Chapter 2

King's Landing

Daenerys couldn't shake the feeling of dread as she entered Melisandre's chambers, wrapping her robe more tightly around her body as if to shield herself from whatever is about to come. Melisandre crosses the room with grace and poures two goblets of wine. She offers one to Daenerys, who shakes her head.

"After this, you will need to drink, my Queen." Melisandre continues to hold the goblet under Dany's nose and Dany's eyes widen, the tendrils of fear continuing to curl around her insides. She accepts the goblet in silence and watches as the red priestess takes a seat across from her.

"Now, tell me what troubles the Queen?" Melisandre focuses her solemn blue gaze on Daenerys.

Daenerys hesitates a moment, then lets out a shaky sigh as she looks down into the depths of the sweet dornish wine. "I had the most...peculiar dream...well, actually it was a nightmare. I haven't had anything like it in years."

"Go on.."

Daenerys shivered as she began to recount the contents of her prophetic dream. Melisandre listened with heightened focus, her face impossible to read. Her eyes seemed to smolder like coals as Daenerys spoke. Who knew what thoughts and mysteries flew around in that woman's head?

"Tell me the meaning of this," Daenerys demanded quietly once she finished. "Tell me...was it the future I saw in my dream?"

It was a long moment before Melisandre spoke. She took a long sip of wine and stared into the fire hearth. "It is as I feared, you Grace." She spoke so quietly Daenerys had to lean in to hear her.

"What?" Daenerys pressed.

Melisandre took another sip of wine and set her goblet down on the table. She met Dany's desperate gaze and a shiver seemed to pass through the red woman. Daenerys watched with wide eyes as Melisandre's head suddenly jerked back, her posture rigid in the chair.

Daenerys would've been afraid had she not seen Melisandre do this before. She was having one of her visions, a direct message from the Lord of Light himself. Daenerys thought she could hear whispers, and felt a chilling presence in the room. Were the dead speaking to her? What were they saying?

Daenerys kept her gaze on Melisandre, her fingers grasping the goblet so tight she thought they were going numb. Finally, Melisandre seemed to snap out of it. She slowly lifted her head up and her eyes were a blood red and glowed with the Lord of Light's power.

"R'hllos has spoken to me," she said cryptically. "I have seen what is to come, and it is a darkness so terrible, possibly worse than even the night king himself."

Daenerys thought she felt her heart stop at the priestess's words. What could possibly be worse than the night king and his army of thousands of undead come to feed on the souls of the living?

"We have enemies everywhere, your grace," Melisandre continued. "They cry out for your blood and the blood of your family."

"What enemies? Where?" Daenerys demanded, fear mingling with anger now. Was Melisandre trying to tell her there were those planning to revolt? To steal her crown and betray her? Was she headed toward the same fate as her ancestors?

"I know not, my queen. But you must be weary. The night is dark, and full of terrors. Trust no one except your kin. For there is an even darker threat coming for us all, as has been ordained since the beginning of time. God of beasts himself will return to this world and consume it whole. And only blood of your blood will be able to save us from it."

Daenerys stared at her, her mind churning. God of beasts? Was there such a thing? None of this made any sense...she needed more answers.

"I..I don't understand." Daenerys slowly shook her head. "God of Beasts?"

"That is all I can tell you." Melisandre's eyes returned to their normal blue, and she reached for her goblet. "The rest you must find for yourself."

"But the prophecy you spoke of when I gave my daughter away years ago, does that have anything to do with this?"

Melisandre took another sip of wine and Daenerys finally felt inclined to drink as well. She let the warm, sweet liquid fill her mouth and soothe her cold inner core.

"Your daughter has an important role to play in what is to come, yes," Melisandre finally answered. "As do all your children. True Targaryens born of fire and ice, as was always ordained. But we must all be prepared for what is to come. This will be God's final trial before mankind can be truly safe. And I fear for our survival."

….

Essos-Island of Naath

Across the Narrow Sea in a foreign land less traveled, an isolated island lies to the south of Valyria. An island inhabited only be women, as the men were either killed or driven away years ago, under the leadership of Queen Hestia, who led the rebellion in what was known as the Goddesses Rebellion against the male slavers.

