Chapter Two

Jon

A week had passed since Jon's talk with Tyrion. He had come to his decision two days earlier, but prolonged the small council meeting he needed to call to agitate Daenerys. Seeing her angry, her violet eyes flare, made Jon feel as if he were fifteen again, teasing Robb and Arya. A small pain in his chest erupted at the thought of his youngest sister; her disappearance haunted him the most. The only reason he had agreed to Stannis' terms was because that red witch had told him Arya was being raped and abused at the hands of Ramsay Bolton at Winterfell. He had broken the vows he'd made before the old gods only to save his small sister. After defeating the Bolton's and finding a trembling Jeyne Poole in place of his sister, Jon had sunk into a hole he hadn't thought he'd ever leave, and had dedicated himself to the rebuilding of Winterfell in order to distract himself. She could be anywhere, by now . . . At least he had Sansa. Littlefinger had organised for her to come to King's Landing from the Vale. To gain my favour, Tyrion says. Whatever his reasons, Jon was happy to have at least one of his kin returned to him; even if it was the one who had always ignored his existence. Jon did not even allow himself to dwell on the fates of Bran and Rickon, though he prayed each and every day for some news of them. All my brothers gone… No, I have Sam. My last brother.

"Your Grace," Varys and Littlefinger seemed to have practised their routine greeting for Jon, as they did it in perfect synchronisation.

"Jon," Tyrion greeted him cheerily, taking a seat by his right. The place of honour.

"Where is Daenerys?" Jon asked.

"Right here, Your Grace," she gave him a mocking bow, before taking the seat to his left, her handmaiden Missandei mutely by her side.

"You look radiant, dear aunt," Jon smiled.

"Why don't you get on with it, nephew," she answered, trying her very hardest not to grin.

"Well, I have come to a decision," Jon said, addressing the entire council.

And how difficult and hard it was.

"Pray tell, what is it?" said Daenerys.

"I have decided I will do my duty to the people of Westeros, who chose me as their King, and rule."

"A good choice, Your Grace," Varys said, while Petyr Baelish only smirked.

"The people of King's Landing and a few of the Great Lords," Daenerys said dismissively. "And the lords only chose you in hopes that you might take their silly daughters as wives. Dorne wanted me."

"Envy doesn't suit you, my Queen," Tyrion commented.

"I am Queen no longer," she returned. After realising how she sounded, quickly added, "I am happy for you, Jon. If not me, then I am joyed to see a Targaryen on the throne, where we should be. I am merely bitter at all that time wasted trying to be Queen."

Jon decided not to remind his aunt that he wished to remain a Stark, or a Snow if need be, and that he would not be taking Targaryen as his last name. "You can still be Queen," he said instead.

"How is that?" Petyr asked, his smirk out of sight. "You don't wish to marry, do you?"

"It is not unheard of," Tyrion said. "Plus, as my siblings were so fond of telling themselves: the Targaryens wed kin all the time."

"Quiet," Jon said, a little startled at how quickly his command had been obeyed. "I do not wish to marry Daenerys. I wish to name her Queen in Slaver's Bay, to keep the peace. If she wishes. I would also grant her permission to try and conquer the Free Cities too, if she should choose to."

A stunned silence filled the room, and Jon wondered whether his idea had been stupid and naïve. As much as he cared for Daenerys, he would get nothing done with her under his feet at all times, and she would probably frighten Sansa, once she came. With her gone, there would be no-one around pushing the issue of him restoring House Targaryen their lands and taking on the name. Plus, he had heard that the people of Slaver's Bay adored their Mesa.

"I see no issue in Daenerys returning there to keep the peace," Varys said eventually.

"You wish to get rid of me?" She said, hurt in her eyes that Jon had never seen before.

"No," he answered. "Only . . . You are not Westerosi. You do not know the people and you do not the lands. And you are too angry with the Great Lord's treatment of your brother and his family to rule them fairly. But you know Slaver's Bay, the people love you, and you ruled there successfully once."

