Thank you to everyone who has read, favourited and alerted this story. Especially to those who have been kind enough to leave a review (especially the Guests whom I cannot thank in person).

Seeing as there were several loose ends from the battles that needed tying up, I decided to cover that first and get Jon's first meeting with Dany covered, before moving on to the second phase of the plot. So that's all this is. It's quite short but still needed a chapter of its own. So, here goes. Enjoy!

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Daenerys.

Although the hour was late, the clean-up began in earnest. The Silent Sisters had already swarmed into the streets to collect the dead, but there was nowhere near enough of them to manage alone. Jon relayed instructions that they should begin with the lower streets of King's Landing, while he and his men would assist by cleaning up the Red Keep and the streets immediately beyond their walls. Meanwhile, Margaery was summoned from her place of sanctuary to begin leading the relief carts through the city to feed the starving populace whose suffering had just been made a hundred fold worse after Jon's all day battle. Making things worse, the people of this city had been told by the Lannisters that he'd come down from his frozen wasteland to rape their women and sacrifice their first born to his ancient, faceless gods. It would never be too soon to start winning them over.

Whatever side the dead had fought on, they were treated with respect by the Sisters and soldiers alike. The innocent dead, who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, were returned to their families. Only Joffrey had to be displayed, naked and definitely dead, to the people. His corpse was slung over a horse with his head tied in place with twine and paraded for all to see. It made Jon's stomach turn, but the people had to be left in no doubt that he really was dead and not coming back.

Intent on mucking in with the rest of them, Jon rolled up his shirt sleeves and got to work. So far, there had been no sign of Cersei Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Roslin Frey or any of her brothers. If they had escaped there would be hell to pay over the coming months, especially with yet another pretender on the loose and still unaccounted for. But as he cleared his way through the corpses, loading them on to carts for transportation, there was no sign of any of them. Cersei and Jaime were his chief worries.

Come the dawn, he left the Red Keep and ventured into the streets below. The people there had built ramshackle multi-storey lean-tos against the walls of the castle, the air stank of open latrine pits and the rats ran in swarms down beaten earth streets. Wherever Cersei was hiding, it wouldn't be there. Dejectedly, he turned back to the Red Keep. If he went any farther, he ran the risk of getting lost in the warren of little tracks and streets that seemed a maze to him.

"Where were you?" Ser Loras greeted him as he stepped back inside. "Garlan's been looking everywhere, we were worried sick."

Jon was mystified. "I was only away for ten minutes."

"So? You're king now, you can't just go wandering off on your own."

He drew a deep breath and apologised rather than make a fuss about being coddled, then remembered …

"Ser Loras, you know I cannot have Joffrey's old Kingsguard serving me. I couldn't trust them as far as I could throw them, given what they did to my sister."

"I should think not, your grace," Loras replied, leading the way back into the throne room. "They were no true knights."

Jon stopped him then, before he could go back inside with the others. "I want you to be the first on my new Kingsguard. I can understand if you don't want to, or if you need time to think …"

His request trailed off as Loras' expression turned suddenly grave and sombre, then dropped to one knee at his feet. "There's nothing to think about. I humbly accept, your grace."

One down, six to go, he thought to himself.

Inside the throne room, another commotion had broken out. Throngs of people had formed a press in the middle of the room, all focusing intently on something in the middle that Jon could not see. Voices called out in mockery, but nothing distinguishable as they all called over each other. Although not yet sworn in to his new brotherhood, Loras began taking his new duties seriously and shouldered a path through the throngs.

"Make way for the King!" he called out. "Stand aside, his grace approaches!"

As if by magic, the noise died down and the people shuffled aside revealing Jaime Lannister bound, gagged and chained at the feet, kneeling in a shaft of light. Still in his golden armour, it was slick with saliva were people had spat on him and his face was filthy, hair matted with dirt. Jon remembered him from when he came to Winterfell, wearing that same golden armour and sitting so proud on that huge destrier. Back then, he had been invisible to Jaime. Except for that one occasion where Jaime mistook him for a squire. But Jon held no grudges.

"Unbind him," he commanded, before turning to Ser Loras. "Get these people outside helping with the relief effort. Any men strong enough ought to be clearing the dead, everyone else can deliver food to the living."

Loras nodded his understanding and began shepherding the gloating crowds away. Jon watched their retreating backs, wondering how many of them had been kissing Lannister's arse just twelve hours ago? All of them, probably. Since he had been declared King, many had approached him to tell him of their heartbreak over the murder of his uncle, and about what a wonderful, virtuous man Ned Stark was. Again, he wondered how many of them had been baying for his blood on the steps of the sept. The answer he gave himself was the same: all of them, probably.

