A/N Sorry it's been a little while since updating, but here you go! Took me a while to write this chapter, and I hope you all enjoy! Dany and Jon share a sweet reunion, we see what Arya is up to in Essos, and Sansa is still ever paranoid about the damn Freys. Haha thanks for reading!

Chapter 9

King's Landing

Jon had gone over on his mind a million different ways to apologize to his Queen for walking out on her the way he had when he should've given her his support. The regret he felt after she had flown from the city without a proper goodbye had eaten at him, leaving him hollow. He was prepared to justify his misgivings, to help her understand his hesitation and doubts.

But when he saw her return on the back of her dragon, appearing unhurt all thoughts had flown from his mind. The only thing he wanted was to hold her and worship the gods for bringing her back safely to him. To cherish every part of her. And he intended to.

Daenerys had still been shaken from her encounter with the witch she'd long thought had been dead. Burned on Khal Drogo's pyre at her command before her very eyes. Now it appeared that her black and restless soul had lingered long enough to inhabit the body of another, only to find Daenerys and haunt her. The witch claimed she would not die until Daenerys breathed her last breath, but was there truth to her words? Another prophecy, perhaps? Or just some sort of black magic? A witch's curse?

Daenerys knew not, and the ride back to her home in King's Landing had been a long one. She was tired, every bone in her body ached from exhaustion and weariness. She did draw comfort in Drogon's warmth, and a sense of security. It was not enough to quell her worries, however. And there was still the unsettling realization that her love, Jon Snow, was waiting for her. He was probably still upset with her and had spent his time brooding in her absence if she knew him well. She could not stand to look upon his face and see him look at her with such guarded and sad eyes. Like she had disappointed him. Or perhaps scared him. She wasn't sure which was worse.

But none of it had mattered when she saw him standing in the Dragon Pit when she landed. All thoughts had flown from her mind the moment she found herself in his strong arms. Whatever tension that had existed between them had ceased to exist as they clung to each other in their reunion.

Now words died on their lips as they found themselves in their shared solar, nothing to be said to describe what they felt. There was no King or Queen. There was no prophecies, curses, or an uncertain future. There was only the here and now, and they were just Jon and Daenerys, lost in each other as the rest of the world faded away.

Clothing was scattered to the floor. Lips moved feverishly together as limbs entangled in their haste to get to the bed. Jon rested his hands on her hips and felt her quiver at his cold touch to bare skin. She feathered kisses along his jawline, relishing in the tickle of his facial hair. He needed her lips on him more than he needed air. He craved her. Ached for her. His beautiful queen had him sprawled beneath her and completely at his mercy.

As she continued her labor of love, making sure to kiss his old scars that covered his chest and torso, his hands explored her body. They caressed places of her he knew well after so many years. He could himself hardening against her warm core and he would not be able to withstand much longer without being inside her. She found her way back to his mouth with her own, and he kissed her back with equal fervor. Tongues battled for control, neither of them wanting to yield to the other. The inside of her mouth was warm and sweet, inviting.

How could he ever have doubted her? This woman was to be the death of him. She was his life, his everything. He knew that he would love her no matter the choices she made. He would follow her through hell as long as she continued to make him feel like this. Continued to make his Northern-bred heart beat wildly with so much as a touch.

Daenerys forgot about the flow of time. She forgot about all the things that troubled her. She knew nothing but the sensations tearing at her body that were threatening to make her come apart at the seams. She was so lost in his kisses that she didn't realize at which point he had flipped them over, his strong body pinning her beneath him. But she knew the exact moment he entered her, stretching her. Her legs opened wider for him to accommodate and accept him. Their lips maintained their contact as he began his gentle thrusts. She rocked her hips in perfect rhythm to his movements, wrapping her legs around his waist. Jon knew that when she did this she wanted him to go faster, harder. So he did. Until she was in so much ecstasy that she tilted her head back, eyes half closed and perfect lips parted as a breathy moan escaped them. He watched her, in complete awe of her as she gave in to the overwhelming pleasure that he bestowed upon her.

Daenerys raised her head long enough to meet his eyes, her violet eyes hazy with lust and desire. It was enough to send him over the edge, reaching his climax. He knew that when she bit her lip that she was close as well. He felt her muscles contract and her legs tightened around him. She gripped his shoulders and her moans turned more desperate as he pounded into her. She was vulnerable like this, every inch of her trembling as she came. After a couple more powerful thrusts he came as well, and they collapsed together, the only sound being that of their heavy breathing.

