Still not sure whether to make a dream team of Arya and Daenerys or have them be rivals for Jon's love and attention. Hm. Anyhow, another week, another chappie.

Chapter Eight

Osha

Osha had been there when the king received news of Margaery Tyrell's almost fatal injury. She had watched his face fall, and a ghostly expression take over. She'd watched him storm out, whistling for Ghost to follow him, demanding for someone to ready a ship immediately. Osha didn't care much for the southern girl's injury, sure, but was slightly concerned of how it would affect the king. I care for Jon, he reminds me of Bran, plus I've listened to what the people say about him, and I know he deserves a good life. She had no romantic feelings for the boy, regardless of what the gossipers at court claimed, he is far too young for me, too young and green, she merely enjoyed his company, and shared his interest of finding Bran and raising the youngest Stark boys in the best environment possible. The two had been discussing her return to Winterfell with Rickon— now that the boy had begun behaving and remembering his letters and sums—where she secretly wanted to search for Bran, when the king tore open the letter bearing the sad news, three days ago. Anyways, this city is starting to unnerve me. Five weeks is long enough. Daenerys's dragons especially made the wildling woman uneasy, particularly since the queen took pleasure in taunting her about them. I'll never like her, Queen Daenerys, I can't wait until she leaves for her little seat, then she can take those dragons with her. Osha did like the dragons though, they fascinated her; but only when Jon was there, watching them, not the dragon queen. Everything about her screams south, it's not natural.

"Where's Ghost?" Rickon asked, the two currently sparring, as Osha continued her lessons teaching him how to fight.

"With your brother," she answered.

"But he normally let's you have him, to keep us company and make us feel at home," the boy pouted.

"Stop that girlish lip thing and lift your arm," Osha ordered.

"Ow!" He complained.

"I told you to lift your arm," she quipped.

"I just wanted to know why Jon's taken Ghost."

"It's his wolf, Rickon, he needs no other reason."

"I know, but I thought he was my brother. We're supposed to share."

"He is your brother, little man," Osha sighed, sensing a fit coming on.

"But he hasn't played with me in two days," the boy moaned.

"That's because his lady love has fallen of her horse and broken her legs and ribs," Osha snapped. "So stop being a baby, and man up. You have your own wolf."

"I didn't know Jon had a girlfriend."

"Aye," Osha said, raising her spear once again. "They broke up and she left, and then got hurt."

"If he loves her, why did they break up?"

"It's just what southerners do."

"That's stupid."

"Aye," she agreed. "So you be patient with your brother, he's very stressed."

"Okay," the little boy raised his spear too. "He'll still find Bran, won't he?"

"He promised, didn't he?"

"Yes. And so did you."

"Good little lord. Now, lift your arms and fight me."

III

Daenerys

Watching Jon the way he was wasn't fun at all for his aunt. Ever since news of Margaery's fall had reached him, the man had been restless and anxious, rushing to have everything done so he could make his trip to Highgarden. He had wanted to leave at once, but eventually, Daenerys and Tyrion had managed to speak sense into him, and he'd then agreed to set sail in a week, forcing Dany to speed up all her arrangements so she could go with him. It had come as a surprise to her how much Jon actually cared for the girl. He loves her, truly, I had thought it was some crush borne from all his months celibate. Now I will have to really befriend the girl. I won't have him marrying someone who I'm not friends with. How else will I keep an eye?

