Chapter 28: Both Sides of the Coin

Dragonstone

The halls of Dragonstone were cavernous. Each step Tyrion took down the long, ornate hallway had an echo to it. The candlelight did strange things to the carved dragons that adorned the walls. The magic hummed in these hallways, the magic of Old Valyria, the Targaryen's loomed large in both his line of sight and his mind. He replayed Jon's words again in his head. "It was like she was determined to kill every single person in King's Landing." The pleading, the naked emotion behind Jon's grey eyes is a sight that he would not soon forget. In all the time that he had known Daenerys Targaryen he had never thought her needlessly cruel. She was ruthless, yes. But cruel, no. Her heart had always seemed to be just beneath the surface, no matter how much she projected hardness and cool detachment. He could not reconcile the Queen he served, with the "Mad Queen" that people were telling him she had become. But then, he had not been there. He had not gone to King's Landing. She had bid him to stay behind. His wife's prayers were answered. He was spared the horror of watching a city that he both loved and hated burn to the ground.

"Lord Tyrion," Jon called to him from the doorway of the Chamber of the Painted Table. Daenerys had still not left her bed. It had been three days since the attack on King's Landing, and she was not only still abed, but talking gibberish, her eyes a dull lavender as she mumbled about the "dragon" having "three heads," and called out for her brother Rhaegar. She had never even known Rhaegar. He had died before she was born. As he sat by her bedside she would twist and turn in her coverlets murmuring about Rhaego, and her "moon and stars" and she only woke to drink honey water. It was as if she was in some sort of waking dream.

Tyrion walked into the room and it was filled with a heavy silence. They had to pick up the pieces from this massacre, while Daenerys Targaryen wavered in between states of consciousness, dancing with ghosts. The painted table took up a large part of the room, and on it there was a large carved and painted map of Westeros, as it was during Aegon's conquest. Jon, Davos, and Samwell Tarly, and Lord Varys sat along the perimeter of the table, looking at him expectantly. All of them looked as if they'd aged fifty years in the last three days. Tyrion's eyes traced across the valleys, mountains, and rivers of the painted table, noting that it had no borders. The "seven kingdoms" was a mummers farce, Aegon meant to rule it all, as one realm. Daenery's meant to break the wheel. Maybe all of it amounts to nothing but murder, maybe that's what she realized as she flew across the clouds on Drogon's back.

"Lord Tyrion, we have to talk about the state of the realm," Varys said. He looked not only tired around his eyes, but his voice sounded thin and tired. He had backed the wrong queen, the wrong ruler, again. They all had.

"Do we?" Tyrion raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "Here I thought we were all gathered for my name day celebration." He pulled out a chair, and seated himself, with some trouble, at the painted table. He pulled the flagon of wine that sat near the corner of the table toward himself, and poured himself a glass. It smelled fruity, pungent and spicy. He took a sip, and felt it warm his chest as it went down.

Jon was staring into the hearth. Tyrion wondered if he wanted some answers from the Lord of Light. Finally with a heavy sigh, Jon spoke, "Daenerys must step down. She is not well. I don't know what's happened to her mind. It's like she's gone."

Varys began to fiddle idly with the ring on his pinky, twisting it as he glanced from person to person in the room, and before saying, "I must speak plainly, I served the Mad King. Even he never did anything as cruel as this. She killed tens of thousands of people. The Lannister soldiers had surrendered. This will not be easily forgotten. It will never be forgiven. The smallfolk will not serve Daenerys Targaryen. If we don't do something soon, we will have an uprising on our hands."

"That's the last thing that we need," Tyrion said. "We are already low on food stores, due to Winter. Travelling here, we saw the destruction from the battles of the Last War, most namely the Field of Fire. Much of the country is still ravaged by the destruction caused during the War of the Five Kings. This country has had enough of war and uprisings to last all of our lifetimes."

Samwell Tarly squirmed in his chair, as if he couldn't get comfortable. "What if we had someone better? Someone with a stronger claim-someone kind, and just-and honorable."

"Are you planning to raise Rhaegar Targaryen from the dead?" Tyrion smiled, but there was a darkness in his eyes.

"Well," Sam stammered, "somewhat."

Tyrion choked on his wine. "Pardon me, but...what?"

"Well…," Sam continued, "I have come across some information from the Citadel. Rhaegar didn't kidnap the Lady Lyanna Stark. They were married, in Dorne. He had his marriage to Elia Martell annulled by the High Septon. I found it in the Septon's diary at the Citadel."

"This is an interesting bit of history, but how does that help us exactly." Tyrion was a student of history, of course, but even he knew that this wasn't the time for historical marginalia.

"Well," Sam took a deep breath, "they had a son. He still lives. His name is Aegon Targaryen."

"Aegon's brains were dashed against the wall by the Mountain, one of my fathers hired dogs, and one of my noble father's many contributions to the fate of the realm." Tyrion smiled darkly at his own wit.

"Yes," Sam continued, "but he was not the only Aegon Targaryen. Rhaegar found a prophecy about the Prince Who Was Promised, and he was convinced that his child was to be this person. Elia could not give him another child, so he annulled their marriage, and he got a child on someone else-Lyanna Stark."

"I've never heard anything about another Stark child, especially not one named Aegon." Tyrion said, taking another sip of wine.

