Chapter 21: The She-Wolf's Hunt
Summary:
Euron plots the war to come. Jon and Dany learn a few secrets from the she-wolves of Winterfell.
The time for parting comes, and Jon flies off to rejoin the war.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter Twenty-One: The She-Wolf's Hunt
Euron considered the object in his hands with a frustrated scowl.
His plans were, so far, coming out to be something of a hit or a miss. He'd successfully captured the Ice Dragon—which he now called Winterwail—and tamed it with the Dragonbinder. He'd since used Winterwail to bring Tywin Lannister and his armies into his service, and when he made his way to King's Landing, there would be a throne and a Queen waiting for him. Until he got tired of her, that is. Cersei's reputation wasn't much better than his own.
On the other hand, events in the North had thrown some of his other plans for a loop.
Torrhen's Square should have been his by now, but Victarion's reports had conveniently stopped, suddenly and completely, not long after Euron received word that the Dragon King was in Westeros. It didn't take a genius to guess what had happened—clearly Aegon or Jaehaerys or whatever the fuck the boy was called had gotten word about Euron's activities somehow and decided to take matters into his own hands.
There was probably a report from Braavos coming that would be less than useless by the time it got to Pyke. Well, his spies in the Free City still had other purposes.
He'd be flattered to be considered a threat by the new Targaryen King if the damned boy hadn't made nearly half of his Iron Fleet vanish off the face of the fucking earth. So much for catching him off-guard and taking his dragon for Euron's own purposes.
Well, no matter. The boy would come to him, soon enough. Then he'd be able to test Winterwail's power fully, not to mention see if the Dragonbinder could seize more than one dragon at a time with its magic.
He'd be able to find that out sooner if he could just get this fucking dragon egg to hatch.
Euron glared at the red egg, as deep as rubies and flecked with dappled gold. He'd taken this little treasure from the same sorcerers captured from the House of the Undying, but their attempts to hatch it had failed, and thus far Euron wasn't having much luck either. Apparently, they'd acquired the egg from someone in the Shadowlands—the original home of the Valyrian dragons, as far as he knew.
He'd bet good money the Targaryens would know how to hatch the egg. Euron would try not to kill the Dragon King—he'd be the one most likely to know the secret. He supposed the girl might know as well, but he wasn't interested in her beyond the possibility of a quick fuck.
Maybe he'd keep them both around. Dragon Riders would be useful in his conquest.
Euron finally growled at the unyielding dragon egg and lazily tossed it to the cushioned chair across the room. It bounced and nearly rolled onto the floor, but wound up nestled and notched between the seams of the seat.
Lord Botley entered his solar, striding into the room and stopping in front of his desk. "Your Grace."
"What is it?"
"We've received word that Lord Tywin is within a week's march of Riverrun."
Old lion moves fast, I'll give him that, Euron thought. Not that he was especially surprised. The roads in the Westerlands were well-maintained specifically so Tywin could move his forces swiftly at a moment's notice. Most armies on-foot would still be a moon away from a destination that far out. He'd slow down the further North he went, of course, as the quality of the roads deteriorated and the weather became colder, but the speed so far was promising.
"Send a raven ordering him to stay his course," Euron commanded. "He is to take the Twins, and then he will split some of his army off to our shipyard. The rest are to bottle the Neck and blockade Ned Stark's ground forces at Moat Cailin. Tell him I strongly suggest he take it before the Northmen do."
"Yes, Your Grace!"
Lord Botley hurried off, knowing better than to stick around now that Euron had given his orders. The Crow's-Eye leaned back in his chair, sipped at the Shade of the Evening he always kept with him. His lips had long-since turned a nearly permanent shade of blue from drinking the concoction so often.
Moat Cailin might have been a ruin, but it was still the fortress no southern army had managed to pass for any sort of invasion. Now he'd see how useful it was for the south to hold against the North. They would slow down Ned Stark's army there, stall them out amidst the swamps and lizard lions.
Realistically, he knew the men alone wouldn't be able to stop the dragon if it came for them. But Tywin had been in the process of crafting a collection of scorpions when Euron arrived and demanded the old lion's fealty. They were untried, of course, and he imagined they would take much longer to reach the battlefield than the men marching in a hurry towards the North, but they could be useful against the Dragon King.
That was, of course, assuming the dragon's armored hide wasn't too thick for the huge, iron bolts to pierce. Euron didn't give a damn about history all that often, but he knew the scorpions had only ever claimed a dragon's life by shooting it in the eye—a nigh impossible shot.