Daenerys turned to him and saw chocolate eyes gazing at her with so much love that it stole the breath from her lungs. There were times she felt she did not deserve this man. He was too good to her. Gods, it was difficult to fathom how after so many years their lovemaking still seemed to get better each time. They knew each other's bodies and desires backwards and forwards. More than that, they knew each other's minds. Daenerys found it hard to be around him sometimes, because she could swear he could read her very thoughts. If she looked at him for too long, she feared he would see the fears that she fought to keep hidden in the dark corners of her mind. For his safety.

"I love you," she whispered, bringing her fingers to stroke just beneath his chin, a soft smile at her lips.

"And I you," he says, reaching to pull her closer to him. Her chest pressed against his, she could almost feel the knocking of his heart. It was soothing to her. She almost drifted off to sleep and thought he had as well, before he spoke again.

"This wasn't how I imagined things would go."

Daenerys looks up through her lashes at him. "No?"

"I had prepared to have a serious discussion about the way we left things." He trailed his fingertips along her ribcage and she shivered as she always did. "I battled with my emotions."

"So did I," Daenerys sighs. "I wanted to be mad at you for walking away from me, but I couldn't. Instead I was...hurt." She remembered the way he had looked at her when she told him her intentions to fly to the Edge of the Vale and force the Hill Tribes into submission. The look in his eyes of obscurity. It tore at her heart. She swallowed.

"I did not want to hurt you," Jon murmurs. "Do you think I find enjoyment in disagreeing with you? I could've said things to make you stay, but you would not have listened. And fighting with you, especially in front of the others was not something I wanted. And then having you leave without putting things right between us damn near killed me."

Jon felt her body tense and he angled his face to look at her. She had tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I should have listened to you."

"No." Jon gripped her chin and made her look at him. "Do not be sorry. You made a difficult decision as Queen, and I should have supported you as King. Damn that, as your husband. The moment you and I stand divided against one another is the moment our people lose faith in us. The kingdoms we rebuilt together depend on our unity."

"I know that." Daenerys pulls away from him and sits up. She gathers her long silver hair in her hand and pulls it over one shoulder, running her fingers through it thoughtfully. She is quiet for a moment and Jon waits patiently for her to speak. "All my life I've been faced with difficult decisions. Decisions that almost got me killed on several occasions."

"And I haven't?" Jon props himself up with his elbow and looks at her. "I've made decisions that I knew were the right ones even when others didn't agree." He takes her hand and draws it to the scar on his chest. Her eyes turn sad as he continues. "I have these scars because men hated my decisions. And they murdered me for it. My uncle, Eddard Stark lost his head because of the decisions he made as well. But I don't regret a single one, and I know that he would not either. I was once told that many will always doubt or question you. But the moment you begin to doubt yourself, then you are lost."

Daenerys slowly lifted her gaze from his scar to his handsome face. A comely face that seemed untouched by the passage of time. A face she would continue to see even after she closed her eyes forever. She believed in his words.

"You're right," she said. "But even still...I should have listened to you. I should not have gone." She turned and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Jon watched as she strode over to the side table and poured herself some wine. He frowned as she had her back to him. Had something happened?

"Daenerys...did something go wrong?" he ventured.

For a long time she didn't answer. She pulled on a black silk robe and tied it around her, her eyes to the floor. Her silence was agonizing. He knew now that something was wrong.

"Tell me." His voice was firm, yet gentle.

She sighed. "Where do I even begin?"

She told him about the encounter with the Hill Tribes, about the arrogant yet admirable young Roric of Ash. That stubborn fool had reminded her of Jon when they first met, unwilling to yield his people to a foreign queen. Much the same as this outlandish rebel. She told him about Mirri, and she struggled with that bit of the story. It sounded unbelievable to her as she relived it. The horror of watching that evil woman harm Drogon in a way she never would have thought possible. Jon remained silent as she talked, his eyes on her.

When she was done talking she sipped from her wine, finding her mouth to be dry. Jon looked almost as if he didn't believe her, and she didn't blame him. If she had been told some witch had come back from the dead and had managed to single handedly subdue a dragon the size of a castle, she would probably not believe it either.

But then he spoke. "Do you believe her?"

Daenerys peered at him over the brim of her cup. "What?"

