Daenerys

The first thing she saw when she walked into the courtyard was Drogon, rearing his head and beating his wings, despite one of the Unsullied's futile attempts to calm him down. The dragon was angry, but surprisingly she didn't feel the same – she knew she should be angry, but she did not feel the fiery spark of rage, only the cold sting of betrayal.

Around the courtyard lords, ladies and servants had gathered to watch. Gendry and the other smiths stood in the open doorway of the forge, while Ser Davos stood by Missandei and Grey Worm, staring at the floor. She noticed the Red Woman up on the rampart, an eerily calm expression on her face. A Dothraki and an Unsullied shoved Varys before her, the eunuch's hands tied up crudely with rope. Daenerys glanced at Tyrion. "You are sure it was him?"

Her Hand nodded and pulled a small vial from the folds of his cloak. "Ser Davos found this in his room." Daenerys took the vial in her hands and saw that it was half full of small white mushrooms, each speckled with red spots.

"The poison."

Tyrion nodded. "He must've stolen them from my room. I don't know how he knew about them…the little birds are everywhere, I suppose."

Daenerys clenched her hand around the vial and looked up at Varys. "Do you deny these accusations, Lord Varys?"

He met her gaze with a perfectly controlled expression and a blank gaze. "I do not."

Daenerys's stomach churned and she felt as if she might be sick. Whether that was the morning sickness or the disgust she felt in that instant, she could not say. "So you openly admit to plotting against the queen?" Tyrion asked Varys.

"That's correct."

Why? Daenerys wanted to ask him. Why would you do this to me? But before she could get a word out, she heard the sound of doors slamming open and a familiar voice. "Where is she?" The voice was louder and not as even-tempered as usual, but she recognized it immediately as Jon's. Her husband burst into the courtyard and he looked relieved at the sight of her, but when he saw Varys, his grey eyes filled with fury. "You."

"Jon – " She started to say. He didn't listen, brushing past her towards Varys, and no one had time to react before Jon's fist connected with Varys face. "Jon, stop it!" She grabbed her husband to pull him towards her, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face into the back of his shoulder. Her touch was enough to ease his anger and Jon turned towards her so they could embrace fully. Daenerys lifted his hand and saw that blood was now dripping from his knuckles. "You've hurt yourself."

Jon cursed under his breath and kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry, I just…I can't bear the thought of what would've happened had his plan succeeded."

Daenerys smiled feebly and kissed his injured hand. "Luckily it did not."

Varys's nose was now bloody from where Jon had punched him. "You'll die for this." Tyrion said to Varys. "You know that plotting against the queen is a capital offense."

Varys looked up at her, blood dripping down his chin. "The Mother of Dragons told me once she'd burn me alive if I betrayed her. I know she keeps her promises."

"Why?" The word burst from her lips immediately. "Why betray me then? I told you, if you ever thought I was failing the people, tell me and I would've…" Her lower lip trembled and she swallowed so that she would not cry – she was much more emotional now that she was with child and it took everything in her not to burst into tears. She felt Jon's arm tighten around her shoulders.

"I knew you would not see reason." Varys said. "Once you burned the Tarlys, I began to fear there was no going back. King Aerys started off great too, you know – then the years made him more and more mad. I saw your father in you."

Tears pricked her eyes but she clenched her jaw and forced them down. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd upset her. "I am no mad queen."

"So you say." Varys said. "But you are your father's daughter in many ways, Daenerys Targaryen. I've seen the look you get in your eyes. And how can you expect people to not judge you for his sins, when you've done the same to others?"

"I've never – " Daenerys started to say, but Varys cut her off.

"The first time you met your now husband? The smith with his Baratheon father?" Daenerys glanced back at the forge and saw Gendry duck his head, looking uncomfortable as heads turned to stare at him. Varys laughed humorlessly. "No need to hide it – everyone who's ever laid eyes on dead King Robert can tell who the boy's father is. Wasn't it always said that Robert had a bastard in every kingdom? Luckily Joffrey did away with most of them for you."

Daenerys was horrified by the insinuation. "I never planned to kill him, or Jon for that matter." Even back when she first met Jon and Gendry and hadn't trusted them, she'd only been suspicious, and she knew now she was wrong about them. "I never conspired to kill anyone. That was you. If you had concerns, why didn't you come to me like I asked you to?"

The eunuch's eyes were serious and sad. "I feared you would not listen."