The Dornish had gotten really fucking lucky.
He really didn't know how strong the dragon's hide was. It was entirely possible the scorpion bolts would just bounce off of the armor—normal arrows would do shite all to such a beast. Really, the only truly credible threat to the dragon lay in Winterwail, and that might very well be a stalemate in the end.
Fire and Ice had never met in battle before, after all. Euron was eager to see how that particular dance would end.
If all else failed, Tywin's forces could still fall back to the Twins. The closest strike point to Pyke was in the Westerlands, and he suspected Stark would want to hit him from the peninsula southwest of the Twins, or maybe even drive deep into Lannister territory to set sail from the south.
Such a long march into enemy territory would whittle away the Northmen. They'd break before they reached Pyke, he knew. Euron had his defensive plans sorted out.
The trouble was offense.
Euron knew nothing about where Ned Stark was at the moment, or more importantly, where the Dragon King was. The boy's beast could by flying to Pyke now, and he'd never know before it was too late.
Losing nearly half of the Iron Fleet's massive longships did not help his situation. Oh, his Lords were mobilizing, but they'd still lost five thousand men and nearly fifty ships. It wasn't a disastrous loss—bringing Tywin's forces into the fold granted them an additional thirty ships and a ground-based army of twenty-thousand men.
Tywin's numbers were actually far greater than that, and if he emptied the Westerlands completely of their armed forces—including even green boys, untried and barely trained—he could probably muster a force of almost fifty-thousand. But doing so would leave his lands unprotected, and the likes of Stannis Baratheon would seize such an opportunity without hesitation.
Euron didn't need to waste his time trying to drive away the bloody stags from territory he'd claimed for himself. He allowed Tywin to keep a decent defensive force in his homelands, but the bulk of his army would march to meet the North on the battlefield.
Roughly thirty-five thousand men to meet Stark's twenty-thousand in the North, plus four hundred and fifty ships—with more on the way being built in the shipyard they'd established on the western shores of the Neck.
And his Ice Dragon, of course.
Euron looked over the map of Westeros he'd spread out over his desk and considered it with a careful eye, then began to ponder on his battle plans.
Dany rolled off of Jon's hips, panting as her heart rabbited wildly in her chest. She felt the slickness of their last coupling of the night between her legs and smiled breathlessly, still high on the rush of lovemaking.
She'd lost count of how many times they'd come together since returning to Winterfell. They fell into each other each night, lost in a whirlwind of love and lust that left them dizzy for the joy of it. Dany had quickly become familiar with the sensation of her husband's seed filling her womb and seeping onto her thighs—a sticky, liquid warmth that made her strangely giddy.
Well, no one could say they weren't trying for a child.
Jon rolled as well, flat on his belly as he hugged his arms around her waist and began to plant lazy kissed on the soft, supple muscles of her tummy. Dany giggled and reached down to run her fingers through his sweat-soaked, sable curls.
"What are you doing?"
"Kissing you," he mumbled, pressing his lips again to her slick skin. She sighed, comforted rather than aroused now that they'd exhausted their lust.
"And why are you kissing my belly? My lips are up here," she reminded him, amused.
Jon flushed bright red and chose to hide his face in her stomach. Dany tilted her head as she peered down at him, tugging gently at his hair. "Jon?"
"It's nonsense," he tried, his voice muffled.
"Then you won't mind telling me," she smirked.
Jon looked up at her, uncharacteristically shy. "Just—I won't get to do this while I'm gone. You know, if you…"
It took her a few moments in her dazed state, but when it clicked she felt her heart melt into a little puddle of sweet bliss. "…Are you kissing our baby?"
He flushed again and hid his face. "I know we can't be sure yet, but…Gods, I told you it was nonsense."
Oh, this ridiculous man. This ridiculous, loving, wonderful man.
"That is not nonsense! It's sweet," she admonished him lovingly. She pulled at his shoulders. "Come here."
Jon rose up and shifted so he was lying next to her, and Dany slid her mouth against his in a lazy, heart-felt kiss. They wrapped their arms around one another, but by now they were both spent. They were exhausted, bodies buzzing pleasantly and sated more so than anything.
As the sweat covering their bodies dried, they were left sticky and shivering, but the sleepy warmth between them was enough to ignore it for now. When even kissing became too much of an effort for them, Dany nestled into Jon's side and nuzzled her face into the curve of his neck. He held her hand over his chest, the other coming around to rest on her waist and stroke her skin.