"Do you believe what she says, about her life being connected to yours? Is that even possible?"

"After all we've seen, are you seriously asking that question?"

"I am, because this same woman also told you that you couldn't have children, and we proved her wrong six times."

"With the death of my dragon my womb was able to produce a living child again," Daenerys reasons, more to herself than anything. "Only death can pay for life."

"Then one death would've given you one child."

"There were many deaths," Daenerys says softly, pain in her voice as the faces of her fallen friends and companions flashed before her mind's eye.

"Even if what she says is true, why show up in Westeros now after twenty five years?" Jon still remained skeptical. "Surely she is capable of killing you, so why hasn't she?"

Daenerys hesitates. He has a point. Why would Mirri only just now decide to seek her out?

"I...I don't know." Then Melisandre's prophecy came to her mind. Was this what the the priestess meant when she said that Daenerys had enemies everywhere? Those who called for her blood? Was Mirri somehow linked to the return of the Dragon God? Probably not, but Daenerys was sure that if the cold blooded witch had her way then she would not live to even see that ominous prophecy unfold. Fear made her heart freeze in her chest. Jon must've saw it in her eyes too.

He quickly got out of bed and crossed the room to her, his hands on her face. "Whatever the reason for this...witch returning, I promise you this. I will not let any harm come to you. I will die before she takes you from me. Do you understand?"

"You did not see what she did to Drogon." Daenerys is doubtful. "How can we stand against that?"

"How did we stand against an army of thousands of undead? Including your fallen dragon. We will find a way, my love. I swear it."

Daenerys still had many doubts in her mind, but they withered to dust as she looked into the eyes of the man she loves with all her being. He was right. They had stood together against the impossible once before and had survived. They would do so again. And they would do it together.

…

Winterfell

It was early morning and the sun was just beginning to peak above the horizon, casting a weak light over the pale surroundings of the North. There was a chill in the air that cut to the bone, but Asher Stark was quite used to it. In fact, he found it exhilarating.

His feet stirred the fallen leaves still left over from Fall as he darted around the small clearing, swinging his sword against his red faced opponent. Garrett Tuttle was no knight, a mere squire for Asher's father. But the young man showed drive and promise as he practiced with his sword. When he came of age he would make quite the warrior.

"Too slow!" Asher easily dodged Garrett's attacks and he turned to face the younger man. Garrett was panting, clearly out of breath, beads of sweat wet against his forehead. "Honestly, boy, do you think your enemies will lie down and let you hit them? Again!"

They continued to spar late into the morning, until the sun finally offered a bit of warmth to their skin. Asher regarded his friend with his hands on his hips, his chest heaving.

"What's the matter?" Garrett taunted, pointing his sword at him with a grin. "Getting too old?"

"I haven't even reached my prime, you fucker."

Garrett lowers his sword and the two men chuckle. A good morning workout, indeed. The freckled boy looks up at the sun and shields his face from the rays. "Had enough for today. We should head back."

"Aye. Just let me wash my face first."

Garrett turns to his horse as Asher makes his way to the shimmering stream further into the copse. He drops to his knees and dips his hands into the cool water. It's much colder than it looks, but he welcomes the freshness as he splashes it against his face.

The snap of a twig nearby catches his attention. He pauses, listening. An animal? Deer, maybe? Something else? Always cautious, Asher slowly gets to his feet, his eyes fixed in the direction he had heard the sound. A soft rustling in the bushes upstream. If anything, whatever was lurking there could be breakfast. Asher pulls out his dagger and begins to creep toward the bush.

He holds his breath as he inches closer, doing his best to keep his feet from making a sound. Then a head bobs up from behind the bush and he stops. Not an animal, definitely a person. All he can see is the crown of the person's head, blonde hair. No one near Winterfell with blonde hair. Which means this person was trespassing.

Quick as a snake, Asher's arm darted out and he grabbed the person, his dagger at their throat. He had heard a very feminine gasp, and he quickly realized it was a woman.

Asher tightened his hold on her, dagger still poised. "Who the hell are you?"

"Unhand me and perhaps I'll tell you," she responds with a quick tongue. She doesn't seem to be afraid of him, which annoys him.

"You're in my woods, girl," he hisses. "And I'm the one holding the dagger. Seems to me, that you're in no position to make demands."

"Aye, and seems to me if you wanted to kill me you would've done so without needing to know my name first."