Daenerys swallowed the lump in her throat. She wanted to yell at him, to tell him he was wrong about her, but there was no point – doing so would not change his mind or take back his actions, it would only make her look like a petulant child. "And who would be your new cause once I was…done away with?"

Varys' eyes flicked to the man by her side.

Immediately Jon's eyes blazed again and Daenerys tightened her grip on his arm, so he could not do something rash like punch Varys again. "You have no honor." Jon said. "You flit from one king or queen to another, backstabbing them as you please…"

"Say what you like about me," Varys replied. "But I was on your side. Did I ever tell you the story about how I was cut? When the sorcerer took off my manhood when I was just a child and threw it into the flames, a voice whispered to me a single word: Targaryen. I spent my whole life trying to figure out what that voice was trying to tell me. That's why when I heard about the Dragon Queen across the water, I thought perhaps she was the ruler I was meant to place upon the throne. But then, as time went on and I became more disillusioned, I found out the truth about you, the man they called Jon Snow. The Iron Throne should belong to you and is your birthright alone. I know you would make a fair and just king, if only you had the right people to surround you. I knew I needed to get you away from your aunt, and make sure no more children of incest were born in the Targaryen family – but I suppose I was a little too late." Varys shook his head, and Daenerys felt a fierce protectiveness wash over her as the man spoke of her unborn child in such a crude manner. "I was going to make you the greatest king ever known. I was going to wed you to the most powerful heiress in the Seven Kingdoms, to unite the North and South and forge an everlasting peace. I was going to give you the world, Aegon."

Though Jon made no moves to hit Varys, Daenerys knew he was angry from the look in his eyes. Even though her husband had the look of a wolf, for once Daenerys could see the dragon in him. "My name," Jon said, his voice low but forceful. "Is not Aegon."

The two men held each other's gazes for a moment before Varys broke away, looking at Daenerys. "I've said all I have to say, Mother of Dragons. Burn me, behead me, do whatever you want with me. I'll die knowing I did what I thought was best."

A hush fell among the crowds and some Unsullied led Drogon forward, the dragon crying out as if in anticipation for what was to come, smoke puffing out of his nostrils. Daenerys felt Jon squeeze her arm. "I, Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of My Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, do hereby sentence you, Lord Varys, to death for the crimes of treason, murder, and conspiracy to commit murder. Do you have any final words?"

Varys smiled, only smiled. "To think that all these years I'd interpreted that word wrong. I thought it was my destiny to place a Targaryen upon the Iron Throne, but in reality it was my destiny to be killed by a Targaryen. So go ahead, Daenerys Stormborn: end my suffering. I know you'll enjoy the show."

All around the courtyard, the crowds were watching with bated breath. Tyrion and Davos were looking at her, waiting. Missandei grabbed Grey Worm's hand and burrowed her face into his shoulder. Gendry had disappeared from the doorway, gone back to the heat of the forge. Daenerys lastly looked up at the rampart and saw Melisandre of Asshai already staring at her, a serene smile on her face and a look in her eye as if she had seen all of this before.

Drogon whined and then let out a roar. Reluctantly, Daenerys let go of Jon's hand to approach her dragon, running a hand down his nose. Drogon nuzzled against her touch. "Drogon," She whispered to him. "Dracarys."

Drogon opened his mouth and spewed a great burst of fire that heated up the cold winter morning. All around people watched in shock and awe as Varys caught fire, the air smelling like burnt flesh. Up on the rampart, the Red Woman was smiling. "Death by fire is the purest death." She said to no one in particular.

But Daenerys did not watch. She turned away to squeeze Jon's shoulder and wordlessly took his hand, the two of them walking silently back into Winterfell.

She was not a mad queen.

Tyrion

The air smelled like death.

Tyrion did not think he would ever get used to the smell of burnt flesh. From his spot on the ramparts he watched as Winterfell servants cleaned up the yard, one of them sweeping away the ashes that had once been Varys the Spider with a broom. Once Tyrion had considered the man an ally, maybe even a friend. Now he just felt confused. How could Varys have done something so foolish and stupid? Tyrion wondered. Most jarring of all was that the man had stolen from him in order to commit the deed – would Varys have framed him if he had to?

"Lord Tyrion."