"What about Tessarya?" Jon asked. She felt her mouth curve upwards without thinking. They found themselves talking about names for the children they hoped to have most nights after they settled down to sleep.
"That's a new one," she commented. "Where'd you hear it?"
"I altered Tessarion a bit," he admitted. "Daeron Targaryen's she-dragon? Somehow I think Arya would like her name joined with a dragon's."
"I like it, but I think I'm still fixated on Rhaenna for our first daughter. Maybe our second?"
"Already planning on our second?"
"I do not want to be Queen Alysanne and bear thirteen babes," she laughed. "But I want our children to have siblings."
He giggled with her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, full of love and sweet affection that made her feel like she was floating.
Being as tired and loopy as she was brought strange, but pleasant thoughts to Dany's mind. "Do you know how the Dothraki speak to those they love?"
Jon hummed a negative and she whispered against his skin. "A woman in the Dothraki calls her man 'her sun and stars'. A man calls his woman 'the moon of his life'."
Her husband let out a soft laugh. "That is a rather romantic saying to come from a culture of barbarians."
"I suppose love has a way of making itself known no matter the people to whom it concerns."
"I suppose so," Jon agreed, and he sighed a quiet breath. "You are my moon. My silver moon…"
Dany felt a little thrill in her blood, tender joy mustered with what little energy she still had to spare. "My sun and stars, my dragonwolf…"
With those last words of affection, they slipped off into their dreamless sleep together.
It was their fifth day in Winterfell. Jon would be leaving tomorrow to rejoin the army at Torrhen's Square, and he would leave Daenerys behind with Lady Stark and his sisters.
Not daring to meet the eyes of the maids who would certainly be changing their bedding (again), the two of them slipped out to the hot springs in the morning to bathe. They giggled like a pair of troublemaker children getting up to no good, splashing at one another playfully until they actually got around to cleaning themselves off.
Once they no longer smelled of sex and were dressed properly, they met with Lady Stark and her children in the dining hall solely for their family.
Catelyn regarded them with warm eyes. "Good morning, Jon. Daenerys."
Jon schooled his expression and offered her a quiet smile. "Good morning, Lady Stark."
Dany added her own greeting to her husband's, but then Arya waggled her eyebrows in a gesture of mischief. "You should wear a scarf, Jon."
Her brother flushed and Dany pursed her lips, trying not to laugh. She might have pretended not to notice the bite mark she'd left in the hollow of Jon's throat the night before.
Sansa blushed, Lady Stark shot her youngest daughter a disapproving look, and Arya sniggered gleefully into her breakfast. At least Bran and Rickon didn't know what they were talking about.
Small favors.
"I'll, um. I'll go get one after we eat," Jon managed, shooting Dany a brief glare. She grinned and nudged him teasingly, knowing there was no actual anger on his part. The amused gleam in his eyes told her that much.
"Anything planned today?" Lady Stark asked, clearly eager to move the conversation along.
"I think I need to write a letter to Maester Aemon at Castle Black," Jon replied as they sat down. "If we can spare a raven."
"We have enough for that," she confirmed. "I've been meaning to send them a warning about Euron and this…Ice Dragon of his, as well. Perhaps Aemon will know something about it."
"Maybe," Jon agreed. "Aside from that, I'd like to take Dany to the crypts today. To see my mother."
Catelyn's features softened. "I think she would like that. Are you going to visit the glass garden first?"
His lips rose into a smile. "Aye."
Dany gave him a curious look, but he kept his intentions silent. She'd find out soon enough what they were talking about, she was sure. For now, they tucked into breakfast with the Starks and engaged them in comfortable small talk.
"Think Nymeria and I can join you and Daenerys?" Arya asked hopefully.
"Please, call me Dany, Arya," she told the Stark girl.
She grinned. "Dany, then."
Jon looked happy to see them being friendly with each other. "I don't see why not. Lady Stark?"
"As long as I don't hear you fussing when you go to your lessons this afternoon," the girl's mother said sternly. Arya looked like she was fighting the urge to roll her eyes, but she nodded.
"Yes, mother."
Sansa seemed as though she wanted to say something, but couldn't quite find her voice. She'd been that way a lot around Dany and Jon—Dany wasn't sure what exactly to make of it, but she decided to let Sansa figure things out for herself. She didn't know the red-haired girl well enough to guess what might be on her mind.
