Chapter 23: The Dragon Has Three Heads

Tyrion

Tyrion awoke to a pair of eyes staring at him. Eyes, as blue and radiant as the shimmering seas off the coast of the Westerlands, surveyed his face, the intensity startled him. He wasn't sure what she expected to find.

"Enchanted by my good looks? Perhaps you have come to believe that I am the Knight of Flowers after all," he said. His lady wife, arched her eyebrows at him in amusement.

She hit him playfully on the shoulder. "I was only studying your face. It will be a long time before I see it again," she said.

Sansa's auburn hair shimmered in the flickering candlelight, and Tyrion found it hard to keep his hands out of it. His fingers soon found themselves entangled in her hair, feeling the softness of it. It passed through his fingers like silk, and he pulled her face closer to his, claiming her lips for his own.. She leaned into him, then pressing her body up against him, and her warmth was intoxicating. When would he get to see her like this again? He imagined it would be a very long time before he could travel back to Winterfell.. She snuggled closer to him, breaking his train of thought.

"Sansa," he said, "I'm sorry that things are …" he sighed, "this way."

"The Gods have us at their will." She smiled.

Tyrion noticed that the smile did not reach her eyes. "My dutiful wife." He thought.

"Once we reach Dragonstone, and we rendez-vous with the Unsullied and the Dothraki army, we will be marching on King's Landing," he said.

"What do you mean "we?" There was a fire building behind her words. "I thought you were only to provide guidance. Are you meant to be fighting in the field?" Sansa's eyes sharpened on him, and she pulled away from their embrace.

"Sansa, sweetling, I will be providing counsel, yes. But I may spend some time in the battlefield." He studied her eyes. Her eyes were wet and blue, and he felt he might fall into them.

"The last time you were in the field you almost lost your eye...and your nose." She ran her fingers over his scar.

"I will do everything that I can to come back to you. I promise." He said.

"You promise?" She sounded as innocent as the little dove that she used to be, and his heart felt brittle as if the next word that she said might break him.

"I promise." He said. "Well," he caressed her cheek, "I'm still here now."

"Yes," she smiled. "I"m beginning to think you aren't the perverted little monster that everyone told me you would be. It's quite disappointing."

"I am loathe to disappoint a lady, especially one as lovely as you." He said.

Tyrion was now aware of the softness and the warmth of Sansa's body pressed up against him. He wanted to bury himself in that warmth. He claimed her mouth with a hungry kiss, and was surprised to find her response just as eager. The sweetness of her kiss, and the gentle movements of her tongue against his were as intoxicating as the finest Dornish red. She began to wrap her arms around him, her hands playing in his curls, and pulling him closer ever closer. He bent to kiss her at the crook of her neck and felt her tremble, a sigh escaping her lips so sweetly he almost thought he imagined it. She wrapped her legs around him, and he could feel, as his arousal betrayed him, the wetness at the juncture of her thighs. As he turned his attention from light kisses to caressing her breasts and she arched her back thrusting them towards him. He lavished attention on one and then the other and he could see her eyes rolling back into her head. He needed to feel her around him then, and he looked at her, touching her face and she nodded to him. He pushed himself inside of her then, and she made the most glorious sound, her hands tangled in his hair, her face flush and glowing.

She looked at him then, and he felt as if they were the only two people in the world, and he wished that he could stay there, just as they were forever. She lifted her hips to meet his, each movement of her hips sending him deeper inside her, first slowly and deliberately, then frantically, as their tempo rose until finally they moved together like dragon's wings in the darkness.

Daenerys

A young man with silver hair, stood before a beautiful woman. Her hair was black, silky, with ringlets framing her face, and her skin bronzed and tan in the gleam of the candlelight. The young man was agitated. His indigo eyes burned through Daenerys as if they were made of flame.

"Aegon" What better name for a king?" he said. He paced back and forth, as if he were about to wear a hole into the floor, saying over and over again "The dragon has three heads. There must be one more. The dragon has three heads."

Daenerys, Targaryen awoke in bed, covered in a mist of sweat, her bedclothes, sticking to her skin. She had dreamt again of the young man with the silver hair. She had dreamt of him every night, since coming to Dragonstone. Her brother used to tell her, when he wanted to scare or threaten her, that she had "woken the dragon." Since coming here to this place, she felt that she had done just that. Next to her, Jon Snow lay, undisturbed. His eyes closed peacefully, dreaming of something much more pleasant, the sound of his calm breathing brought her back to the present. Daenerys felt something hot, wet and slick between her thighs. She sat up straight in bed, pulling the covers back. Her moonblood. She had not bled since before she lost her husband, Drogo. She had not bled since before she gave birth to her son, stillborn, the price that she had paid for blood magic-The Stallion Who Mounts the World, the life that never was, and never would be. She called out for her handmaidens.

Her handmaidens Emi, and Zali came to her room. They immediately saw what it was that she needed.

"I will draw you a bath Khaleesi," Emi said. She was slowly becoming used to the common tongue. Zali nodded, and went to fetch a cloth for Daenerys to wear between her legs. Jon Snow had started to stir now, squirming, noticing the lack of covers, and the noise and activity within their room.

He looked down, to see that Daenerys was bleeding."Dany," he said. He reached out to her, and caressed her face, brushing away a tendril of her silvery hair. "I'll...give you some privacy."

Daenerys welcomed this privacy. What does this mean? She thought. Would she bear a living child again? Her mind was flooded with thoughts.