He looked up at the sound of his name being called and saw a stern looking Sansa Stark walking towards him. Tyrion glanced away quickly. The last time they were alone together had been two days ago, when she had kissed him in her bedroom. You kissed her back, remember? A little voice in the back of his mind whispered. It was getting harder and harder for him to deny that he had feelings for Sansa. Despite that, however, he knew what had transpired between them the other night had been inappropriate, and he couldn't help but feel that he had taken advantage of her. She never would've kissed me if she hadn't been intoxicated. He thought. She probably regrets it already.

"Lady Stark." Tyrion greeted her, as coolly as possible.

Sansa stopped next to him and glanced out at the courtyard. "Why was Lord Varys put to death on my lands without my permission?"

"Technically your permission wasn't needed," Tyrion said. "Considering Varys's acts of treason were committed against Her Grace, not you, and your brother and the queen's orders trump yours."

"I understand that, but I like to know what is going on in my own home. I am the Lady of Winterfell, I do not favor the queen making me look ignorant."

"No one thinks you ignorant, Lady Stark." Everyone with eyes can see that you're one of the most intelligent and perceptive people around here. He thought about adding, but he refrained. "You know he was planning on marrying you to Jon."

Sansa laughed under her breath. "As if that ever would've happened. I thought Varys was supposed to be smart."

"It would've made you Queen of Westeros."

"I don't care about that. I used to, but..." She trailed off. "My place is here now. This is my home, my people."

It was a wise thing to say, especially considering how desperately she'd wanted to get away from Winterfell as a child. Time has matured her into quite a woman, and many would not have so bravely endured what she has... Tyrion studied her silently for a minute. "You and the queen should talk, I think."

"About Lord Varys?"

"Among other things."

Sansa looked at him confusedly. "What more is there to say?"

Tyrion shrugged. "I know the two of you do not get along."

Sansa frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. "I tolerate her well enough. I do not need to be best friends with her."

"I think you could be," Tyrion said. "Friends, I mean. There's quite a lot you have in common."

"Like what?"

"Well I like you both, for starters."

Sansa rolled her eyes, but she could not help but smile. "Mayhaps you like too many people. What else?"

"You're both keenly intelligent. People underestimate you, but you don't let that stop you. Neither of you like hearing the word 'no' very much…" He paused. "Both of you have survived insurmountable odds, have walked through all the Seven Hells and emerged stronger than before. Daenerys has been through many of the same struggles as you. I think you'll find a kindred spirit in her."

Sansa blushed and looked down. "Maybe I'll talk to her."

"That's all I ask."

They stood in silence for several moments, staring out at the courtyard and watching as the servants finished cleaning. Tyrion watched as everyone went back inside, leaving him and Sansa completely alone, not a single eye on them. He shivered as a winter breeze blew by.

It was an action that did not go unnoticed by Sansa. "That reminds me," She said. "I've been working on something for you." Tyrion opened his mouth to ask what it was, but before he could even get a word out Sansa had picked up her skirts and walked back down the ramparts.

Now alone, Tyrion sighed to himself and rocked on the balls of his feet in an attempt to keep warm. Several moments passed before Sansa came back, long enough that he began to wonder if he should leave or go looking for her. When she returned she was now carrying in her arms a bundle of fabric, but what exactly it was Tyrion could not say.

"My lord," She said. "Allow me to apologize for…what transpired between us the night of my brother's wedding. I know I overstepped my boundaries and I am, frankly, embarrassed by my actions."

He thought of the feeling of her lips on his and her tongue in his mouth and Gods, Tyrion hated himself for desiring her. "You do not need to apologize, Lady Stark." He said. "I've done plenty of things while I was drunk that I regretted in the morning."

Sansa frowned. "Yes, well…" She handed him the bundle in her arms. "Regardless, I made you a gift to show you how sorry I am. I know you said you don't like the cold. This will help with that, I think."

Tyrion could see now that the bundle of fabric was actually a cloak, made of red velvet and trimmed with fur. There was leather lining on the inside to keep the warmth in, and on the straps of the cloak Sansa had stitched a Lannister lion using red thread. "It's…" Tyrion Lannister was not a man to be at a loss for words, but in that moment he was deeply touched. She had really remembered his off-handed comment about the weather? How had she gotten this done in such a short time? "It's beautiful. You made this?"

When he looked at Sansa again, she was beaming. "Yes. Do you like it?"

"My lady, I love it. Thank you."

Her thoughtfulness was just another reason to fall for her more, but Tyrion silently reprimanded himself, reminded himself that there was no point in falling for Sansa Stark when it would only end in heartbreak for him, and so instead he forced a smile and asked her for help putting on his new cloak.