"Where's Frostfyre?" Arya asked, always interested in the dragon.
Jon frowned slightly, his eyes taking on a faraway glaze as he focused on his bond with the dragon. "She's…somewhere to the northwest. I think she's nesting by the Wolf's Wood."
"How can you tell?"
"It's hard to explain," Jon pursed his lips. "She and I are bound to each other by the magic between us. I always have a rough sense for where she is—how far away and what direction."
"Have you ever been able to see through her eyes?" Arya queried. "Like…become her?"
Her brother raised an eyebrow. "No."
The little she-wolf grinned smugly. "I can do that with Nymeria."
That caught all of them off-guard. Lady Stark frowned deeply. "What do you mean?"
"Watch!" Arya exclaimed, suddenly leaning back in her chair. She blinked for a second. "Oh. Um. Also, don't worry about me. I promise I'm fine."
That wasn't exactly reassuring—nor was it any consolation when Arya's eyes fogged up white and she sagged back in her seat.
"What in the name of the gods—!" Catelyn spluttered, her face rapidly turning white. Sansa half-shrieked, while Bran and Rickon just watched with wide eyes.
Dany stared at Arya's blank face, caught between horror and wonder. Jon as well looked utterly stunned, but jerked out of his reverie when Nymeria suddenly padded up to him and spun in a circle.
Jon froze, looking from the wolf to his immobile sister and back again. He peered into Nymeria's eyes and whispered disbelievingly. "Arya?"
The wolf nodded—fucking nodded. A human gesture that had Dany's mouth falling open. Arya was somehow inside of the wolf's mind.
"How…?" Jon seemed to be at a loss for words. Coming from the boy who was bound to a dragon, that was saying something.
Nymeria suddenly shook her head, snorting, and then Arya's eyes receded to their normal browns. She took a deep breath, grinning widely. "Isn't it amazing?"
Catelyn was still white as a sheet, as was Sansa. Jon stared at her with fascination and Dany watched as something in his eyes clicked. "You're a Warg."
"A what?" Arya frowned.
"Someone who can wear the skin of a wolf. Skinchangers. Aemon told me about them once," Jon answered, his gaze switching to Nymeria with a thoughtful expression. "It's magic…old magic from the days when the Kings of Winter were still bonded with the dire wolves. You must have even more of the wolf's blood in you than we thought."
"Is that a good thing?" Catelyn asked anxiously.
"Why wouldn't it be?" Arya queried, her eyes shining. "It just means I've got even more Stark in me! Do you think father will be excited about this?"
"I think it'll be a surprise, but you have to be careful, Arya," Jon warned her, frowning. "Magic isn't a game. You need to really know what you're doing before you get too deep into it. Just because Dany and I can't burn doesn't mean we play with fire. There are consequences if you use it carelessly."
Arya pouted, but Jon kept a level look upon her. "I want you to talk to Maester Luwin about finding books on this. Anything about the old Kings of Winter and their bond with the dire wolves. And keep it quiet, alright?"
"But why?"
"Magic hasn't had a place in Westeros for a very long time, Arya," Dany told her softly. "Not in a good way, in any case. The Faith certainly doesn't look upon it kindly. People are terrified of what they don't understand."
"Just be careful," Jon advised the put-out girl. "Honestly, I'm amazed you can do this, but I want you to be safe."
"Fine," she mumbled, stabbing at her food with her fork.
"Come on," Jon reached over and nudged her arm in a friendly way. "Eat up and then you can help show Dany the crypts with me."
That brought a little light back to her face, and the young she-wolf tore back into her breakfast with gusto. Catelyn and Sansa still seemed a bit uneasy, but the tension had dissipated mostly.
Dany had a feeling Arya's mother would certainly be having words with her daughter regarding the use of her Warging magic, but she was also positive Arya would be practicing this skill whether Catelyn liked it or not. At least they'd convinced her to be more cautious about its use.
She made a mental note to look into the subject herself while staying in Winterfell and continued to eat with her extended family.
Jon walked to the glass gardens with Dany's hand in his, passing by the servants and other residents of Winterfell on the way. It was strange to see the castle so empty, but many of their men were, of course, currently with Lord Stark's army. They had a small garrison still in place to defend the castle from any would-be invaders, but Winterfell itself was a formidable defense.
He led Dany into the glass gardens, smiling as she froze in surprise. "It's warm!"