She remembered the fire that burned within her when she looked into the face of and, heard the words of the Maegi, Mirri Maz Duur. "When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again…" When your womb quickens again," she turned the phrase over and over again in her mind.

Emil and Zali went to draw her a bath. The water was hot, steaming and fragrant. They scented the bath with rose petals, and orange peels. She watched as the fragrant steam rose up off of the water. Her young handmaidens almost stopped her from climbing into the large tub, fearing that it was too hot. But she looked at them, her eyes cool, and calm, and she sank down deep into the water, up to her neck. Fire cannot burn a dragon, she thought to herself. Her abdomen was tense and sore. The hot water felt good. Soon, she felt as if she could drift off to sleep, her eyelids were heavy. She was loathe to climb out of the steaming water but she did. Her handmaidens dried her body, adorned her with fragrant oils, and provided her a fresh cloth for her to put between her legs. As she walked into her chamber, she saw that there were fresh bedclothes on her bed, and she climbed in. Her eyes were tired. Her body was tired, and sleep called to her.

Bran

Bran Stark sat at the foot of the wide expanse of the ancient weirwood tree that stood at the heart of the Godswood within Winterfell. The air was cold, and Bran was bundled in a thick fur cloak, his legs swaddled in a thick woolen blanket shielding them from the biting wind. The face of the weirwood tree stared at him, and he stared back at it. Its eyes were the deep red of blood, and they were speaking to him. The eyes had been carved by the children of the forest,in the ancient times. The children of the forest were all gone now, but their Gods were not. They still lived, kept alive by the descendents of the First Men. Bran's eyes traced the five pointed leaves of the tree, the leaves shone bright like a flame, standing out in harsh relief against the ghostly white bark. He touched the tree, his hands finding themselves drawn to the grooves, bumps and curves, and he placed his hands over the face of the weirwood tree. The forest around him began to fade away. He gave in to the greensight.

In the skies above, he watched, as the shadow of a dragon soared over the tops of buildings in a city that he had never seen before. He listened as the screams of men, women and children rang out through the streets. The stench of burning flesh filled his nostrils. He watched as the falling debris, and ash, covered the ground like so much snow. Soon, his vision began to change, he began to drift away, and before him he saw the city transform, into its former glory. The buildings were restored, and the ash gave way to paved stones and streets full of vendors, and smallfolk. He made his way up a hill, and in his mind, he thought that it may be Aegon's High hill. If this was true, he thought, then the building before him, was likely the Red keep. Soon, he was inside the walls of the castle itself, and he drifted along as if carried towards a singular destination. As he walked through the halls of pale red stone that made up the castle walls, he looked into a beautifully furnished room along the corridor and saw a pale young man, as beautiful as a maiden, with shimmering silver hair, and eyes the color of lilacs. He was speaking with a dark haired woman, in that bedroom, and the castle windows behind him were alive with the flickering light of oil lamps casting shadows that seemed to dance.

"The dragon has three heads," he said, his voice as sharp as Valyrian steel, his body tense and rigid, as he paced back and forth, speaking with the woman that sat before him.

Bran, could feel a sickness in his stomach, threatening to bubble up and rise into his throat, as the visions became too much for him. He heard the whisper of the wind through the leaves of the weirwood trees calling to him. He stood now, in front of a weirwood tree, but the face of the tree looked unfamiliar, he knew that he was not at Winterfell. And after a moment, he seemed to be looking at the scene before him through the eyes of the tree itself. Before him, a beautiful young woman, with dark hair, and chestnut brown eyes stood before a pale young man with silver hair. Their hands were bound with ribbon. They repeated a marriage oath: "I am yours and you are mine, from this day until my last day." Bran could smell the fragrance of winter roses, mixing soon with the stale aroma of blood and death, and he heard the muffled cry of a babe, as if it had just been born.

He opened his eyes. He sat in Winterfell, and a light snow was beginning to fall. The dusting of snowflakes fell against his cheek, and he began to call for a servant. He didn't know what to make of what he saw. The Three Eyed Raven had shown him the vision in the tower of joy, about Jon Snow, and his aunt, Lyanna. Could this marriage ceremony be a part of that story? He had been keeping the secret that Jon was his cousin, and not his brother, for some time now, because he was not supposed to involve himself in matters of the realm, and politics. Bran thought to himself, "Is the city in ashes King's Landing, and if so, was it the past, or was it the future?"

Donal, his manservant came to fetch him from the Godswood. As they made their way back into the castle, Bran thought to himself, that he needed to speak with Samwell Tarly. It was time. Jon needed to know.

"Donal," he said.

"Yes m'Lord?" he said.

"When we reach my rooms, fetch Maester Wolkan." he said.

"Yes m'Lord." He said, and they made their way to Bran's chamber in silence.

Bran sat alone in his chambers, waiting for Maester Wolkan. He wrote a note for Samwell Tarly on a piece of parchment, and rolled it up securely. A knock came at the door.

"Yes," Bran said.

"You sent for me my Lord?" Maester Wolkan stepped into the room.

"Yes, Maester Wolkan, I have a raven scroll here, to send to Samwell Tarly." he said.

"Right away my Lord. Is there anything else?' he said.

"No. That will be all." he said.

"This has something to do with the Dragon Queen," he thought to himself. "I just know it. Jon needs to know who he is. It's his destiny."

Bran hoped that the raven would reach Samwell in time. Jon and Daenerys were already in Dragonstone, he thought to himself, but, Lord Tyrion had not yet left. Bran wondered if he may have to reveal the secret to him as well. The people of King's Landing are in danger.