Missandei remembered a time when slavery and oppression was prominent, and remembered the exact moment she had been taken from her home and traded to slavers in Astapor. She also remembered when Daenerys, the Mother of Dragons had come and freed her from her chains. She had sailed with her queen to Westeros and never looked back.

Yet here she was, at the place of her birth. To see it liberated and flourishing. Though she was happy to be home, there wasn't a day that went by that she didn't miss Daenerys and the others-even Tyrion. She smiled at the memory of the half man. He was such an interesting human specimen.

Her heart tugged when she thought of Grey Worm, her beloved unsullied warrior, who gave his life in the battle against the undead. She would never forget him, and deep pit of sadness was still embedded in her heart even now. But at least she had one piece of familiarity of the life she'd left behind in Westeros with Daenerys-a piece of the queen herself.

In the form of the beautiful silver haired goddess, whose beauty almost surpassed that of her mother. Rhayana Targaryen was the only thing Missandei had left of the dragon queen, and she would continue her promise to keep the girl safe.

Not that she needed saving. The young Targaryen had grown into a strong and capable warrior and had had played an important part in fighting for Queen Hestia's ambition to free Naath from the slavers. There wasn't a man alive, or a woman for that matter, that could rival the strength and skill of Rhayana.

Missandei watched as the young warrior goddess trained with her sisters. Watched as she wielded her spear with such expertise and felt her heart swell with pride. The girl was like a daughter to her.

She wondered if Daenerys would ever get the chance to be reunited with her daughter? She did know one thing: if the dragon queen could see her now, she would be every bit as proud.

…..

King's Landing-Great Hall

Lord Tyrion swished his wine around in his goblet before taking a sip, staring over the brim at his drinking companion, Lord Varys. Varys remembered a time when he hadn't been much of a drinker, but he had seen things over his long life that had driven him to the wine.

"I miss women," Tyrion sighed wistfully, setting his goblet down with a clang.

Varys raised his brows in amusement. "So what is stopping you from indulging?"

"Well, we both know what is stopping you from indulging, my dear friend," Tyrion chuckles, and Varys wonders if the imp is drunk. Knowing him, probably so. "But as for me, I gave up women the second my beloved succumbed to the evil that is childbirth."

"A curious evil, indeed," Varys said thoughtfully. "How the most natural thing in the world can also be the most terrible."

Tyrion took another deep gulp as the painful memory swept over him. He had finally found love again after thinking he never would when he'd killed his former lover, Shae in his father's bed. But alas, he had, and the second he let his guard down and allowed himself to be happy it was ripped away from him.

"Life is a cruel joke," Tyrion said, wiping his mouth. "As my dear sister once told me, I am the biggest joke of all. My wife meeting the same end my mother did when she birthed me into this wretched world."

"I daresay you've had too much wine," Lord Varys sighed, sitting back in his chair, hands resting in his lap as he surveyed the imp. "You never speak of your mother, or Cersei for that matter."

"Ah, you know what they say. Sober minds are drunk thoughts." Tyrion frowned in confusion. "Or is it the other way round? Gods, I need to stop drinking."

It was true, Tyrion didn't like to think of his mother or sister, but every now and then the memory would creep its way back to him. Especially his cruel sister. Cersei had been vile, yes, but she was still his flesh and blood. And even though he'd never admit it to anyone, there had always been part of him that had been searching for some redeemable quality in Cersei. But he had found none. And she had died as she lived. In a cruel and vicious manner. At the hands of whom, Tyrion still does not know. By some assassin? Euron Greyjoy, perhaps? Either way, the world was a better place without her in it and better now with Daenerys ruling.

"Queen Daenerys won't be happy to see her hand wasting away like this," Varys told him.

"I'm not wasting away," Tyrion argued. "I am simply splurging. Every man is entitled to that once in awhile. Besides, I am still perfectly capable of handling business. So, let's get to it, then."

Varys let the subject go for the time being and started sorting through the scrolls sent from all across the kingdoms.

"Let's see...the Dornish demand we lower their taxes."

"Ha! There's a joke. The Dornish making demands of the crown that gracefully granted them their freedom and independence from the Realm!" Tyrion snatched the scroll from Varys's fingertips and quickly read over it. "Daenerys will not hear of this."