Asher hesitates, and curses to himself because he knows that she picked up on his reaction. She turns her head slightly to look at him, a taunting glint in her green eyes. With an irritated growl, Asher yanks her around fully to face him, his dagger still against her throat. He knows she is right. He will not kill her. But that does not excuse her for trespassing into his family's part of the woods. And he'd be damned if he allowed her to think she had the upper hand in this.

"I'm not going to ask you a third time," he warns. "Who. Are. You?"

She looks at him stubbornly, her lips set in a firm line and he takes the moment to study her face. Her skin is fair and he's close enough to count the freckles on her nose. Her eyebrows are perfectly arched above long lashes that flutter subtlety as she regards him in silence.

He was losing his patience. He didn't have time for this stupid, arrogant girl who had probably gotten lost in the woods. She didn't appear to be much younger than he was, and he could tell she was no threat. He slowly lowered his dagger, his eyes never leaving her face.

Only then did she speak, her voice dripping with mirth. "There. Now that wasn't so hard. Was it?"

He scowled as he slid his dagger into his belt. "Are you going to tell me your name?"

She smiles wantonly. "Perhaps. Perhaps not."

Asher could feel his temper boiling. "By the Gods-!"

"Do not bring the Gods into this," she interrupts. "Dire consequences may befall those who take their name in vain."

Asher glares at her, his hands balled into fists. "I'll ask you a different question then. What are you doing here? Surely you must be a long way from home."

She nods to something on the ground and he looks and sees a woven basket at her feet. A cloth covers the contents, and he is still at a loss.

"I'm gathering," she tells him. "Replenishing my stores. Unfortunately some of the herbs I need only grow in your part of the woods."

She's a healer then? Asher let his gaze travel from her face and along the length of her body, taking her in. She looked a bit young to be so, but he could believe it. Still, she had no right to be venturing into his homeland uninvited and without permission.

"So you're admitting to stealing?" he challenges her. "I could have a hand for this. Perhaps just a finger, since I'm feeling kind."

She doesn't flinch. Again, this annoys him. He'd never met a woman who gets under his skin so much.

"I was not aware you owned the forest, my Lord," she says, and he catches the sarcasm laced in her voice. "The trees, the leaves, the stream, the rocks all belong to the Old Gods. They belong to no man. And I shudder to meet the one who would deny a servant of the Gods passage in their domain."

Asher is thrown by this, and again she knows this. He can see it in the way her moss green eyes twinkle with subtle amusement. The faint twitching of the corners of her mouth as she looks at him. The gall of her. She had guts, he'd give her that. And he couldn't deny that despite how much she annoyed him, she intrigued him as well.

He was too busy staring at her, lost in thoughts that he almost didn't catch what she had said next, but he saw her lips moving. "I am no threat to you, my Lord. I have taken what I need, and I shall take my leave."

She turned to do just that and he stopped her by taking her wrist. She looked at his hand on her, then her eyes slowly rose to his face and he felt his damn heart lurch. Actually lurched. Fuck, why did it do that? He had never felt it do that before. And he had come to know plenty of women with far more to offer than her in the ways of beauty. Yet something about her made his stupid heart do something weird in his chest. Who is she?

He licked his suddenly dry lips and realized how she kept calling him 'Lord.' "How do you know that I'm a lord?" he asks, narrowing his eyes.

She surprises him. "I know all about you. The great Starks of Winterfell."

He is rendered speechless. She turns once more and stoops to pick up her basket. She walks away a few paces before he manages to find words again. "So do I get to know your name, or not?"

She stops. Turns her head slightly so he can only see part of her face. When she answers he feels his heart lurch for an entirely different reason.

"Gwyn. Frey." And she turns and disappears through the trees.

Asher stays rooted to the spot, staring at the gap in the trees for what seemed like ages. Frey. She was a Frey. One of them. Well, fuck.

…..

Sansa tapped her fingers on the wood of her chair as she listened to the report of her Maester. The Freys continued to grow and expand their forces, and apparently had been whispering to the other Northern Houses that had sworn allegiance to the Starks. Anger swept through her. Were they attempting to sway her bannermen to their side? Were they planning an attack?

"Their hatred for us is no secret," Sansa says in a stony voice. "I think it naive for us to go on believing that peace will continue to exist between our two houses for much longer."

