goblet down to his lips, slowly tilting it so that it wouldn't spill down his chin. Aegon was grateful—he might have nothing else, but at least he could retain a semblance of dignity. 'Thank you.' He took a moment to breathe, already exhausted by the effort, before looking up to those surrounding him. 'I…I'm sorry to have to ask this, but, uh…who are you?'

The effect was instantaneous—the concerned one's smile seemed to shatter, the stony one's jaw visibly clenched, and Aegon could've sworn he heard the man mutter fuck under his breath.

'You don't recognise us?' the concerned one asked, her hand seeming to grip his even tighter.

'I…I'm afraid not. I don't remember anything outside this chamber—until you mentioned it a few moments ago, I hadn't even remembered by name.'

'For fuck's sake!' Vis leapt into action, her foot smashing against a wooden chair at the side of the bed. It flew briefly through the air before splintering against the wall. 'First we think that fucking squid killed him, then we think he survives, and then he's gone anyway. Fucking Greyjoy!'

A single stormy eye flashed unbidden in his mind, and he jolted up despite his body screaming in resistance.

'Greyjoy, I…I remember something. There was fire, and there was blood, and…' he tailed off.

'And,' the man continued, the ghost of a smile appearing on his face, 'there was a bloody great axe. You were lucky to survive.'

Well, that would certainly explain both the shooting pains in his face time he even thought about moving it, and the thick swathes of bandages that he could feel smothering his head. 'What happened?'

'You took an axe to the face. From what the maesters have told me, that posed no threat to your life, despite the pain. It was lodged in your cheekbone, however, and when Greyjoy yanked it out, parts of the skull shattered, and a corner of the axe head hit your eye,' the man said, looking more concerned than he had a moment ago.

'Seven Hells. That's, well, certainly a lot to take in.'

The concerned one swatted the man in the thigh. 'For fuck's sake, Robb. He didn't need to know that just yet.'

'You knew him far better than I, my lady,' the man—Robb—replied. 'Do you truly believe he'd rather linger in ignorance?'

The woman said nothing, merely looking at her feet.

'The boy's right, Rhae,' Vis said, her brow briefly un-furrowing as she placed a hand on her shoulder.

'The boy,' Robb began, 'is right here. You know my name well enough, Lady Visenya—you may as well use it.'

'Oh, how sweet,' Vis—or rather, Visenya—muttered, shooting Robb a look as she removed her hand. 'The little king's showing his claws, Rhae. Isn't he so big and strong?'

'Undoubtedly, dear sister,' Rhae replied without lifting her gaze from the floor. 'Then again, what else could we expect from a barbarian of the frozen wastes?'

The atmosphere as one of tension and unease, and Aegon couldn't help but wonder what he'd awoken into. Gods, he wanted some more water, but it somehow didn't quite seem the right time to ask—not when glares were being shot around like crossbow bolts as they currently were.

Please, let them wait until I can stand before they batter each other.

And then, laughter.

'I, I think we might've got him, my lady,' Robb said breathlessly.

'Quite. I must say, I rather enjoy having our brother unaware of anything—in any case, it's vastly preferable to that know-it-all he was before. Anyhow—'

'I'm sorry, did you say brother!?'Aegon cut off Visenya with surprising volume, achingly pushing himself further up until he was sitting fully upright. 'Can someone please tell me what's going on? For instance, who even are you? Gods, who am I?'

'Your name is Aegon Targaryen,' Visenya said bluntly. 'First king of the Seven Kingdoms. I am Visenya, this is Rhaenys.' She exhaled. 'We're your sisters.'

Sisters? That's a nice surprise, I suppose. He could feel Rhaenys squeeze his palm, and he could see her smile slowly but surely rebuilding itself. His own efforts to smile back were immediately ended by the shooting pains throughout the right side of his face. Fuck.

'And the boy?'

'For fuck's sake, I'm stood right here,' the boy said, failing to wipe the grin from his face. 'Robb Stark. No relation, I'm afraid.'

Aegon simply nodded. Gods, his head was starting to hurt again, the bruises and scars all building to a horrible crescendo inside his skull. 'Very well. Now, might one of you tell me how I came to be in this bed?'

'Your sisters would be better suited to that,' Robb said. 'I'll take over when they're done with…their part. In the meantime, I'd best fetch the queen—she asked to be notified as soon as he awoke.'

With that, he left, and Aegon was left alone with the two women staring at him intently.

'So, who wants to start?'

His sisters simply looked at each other and sighed.

Robb

'He's awake?'

'Aye.'

'And sane?'

'Seems to be, your grace.' Robb cleared his throat and met Daenerys' gaze. 'He remembers nothing short of a few flashes—we mentioned Greyjoy and there seemed to be some vague recollection there, but naught else.'

'Not even his sisters?'

I'm afraid not. I…I think it hit them both rather hard, even if Visenya would rather lose a foot than admit it.'