"And why shouldn't she?" Varys inquired. "This agreement to pay taxes is the only thing keeping the peace between us. The queen does not wish to bring war to our doorstep."

"But this is no small request!" Tyrion argued. "Every kingdom must pay taxes, the same taxes. If we start showing special treatment now the other kingdoms may expect the same as well. And before you know it, the crown starts losing money. As master of coin let me remind you, that you need money to rule a kingdom."

After Daenerys had managed to claim the iron throne all but one kingdom was willing to swear allegiance. The Dornish have always been an independant people, even when Aegon the Conqueror had unified the seven kingdoms. Not even the mighty Targaryen himself could bend the Dornish to his sword and the only way to reel them in was through marriage. Dorne had the second largest army in all of Westeros, an army of skillful fighters. Not even Daenerys wished to risk the lives of her people by going to a war she knew would be long and bloody. So she had been willing to grant the Dornish their freedom so long as they were willing to pay taxes to the Realm.

But now, years later, the people of Dorne seemed to be growing bold. What if they decided to revolt and raid? What then?

"If we do not wish to bring the enemies to our doors, we must do what we can to keep them satisfied," Varys said, reaching for his goblet.

"They're not our enemies, yet." Tyrion pointed out, running a hand through his greying locks. He eyed the pile of scrolls that Varys continued to sift through. "What else?"

"News of safe travels of Lady Ophelia…"

"Such a beauty," Tyrion interrupted with a wistful look. "If Prince Eddard is not satisfied with his mother's choice…" He took a sip of wine to avoid finishing his sentence, but Varys could see the grin on his face. Honestly, one moment he talks of giving up women, and the next he is thinking of them again?

"You are a whirlpool of uncertainty, Lord Tyrion."

"That I am not. I said I was giving up women. I never said I couldn't think of them."

Varys fought and eye roll and proceeded to the next scroll. "Ah, Lord Gendry of Winterfell brings news of his journey for King's Landing, with equipment for the army. And that's not all he's bringing."

"Yes?" Tyrion was curious.

"It is Lady Sansa's wish for her eldest daughter Mira to come to King's Landing and learn the ways of a high court."

Tyrion felt warm inside when he thought of Sansa, and remembered her as a delicate little thing thrown to the lions in King's Landing when her father came to serve as then King Robert's hand. His marriage to her had been brief, as cruelly arranged by his father Tywin in the days of his scheming. Tyrion had always respected Sansa, almost like a sister.

"The King will be pleased to hear of this," Tyrion said. "I suspect he misses his family far away in the North. It'll be good for him to have a piece of familiarity right here in his halls."

Varys nodded his agreement. It was true that their king had given up a great deal by choosing to live miles away in King's Landing. He could have chosen to reside in the North as Warden, as Queen Daenerys would've allowed, but Jon knew his place was with the queen. And though everyone knew it was Jon's legal birthright to sit on the iron throne, the humble warrior never wanted it. He continued to believe Daenerys was meant to lead them, and he was happy to accept his place as king at her side, giving most of the power to her. But the people of Westeros still showed Jon the utmost respect of a king, because that's what he was whether he wanted to be or not. He was Aegon Targaryen.

….

Winterfell

Mira was practically tingling with excitement as she packed her things in her chambers, preparing to ride with her father to King's Landing. She carefully packed the small gifts Ethan and Talia had given her to remember them when she was far away south, so she could have some piece of home.

A book of poems from Talia, and a wooden carving of a direwolf from Ethan. She smiled as she packed them away. She wondered what she would find in King's Landing. She had been so excited when her mother told her she would be going. She couldn't wait to learn the ways of high court and how to be a proper lady, and maybe even find a high lord to marry! Oh how she had always dreamed of marrying a handsome lord. She'd dreamed of twirling around in gowns of silk and dancing the nights away at balls in the company of the most noble people in Westeros. But more importantly, she was looking forward to meeting that side of her family.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in!" Mira called as she turned to pack her favorite dress her mother had made for her.

Sansa herself entered, and Mira turned to offer her mother a smile. Sansa was happy for her daughter to have this opportunity, but sad to see her go as well. But she felt it necessary.

"All packed?" Sansa inquired.

"Almost." Mira swept around her room, grabbing things here and there as Sansa watched her with a soft smile. "Mother, do you think I'll meet a prince from a distant land?"