"He was your father, Jon," she said quietly. "Rhaegar was your father, and those lords of yours bashed his children's heads against the walls and raped his wife's corpse."

"I am a Stark, Dany."

"No, Jon, you are my kin—"

"Yes, I am your kin. But it was not Rhaegar who raised me, not Lyanna whose breasts I sucked. It was Eddard Stark, who was murdered by Joffrey, who has already suffered and died for his crimes. We will always be family, Daenerys, but I won't hold the anger you do at their defeat."

"We cannot be family if you are a Stark, Jon. I am a Targaryen, and I thought you would help me restore our House," he could see the flare in her eyes.

"I will restore House Targaryen, as I promised. Storm's End will be given to Stannis' daughter, where she will live out the rest of her days, and Dragonstone will be the seat of your House. As I promised."

"Our House."

"Dany—"

"Say it, Jon, else we'll never be family. We are blood of the dragon, not Northerners."

"The North is in my blood, Dany."

"As is the dragon."

"Your Graces," Petyr interrupted. "I believe we can come to a compromise."

"Oh really?" Tyrion raised a brow.

"Aye," the Lord Protector of the Vale returned. "Your Grace need only take on both names and become Jon Stark Targaryen. The North can be left to Sansa or your brothers if they return, and the newly restored House Targaryen for your own children."

"I want my children to be of the North," Jon protested.

"Your children will be Princes and Princesses," Varys pointed out. "The eldest will be King or Queen if you are given no sons, and the rest, well . . . Maybe Lord Baelish is right in saying they may inherit Dragonstone and become Lord of House Targaryen."

"Well, Jon?" Dany had her hands on her hips.

Jon cast a quick glance to Tyrion, seeking the man's guidance. He lifted his cup to his lips and merely shrugged: Jon knew this meant he saw no obvious flaws to the plan.

"Fine. Dragonstone will be the seat of our House and my second child will inherit it. I will name the Houses of the Stormlands its bannermen and vassals, if that please you, dear aunt."

"That does. If it please you, sweet nephew, I will to stay in Westeros until our House has been completely restored, then I will return to Slaver's Bay and continue my rule."

"That pleases me immensely," I will have to warn her away from Sansa . . . "Until I do wed, however, you are Lady Daenerys of House Targaryen."

Dany smiled, a rare occurrence that made her look ten years younger. Jon ached to reach out and hug her, but reminded himself that he had sisters enough to care for, that letting people in only ended up hurting in the long run.

"Now that's been sorted out," Tyrion said. "What's next on the agenda?"

"King Jon's coronation, to ensure that his rule is not opposed," Daenerys said, much more upbeat than she was a few moments ago.

"Yes, yes," Tyrion said. "First, you must venture outside the castle walls and remind the people why they chose you. Once you have secured your council, a trip to Dorne wouldn't be a bad idea, they have always resented being part of the Seven Kingdoms, but you and your aunt should be able to appease them for the meanwhile."

"Lord Tyrion gives wise counsel, as always."

"Before that, Your Grace, I'd advise you to handle your hostages. We still have Jaime and Cersei Lannister and the Boy King in the cells, growing restless each day," Petyr suggested.

"I thought we'd already killed her," Dany said.

Jon shot a furtive look towards Tyrion. "Oh don't worry, Jon, you're more kin to me than she ever was. Kill her, rip out her cunt, it bothers me none, so long as she is kept far away from Casterly Rock and the Iron Throne."

"Cersei allowed Joffrey to mistreat Sansa, too Your Grace," Petyr added.

So this is what it's like to be King, deciding to kill someone or not. Jon had no feelings of kindness towards Cersei and when he thought of how her son had killed his father—uncle, and her family had ruined the lives of his, he wanted to see her scream as she burned to death the way Melisandre had. But Jon was no longer a boy, and merciless acts of vengeance is what fifteen year old Jon would've done. But twenty year old, King Jon Stark Targaryen, first of his name, was smarter than that. He had become a turncloak in order to save the kingdom from the wildlings, had been Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, had rode the back of a dragon.