"Aye," he admitted. "No matter how it is outside, in here it's always as warm as the hottest days of summer. The hot springs underground keep everything warm and moist enough for fruits and vegetables to grow. It's the only way to do it in this climate."
"I certainly won't complain," she murmured, looking around curiously. "I wonder if Dragonstone has one of these?"
"We'll find out one day."
And he meant that. Jon did mean to reclaim Dragonstone with Daenerys one day—hopefully sooner than later once the war was over. Stannis Baratheon had held it for too long. It was past time the dragons re-took their ancestral home in Westeros.
"I want to show you something," Jon told her, tugging Dany along gently behind him.
"It seems I am to be shown many things today," she replied teasingly, leading him to laugh.
"Aye."
Jon pulled Dany to the back of the gardens, to small bushes of flowers that were more important to the Starks than any other. He let her hand go to kneel before them, and Dany joined him a moment later.
"Winter roses," Jon murmured, reaching carefully for one of the delicate, frost-blue flowers. "They're the most beautiful and rare flower in the North. We can only grow them like this in Winterfell. Anywhere else—they're terribly difficult to find."
"They're beautiful," Dany said simply.
He plucked one of the flowers and began to meticulously remove its thorns. Jon was quiet for a long moment as he worked on the rose.
"My mother loved these," he suddenly confessed. "My uncle says he could find Lyanna here on many days, smelling these flowers whenever she wasn't off riding her horse or getting into mischief."
Dany said nothing and listened as Jon slowly turned the flower in his hands, now free of the barbed thorns that lay harmless on the ground. "At the tourney of Harrenhal, before Robert's Rebellion, my father crowned my mother the Queen of Love and Beauty by gifting her a garland of blue flowers. Lord Stark told me that was the day all the smiles died, for Rhaegar had crowned my mother instead of his wife, Princess Elia."
Jon fell briefly into another short silence. "They loved each other and they died for it. Sometimes I wonder if it was worth it to them, but then had they not run away together, we wouldn't be here now. For all that was lost, I cannot fault them for just…wanting to be with the one they loved. How could I?"
He stood up slowly and Dany went with him, turning to face her husband as Jon did the same. He spun the rose in-hand one more time before looking up at her, face solemn, and then he offered the delicate, blue flower to his wife. Her lips curved into a slight, gentle smile as she accepted the gift, lifting it to her nose to breathe in the scent.
"It is sweet and sharp," she confessed. "Petals soft as snow, yet the barbs are like ice."
He cracked a smile of his own. "Perhaps you should become a poet."
Dany laughed, a picture of ethereal beauty—milky skin and starlight-silver hair glowing with violet eyes that contrasted her dark furs, which matched his own, and yet they were complimented by the pale, frosty blue of the rose.
His heart felt achingly full as he looked upon her. If this was how his mother and father felt when they looked upon the one they loved, Jon didn't think he could ever blame them for their decisions. Right or wrong, he knew he'd do anything to stay with Daenerys. To come back to her no matter what life threw at him.
He loved her. She loved him.
It was that simple.
The crypts of Winterfell were even bigger than the castle itself—a gigantic, cavernous vault holding the tombs of Starks long-passed.
It was chilly and dark, Jon reflected as he led Daenerys and Arya—as well as Nymeria—into the depths via the winding, spiral stone steps with the lights of torches to guide them. Though the steps lead to multiple levels, they entered the most recent tombs quickly enough.
Nymeria padded slightly ahead of them as the trio slowly walked between the lines of granite pillars, looking at each tomb as they went. Quite a few had statues, although those were traditionally only for the Lords of Winterfell or the Kings in the North of old (though the Kings were buried in deeper levels, for it had been centuries since a King in the North was crowned). At the feet of some of these Lords were statues of dire wolves, but they were less prominent in the most recent tombs.
Jon stopped by the most recent tombs that had been sealed and stepped close to them—a trio of Starks who had died before their time and were laid to rest close together.
These were the tombs of Lord Rickard Stark, his son Brandon, and his daughter Lyanna.
Jon set his hand on his mother's tomb and gently blew away the dust that was gathering there, then looked up at the likeness of her face. Ned had ordered statues be made for his father, brother, and sister despite the statues usually only being constructed for Lords.
He had the memory of his mother now from his Dragon Dreams, and it was a close representation, he'd admit. But stone could not capture the way Lyanna's eyes had gleamed, nor the way her cheeks rose when her lips twisted into a mischievous smile.