With the help of Tyrion, Varys and Grey Worm, Daenerys managed to round up all her ex-slave companions, five thousand of her Unsullied, leaving a select few at the Red Keep to watch out for Jon and send any news to her in Dragonstone, and had constructed a team of servants, cooks and maids for Dragonstone, as well. All that is left is to find a Maester, and I am ready. She'd also chosen a few ladies and lordlings to accompany her as wards, and fill the empty rooms. Just two more days and we can set sail, and Jon can relax, and breathe. Daenerys prayed each and every night for Margaery's recovery, though it cast a sour taste in her mouth to do so. If the little wench dies on us, there'll be no restoring him. And grudgingly she admitted, she's not so bad. Fun. Better than Sansa. The fact that the eldest Stark girl was accompanying them annoyed the mother of dragons, but she didn't debate the point knowing it would only cause unnecessary stress for Jon. At least that wildling woman is staying. What really irked Dany was that she wouldn't be there to welcome Arya, when she arrived in three weeks. It would not be smart to sail back with Jon after their trip to Dorne, she'd decided, and so planned to part with Jon in the hot country and make her way to Dragonstone from there. A part of her was happy that she could avoid the complication that was Ser Jorah, but most of her was upset at losing the chance to meet another part of Jon's old life, one that she knew she would've liked much better than the others she'd seen. I guess I can always send letters.

"Missandei," she ordered. "Find Grey Worm and have him feed the dragons."

"Yes, my Queen."

"Send for Varys as well, please."

"Yes, my Queen," the girl bowed.

Before she allowed her mind to run away with her, Daenerys focused at the task in hand. Find Jon, and try to keep him sane until we leave. She had left the task in Tyrion's hands the past few hours while she prepared. Let's hope he can keep him for another twenty minutes while I sort out the Arya issue.

III

Jon

Why is everyone so slow? Why is no-one moving? I need to see her! She could be dead! Dead and I am here in this fucking castle watching these pompous lords sip their wine while Margaery is in pain!

Jon paced the the yard where the dragons were kept angrily. It was the only place he felt in control, for some reason, though he didn't explore the matter for fear of discovering something he certainly wasn't ready to deal with. Since he'd read Mace's letter, explaining and apologising for his delay, barely even describing what exactly had happened to Margaery, only that she was unconscious and he had to stay at his wife's incessant requests, Jon had barely even slept. He'd hardly sat down. He paced and ranted and raved and smashed things, and yelled at Ghost and rode Rhaegal, for that was the only thing that kept him level. Feeling the clouds on his backs cleared his mind. Only for a while until it all came crashing down again. Even short rests were out of the question as closing his eyes only brought gruesome images of Margaery lay still in some bed, with Maesters and family that didn't care for her. He remembered when she'd laughed with him, how she'd play with Ghost and treat him like a person, when she'd taught him how to skip and laugh and—he couldn't think about it any more. He gripped his sword until his knuckles popped, desperately trying to remember if there were any prisoners left on whom he might take out his frustration and rage. And not only was the fear of losing Margaery forever and completely rendering him almost insane, the emotions brought back painful memories of his nights on the Wall during Robb's short stint as king, where every bone in Jon's body had ached to fight alongside his brother but couldn't.

"Your Grace," his aunt's soldier said.

"Grey Worm," Jon said rudely. "What is it?"

"Her Grace has ordered me to feed the dragons."

"Then feed them," Jon snapped.

For an hour or so, Grey Worm did just that.

"Your Grace."

"Grey Worm," Jon's voice was low and dangerous.

"Her Grace has given you Rhaegal, no? She planned to leave him here with you."

"And?"

"Rhaegal is fed and energised, he can fly for miles without tiring, and much faster than ships, Your Grace."

It took Jon a moment to hear what the Unsullied soldier was actually telling him. When he did, he drew the man into a tight hug, disappearing seconds later, to find parchment, quill, food and water, Tyrion and the real letter he'd wanted to send Margaery all those weeks ago.

Jon clung onto his renewed hope tightly as he scoured the castle for his favourite Lannister. Where is the man? Always there when he is not needed and never—his thoughts were interrupted by Ghost rubbing his massive head against the king's legs, almost knocking the man off his feet. The wolf let out a mournful sound. Guilt nipped at Jon's heart as he bent down to stroke his companion's head.