"Those sworn to you would never waver, my Lady," Maester Frederick reassures her. "They are our loyal bannermen. Lord Manderly is the one who sent a raven warning me of the Freys doings."

"Yes, the Manderly's will always remain loyal, of that I have no doubts. Jon showed them great mercy all those years ago when he could've had their castle burnt down for serving the Boltons. I assume we can continue to count on the Karstarks as well?"

"Yes, my Lady. The Karstarks remain true. However…"

"What?"

"There are those who have never been on the best of terms with us."

Sansa sighs, knowing perfectly well who he speaks of. "Yes, the Greyjoys. Though they swore fealty to Queen Daenerys, Yara Greyjoy has never forgotten our history between our houses. And neither have I." Sansa would never forget how Yara's brother Theon had captured Winterfell and killed many of those who had once looked upon him as one of their own. Sansa had once considered him a brother. She had forgiven him in her own way once she'd seen what Ramsay had done to him and he had proven his worth by helping her to escape.

But she still would never forget.

"Might I make a suggestion, my Lady?" Maester Frederick breaks into her thoughts.

Sansa nods for him to continue.

"We must secure our link to the most powerful allies we have. Like the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. Lord Jaime would prove to be a very valuable ally if war ever came upon us."

Sansa nodded slowly as she considered his words. Yes, if the Northern Houses indeed did decide to turn against her and rally to Ludd Frey's cause, then she would need to seek allies further south. She couldn't expect Jon to fight her battles for her after all, and she would not allow him to. She was Warden of the North. She needed to show strength on her own two feet. And she would do so by forging her own path without her brother's protection.

"You speak a truth," she says. "However, the Lannisters and the Starks share a long and bloody history as well. And I am not so willing to forget that Jaime pushed my brother from a window. No matter how many times he proved himself after."

"With respect, I am not discounting his crimes against your family," Maester Frederick dips his head. "I am merely stating that Lord Jaime Lannister commands the strongest and most well trained army in the West. And if it came down to it, I would rather have his sword with us, rather than pointed at us."

Again, Sansa had to admit that he spoke the truth. Bran forgave the act against him by Jaime's hand as he claimed it had been what made him become the three-eyed raven. Perhaps if Bran could let it go, then she could too.

"He has a daughter around Rodrick's age," Maester Frederick points out. "Lady Elaena. Join our houses with an act of marriage, and secure an alliance."

Sansa thinks on this for a moment. "Perhaps...it's high time my eldest son took a wife anyway. Very well. Fetch me quill and parchment," she orders her nearby servant. "I will send my request to Lord Jaime. I only hope I don't live to regret this."

Joining Lannister blood with Stark blood. She never thought she'd see the day. She didn't know if she was going mad or was just desperate.

"Still no word from Arya, my Lady?" Maester Frederick is curious, and Sansa's heart sinks at the mention of her sister.

She shakes her head and looks toward the window. "No. But I imagine she is someplace warm. With the sun at her back and a sword in her hand."

…

Essos

Arya sings softly to herself as she carefully bathes the still body on the stone table. She treats the body with care as she cleanses each limb with delicate strokes. She hears footsteps behind her and she stops singing but does not turn around as she continues to wash the body.

She knows who comes behind her. She has memorized the step of every man and woman she lives among.

"A girl has another contract from the Many Faced God," the voice of Jaqen H'ghar speaks.

Arya wrings out her washcloth into the basin of water. "And where does this contract take me this time?"

"To a woman by the name of Muiri. She is the one who gives the contract."

"Where will I find her?"

"A girl knows how to find what she seeks. Or does a girl need reminding?"

Arya finally turns to look at the tall man. Even now she still was not quite sure how old he was, or if the face he wore was even his. She had never asked, and she knew he would never tell if she did. But she had come to know him very well over the years, had come to call him friend. Fellow servant to the Many Faced God.

"A girl does not," she says. "I will find Muiri. I will listen to what she has to say. And our God shall have another soul as he commands."

Jaqen nods to her and turns to leave as swiftly and quietly as he came. Leaving Arya with a dead body on a table.

….

It didn't take Arya long to find out from the locals that Muiri often frequents the Silverblood Inn at the corner of Halian Street. Arya tries to avoid that place when it suits her, as the men there behave like heathens. She is in no mood for cutting off hands today. She is on business of the Faceless Men, and nothing more.