It was an ancient Maester who had remained to help Ser Jaime. White whiskers lined his jaw, his skin was loose around his chin and neck, and his movements were laboured and limbs stiff, as though he needed oiling. He moved so slowly that not even his large, heavy chain clanked. That chain was bigger even than Luwin's, which could only mean he was looking at a Grand Maester.

"Grand Maester Pycelle?" he guessed.

The man removed the gag on Lannister then bowed his head. Jon could almost hear the bones creak. "I-I h-have that h-honour, your g-grace."

Jon smiled patiently, already thinking of ways to put the old man into some form of honourable retirement. The same Maester had betrayed his grandfather and served Tywin Lannister diligently. Once he untied Jaime's hands, he remained standing – crook backed – and staring at Jon through rheumy blue eyes. Unmoving, Jon gave up waiting for him to get the hint.

"Thank you, Grand Maester, you may leave us now."

Pycelle dithered for a moment longer than necessary, but eventually began shuffling away and leaving him alone with Lannister. When the doors closed behind him, Jon sat down on the ground facing Jaime.

"You still look like a squire," said Jaime. "Nothing changes."

Jon shrugged. "Except I am king now and you look like you've been dragged backwards through a latrine pit."

Jamie laughed, but it sounded empty and dejected. "I feel like I've been dragged through a latrine pit forwards and backwards." He paused there, finally looking upwards to meet Jon's gaze. "So, King Jon, are you going to uphold your northern honour and give me a swing of that sword yet?"

There was a mocking undertone in his voice, but Jon chose not to rise to it. "That's not my decision alone and that other person isn't here yet," he replied, shaking his head. "Besides, you were serving your king and your family. I'd have done the same." Almost as an afterthought, he added: "But I wouldn't have fucked my sister and passed our inbred bastard off as the heir to the crown."

"Are you sure?" Jaime asked, frowning. "If I remember rightly, sister fucking was positively encouraged by you Targaryens."

Anger flickered inside him, but he schooled his reaction carefully. "My mother was a Stark, I was raised as a Stark and I intend to rule as a Stark."

Jaime raised a mud spattered eyebrow. "Really? If your uncle was anything to go by, I bet your reign as King will be even shorter than his tenure as Hand of the King. I'm feeling generous, I'll give you until the end of next week."

Although he tried to ignore the obvious jibes, they still got to him. "Unlike my father I won't be surrounded by snakes in the grass like Lannisters and at the mercy of vipers like Petyr Baelish."

"Ah, I see," Jaime retorted. "Yours is going to be a golden age of harmony and peace, is it. No one in your court will be vying for power or stabbing each other in the back. Tell me, how do you plan on building this paradise?"

"Surrounding myself with honest men who I trust is a good foundation," Jon replied, growing defensive.

"I'm wondering, is this your extreme youth talking or are you really this naïve?" Jaime asked, frowning as he tried to figure it out. "You're even more clueless than your uncle."

"You leave my uncle out of this," Jon snapped. "His murder is the reason I'm here today and you just let it happen thinking you and your family were unassailable. Well you were wrong. Your evil has destroyed itself, ser, and look at you now. This is where your ambition got you."

"Ambition?!" Jaime shot back, wincing as though the word itself were poison. "You think ambition brought me here? You are supreme in your ignorance, like the half-child you are. Listen to yourself, you really think you can change things? You sound like every naïve, boy so green they piss grass- "

Jon had had enough. "And you, ser, sound like every embittered old man who's pissed his life away by dreaming big and doing nothing. Cease lecturing me and don't deign to tell me about my uncle. I knew and loved Lord Stark like a father and I'll never be made to feel shame for that. Not after my own father dead before I was even born and my grandfather killed by one who was supposed to protect him. Who was that again? Oh yes, it was you, Kingslayer."

Anger flashed in the prisoner's eyes, making them a livid green. "For all this talk of ruling as a Stark you seem to have conveniently forgotten your other uncle and grandfather. Who killed them again? Oh yes, it was the same sainted Aerys whose blood it is sees your arse polishing that ugly chair now. That's a complicated story, aye. How're you going to rewrite that one for the history books?"

"I am none of them!" Jon spat, getting back to his feet. "I need not rewrite anything. Look, you have lost. Your day is done, I have your daughter safe in Dorne and your younger son safe with his uncle. You may as well give me your sister and we can end this farce once and for all."

"Never in a century will I give you my sister," Jaime retorted. "You can do as you will to me. But Cersei is gone. By now she will be leagues away from here."