"I know I've been mean and angry, trust me," he whispered. "But it is only because Margaery is hurt. You remember Lady Margaery, right?" The wolf stirred at the familiar sound of the woman's name who'd more often than not would be feeding him something. "Good boy," Jon smiled. "I have to go and see her, make sure she is okay. I can't take you," Ghost growled and began pushing his nose into Jon's face. "No, listen, you can't come because I'm flying there. On Rhaegal, but I need you to do something for me: when Arya comes you need to protect her."

Jon didn't know whether the wolf completely understood him, but put his hope in the fact that he'd thought the same thing the last time he'd had to leave Ghost to fend for himself and the animal had turned out fine. And maybe I can do that thing where I slip into his skin in my dreams, make sure everything's going smoothly. The thought had occurred to Jon more than once, as he knew it would be the perfect way to spy for himself—and to occasionally get away from the stress of being king—but lately when sleep came he was far too tired to dream.

"Remember boy, you have to look after Arya. Arya. She's small and looks like me. Arya," he repeated her name, praying that Ghost would remember it when the girl arrived.

The direwolf nuzzled his friend, then wandered off into the shadows; presumably looking for Arya. Jon stood watching his pet for a long time, before pinching and reminding himself he had to go.

III

Varys

The Spider had quickly concluded that King Jon Stark Targaryen loved Lady Margaery of House Tyrell very, very much. I don't hate the girl, but she is not what I wanted for him. Varys was not stupid, he understood the attraction a girl like Margaery would have for a man like Jon: exotic, wicked sense of humour, beautiful, and charming. And for a while, Varys had thought that the two might actually marry and took to listing the various ways the girl would make a good queen: she is kind, she is smart, cunning and inspires love, and had even encourged Jon in his crush towards the end of the maiden's stay. But He had still been ecstatic when she sailed for Highgarden, seemingly gone forever. Jon needs a warrior, someone fierce who will keep the North in him, he'd told himself. But now it was blatantly obvious that Jon would love nobody else, and so Lord Varys accepted the fact, as he strode to meet Daenerys, telling himself that she will love him, at least, and I suppose that is what the king needs most.

"Lord Varys," Daenerys greeted him cordially.

"Your Grace," he bowed lowly. "How might I help?"

"As you always do," she replied. "Did my letter to Arya reach her successfully?"

"According to my sources she received both folded letters from Ser Jorah, however nobody saw her actually open them. My guess is that she hid somewhere to read them."

"Smart girl," Daenerys said. "I will need you to continue sending them, while I'm away."

"Of course, Your Grace."

"I will send them to you and trust that you'll discreetly have her receive them."

"I won't fail you."

"And have her replies sent to me without any disturbance," she added firmly.

She would've made a strong queen, the people would've feared her. As they do now.

"I suppose you've heard about Lady Margaery's fall?"

"I was very upset to learn of her injuries."

"As was Jon," she said. "Tell me, will she make a good queen?"

"She did once."

"Oh how silly of me to forget," she chuckled darkly. "I'll rephrase then: will she make a good wife? For Jon?"

Varys considered lying to the woman, or telling one of his infamous half-truths. In the end, he decided the full truth might be appropriate. "She is a passionate woman. She'll love passionately and wholly. She has also been raised knowing the role a wife should play, so she'll prove dutiful."

Daenerys nodded. "Will she bear children? Sons?"

"Her family have shown no difficulty in the matter as she herself has three older brothers."

"Good," Daenerys said. "I suppose he could do worse."

"Yes," Varys agreed reluctantly. "His Grace could."

"Thank you, my lord, you have proved loyal and helpful once again. Are you sure you don't wish to sail with me to Dragonstone?"

"No thank you, Your Gace," he smiled modestly. "My place is by the king."

"Or queen," she added lightly.

"Or queen," he repeated.