Jaime

He was surprised to find the note from Tyrion in his quarters that morning.

Brother –

His Grace requests your presence at supper this evening, in honor of your bravery and valor at the Battle of Karhold. Be there at eight o'clock sharp, in His Grace's private solar.

Signed,

Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King and Queen

Even though he was no longer a prisoner, Jaime was still wary of the invitation. He knew very well that sometimes when your former enemy invited you to sup, there were sinister intentions. But this was honorable Ned Stark's son (well, nephew technically), so while he probably wasn't going to be murdered, he still choose a black tunic instead of his family's red or gold. The less Lannister he looked, the better.

Jaime arrived at precisely eight to find that all the other dinner guests had arrived. Inside the king's solar, they were clustered around a large round table, Jon Snow with a sister at each side – Arya Stark to his left with Bran Stark next to her, and then Sansa Stark to his right. Across the table Jaime's brother was seated next to an empty chair, and Jaime tried to slip in quietly next to Tyrion, but Lady Sansa saw him. "Ah, Ser Jaime," She said. "Glad you could join us. Come, have a seat next to me."

Jaime did not know how glad she actually was, but he obeyed and slipped into the seat next to Lady Sansa. To his relief, Brienne was on his other side and she gave him a small smile. "Nice to see you in a less dire setting." She quipped.

"Well, we never know." Jaime whispered back. "An ice dragon could fly by and cave the roof in at any moment."

Also seated around the table were the Greyjoys, Ser Davos Seaworth, the Tarly boy and his…his lover? His wife? Jaime didn't know what the story was there, but the Wildling woman kept looking at Tarly and whispering to him about what all these different forks were for. There was only one seat unoccupied, the one next to Tyrion, and they waited for several moments for the queen to arrive, making idle chitchat as a servant came round to fill everyone's wine glasses. At their side of the table, Sansa was asking Arya why she hadn't invited her friend Gendry (Lady Stark spoke the word 'friend' with particular emphasis) to sup with them, and Arya stopped glaring murderously at Jaime for a second to glare at her sister, telling Lady Sansa that she should stop talking if she liked not having a knife in her eye.

After the subsequent terse silence, the door opened but it was not the queen, only her handmaid/advisor/companion – Jaime wasn't sure what exactly she was, nor did he know her name, for they'd never been introduced.

"Pardon the interruption Your Grace," She said in her foreign accent. "But Her Grace has taken ill and will not be joining you for supper this evening."

"Is she all right?"

"Quite all right, Your Grace. Just a bit of an upset stomach from morning sickness."

At the mention of morning sickness, Jaime's eyebrow shot up. They didn't seem to waste any time…But looking around the table, he seemed to be the only one who hadn't already known of the queen's pregnancy. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised that he was the last to know.

The king nodded. "Very well." Jon said. "Have you eaten, Missandei?"

The woman – Missandei, evidently – blanched. "Your Grace, I do not want to impose…"

"You wouldn't be imposing. We have an empty chair and a meal prepared for thirteen."

Still, she looked unsure. "Are you sure, Your Grace? I was going to bring Her Grace some tea and sit with her for a while…"

Suddenly, Sansa glanced over at Tyrion and sat up straighter. "Actually, Missandei," She told her. "I'd be more than happy to bring the queen some tea, after dinner. Sit down and eat with us, please." Across the table, Tyrion looked pleased and Missandei finally gave in, thanking Lady Sansa for her kind offer and taking the empty seat.

The servants came around and filled everyone's plates with food: capon with crispy skin, roasted potatoes and onions, and some pieces of brown bread. Everyone began to eat – poor tongueless Yara Greyjoy was mostly drinking wine and mashing potatoes with the back of her fork – and have their own conversations. Jon Snow inquired after his brother Bran's recent reading and he answered tersely, Tyrion asked Missandei a question about her studies of High Valyrian, Ser Davos and Theon Greyjoy were discussing sailing, and Samwell Tarly was assuring his worried lover that she was in fact holding her knife correctly.

"Ser Jaime," Lady Sansa said to him. "How has your stay at Winterfell been? My sister and I were just discussing…" She side-eyed Arya. "…your comfort."

Jaime cleared his throat. "It's been quite well, Lady Stark. I am…very thankful for your forgiveness and generosity, my ladies."

"Forgiveness and generosity?" Arya Stark repeated, and then she laughed humorlessly. "That's all Sansa. I'm afraid that I've never been the forgiving and generous sort, Ser Jaime."