Jon felt his heart drop into his gut. However, before he could press for further details, a woman stepped out of the shadows, giving both men a fright. In her arms she held a scarlet banner decorated with a golden lion. But it was her silver hair and lilac eyes that Jon noted. She smiled at them both as she dropped the banner between them, revealing charred flesh, a few blacked bones and a gold lion necklace that had survived the inferno. Smoke still curled from the mess and it made the air smell of burned pork.

"Here is your sister, ser," said the newcomer. "Forgive my staying behind after everyone else had been sent away. But I rather hoped you would be done soon and I could have the honour of meeting my nephew for the first time."

Jaime blanched, recoiling from the ruins of his sister wrapped in the Lannister standard. Looking as if he was about to vomit, Jon took a precautionary step backwards before turning to his aunt. Behind her, three creatures the size of large dogs waddled cumbersomely. They were made to fly, not walk, and that much was obvious. The large black one curled around his mother's legs. The injured one whimpered steam. But the third one, with the bronze and emerald scales looked him straight in the eye, opened his jaws and screamed at him.

Once Jaime was taken away to a black cell, they stepped out of the throne room for privacy and exchanged a stiff handshake. After the split-second in which it happened had passed, Jon cleared his throat and glanced around the outer-gallery they found themselves in. Already, it was proving even more difficult than he had anticipated. They were strangers meeting for the first time, who had nothing in common except a few long dead relatives. Meanwhile, Daenerys distracted herself by fussing over her three dragons, one of whom had an injured wing. Disconcertingly, the green and bronze seemed to have taken a shine to him. Now the beast had unfurled his wings and wrapped them around his lower leg. When she ceased fussing over the injured one, she glanced over to him and smiled.

"He likes you!" she laughed. "His name is Rhaegal, after your father."

"Oh," he replied. "That is nice."

Cautiously, he bent down and touched the little dragon's head, finding it smooth, dry and hot. "They feel so strange, I thought they'd be all scaly or slimy."

Dany stood up again, smoothing down the front of her blue tunic. "Not at all. They're … unique, but you soon get used to them. The black one is Drogon, after my late husband. The injured on is Viserion, after my other brother."

"It's fit that you should honour your family, my lady," he answered, not sure of what to do or where to go next. He always felt so stiff and awkward when meeting strangers. "So, tell me, what exactly happened to Cersei?"

Before she answered, they both began walking down the gallery together. Evidently, she was as keen to explore their new surroundings as he was. They tried a few doors, but found them locked and the regular courtiers were still hiding from him.

"We were sailing up the Blackwater estuary, ready to dock, when we saw a little row boat approaching. I thought it might be a stricken citizen making for safety," she explained. "Then Sam told me it was Queen Cersei, and clearly she was trying to escape. Headed for the Free Cities, I'd wager."

Mention of Sam's name made his heart lift. But he knew he would catch up with his old friend later. Meanwhile, he and Dany had turned a corner. It was dark down there, but as the Keep's new owner, he set aside his misgivings and continued with his tentative exploration.

"Did you know her?" she asked, slowing down so her 'pets' could catch up. Jon thought they had an odd sort of walk, as graceful as any creature's that was meant for the sky and not the solid ground. They lurched from side to side like late night drunks spilling from a winesink.

"I only met her once, when she and her husband came to Winterfell," he explained. "She was cold, haughty and proud. Which is what you sort of expect from a Queen."

"That man you were arguing with," she said. "That was her brother, wasn't it? The one who murdered my father."

Jon nodded. "Yes. I told him his fate wasn't mine alone to decide, that I needed to speak with someone who had not arrived yet."

She looked sidelong at him. "His brother- "

"You. You and I, we've both suffered because of his actions. So it's up to you and I what happens from here on in."

Dany made no reply, but the expression on her face was one of relief and not a little surprise. "Thank you."

Jon Shrugged. "What for?"

"For thinking of me. All my life, I've become rather accustomed to men making decisions for me," she answered, impressed. "Well, he seemed a thoroughly unpleasant piece of work, but I suppose we still owe him a fair hearing once the dust has settled."

"Hm," Jon replied, non-committal. "You're right, of course. I just find his arrogance hard to stomach."

They climbed a set of stairs that led into another set of chambers. They were marked by an elaborate audience chamber, leading into a set of stately rooms plushly furnished. Normally, Jon assumed, there would be guards on the doors, but there wasn't a soul in there at the moment. Everyone was outside, helping with the relief of the city and clearing away the scores of dead. So, it was left to him and Dany to try the doors. Finding them open, they peeked inside like curious children.

"What do you think it's used for?" Dany asked, squeezing in to the aperture alongside Jon.

"No idea," he replied. "Let's have a look."