"Possibly. People from all over Westeros and Essos alike travel to King's Landing to break bread with the king and queen, so it is possible you could meet a foreign prince, yes."

"Oh, that would be lovely!" a dreamy look came across Mira's face. "And maybe one day, I'll be queen of a great nation."

Sansa crossed the room and took her daughter's hands in her own. "My darling, you will be anyone you wish. And it won't be by anyone's doing but yours. When you go to King's Landing, it isn't a vacation. It is a learning experience."

"Mother, I know," Mira groaned with impatience.

"And you will mind yourself and stay out trouble. And you will do as her highness asks of you."

"Yes, mother."

Sansa wasn't sure Mira fully understood what was expected of her, but she would learn soon enough. She leaned down to kiss her daughter on the cheek. "I love you. And I'll miss you terribly."

"I'll miss you too. Who will help you keep father in line?" Mira joked, and the two laughed.

"You'll have to keep him in line on the road. Look out for him, will you?"

"Of course."

"Come here."

Sansa pulled her daughter into a tight hug and sent a prayer to the gods to keep her and Gendry safe on the long way to King's Landing.

Out in the courtyard, Sansa wrapped her cloak tighter around her against the wind. Even with the arrival of spring, the cold never truly is gone from the North.

Gendry loaded the last of the equipment onto the wagon and turned to Sansa. There was nothing but love in his eyes as he approached her and took her into his arms.

"I'll return to you as soon as I can," he promised.

"You'd better," Sansa whispered before he kissed her. It was sweet and lingering, and over too soon. "Please be careful."

"Always am."

Gendry gave her hands a final squeeze and turned to climb into the wagon. A group of Gendry's most trusted soldiers positioned themselves on either side of the wagon, their horses neighing and kicking up dirt. As the wagon started to pull away, Mira poked her head out and waved to Sansa. Sansa waved back, feeling tears well up as she watched them go.

….

The Bannered Mare

Ser Bronn of the Blackwater entered the dim tavern, looking for a stiff drink at his favorite hole in town. The innkeeper, Aggie, was a real beauty and had an eye for Bronn. She always gave him a handsome discount.

The woman behind the counter was yellow of hair, with a bosom even the Gods themselves would drop their britches for. If Bronn wasn't a high lord and already spoken for, he would've married her in a pinch. Aggie nearly dropped the mug she was cleaning when Bronn walked in, and he could almost smell her ovaries going wild as she eyed him, her hand going to her blond hair to tousle it into place. She angled a red lipped smile at him as he slid onto the wooden bar stool.

"Evening, Aggie." He gave her his best lady killer grin and tossed a coin on the counter. "My usual, sweetness."

He watched as she poured his favorite ale, a dark Belgium into the tall mug and tapped his fingers impatiently. She leaned over the counter in an exaggerated manner and made sure he got a generous glimpse of her cleavage as she set his drink down. Gods, this woman was obvious. Bronn was sure if he wanted to, he could fuck her right here on the counter in front of watching eyes, but he didn't much care for easy conquests.

If the night king had stood there and let them kill him, what would've been the fun in that? Ah, the night king...now that had been a war of the ages.

Bronn lifted the mug to his lips and let his eyes wander around the tavern as he reflected on the bloody memory. He had been a sell sword for most of his life, slaughtering his enemies for the right amount of coin. Human enemies. But Gods there had been nothing like driving steel through a heart that wasn't beating, to see the burning flesh and feel the adrenalin of pure fear of not living to see the sunrise. It had been a long, dark time for all of Westeros. After the war, Jon Snow had commanded the wall to be reconstructed in case history decided to repeat itself.

But in twenty five years, no one had hurt the faintest whisper of the dead, or anything beyond the wall for that matter. Most people had started to believe that the threat beyond the wall had truly passed, and so there'd been no need of the Night's Watch. Old Castle Black sat unoccupied far North, with nothing but rumors of the ghosts of the men that died there to keep it company.

But Bronn planned to see for himself. He planned to take the cold trek to the Wall as he had never set foot there, and soak in the history of it. He was restless, and ached for an adventure.

