Well...hello. It's been a while. Lots of things have happened of the last couple of years, things that led to me leaving this fic alone. Suffice it to say, I have changed an awful lot since sitting down to write these characters but I guess I'm back. You may notice quite a change in style since the last chapter, but what I'm posting here is the last of what I wrote back in 2013. Anthing beyond this point is being written in the present. I apologise for disappearing in a puff of smoke, but I can assure you this fic was not getting the attention it deserved back then, but it sure as hell is now.
So without further ado, welcome back. Let's get our Westeros on.
Great Targaryen conquests were the fodder of Westerosi history. Their dynasty stretched centuries and their strength was never doubted. If there was a single thing guaranteed to set the realm alight with fear it was the sight of that three headed dragon banner on the horizon. Rumours had been circulating for years, a whisper here; an account there. Slowly the picture began to weave its way into every cunning mind in the Seven Kingdoms. Plans formed and dissolved, but when the time finally came, there wasn't a house prepared for what they believed to be rumour alone: Dragons.
The arrival of Lord Jon Connington should have flagged suspicion but the capital was so rife with inner corruption that they hardly noticed. The throne was being torn apart from the inside out, all may have been lost if it was not for the return of the dubbed usurper Daenerys Targaryen. However, she was not alone. A former slave army and three mounted dragons had Westeros on its knees. Looking down from above, Westeros looked much like a patchwork quilt with the patches in the wrong place. Stannis Baratheon was in the north drowning in snow and despair; the Lannisters had left Casterly Rock open to the elements, making it the first to fall. The lions had not been hard to scare out of their hole of a capital once their rock had crumbled. The Tyrells scuttled back to Highgarden, their weak knees bending for the third time since the war of five kings had begun. The Greyjoys resisted, and so they fell. The Dornish were loyal, and so they were rewarded. House by house, like dominoes they fell; either to their knees or the fire. A year earlier and they may have met with more resistance but the war had burnt itself out, leaving only bitterness and discontent. They fell on a land of poverty and desperation. The people would have supported anything promising to raise them from their plight. As easy as a knife through butter.
Daenerys finally had her throne. Or at least until her nephew arrived. It was all she could do then, to insist Aegon keep her on in the capital as an advisor. However she was not going to sit and allow him to pick and choose the direction of her life. She was still young, still passionate, and still desperate for something she had been working her entire life to gain. She was not done yet.
Their new king was not slow in setting things to right. New lords were raised where old ones had been buried – towns rebuilt, prides nursed, winter preparations made. Although preparations wasn't really the word. More appropriate would be a final struggle to obtain as much of the crops remaining in an effort to provide sustenance for a season outlasting many of its ancestors. Because winter had a will of its own and it wasn't slowing down for anyone – not even a dragon king.
They needed someone of winter blood; someone who could live it through instinct. They needed a Stark but with idiocy reining that was a slim possibility. There was one they knew of but leagues and the forces of nature stood between them.
And so the formula was born.
Growing uneasy in her lack of control, Daenerys sat and simmered until Lord Connington came forward with a proposal, offering her the command of the wall if she could discover the truth behind what veiled accounts had arrived from the north. Perhaps she should have taken more time to think, to consider before she made her decision, but she had a recently forgiven exile and a dwarf without a family in her charge – she couldn't wait for a better offer. She was resourceful, time would bring better opportunities.
The Eyrie was their first destination, and Sansa Stark the first acquaintance whose company Daenerys enjoyed. She was fair and light spoken – she found joy in pretty dresses and the memory of the past. That was clear in her eyes; the pain of what she had lost could be seen in the way she held herself and the way her smile never reached her eyes. This was a girl with no hope. She was heading back into the crows nest and the fear was apparent in the shake of her hands. Daenerys pitied her, but she had her own motives to fulfill.
So she turned north.