III

Arya

Princess Arya Stark, the only sister who accepted her baseborn sibling,

I'm writing to you out of sheer curiosity; you see, your brother would have me believe you the best thing since bread and water, excluding his darling Margaery of course. So I decided to write and see for myself exactly who you are: and introduce myself. I am Queen Daenerys Targaryen of Slaver's Bay, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Shackles, Lady of Dragonstone and of course, the king's aunt. I am not sure how much you know off me, but since you're travelling with two of my most loyal and devoted knights, I'd assume you know quite a bit by now. Which I'd say is fair, since I've been hearing all about you these past few days. I must say, you seem quite interesting and and much less dull than your sister who I've already had the pleasure of meeting. I do hope you live up to your illustrious name as the 'wolf girl', I am so bored of these proper ladies with not one useful thought in their pretty heads. However, even if you do turn out to be the dullest girl to grace the land, I will still respect and protect you, for two reasons:

You loved Jon.

You survived.

Unfortunately, you won't be able to write back unless they have wax, seal, ravens, paper and quill on that ship. So I will wait till you arrive in King's Landing to hear your response. Till then, Arya Stark.

Yours truly, Daenerys.

P.S. I apologise for Ser Jorah.

Arya had read the letter so many times the ink had begun to fade. Two weeks left, then I can see this queen for myself. The queen had initially confused her so much she'd shown Jorah the letter during one of their High Valyrian lessons; consequently stopping the lesson. He had devoured each word with hungry eyes, even the line apologising for him. Afterwards, he'd simply given her back the letter and continued with the lesson as if nothing had happened. I didn't learn much that time, then again, I hardly need to know how to read High Valyrian, speaking is fine. Dothraki doesn't even have a written form. Dothraki had come much easier to Arya than any other language she'd come across, excluding her mother tongue, she liked how angry and scary the words sounded on her tongue and how simple forming sentences were. Once, Ser Jorah had even commented that she picked it up faster than Daenerys. Dany, he had called her.

Although the Targaryen woman sounded like the very woman Arya would normally appreciate and aspire to be like, she couldn't help but be slightly suspicious. Sure she freed all those slaves, but she burns her enemies alive and banished Ser Jorah when he so obviously adores her. She couldn't stop thinking about the queen, even when she partook in her daily spar with Ser Barristan, something which she usually paid rapt attention to, and earned herself several bruises, which she mentally complained about for the rest of that day.

"You seem distracted," the captain commented.

"I am," Arya admitted: she had grown close to the man, liking his no-nonsense attitude and habit of calling her Arya or simply: 'girl'.

"Care to share?"

"Tell me about Lady Margaery."

"The Boy King's wife?"

"Ex-wife," she corrected.

"Well, she's known as Maid Margaery or the Maid of Highgarden. That should tell you enough."

Eugh, a proper little lady, like Sansa, what could Jon see in her?

"A Tyrell?" The man nodded. "So her father's your lord?"

"Yes. His mother's sister is my great aunt."

So we might be family. In a very distant, sort of way. "Are they any good?"

"Who, the Tyrell's?"

"Yes."

"They're ambitious. And kind," he shrugged. "They're good enough."

"I see."

"Why so many questions today? You usually don't say much."

This time, Arya shrugged. "What do you know of Lady Daenerys?"

"Queen Daenerys," the captain said. "Her Grace is formidable. It is said she burnt Cersei Lannister alive and keeps her bones as a necklace."

Arya had heard this tale from the other sailors. "How can she be queen if Jon is king? They aren't married."

"Gods, no. His Grace named her Queen of Slaver's Bay, to be referred to as such. She is also his heir should he die before he has children."

His heir? The news left a peculiar feeling in Arya; she hadn't wanted anything to do with the crown, yet she'd still assumed she'd be Jon's heir or maybe Sansa. Silly, of course he has to name her heir, she's a Targaryen, his prince father's own sister. I am only a cousin. "I see."

"Anyways, enough of these senseless questions that your knights will be happy to answer for you. I have a ship to sail," he gave her a small smirk before marching off.

They are not my knights, they're Queen Daenerys'.

By the end of that day, Arya still didn't know what to feel for the new queen. She is related to Nymeria, the Targaryen warrior, she's a warrior, like me but—but Jon might love her more.