"Really?" Jaime said, before murmuring under his breath: "I never would've guessed…"

The younger Stark girl smiled at him, but it wasn't a warm smile. It was sly, wolfish. "I'm afraid that's always been one of my faults. I'm actually quite vengeful, in truth. I can hold onto a grudge for years and years, waiting for my right moment – you see Ser Jaime, it's not only Lannisters who pay their debts." She picked up her knife and made a great show of cutting up her capon into many tiny pieces.

At this, Sansa choked on her wine and Brienne had to pat her forcefully on the back.

Jon did not look up from cutting a potato in half as he replied. "Arya," He said nonchalantly. "Please don't threaten anyone with murder at the dinner table. Or at least save it until dessert."

Arya frowned and took a long drink of wine, but kept quiet after that.

There was a beat of awkward silence. "Your Grace," Jaime offered up, in an effort to make conversation. "Have you and Her Grace decided to keep your royal court at Winterfell?"

Jon Snow thought about it for a moment as he chewed. "We haven't discussed it outright, no, but I believe my wife would very much like to return to the South. King's Landing was our family's ancestral seat and I know it means a lot to her. I think she would like to march to King's Landing as soon as the War for the Dawn is over, but if I had my way I would like her to give birth safely at Winterfell first." There was a pause and it didn't take a genius to know what they were all thinking: that is, if we survive long enough to march south.

"You could always go south with the armies and have Daenerys follow later," Sansa suggested. "For her safety and the baby's."

Jaime did not know Daenerys Targaryen well, but even he had to scoff at the idea. "As if the Mother of Dragons would ever agree to that."

Arya's eyes flashed angrily. "Don't talk down to my sister like that!"

Sansa opened her mouth, but Brienne spoke before she could. "He's right, you know. The queen would never agree to such an arrangement." Brienne blushed immediately once she realized what she'd said and turned away, stuffing a forkful of capon into her mouth.

Sansa smiled thinly. "It was just a suggestion. I know Her Grace is very strong-willed, and Ser Jaime is probably correct."

"And Daenerys is right about one thing," Tyrion added. "We cannot leave Cersei to her own devices for the next seven or eight months or so. It would be wise to deal with her sooner rather than later."

Theon Greyjoy placed his fork down. "I don't even know why were are discussing this," He said, looking at Jon. "With Euron dead, Cersei has no allies – everyone hates her: the nobles, the smallfolk…You have several armies, a hundred ships, and two dragons. Why don't you just fly south and burn her in her keep?" Next to him, Yara nodded along in agreement.

The word burst out of Jaime's mouth before he could stop himself. "No."

Immediately all chatter ceased and everyone at the table glanced at him with various expressions of confusion, disappointment or anger. "And why not?" Arya Stark said. "You claim you hold no love for your sister any longer, Ser Jaime."

"I don't," Jaime responded immediately. "But…" He trailed off, thinking of his unborn child. It was foolish to hope, he knew, but he could not help himself.

Then, Bran Stark spoke up. "He doesn't love Cersei anymore, that's true." He said, and all eyes around the table shifted away from Jaime and towards Bran. "But he does love the child that she is carrying."

Dead silence. Jaime stared at young Bran Stark in confusion – and fascination. "How could you possibly know that?"

Jon dropped his fork and faced Bran directly, squaring his jaw. "You've seen this?"

Bran only nodded in response.

Now, the king turned towards Jaime. "The baby is yours?" His voice was eerily calm.

Jaime gulped. The Stark sisters were staring at him in shock, the Greyjoys with anger, Ser Davos, Missandei, Samwell Tarly and his lover with wide-eyes, and Tyrion with sympathy. Brienne could not even look at him. "Yes."

Theon Greyjoy cleared his throat. "Well, that's another reason we should go to King's Landing as soon as possible." He glanced at Jaime. "No offense, Ser – I understand your predicament, but this is war. What will happen if Cersei gives birth to a male heir?"

"We don't murder babies in wombs here, Theon." Surprisingly, it was Arya Stark who said that, her voice stern. Was she actually on Jaime's side for once?

"I agree," Ser Davos piped up. "Children are not their fathers, Your Grace – or their mothers."

Still, Theon was persistent. "How can we guarantee that this child won't grow up to become another King Joffrey? We have to think this decision through. What kind of leaders are we if we let such an abomination exist?"