Wearing a scarf over her mouth, she enters the tavern unnoticed and glances around until she finds the woman that matches the description a local described to her. A stout woman with short dirty blonde hair, sitting with her back to Arya in a dimly lit corner. Inconspicuous. Smart woman.

Arya moves to sit quietly in the chair next to hers without a word. She does not even look at her.

Muiri does not look at her either. She takes a long drink of ale and speaks quietly with her eyes on the dusty wall in front of them. There is music playing and people talking loudly, full of drink. No one pays any attention to them.

"So you have come."

"As you knew I would. Tell me what you need."

"What I need?" Muiri scoffs. "What I need is for Alain Dufont to die. I want him hunted down and murdered like the dog he is."

"A girl needs more details than that. Go on."

Muiri sighs before taking another drink of ale. Arya felt she was gearing up for a long story and she didn't have the patience, but she forced herself to stay silent as the woman began to speak once more.

"I didn't know it when we were...together...but Alain is actually the leader of a band of cutthroats. Bandits. They're holed up in some old ruin-Raldbthar. It's near Astapor. They use it as their base. It's where they stage their raids. I want you to go there, find Alain Dufont. And kill him."

"And the others?" Arya muses in a monotone voice.

"I do not care about them, do as you please. Just make sure you kill that bastard."

"It will be done."

"Excellent. Once Alain is dead, I'll pay you quite well."

"A girl does not kill for money."

"Be that as it may, I have one more favor to ask of you."

Arya said nothing but continued to listen. Muiri had peaked her interest.

"If you can, I need you to kill someone else as well. Not as part of our deal, but if you do. I will make it worth your while. You say you don't kill for money, but I am still willing to pay your for your trouble."

Arya hesitates. Taking a life beyond that of a contract is considered to be highly forbidden. And though she often refused the offer of gold in return for her services, Muiri's offer was quite tempting.

"A girl needs a name," she murmurs.

"Her name is Nilsine Shatter Shield. Kill her for me, and you will be rewarded."

Arya stared at the wall, many thoughts going through her head. "Is there anything else?"

"I had planned to kill Alain myself, and Nilsine too," Muiri tells her. "But lost my nerve. I even brewed a special poison, Lotus Extract. Perhaps you can use it more effectively for your cause? Just coat your weapon with it...and, well I don't believe I need to spell it out for you, do I?"

"No."

Arya holds out her hand beneath the table and Muiri slides a small vial into her palm. Arya pockets it and stands.

Muiri finally looks at her. "Do you want to know why I want them dead?"

"A girl does not need to know," Arya says flatly. And she turns and walks out of the tavern.

….

Essos-Narrow Sea

"Fuck, it's hot," Pip complains from where he sits in the small boat. Shared between three men, with one of them being the rather large Weaver, it's an uncomfortable fit.

Ronald scowls at his lanky companion from where he sits opposite, rowing. "Oh shut up, you. I don't see you doing anything useful other than running yer mouth, while Weaver and I do all the work."

"Oh piss off," Pip grumbles, reaching for his flask. "It's all your damn fault we're even in this fuckin boat. You had to run your fat mouth to Ludd about the Stark girl."

"Aye, if I hadn't the fat fuck would've ripped out our tongues, or don't you remember?"

"Shut up, the both of you," Weaver rolls his eyes. "We're lucky to be breathing."

Pip spits into the sea water and makes a face. "What's he playing at, sending us across the world?"

"He hopes to have us killed, that's what he's playing at," says Ronald darkly. "He thinks we'll end up dead in one way or another. And he's probably right. Even if we did manage to kill the bitch, Ludd would still execute us the moment we set foot back at the Twins."

"So let's not go back then, eh?" Pip says. "Fuck the Stark bitch, let's find us an Inn in Braavos and drink into the next moon, and find a few whores to bury our cocks in."

Weaver looked like he agreed with Pip, but Ronald was shaking his head solemnly. "We received a direct order from Lord Frey. We must follow through."

"Who bloody cares?" Pip argues. "You said so yourself, he means to have us killed. Let him go on thinking we died and failed our mission."

"I never said anything about going back home. I'd rather die in a foreign country than have to tolerate that man's presence for one more second."

"But you said-"

"Aye, I know what I said. We ain't goin back. But that don't mean we won't have our fun with the Stark girl first."

A large grin spreads across Weaver's face but Pip still looks doubtful.

"You really think we can kill her? The girl almost single handedly wiped out our entire House!"