"On the morrow, I want all the Lannisters cleaned, clothed and brought to the throne room where I will judge and sentence them. I would also have Smalljon Umber summoned in hopes that he will take the position of Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."

"Of course, Your Grace," Varys said.

"You may also tell him he is free to bring with him three men, whom he feels would serve well in the Kingsguard."

"There must be seven, Your Grace," Petyr pointed out.

"Hopefully, Daenerys will allow me to take on two of her most loyal Unsullied—not Grey Worm, yes I know—to fill positions."

"That still leaves one place," Tyrion piped in.

"Which Ghost will fill."

The room was silent before erupting into laughter. Even Missandei grinned quietly.

"You certainly are of the North, my King," Petyr said.

"There is no-one more loyal to me than Ghost. He will sleep by my side each night."

"Personally, I feel it is a smart decision, Jon. I will of course leave Rhaegal in your care, once I go to Dragonstone. With those two by your side, you'll be the safest man in Westeros."

"Aye," Jon smiled.

For the next few hours, Jon and his council went through every issue that had grown in his three month absence. From paying back the gold the crown had borrowed from the Iron Bank, ensuring the Iron Born remained bent and loyal, and organising which servants and cooks and knights should be sent to Dragonstone, the new seat of House Targaryen. It wasn't until well after dusk that Jon was able to retire to his chambers, where he lay fully clothed across his bed, thinking of how long it would take to fully heal Westeros. He still had a hundred and other lords to please, Riverrun to fix, the Frey's to punish, and with Petyr setting off for the Vale once Sansa arrived, a Master of Coin to find. Not only that, but he was still hellbent on finding Bran and Rickon. A Stark must always be in Winterfell, and Jon had King's Landing to look after now. On the morrow, he promised himself, I will have Varys send his little bird out to find them. And Arya too. Jon wouldn't ever rest easy in his Iron Throne without all his siblings safe and where they belonged.

III

The next day, Jon felt better. He had risen early, and took the chance to follow Tyrion's advice and venture into the city. He had brought Ghost along with him. For an hour or so, the two had roamed empty streets, with nobody recognising their King. It wasn't until the sun began to rise and Ghost stepped from the shadows and into the light that the people realised that Jon was among them.

"King Jon! Let us ride your wolf," they called.

"He cannot be ridden," he called back. "You may stroke him though."

That was how Jon ended up spending an hour in Flea Bottom, as he let his subjects each get a feel of Ghost's pristine, white fur. He hadn't realised he was enjoying himself, until the last person came and went. On whim, Jon declared that he would hold a feast in a fortnight, as thanks for the people of King's Landing choosing him, and that everyone who could fit into the hall, was welcome. Word travelled quickly, for by time Jon reached the Red Keep, he was being confronted by Tyrion who wanted to know where food and money for this feast was coming from.

"We don't have to buy it from the lords," Jon said. "A few gold dragons can buy crates of fish by the Blackwater, and I can get the meat from the butchers in Flea Bottom. They're cheap."

"To feed 'everyone who can fit'? We have to prepare for the winter."

"I know," Jon snapped. "We have the wheat and barley that Mace Tyrell gave us, and the water reserves Varys has."

"Speaking of Mace Tyrell," Tyrion said, seemingly over the feast issue. "He has been waiting nearly five months for the release of his two children. You should probably see them too, once you're done with my sweet sister."

"Who might those be?"

"Tommen's bride, Margaery and her brother, former Kingsguard, Loras."

"The thrice divorced maid and the Knight of Flowers?" Jon couldn't help but laugh. Knight of Flowers. He wondered how the beautiful Loras would've fared beyond the Wall.

"The children of the richest man in Westeros. Apart from me."

"Ha ha," Jon rolled his eyes. "The Reach, fertile land. Alright, I'll see his children. Though I doubt I'd need to, I suspect the girl was forced into her marriage and the boy is a queer, no?"