A strange look crossed Jon's face. "Some might say the same about my child."

Greyjoy frowned. "Jon, I didn't mean it like that – "

The king cut him off. "I know what you meant, I'm just saying there's much to consider."

Tyrion took a long drink, then put down his wine. "Your Grace, Joffrey was an evil-tempered boy. Neither Jaime or I will argue that. But he also had two siblings, born under the same circumstances – Myrcella and Tommen were good and kind, innocent. Their losses were tragic." As Tyrion spoke, Jaime felt a knot forming in his throat. Not only had he lost his children, but Tyrion had lost his niece and nephews. No one could say Tyrion hadn't loved Myrcella and Tommen with all his heart. "Every single one of us has the capacity to become evil, but if this child was allowed to live and grow up away from Cersei's influence, with his or her true father…I promise you, Your Grace, that child would be raised to respect your rule, I swear it."

Now, Jon Snow looked at Jaime. "Do you have anything to add, Ser Jaime?"

He glanced at Brienne. She still would not look at him and had pushed her plate away from her, staring down at her lap. Jaime knew he had blindsided her. "Just that…" He began. "I understand who Cersei is, but the child is also mine too. And because of that I cannot help but…" He shook his head. "I know it's probably a lost cause, but I hope as a fellow expectant father you can understand my position."

After a moment's pause, Jon Snow nodded. "A child is not responsible for the sins of its father – or mother, in this case. Cersei Lannister shall live until she can give birth to her child, and I am certain Daenerys will agree with my decision." Around the table, everyone nodded in silent agreement, some more begrudgingly than others.

Abruptly, Bran Stark pushed his wheelchair away from the table. "I'm tired, I think I shall retire early. Sam, do you mind helping me to my room?" Tarly got to his feet and went to help him, his lover rising as well and thanking Jon for inviting them to sup.

As they left, Brienne stood as well. "Lady Stark, I beg your pardon, but might I be excused?"

Sansa looked at her with concern. "Are you certain? You barely touched your food – are you ill?"

"No, I've just…" She glanced quickly at Jaime. "…lost my appetite."

Jaime knew he should stop her, but couldn't find the right words. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. He wanted to say, but what good would that do? He had no good excuse, and she had every right to feel hurt. He'd told her that he was done with Cersei, but in reality…there was this secret tethering them to one another. As much as he wanted to let Cersei go for good, how could he? Jaime had left a part of himself behind in King's Landing and he could never break away from Cersei while she still carried it.

Sansa nodded. "Yes, you are excused. Rest well."

"Thank you, my lady." Brienne nodded stiffly at the other dinner guests. She did not meet Jaime's eyes. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight" several others echoed weakly, and Brienne quickly fled the room. The others picked up their utensils and continued the meal on in silence, no sounds but the scraping of forks against plates. Tyrion beckoned for the servant to pour everyone more wine.

But Jaime only pushed his plate away. He suddenly wasn't hungry anymore.

Sansa

She adjusted her hold on the tea tray and hesitated as she stood outside the door to Jon and the queen's chambers. Gently, she rapped on the door. "Your Grace?"

Sansa could hear the sound of shuffling from inside the room. "It's open!"

She pushed the door open, carefully balancing the tray, and found Daenerys Targaryen sitting upright on the bed, discreetly wiping her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. She's been crying. Sansa thought, and the realization made her feel bad, as if she'd somehow contributed to it. She pretended not to notice as she placed the tea tray down on the bedside table. "I came to see how you were doing."

"I'm…quite all right." Daenerys did not sound at all convincing. Her voice wobbled from the strain of crying. "You were kind to check up on me."

Sansa bit her lip, not sure of what to say. It would be rude to ask why she had been crying so instead she picked up one of the cups and the kettle. "How do you take your tea?" She asked, pouring.

Daenerys Targaryen hesitated before answering, her eyes flitting to the kettle and then to the second cup which Sansa had brought for herself. Sansa knew immediately what she was doing. She's making sure that I'll be having some myself, so she knows it's safe. "Splash of milk, no sugars."

Sansa fixed the tea as she described and then handed it to Daenerys, who smiled feebly. Then she poured a second cup for herself and fixed it the same way. "Tell me," She said. "Who is it that made you so wary of other people?"

Daenerys laughed bitterly into her tea cup. "How much time do you have?"

"All night, if you wish."