"Aye, but she didn't, did she?" Ronald focuses his eyes on the nearing horizon that is Essos, the Red Wasteland.

Even if they failed, and she managed to slip through their fingers, at least they would have the opportunity to avenge the name of their House. It was something worth dying for.

….

King's Landing

"I for one, am pleased to hear that you did not decide to burn everything down to the ground," Tyrion remarks from where he sits at the round table, the small council gathered with Daenerys and Jon at the head. "Not that I ever had any doubt in you at all, your Grace."

"I appreciate your good faith, Lord Tyrion," Daenerys nods to her Hand. "It was never my intention to do such a thing. I don't believe in innocent lives lost. There were a great many women and children present, those who were not responsible for the sins of their own. I did, however send a message by burning their treeline."

"How well was the message received?" Varys asks, his arms hidden in the long sleeves of his robes and a skeptical look on his face.

A dark shadow passes over the Queen's face. "Not well. At least not with their leader, practically still a boy. He outright refused my offer, even at the exchange of safety for his people. He showed himself to be very stubborn and unwavering."

"Sounds like someone we all know." Tyrion looks at Jon, and Daenerys does as well. Something passes between the two of them.

"Yes, there is no denying that he shares certain qualities," she says slowly. "Except he is cruel and ruthless. From Drogon's back I saw him murder one of his own. Before that, he has led his men to rape and murder. And I made it quite clear to him I will not let this behavior stand."

"So is he still breathing?" Melisandre speaks up. Daenerys looks at her with raised brows. "Surely you must've killed him for refusing to bend the knee?"

Daenerys thought of Mirri Maz Duur and once again found herself reliving the horror of what that foul woman did to her dragon with a simple hand gesture and a few spoken words. What had happened after she flew back to King's Landing? Did the witch remain with the Hill tribes? Did they plan to use her as weapon against her?

Jon could read her face. He reached for her hand beneath the table and she was grateful for his touch. Should she tell them about the witch?

"I did not," she answers Melisandre's question. "I...I meant to. But then something happened. Something I would never have thought possible. They had a woman with them. A witch."

"Witch?" Sam utters, his eyes wide. "Like a real witch?"

The man had always been fascinated with idea of magic and witchcraft, and he knew it existed but he had never had the luck of discovering it for himself. Everyone else at the table however simply stared at their Queen with looks of shock or disbelief.

"Yes," said Daenerys. "A real witch. In fact, she was the witch who murdered my first husband and cursed me with a barren womb many years ago before I came to Westeros. I killed her by burning her alive for her crimes. I thought her truly dead all this time. Until I saw her. Very much alive but in the body of another."

A shocked whisper swept across the table and Jon squeezed his wife's hand. He knew it was difficult for her to discuss. But Daenerys grew tired of keeping secrets. She had too many as it was, and there didn't seem to be a way to avoid this one.

"How could this be possible?" Tyrion questions. "I thought only the Lord of Light had the power of resurrection. And surely a woman so evil could not be acting on his will?"

"Certainly not," Melisandre says, almost sharply. "But there are far more powers that exist beyond that of the Lord of Light, I have seen them. This is where the old saying, 'The night is dark and full of terrors' stemmed from. There are many dark forces that exist in this world unseen."

"If that is the case then our Grace is not safe," Varys speaks over the voices that met the red woman's words.

"Surely one woman can't stand a chance against a full army and a dragon?" says Tyrion.

Daenerys flinches, and Jon feels for her. Of course she is thinking of what the witch did to Drogon. The pain she must've gone through to have to watch that.

"She is not just a woman," says the Queen. "And I watched her subdue my dragon without so much as a wave of her hand. I watched him wriggle and writhe in the dirt before me as I could do nothing but watch helplessly. It is the one time I have felt truly afraid since the days the white walkers roamed these lands."

Her council all exchanged looks. Melisandre remained silent and appeared to be in deep thought. Sam looked absolutely horrified.

"We must all be cautious," Jon finally speaks, quieting the dissent among his council. "The patrols will be doubled. Sam, Melisandre. You two must do all you can to find a way to stop this witch. She says she cannot be killed, but I have learned that everyone and everything can be killed, in more ways than one." He leaves out the part about Daenerys believing Mirri will only die when she does.

Jon stands. "We have faced a great many dangers in our time. And we have overcome them all. We will do so again."

Everyone in that room believed their king's words.