"Wish I could've known her," Arya broke the silence, and even though her voice was quiet, it reverberated through the silent cavern. "Father always says I'm just like her, but…"
"It's not the same to just hear it," Dany murmured. "I know. Everyone tells me I look like my mother, Rhaella, but I haven't even dreamed of her."
"Maybe one day," Jon reached for her hand and squeezed. She returned the gentle pressure.
"Does it look like her?" Arya asked. "You said you dreamed of her and your father, didn't you?"
"Aye. It's a lot like her," he admitted. "But she never looked quite so stoic. When we dreamed of her, she was usually smiling or laughing. She was happier than this."
"I hope so. Gods, our family would've been so boring if they always looked like the faces on these statues."
Dany's lips curved upwards into a smile and Jon snorted in amusement. "I suppose so."
They all stilled when they heard an odd scratching sound. Jon held the torch away from the three tombs, towards the deeper parts of the level, and they quickly spotted a bushy tail wagging from halfway behind one of the statues several tombs down.
"Nymeria!" Arya strode after her dire wolf. "What are you doing? Bad girl! Leave that tomb alo—"
Nymeria pulled back, whining, and Jon realized the wolf had pried something from behind the tomb with her paw. Arya knelt and took the object in-hand, rising up with it.
"What'd she find?" Jon asked, frowning as he walked up beside his sister.
"It's a book," she answered, squinting at the title. She brushed away the dust covering it, briefly coughing as the particles flew into the air. "Gross."
Jon brought the torch closer as they crowded around Arya, letting the light shine on the tomb. Dany's eyes narrowed as she read the title aloud. "'The Testimony of...Mushroom'."
"Who the hell is named Mushroom?" Arya scoffed, shaking her head. "What is this even doing here? Behind…William Stark's tomb. He's what, our great-great-grandfather?"
"I think so," Jon frowned at the book and took it from Arya, exchanging the book for the torch. "But what's this doing behind the—"
He made to open the book, only for a piece of paper to fall out from between the first pages. Jon muttered a low curse and knelt to pick it up, holding the paper near the torch so it could be read.
"What's it say?" Arya rose on the tips of her toes, the torch shifting closer to Jon, and he gently pushed it back.
"Easy with that. I don't burn, but I don't want fire in my face," he warned her with a bemused tone. Arya smirked at him as Jon shook his head and tried to read the old writing. "'To whomever might find this book, the dwarf whose testimony it entails was mostly full of shite. He also had a filthy mind and the crudest sense of humor I've yet seen. Don't believe most of what he says when you read this nonsense.'"
"Quite a glowing review," Dany commented dryly.
"'But,'" Jon continued, frowning. "'The little scrote was right on one account: Vermax laid…eggs…'"
Jon felt the blood drain from his face.
"Vermax?" Arya tilted her head curiously. "Who is—"
"Vermax was the dragon who bonded to Prince Jacaerys Velaryon," Jon breathed, and Arya froze in place. "He came here to bring the North to the side of Rhaenyra Targaryen when the Dance of the Dragons began. Jacaerys forged the Pact of Ice and Fire with Lord Cregan Stark, but Vermax was never known to have lain eggs."
Dany stared at him, eyes wide. "Not according to this. Who wrote it?"
Jon kept reading. "'Vermax laid eggs that were hidden in the crypts of Winterfell. Why, I've no idea, and any who might know have long-since died. I searched for many days, but I found one of the eggs Mushroom spoke of behind the tomb of Torrhen Stark, the King who Knelt. Rhaegar my love, he was right.'"
It hit him.
"My mother wrote this," Jon's gaze spun towards Dany, shaken. "Rhaegar never had a dragon egg for his children. All the remaining eggs House Targaryen possessed were destroyed at Summerhall the day he was born."
"Frostfyre's egg was hidden here with the King who Knelt," Dany whispered.
"What else does it say?" Arya demanded. "Are there more?"
Wasn't that the ultimate question?
Jon returned to the page and kept reading. "'I've only just had enough time to find the one egg. Mushroom's testimony suggests there are more, but the crypts are huge and dark, and I've not the time to search for the rest. I must leave now to join Rhaegar, or I might never have the chance to do so again. Perhaps I may return to find the rest, perhaps not. The egg that I have recovered, as white as snow, will be for my Dragon Prince. Perhaps another hidden in the crypts will hatch for the Dragonwolf born of his blood and mine. He has dreamed it so.'