"I don't know about the boy, but the girl is a sly one. Her grandmother's a master at politics and she raised this one under her wing."

"Hm," Jon murmured. "Have them dressed and ready to see me once I'm done with your kin."

"Will do, Your Grace."

A few more hours passed, as Jon idly wandered the Red Keep, figuring that if he was going to live there, he'd prefer to know all the nooks and crannies. So far, he had found several hidden passage ways which and two abandoned rooms. He had ordered for Daenerys, Tyrion and Varys to sit in while he judged Cersei and her children. Ghost would be there too, of course, since he had no Kingsguard, as yet. He had opted for Littlefinger to sit this one out, he did not trust the man as far as he could throw him, and was often sceptical of his sly smirks and apparent goodwill. Then again, Jon trusted none of these Southerners, apart from Tyrion and Dany, occasionally. That reminded him, he needed to go and choose his Unsullied kingsguard.

Once he arrived in the throne room, Jon asked the two maidservants to fetch Dany and Tyrion, since Varys was already there. They jumped to obey, and again Jon was startled by how easily he could get things done in the castle. He had never been treated with such obeisance before, even those short few months as Lord of Winterfell, people had still been wary of him, and most of his days were spent rebuilding the castle and paying his respects to the bannermen, not ordering servants to fetch his aunt and Hand. Then again, Northerners were much harder and well, colder than these Southerners. His mind involuntarily drifted to Ygritte. Never, he vowed, will I forget her as the flames kissed her hair one last time.

"Sorry I'm late, I had a sellsword who needed prying of off poor Missandei," Tyrion waddled in.

"You should have that man put on a leash," Dany said. "He's a swine."

Jon laughed. He realised he had been doing that much more lately. It is good to have family around, even if you do have different last names. "A loyal swine, dear aunt, he remained Tyrion's ally during his entire time spent in Mereen with you."

"Just keep him away from my handmaidens," she warned, taking a seat to Jon's left. The right was reserved for Tyrion, everyone knew, though he supposed once Sansa came, he'd have to allow her to stand by his right.

"Where are the prisoners?" Jon had Ghost at his feet and Longclaw across his lap. He was ready for Cersei Lannister.

"Grey Worm, Rat Face and Strom are bringing them in," Daenerys informed him; her voice had changed to the regal tone she adopted for these kind of events. It sent a chill down Jon's spine, as he remembered how frightened he had once been of her and her dragon blood.

Cersei Lannister, Jon had to admit, had managed to retain her grace even after months of being kept prisoner in the black cells. He had once thought her the most beautiful woman he had seen, but now, as he stared into her cold eyes, and recalled how she'd raised a monster who'd done nothing but reign terror on his family's lives, he thought her one of the most unattractive women ever, even if her blonde hair still shone. Anyways, Jon thought, I prefer my girls kissed by the fire. Abruptly, an image of Melisandre entered his mind, one of the rare times she'd smiled and laughed with him, about something other than her Lord of the Light. She lied to me, he reminded himself, lied to and betrayed me. Jon Stark hated nothing more than betrayal.

"Your Grace," Grey Worm said. "I present to you Cersei Lannister, former Queen Regent, doer of incest, and brother to Lord Tyrion, Hand to the King. And her children, the Boy King and the Dornish Myrcella."

Chuckles sprouted around the room at Grey Worm's less than orthodox introduction. Jon took the moment to compose himself. He'd gone over everything he needed to say. He was king and Cersei was scum, he repeated this over and over. She let Joffrey beat Sansa and lost Arya. She let my father die.

"Lannister," Jon said. "Before I begin, do you have anything to say?"

She narrowed her eyes at Tyrion. "Seems those little legs of yours can carry you quite far, brother," she spat.

"It seems they can, yes," he smiled jovially.

"How dare you smile at me after all you've done!" She screamed. "You killed Father and my Joff!"

"You would do well to remember yourself, Cersei," Varys intoned.

"You be quiet you filthy eunuch! Who gave you permission to speak my name? I am your rightful queen!"