'I see.' She said nothing else as he followed her through the halls.

It still made Robb laugh. For all Daenerys' considerable might—three dragons under her sole command, the loyalty of thousands of unsullied, Dothraki, and a united Seven Kingdoms, not to mention the power given by the crown she wore—he was still here, shortening his stride so that she might keep up without too much difficulty. After all, it hardly seemed dignified to make a queen jog after one of her subjects through the halls of the Red Keep.

'It's rather a shame,' she said after a moment of silence. 'Obviously for Aegon himself, and no doubt for Rhaenys and Visenya, and even yourself—'

'Even myself? Why thank you my queen, I—Ow!' He raised an arm, feigning hurt at his swatted arm.

'Don't be like that, Lord Stark. You know what I meant. It's just…' she trailed off and sighed. 'I'm queen now. For better or worse, I am queen, and the kingdoms will look to me to lead them. There are few who ruled so well as Aegon did, and I'd felt more confident in my conquest knowing that I'd have the support and counsel of such a man. As he is now, I'm not quite sure that any such men exist anymore.'

'Are you quite sure they ever existed in the first place?' The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he was suddenly met with a piercing lilac gaze.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean…shit.' I really should've thought about my argument before opening my bloody mouth. 'It's just, well…take my father, for instance. Growing up, he was a giant. Insurmountable, undefeatable. Nothing could bring him low. After all, who else can say that it was their father who defeated Arthur Dayne in single combat?' He sighed. 'When he was taken captive by Cersei Lannister, I still believed that it would all be fine—he and my sisters would soon be back in Winterfell, and all those who'd ever even thought about hurting us would flee with their tails behind their legs, never to return. And then he died.

'All of a sudden, the illusion was gone. As much as it might have killed me to admit, my father was not the invincible figure I'd thought him to be. His ideals of honour and righteousness, as just as they may have been, were naught but an anchor to drag him down, just as they were to me. And then we return, of course, and I find out more—it had not been him to defeat Ser Arthur, but rather Howland Reed. He'd been unable to save his sister, his father, or his brother, and he'd doomed Jon to a life of bastardy.'

'But he had no choice!' Daenerys protested. 'He'd have been killed—'

'I know, your grace. I am not saying this to criticise my father—you are correct in saying that he had no choice, but I am trying to say that sometimes a correct answer cannot be found, regardless of who is trying to find it. Rather, I am trying to say that few men ever live up to their myths, especially in the eyes of family.'

'I…I understand,' she replied softly after a moment.

'You could be a good queen, your grace. Possibly even a great one,' he said. 'But that will become less and less likely if you fixate on the shadows of those behind you, and refuse you look at the glorious sunrise in front of you.'

Daenerys simply stared silently for a moment. 'I never took you for a poet, Stark.'

'Nor have I ever been one. I suppose…' He smiled at her, and she smiled back. 'I suppose I just needed the right inspiration.'

Oswell

'Slowly, lad. No use rushing in like a bull. You'd be gutted in a second. Again, but slower this time.' Robert's voice rang through the training yard for all to hear, and Oswell could now see the vein in Gendry's temple, slowly but surely protruding more and more. The boy charged again, his hammer raised over his head as though his father's words had gone in through one ear and immediately out the other, finding himself down in the dirt within a few seconds.

It was no exaggeration to say that Oswell spent more time in the practice yard of the red keep than almost anyone else, ever—after all, he'd served with the most skilled men of his generation, and whilst his ability was clearly above even a great swordsman, he'd never quite had the intrinsic instinct for swordplay that Barristan, Arthur, and even Jaime had had. So whenever he'd had a spare moment where he wasn't on duty or sleeping, he'd always found himself here, battering some poor squire or hedge knight into the mud.

Now, however, he was here for a different reason.

Entertainment.

As might as it might've once shamed him to admit, he couldn't deny feeling some sick glee, sat as he was, chomping on an apple high above the yard, as he watched some up-jumped young squire or knight get beaten into the dust, their smug attitude being left down in the dirt alongside much of their arrogance.

But still, watching the young Baratheon charge time and time again only to meet the same end was getting to be too much for Oswell. He swallowed his mouthful and threw down the apple core to get the boy's attention. He looked up, still fuming.

'Don't let him rile you up!' he shouted down.

'What?'

'You keep charging, and he keeps kicking the shit out of you! There's few men alive who can challenge your father in sheer stubbornness, and I fear that as of yet you are not such a person! Just…' Oswell lowered his voice, 'calm down. Breathe. Let him take the initiative. Try and defend for a while. Gods know you'll still lose, but hopefully you'll last slightly longer this time.'

'Wow,' he could hear Gendry mutter. 'With faith like that, how could I possibly fail?'

'That's the spirit!' Oswell shouted cheerily. Gods, it was fun to annoy people.