"I close at dawn," Aggie's husky voice broke into his thoughts. "If you stick around…"

"I'm an honorable man, Aggie," Bronn cut her off, almost laughing at himself. He took a sip of ale to hide his grin. Sell swords never lived by honor, and just because he had chosen to settle down and live in a castle, didn't mean he didn't still have the heart of a nomad.

Aggie's pretty face turned into a pout as she picked up the dirty rag she'd been cleaning with. "If you change your mind…"

"I know where you'll be." Bronn winked at her.

The rusted doors burst open with a loud creak and all eyes turned toward the front of the inn. A few soldiers made their entrance, laughing and talking loudly and seemingly already drunk. Bronn could tell by their armor and the crest of two stone tours that gleamed on their breastplates, that they were Freys. He inwardly groaned. He hated the fucking Freys, as most did. They were a loud and rowdy bunch, and too proud for their own good. How they had survived all these years was beyond Bronn.

The Frey soldiers settled into a booth in the corner, and Aggie's entire demeanor changed. A scowl fell across her face, and it was clear that she didn't approve of her latest customers.

"You want me to run them out?" Bronn asked, eyeing them as he took another sip of his ale.

"Nonsense." Aggie came from around the counter. "Business is business. Though they disgust me, they pay well."

Bronn grunted as he finished off the last of his ale and prepared to leave, not wanting to be in the same vicinity of the vile men, when bits of the conversation drifted to him, making him freeze on the bar stool.

"...the Stark girl…"

Bronn sat still with his back to them, his head angled slightly in their direction so he could listen to their conversation.

"Where do you suppose the little bitch is?" one of them said with a slight slur.

"Who knows? But she ain't little no more. I bet she's a right beauty now, that one. Maybe when we find her we can have some fun with her first before killing the cunt."

"Aye, she'll get what's coming to her for what she did to our house, our fucking ancestors!"

"Good thing old Ludd had been out hunting the night she came and poisoned our house!"

Bronn let out a harsh chuckle that was meant for them to hear. "You fucking drunken idiots."

That shut their traps. They Frey soldiers stopped talking and looked directly at Bronn.

The one who had been talking about Arya, an ugly thing with large front teeth glowered at Bronn. "What did you just say?"

"You heard what I said, less your ears don't work." Bronn got up from his stool and turned to face them. "You'll never have the Stark girl, she's long gone. No one's seen or heard from her in years. Probably already dead if I tell you true."

"Nah, she not dead," the larger of the Frey soldiers spoke with certainty, his eyes gleaming. "She's out there somewhere, hiding. Last I heard, she was in Braavos."

"Where'd you hear this?"

"Doesn't matter where I heard it, I heard it."

"Then why you sitting in here, stinking up the place? Go and find her then. Or you scared of a woman?"

"You fucking-" they got to their feet, hands going to their weapons, but Bronn was quicker.

"And you should be, you stupid sons of whores," Bronn taunted, his sword under the throat of the ugly one. "She almost killed your entire house, hell she's killed many men not short of the likes of you. And you want to know what I think?" Bronn leaned in close and whispered, "I think she even killed the Lannister bitch we used to call Queen."

He watched their eyes widen and scowled with satisfaction. "A man shouldn't talk action if he ain't going to take action. Arya Stark would cut off your balls and feed them to her direwolf if she ever laid eyes on you."

They Frey soldiers glared at Bronn, and he could tell they were itching to kill him right here. He dared them to try. It'd been a while, and he was itching for a fight.

"We'll kill that Stark girl," the larger one growled. "And then we'll come for you."

"You can try. I'm not an enemy you want. And I'm sure our King will be pleased to know your plans to kill his sister."

The men laughed, and one of them spit at Bronn's feet. "He ain't our fucking king, and his silver haired bitch ain't our queen."

"Yet you bent the knee along with everyone else with half a mind."

"Aye. For now."

Bronn lowered his sword, already grown bored with this interaction. "I think you three ought to be leaving. Make sure and tip lovely Aggie on the way out."

They glared at him a moment longer, and Bronn could tell they were trying to decide if a fight was worth it and the odds of winning. They seemed to decide against it, and shoved off past Bronn toward the Tavern doors.

Bronn watched them go, grinning with mirth. He thinks perhaps it's time to pay his good friend at Casterly Rock a visit.