"That," Dany said stonily. "Is my line."

"So this is the Targaryen whore with the dragons? Not quite as beautiful as the stories would have me believe."

"Watch your tongue around my kin, Lannister," Jon warned.

"Oh yes, the little bastard who turned out to be a Prince," she drawled. "You must love sitting there, on my Joff's throne."

"My father's throne!" Daenerys yelled. "Grey Worm!"

Immediately, the soldier took a whip and lashed it against Cersei's pale neck. Jon flinched at the brutality, but said nothing. It would not do well to scold Daenerys in front of an enemy.

"This was House Targaryen's throne, Lannister. And my father was a Targaryen, therefore making this seat mine, and not your bastard son's, born of incest."

"Who are you to judge? Your family wed brother to—"

"We don't judge the act, only the adultery and the lie," Jon cut her off. "We are not here to argue my claim to the throne, I am King and that's that. I am here to punish you for you crimes, one of them including allowing my sister, a child betrothed to your son, to be abused and tortured here. For allowing your son to take my father's head. And for being cruel to a good friend of mine, who, had you treated nicer, may have vouched for mercy for you."

"He is a lying scoundrel! Kinslayer! He should be on trial, not I!"

"Enough. You show no remorse for your actions, so I have come to my decision, you will die. Does my council have anything to add?"

"Leave her in the cell with Drogon," Dany said. "Let him burn her alive, feel the pain my brother felt when her father had his wife and children brutally murdered."

"Does anyone object?" Jon asked, looking at Tyrion, who wore a mask of indifference.

"No, Your Grace," Varys said. "Only that Tommen and Myrcella need not suffer the same fate."

"Of course not," Jon said. He, like Tyrion he supposed, had a soft spot for bastards. "Tommen will be fostered by House Targaryen and raised at Dragonstone."

"No," Cersei cried as she shook her head.

"And Myrcella," Jon yelled over her. "Will be sent to the North, and wed one of my men when she is of age, if her uncle agrees to the match, of course."

"They are mine," Cersei screamed. "My children! They are kings and queens!"

"They are Lannister bastards," Daenerys shot back. "Once the realms knows that they have no claim to the throne any longer, they will be sent where they may and live a life where they are free from the likes of you."

"You Targeryen—"

"Grey Worm, take her away. Daenerys, follow them and ensure the sentence is carried out. No further cruelty will be given, only the death by dragon."

Cersei clutched at her children, and for a moment, Jon felt his heart soften. He couldn't possibly split up a family. Not after all that had happened to him. But then she spat right him, and declared that her children would rise above him and kill every Stark or Targaryen left, and Jon told Dany to get rid of her. Once she was gone, he beckoned her children forward and gave them both hugs. He hadn't given anyone a hug in years, and never imagined he would, especially not Lannister children, but he didn't want them to think him heartless. He hated causing their pain, but he had to think of the realm, of his own family.

"You still have your uncle Tyrion. If you wish, you might stay with him until Dragonstone and the North are ready for you."

The two children bowed and rushed to the side of Tyrion, who held them close and planted kisses on their heads. Jon decided that in a few weeks he would order that they could stay and be fostered by him, so they could be close to their remaining family member. If anyone asked, he could always say it was to keep an eye on them.

"You did well, Your Grace," Varys complimented. "Bring in Jaime Lannister," he then called.

Tyrion sent his nephew and niece to wait for him, by one of the curtains, hidden from the father. He had particularly liked watching Cersei be sentenced to death by dragon, and couldn't deny that he had felt a strange sort of lightness overcome him once Grey Worm had taken her away. He only hoped he could live long enough to see Myrcella and Tommen lead decent lives, and Jon become the King he was meant to be. He raised himself a few inches taller, and prepared for the sentencing of his brother. This would not be so easy as watching Cersei, he knew.

". . . Also known as the Kingslayer?"

"Yes, Your Grace, I was the one to push a sword through your grandfather's back."

"His own sworn kingsguard?"

"You Northern men do take your vows quite seriously," Jaime jested.