The two of them clashed again, but he was glad to see that his advice had been taken; or at least, it had been at first—then the boy had lost patience, of course, and had found himself in the dirt once more. Oh well. He'd lasted ten seconds rather than three, this time, and even Oswell could remember the passion that had seemed vital to everything at that age.

Gods, I'm not getting old, am I, philosophising about youth like this? Seven fucking hells.

'Again!' he could hear the lad bellow, clearly incensed.

Removing another apple from his pouch, Oswell couldn't help but smile.

This was going to be fun.

Aemon

The giant stone faces looked down at him, some stuck in perpetual glare, others mere indifference.

Typical.

For once, it was all he could do not to glare back.

Aemon had always been a pious man. True, it had never quite been to the extent of his cousin—whose sept he was currently knelt praying in, and whose stone deities he was knelt below—but he still liked to think that he'd lived and died with a healthy respect for the gods, which had been a fair price to pay in exchange for his generally blessed existence and near-unparalleled skills as a knight. Thad had always been a core part of his faith: the gods would provide, in exchange for the living of a good, moral life. A fair trade, in his opinion—perfectly balanced.

But since he'd returned, the balance had seemed to have fall out of favour. He'd spent his life fighting for the safety of his family, refusing himself pleasure after pleasure so that his kin could squander such joys, believing that such unwavering faith would grant him some kind of rest after it was all over. That was what he'd believed as he'd been slowly bleeding out on the cold stone floors after defending the life of that utter shit of a brother, knowing that he'd soon be able to see Naerys, free of all the obstacles between them that there'd been in life.

And then he'd awoken. The many times he'd imagined any of the seven heavens there'd been far fewer armour or weaponry racks, and there was a distinct lack of the feasting and golden halls that he'd been promised. No, he wasn't where he was supposed to be, nor—as far as he could tell—was the man there with him.

Since then, there'd been one bloody twist after another, slowly pushing him toward the end of his rope. All that allowed him to hang on was one saying, turning in his head, over and over.

It's a test.

He'd helped the blacksmith escape the city. He'd helped purge the Freys and their lackeys from the Riverlands. He'd fought in yet another war for the glory of his house, making sure that there would be a dragon on the throne once more. Soon, payment would come, and all this could be at last put behind him.

By the gods, he was tired. Tired of taking orders, tired of bloodshed, tired of not being free to live his own life as he saw fit.

Aemon looked up at the stern face of the Father.

One more test. I'll fight in this war you brought me back for, and then…let me rest. Let me see her again. Please.

His prayer was met with naught but silence. As always.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, lost in thought and prayer and sheer annoyance before his attention moved to the rapid footfall echoing in the doorway.

'Ser Aemon!' a servant called out breathlessly. 'The queen summons you. She says that it's urgent.'

It was obvious that he was the last to arrive—all those who'd returned (save for Aegon and Rhaenys) were gathered together in the throne room, with the majority of them clearly itching for the swords on their belts. There seemed to be a sense of tension permeating the air and Aemon was immediately ill at ease.

'Ah, Ser Aemon,' the queen called out as the door was closed behind him. 'Thank you for your promptness.'

'I was told it was a matter of some urgency, your majesty.'

'I…Yes, I rather think it is. Or at least, something I felt you all deserved to know.'

Duncan walked over to him, lowering his voice as the queen did the same to a servant. 'We've all been kept in the dark too. Lord Robb was with the queen when whatever it was happened, but neither of them have said a word. They simply…assembled us, with naught to say since. Now you're here…well…' The knight railed off with a slight grimace.

This is curious. Very curious indeed. I wonder—

His musings were interrupted by footsteps on stone for the second time in the last ten minutes, and his head immediately inclined toward the door at the back of the room.

It was a small group, he could see, but he'd never seen any of them—or to be quite honest, anyone like them—in his life. Different to each other in size, in sex, in skin colour and dress, they all stepped toward the rest of the room with their faces remaining in impassive neutrality.

And then, one of them smiled. 'My name is Nissa of Asshai,' she said, her Common Tongue accented but clearly fluent. 'You have no idea how good it is to finally meet you.'

A/N: Another chapter done! I'm not gonna promise that the next update might come any quicker (I've done that the last few times and haven't even been close to sticking to it), but cheers anyway for staying patient for this next update.

The end of this chapter kind of marks the transition from the epilogue of the conquest of King's Landing, to the intro to the actual war effort for the long night, so that's...fun?

Cheers as always for reading! Really appreciate it!

-Kinginthenorth1 xox

Force Smuggler: Afraid not, sorry to disappoint!

vMillion: That's all valid criticism, but there's one thing you've got to consider-I'm a very lazy person who refuses to think about things/build plots/develop stuff for longer than 30 seconds. I barely even proofread, for fuck's sake. Glad you're enjoying the story though.

kingmanena: Cheers!

CrazyCat2018: Thank you! That means a lot :)