The queen took a long sip before placing her cup back down in the saucer. "The first time I was almost poisoned was when I was married to Khal Drogo. I was pregnant then. The man disguised himself as a wine-seller, offered me a gift…I would've died if Ser Jorah hadn't saved me." Forlornly, she pressed a hand over her belly. "My son died, but that had nothing to do with the poison."

Sansa swallowed and stared into the depths of her cup. "I'm sorry." She had no idea that the queen had ever been pregnant before. "It is cruel to lose a child. Not that I've ever experienced it, but…"

"I appreciate your sympathies." The queen said and her smile seemed genuine, though faint. "I'm sorry for what happened today with Lord Varys, Lady Stark, but I…" She shut her eyes and a single tear slipped down her cheek. "Poisoned wine. The exact same time as last time. But I…I can't lose another child. Not again."

Sansa opened her mouth, then closed it. As much as she wanted to tell Daenerys that she wouldn't miscarry again, that wasn't a promise she could make. "Well," She said instead. "You won't see me crying over Lord Varys, if that's your worry."

The Mother of Dragons shook her head. The tears were flowing freely and now she didn't even bother to hide it. "Maybe he's right about me. Maybe I am a mad queen…"

"Don't say that – "

"Why? I know you don't like me." Sansa flinched at Daenerys's words, as if she'd been slapped. "I'm guilty of all the crimes he's accused me off. I burned Lord Tarly and his son alive to make an example of them. I ask people not to judge me off the sins of my father, but I hated the Baratheon boy when I first met him. I don't think I ever would've harmed him, but we don't know that, do we? Maybe I'm no better than Cersei Lannister…" She let out a broken sob. "I'm a horrible person. What kind of queen will I make? What kind of mother will I make?"

Instinctively, Sansa placed her cup down and grabbed one of the queen's hands, startling her. "You are not a horrible person," She said. "And you are nothing like Cersei. Trust me, I'd know."

The queen sniffled. "How?"

"I spent years of my life with Cersei." Sansa explained. "I was betrothed to her son, Joffrey…" She resisted the urge to shudder at the memory. "People like them are great at making you think they care, but underneath that exterior…I don't think there's a shred of goodness in them. You may have made mistakes, but you have a good heart – I see it in the way you look at my brother, the way you talk about your child. Cersei is nothing like that. Maybe you have bad instincts sometimes, but you resist them – she would act on them all without a second of hesitation. There's only one person in this world Cersei Lannister loves, and that's herself."

The queen was silent for a second, taking another sip of tea with shaking hands. "This is good, thank you."

Sansa smiled. "You're welcome."

Daenerys looked up at her. "How did you escape? Cersei, I mean."

It was an innocent enough question, but that too brought up horrible memories. She had been so relieved to leave King's Landing, but now she regretted her actions that day, how she had abandoned Tyrion so swiftly even if it meant he would die. If she could go back, she never would've trusted Littlefinger. "Lord Baelish took me away to the Vale. I trusted him, but he betrayed me. Killed my aunt, and then sold me in marriage like a broodmare to the worst man I have ever met. He's gone now, but just thinking about him, it makes me feel cold. The things he did…"

She didn't want to say it, but it seemed Daenerys already knew what came next. "I was raped too." She whispered in a small voice. "I understand if you don't want to talk about it."

Sansa nodded and sipped her tea, trying to quash the tears pricking the backs of her eyes. "It was a dark time, but it's over. I'm smarter now, and braver, and stronger. I will never let someone do to me what he did again."

"If I look back, I am lost." The queen said, mostly to herself. "I know exactly what you mean."

They sat in silence for several moments, both of them sipping their tea. In just a few minutes Sansa had learned more about her goodsister than she had since Jon brought Daenerys to Winterfell. I thought she was so cruel and untrustworthy, Sansa thought to herself. But she's not so scary. She's just a woman. A woman who is an awful lot like me.

When they had both finished, they placed the cups back on the tray and Sansa rose to her feet. "Your Grace," She said. "I know that you and I have not always seen eye-to-eye…but I hope you know that I do respect you."

The queen smiled. "I respect you too, Lady Stark. And please, call me Daenerys."

"Daenerys, right. You must call me Sansa, then."

"All right. Well then, goodnight Lady Sansa."

Sansa smiled and picked up the tray. A part of her wished she had listened to Tyrion and done this days ago – it would've saved them a lot of time. Maybe then we could've been friends, real friends, before the Night King comes. I suppose there's still time. "Goodnight, Queen Daenerys."