There wasn't much in the outer-chamber, but the rear door led to a sandstone stairwell that twisted up to an upper level. Following it, they soon emerged in a second, much more ornate set of carved doors. On the front, the head of a stag was carved in oak, set with a painted gold crown. Daenerys winced at it, but Jon grinned.

"These must have been the king's chambers," he stated, letting himself in. "Come on, let's see what's in here?"

Robert's old banners were still hung on the walls. His old hunting trophies were there, including a stag's head mounted on the wall. It's dead, glassy black eyes seemed to follow them as they walked across the Myrish rugs towards a huge desk. A suit of armour was mounted in the corner, topped with an antlered helm. In its empty, gauntlet hands it clutched a sword that had been bolted in place. It could well have been the suit worn by King Robert when he fought at the Trident. Jon sat himself behind the desk, curiously glancing over the papers that had been left behind.

"Didn't Joffrey use this place?" she asked, pulling up a chair for herself.

Jon shrugged. "I sincerely doubt it."

"What was he like? I saw his headless body being paraded through the streets earlier, and the small folk were spitting on it and throwing dirt."

Jon momentarily forgot the papers and looked up at her. "Good. He was an obnoxious little shit."

Dany laughed, taking up some papers herself. "Look, this is signed by your uncle. Lord Stark."

She handed it to Jon. It made his heart jolt painfully to see his handwriting again. It made it feel as if Eddard had only just walked out the door. Sensing his grief, she leaned across the desk and took his hands in her own.

"Sorry if I upset you. Sam told me he was like a father to you."

Jon gave a slow shake of his head. "He wasn't like a father to me. He was a father to me."

She gave a small smile, letting go of his hands. "Ser Jorah told me about him. As you can imagine, it was less than favourable."

Jon pulled a face. "The slaver."

Ned Stark had wanted his head, but Jorah fled before that could happen. A coward as well as a slaver.

"He has repented, I assure you," she stated, firmly. "He's the reason I am here today. Which is why I have one favour to ask of you, now that you are king?"

She met his gaze, almost imploringly.

"You want me to pardon him?"

She nodded. "Please. He has followed me to hell and back, protected me and stood by my side when the Dothraki would have cut the baby from my belly and thrown me in the Dosh Khaleen. He even saved my life from a hired assassin sent by the Usurper."

Jon didn't need to think too hard about it. "That argument was between Lord Stark and him. I have no quarrel with him personally, so I'll do it. A gesture of good will from a nephew to his aunt," he replied.

Dany was all smiles as she got up to hug him. "Thank you."

When she returned to her seat, he continued rifling through Robert's stuff. Inside a desk drawer, he found a likeness of his own mother. The sight of it made his heart skip a beat. It was old and creased, but kept within easy reach of Robert's hand. He must have looked at it every time he sat in this very chair. Curiously, he also found a miniature portrait of Margaery in there. Newer and cleaner, it was accurate enough. On the back, there was a note signed by Renly. "Don't you think she looks like Lyanna?" Jon disagreed. Was Renly attempting to unseat Cersei by tempting Robert away with a Lyanna lookalike? Jon found himself wondering, but it scarcely mattered anymore.

"I could draw up your papers for Dragonstone while I'm here," he said.

Her eyes widened. "You mean, I can keep it?"

"Of course," he replied, surprised that she even needed to ask. "It is your ancestral seat. But I had best wait until the coronation is done. I have no idea what Stannis Baratheon has done to the place, if anything, but you're welcome to take any furnishings from here. There's bound to be old stuff your fathers and grandfathers kept, locked away somewhere. My little sister, Arya, said the dragon skulls are still here."

She thanked him, then got up to view the scene from the windows. Outside, it was sunrise over Visenya's Hill. Meanwhile, Jon was still satisfying his curiosity and looking for more evidence of his father's activities in the capital. There was little to be found, except a letter from Robert addressed to Barristan Selmy, cursing Eddard's stubbornness. Jon smiled, recognising that part of his late father. It had been infuriating in life, but he remembered it fondly now that he was dead. Then he found something else. Letters from someone informing Robert of all Dany's movements through the Free Cities, followed by details of a plot to poison wine. Ser Jorah Mormont's name was signed at the bottom. Jon paled and shoved it back inside the drawer and slammed it shut.

"I think we've seen enough," he stated. "Let's go and meet Margaery and we can break our fasts together."

Thanks again for reading. Reviews would be lovely, if you have a minute.

As I said, not a lot happening this time. Just some loose ends that needed tying before moving on to the next big phase of the story: Aegon and then the white walkers. When those two are wrapped up, it'll be the prologue and the end of the story.