"You Lannisters don't seem to take your lives very seriously," Jon answered.

"My life is already gone. I personally fought against your lord brother, betrayed Lady Stark by failing to return Sansa to her, murdered your other kin, and I know your father—uncle, sorry, hated me. I am a talking dead man."

"An annoying one, too," Jon agreed.

"At least this King has a sense of humour," Jamie winked at his brother, who remained stony faced.

"Do you deny breaking your vows and bedding your sister, Cersei?"

"I do not."

"Do you deny supporting Tommen and Joffrey's claim to the throne, with the knowledge that they were your sons and no trueborn Baratheon?"

"I do not."

"Well, Jaime, you are infinitely more tolerable than your sister, who has been sentenced to death. You are quite lucky the Mother of Dragons is not here, else you may have suffered the same fate."

Tyrion was quite astonished to see that the news of Cersei's fate barely affected his brother, who only raised his eyebrows.

"By what means?"

"Drogon," Jon replied.

"Pleasant," Jaime commented.

"Jaime Lannister, you have admitted your crimes and shown humility. For that, I will spare you your life. However, you are not permitted to spend it here in Westeros. Your lord brother, my Hand has asked for mercy for you, therefore as punishment for your crimes, you are exiled from the Seven Kingdoms, you may stay here as a prisoner and travel with Queen Daenerys when she sets sail, or you may leave on the morrow, for Pentos, with one of your brother's knights, who will escort you to a living situation I'm sure you'll find tolerable."

"Y—yes, Your Grace. On the morrow," Jaime stuttered.

"Wise choice," Jon almost smiled, but remembered that he was a King. "Should word ever reach me that you are anywhere near my kingdoms however, I will feed you to Rhaegan. Or maybe Ghost."

"Understood, Your Grace."

"Take him away," Jon ordered.

Four Unsullied soldiers stepped forward to take Jaime away. Jon thought it was far too much, one Unsullied would be enough to escort the crippled Kingslayer. I could've even let him go off by himself, what could he possibly do? He has no family, no money, no influence, not anymore. For a moment, Jon was frightened he made the wrong choice. He broke his vows and killed his king, my grandfather, he pushed Bran from a window, Father would have had him killed or sent to the Night's Watch. Any North man would've. Have I become soft, here in this sun? Jon almost had Jaime sent back in, so he could cut off the man's head, but stopped just as his lips were about to form the words. I am not Eddard, I have broken vows too, and now I am King, sometimes vows need to be broken, his thoughts lingered on Ygritte, and the Mad King, how the man had enjoyed seeing people burnt alive. Just like Daenerys, or Melisandre, even. Maybe the Mad King had needed to die, Jon thought, not that I'll ever say that aloud. And when he pushed Bran . . . He was a different person back then, Tyrion said so, he was a Lannister then and now he is merely Jaime. The punishment was just and merciful, Jon finalised, just as I hope to be.

"Jaime will be no worry, Your Grace," Varys said. "His sentiments for his sister have faded and gone, he has lost his sword hand, and will probably spend his exile happily."

"Yes."

"And Daenerys will soon be there, to keep an eye," Tyrion added, sparing a glance towards Myrcella and Tommen who still stood shivering behind the curtains. He would've sent them away, but there was no servant whom he trusted not to harm them.

"She burned," Dany announced as she entered the room once more, a satisfied look upon her face. "Cersei Lannister is no more, and we can send her bones to Dorne, to quench the Sand Snake's thirst for vengeance, no?"

"Yes," Jon conceded grudgingly.

Already, he regretted his murder of Cersei. He knew he couldn't have allowed her to live, she would have never bent the knee, but he should've carried out the sentence, at least. That's what Father would've done. He misliked having Drogon do his killing, it was weak and Southern of him. Don't worry, he told himself, next time and all the other times, you will swing the sword. Jon realised that Daenerys would have to leave if he wished to rule with the honourable customs of the North.

"Who's next?" She asked, taking her spot by his side.