"Well, no," Samwell sputtered, "Lyanna died in childbirth. Eddard Stark made a promise to his sister, to raise the boy as his own. He took him home, as his own natural child, and named him after a man he respected and admired Jon Arryn, with the customary bastard name for the North..."

"Snow...Jon...Snow," Tyrion fell back against his chair. "Who else knows this?"

"Right now? Just us, and Bran Stark. He saw the wedding of Rhaegar and Lyanna in one of his visions."

"How do we know that the realm will accept any Targaryen ruler?" Varys said warily.

"Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin." Tyrion said, his eyes downcast. He had picked the wrong side of the coin. But how would he fix it?

"I feel that our conversation has gone far afield," Tyrion sat up straight in his chair, taking another sip of wine for fortification. "What are we to do about our Queen?"

Jon spoke, "We could go into exile. We could travel back to Essos. The people loved her there." He continued to look into the hearth, not meeting anyone's gaze.

"We...what do you mean "we"? You're the rightful heir to the Iron Throne...if it still exists, and the Seven Kingdoms." Tyrion said.

"I don't want it. I only want her. I love her." He looked into Tyrion's eyes. "Take care of my sister."

"Of course," He stood from his chair, walking over to Jon. He reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, "You don't have to do this. You don't have to go into exile."

"But I do," Jon continued, "You're right. They won't accept any Targaryen ruler."

"This is all well and good. I'm glad that you love her. But she is a monster. She is a murderer. She must be punished." Varys had an edge of steel to his voice.

"She is being punished. She is being exiled AGAIN, from the only home that she ever wanted. I won't take from her the only thing that she ever wanted in her life. I won't. I never wanted it. I won't have it. She can't have it. We must leave Westeros." Jon took a deep breath, and then he seemed to crumple. He looked like a small boy now to Tyrion, as he watched him leaning down, his elbows propped on his knees, and both of his hands covering his face, as if to block out the world.

"Varys," Tyrion turned his attention to the eunuch. "Let it go. Are you worried about the fate of the realm, or punishment? You've done many things that deserve punishment, yet here you are."

"I've never killed tens of thousands of people." Varys said.

"That's a lie. You worked with my father, and helped to destabilize the whole of Westeros. You were on the council when the Red Wedding was planned, and tens of thousands of people died in those conflicts. Your hands aren't clean. None of our hands are clean. Jon is the only honorable man here." He patted Jon on the shoulder.

"We know what side his coin is on." Jon looked up at Tyrion, and their eyes met for a moment, and he saw something there like recognition.

"I'm not. My sister always said you were a good man." Jon looked around the room. "We need to set up a ruling council. I will take the throne for a short time, and appoint a ruler in my stead. Then Daenerys and I, and her armies shall depart for Essos."

"It's the best plan we have right now." Tyrion said.

"What will we tell the people-the people of Westeros-" Varys said, looking at both Jon and Tyrion.

"The truth." Jon said plainly.

"The truth. A wise woman once told me that sometimes the strongest thing that we can do, is to look the truth in the face."

Winterfell

Bran Stark sat alone in his chambers. The fire in the hearth crackled and popped behind him, and it felt warm against his back. The castle was a lot quieter now, that most of the soldiers had marched South with Jon. He had been having troubling dreams for the past three nights. When he was awake, the greensight would overtake him. Always the same vision "the dragon has three heads," and sometimes he would be greeted by the grey stone walls of Winterfell and still smell the smoke in his clothing from the fires in his visions. He saw King's Landing burning. He didn't want to scare Sansa. He knew that she was worried about Lord Tyrion. He wanted to tell Sansa that Tyrion was alright. He didn't go to King's Landing. But he was the "Three-Eyed Raven" and he wasn't supposed to meddle in human affairs, especially not politics. But maybe he had already broken that rule. He had sent a raven to Samwell Tarly. Even now, he knew that Samwell Tarly was telling Lord Tyrion, Varys, Davos and Jon about his true parentage. He also knew that Jon would refuse the throne. He loved Daenerys. She was to be the mother of his child. She might already be carrying his babe. He knew that she was having dragon dreams, and dreaming of the child that she lost.

"Bran," Sansa knocked tentatively on his door.

"Yes. Come in." he said. He spread his furs out, across his legs. A chill had crept in his room, and his fire was starting to die.

"You need someone to tend your fire Bran. Why didn't you call for someone."

"I was thinking." He said.

"Thinking," Sansa smiled but he saw worry behind her blue eyes. "Thinking about?"

"Jon. Arya. Tyrion. The war. You." He fought hard to keep his emotions in check. He was still new to being the three eyed Raven. He felt like he was always making mistakes.

"Me? "Sansa sat down on his bed. She spread out her skirts neatly, smoothing them with her hands nervously.

"Yes. You. I know that you worry." He watched her.

"I worry about you. I worry about our family."

"You worry about Tyrion." Bran said.

"He is my family too now."

"I know. I don't want you to worry." He said, watching her face. She looked so much like his mother. He would never see his mother again, except in his visions.

"Are you hungry Bran?"

"Not really. I'm not anything."

"I'll have the maidservant bring up some bread and jam for you." Sansa said, and she stood now. She ruffled her fingers through Bran's hair.

He didn't know what to do when she showed him these tendernesses. He was not Bran Stark anymore, not really. But he was. Something about the way she ruffled his hair reminded him of his mother. He began to feel sick to his stomach. He felt like something was tearing at him, pulling him, right at his navel, grabbing him and pulling him forward. He let the greensight overtake him.