"Margaery and Loras Tyrell," he replied.

"You sentenced the Kingslayer without me?"

"He has been exiled, and sails to Pentos tomorrow. Where he will come to no harm, Daenerys."

"He is a Lannister," she seethed.

"So is Tyrion."

"That was not justice," she argued. "That was your soft heart and Stark blood."

"Sometimes mercy is the better option, my dear aunt. He will cause no trouble, and will never get the chance to harm my family again."

"Justice is always the better option."

"Maybe in Slaver's Bay, where you rule. But in my kingdom, I rule with a merciful heart," his tone invited no further discussion. "Bring the Tyrell's in."

As Jon expected, they were both slight, and beautiful. The epitome of the South. He was almost repulsed by the sight of them. I fought the Other, Sam, Grenn, Pyp, we all fought them while these two stayed here, drinking their wine and tending to there gardens.

"Loras Tyrell, former Kingsguard to both Renly, Joffrey and Tommen. Do you deny your crimes of supporting Joffrey and Tommen's claim to the throne?"

"I do not, Your Grace," the boy answered.

"You have confessed your crimes and acted with humility, as punishment for your wrongdoings, you will pay the crown a sum of fifty thousand dragons," Jon knew it was an unusual punishment, but he had a feast to throw in a fortnight, and loath as he was to admit it, he needed Tyrell's money.

"I—er, yes Your Grace. I will have to speak with my lord father."

"Your lord father will see once we are done here, he has awaited your trial for months."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"Take him to a guest chamber," Jon instructed. "Margeary," he started once her brother had left. "Your crimes are for more serious than that of your brother's. You are accused of adultery, and supporting both Tommen and Joffrey's claim to the throne."

"It is a pleasure to meet my new, aking, may your reign be long," she dipped a curtsy, causing Tyrion to compliment her smart thinking. "And of course th Mother of Dragons. Your beauty was not exaggerated, Lady Daenerys."

"Thanky you," Daenerys smiled. "How unfortunate that it seems yours has been."

Varys coughed and Jon mentally berated his aunt for her loose tongue. However, Margeary only smiled.

"I will not lie to Your Grace," her voice was almost musical, Jon thought. "I married both Joffrey and Tommen in hopes that I might one day see my children on the Iron Throne. My family encouraged this, as they thought the royal match would do our House well. Which is also why I married Renly, may his soul rest in peace, and the Mother have mercy," Jon noticed how she didn't wish for Joffrey's soul to lay peacefully.

"I am, however, guilty of supporting Tommen and Joffrey's claim. I did not commit adultery, Your Grace, I am still maiden. Renly was not interested in me, Joffrey died on our wedding day, and Tommen was but a boy. That was only a lie Cersei concocted, to have me imprisoned by the Faith."

Varys and Tyrion had both already told them this; Jon was grateful that he didn't have to discern whether she was lying or not. I like her hair, it's so soft, and her eyes . . . Ygritte flashed in Jon's mind, and he pulled his thoughts away from Margeary's long, brown hair, and began to decide on her punishment. He knew there was nothing serious he could do; he needed her family's favour and money, and he wasn't a naïve boy desperately trying to make the world perfect anymore, he knew that sometimes people did things for the benefit of their families, for the benefit of themselves, and that this didn't necessarily make them evil Or bad. Only human. She is but a girl, a maid of ten and eight, if I keep her here her family will surely rebel.

"You speak with an honest tongue, Lady Margeary," he said eventually. "I value honesty, even if the truth is not what I want to hear."

"I am glad, Your Grace, an honest king is exactly what the realm needs," she gave a small curtsy.

Ah, so this is how she charmed Joffrey.

"For your honesty and humility, I will grant you your freedom and have all three of your marriages annulled. You may return to your home in Highgarden, but you will not contact Tommen Lannister in any way shape or form."

"Much more than I deserve, Your Grace. Do I have leave to speak with my father?"

"Yes," and off she went, almost dancing out the room.

She reminds me of a flower.