"'Signed, the She-Wolf,'" Jon swallowed. "It was her. She found Frostfyre's egg for my father...and the dragon hatched for me."
"Jon," Dany reached for his arm and held it tight. "She found one of them. Dragons have laid clutches of up to five eggs, as far as I know. Who knows how many more might be hidden down here?"
He nodded, but was still in something of a daze. Lyanna and Rhaegar—they'd fallen in love perhaps at the tourney of Harrenhall…had Rhaegar told her then about his dreams? She'd come back to Winterfell specifically to search for Vermax's eggs and then fled back south to rejoin her Dragon Prince.
"Jon?"
He shook himself of the revelation. He would have time to brood over this later.
"We need people to help with this," he decided, slipping the letter his mother had written back into the book. "The crypts are too large for us to search alone. It'll take ages."
"Lyanna found one on her own," Arya pointed out.
"We don't have to search for them alone," he reminded her. "How did she even…"
"Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon Targaryen," Dany said suddenly. "Maybe the eggs are hidden with Starks who had a connection to the dragons."
"Maybe," he agreed. It would certainly make sense. "They'd be hidden in tombs before Cregan Stark, in any case. Look—we need to get out of here and see if there were any clues left in the book. We shouldn't just go on a wild hunt for the eggs down here. We need to plan this out before we start searching."
"Then let's go," Arya declared, looking down at her wolf a moment later. "And you are getting whatever you want at dinner tonight. Good girl!"
Nymeria wagged her fluffy tail, looking exceptionally pleased with herself, and followed the humans out of the crypts in a hurry.
Cersei Lannister had been the picture of regal fury in the past few months. One might think she would have long-since exhausted her rage, but the golden Queen Regent seemed to exist in a constant state of silent anger.
The servants had not taken long to learn she was best avoided and never displeased. Especially as of late.
Everything in her once-perfect world was crumbling down, and she was not pleased with it. Jaime was gone, having switched sides to join the Targaryen spawn. She'd heard rumors long ago that her twin had been infatuated with Queen Rhaella, but had assumed that boyish affection had disappeared when the Queen had died at Dragonstone.
Apparently, he still had some love for the Targaryens—enough, in fact, to abandon her and their children at the Red Keep while he went off galavanting with the dragonspawn. She'd known him to be foolish before, but this sort of treason was too much.
As if there wasn't enough bad blood in her family, now her father had betrothed her to Euron Greyjoy, who Cersei had little doubt would prove to be a considerably more abusive husband than Robert ever had been. She was furious with Tywin for this latest blow—the Queen Regent was not a brood mare to be sold to the highest bidder, but gods forbid anything get in the way of his perfect legacy.
She sipped from her wine, scowling in rage at the thought. She'd birthed three beautiful children that should have been more than enough for her father, but apparently that was not so. Tywin had stated in his letter that Joffrey would step down and become a Prince again while Euron's offspring with Cersei would take the Iron Throne one day, as part of his alliance with the Ironborn King.
Joffrey had flown into a rage and murdered one of the servants in a messy, violent display when the news was delivered. He was still enraged days later, and had also killed a cat with his bare hands.
Cersei herself had not taken the news lying down. Euron Greyjoy and his Ice Dragon would bring King's Landing to its knees, and she would become a prize for him to rape and breed when he took the throne.
But she was a lioness, and her fate was her own.
She had ordered the Pyromancers to begin their work, and to connect the caches of Wildfire Jaime had told her of so long ago. Her fool of a brother, he had urged her to find and remove them, but he never saw the potential of the substance—a weapon. A deterrent.
If the lions could not have their throne, no one could. Cersei had decided as such.
Tommen and Myrcella remained close to her these days, taking shelter in Maegor's holdfast. Joffrey refused to move his quarters, but he was found seated on the Iron Throne most days, anyhow. He would not give up his throne—had taken it for himself with a violent possessiveness he only left behind for the most necessary of tasks.
Cersei's control of her eldest son was slipping fast as he spiraled further into the dangerous temper that had not abetted in the slightest since news came of the Targaryen Dragon King and his beast across the Narrow Sea.
Her scowl deepened—therein lay perhaps one of the most insulting pieces of news she'd yet since received.
Apparently, the boy wasn't Aegon Targaryen at all. He was Jaehaerys Targaryen, the son of Prince Rhaegar and Lyanna fucking Stark.
Lyanna Stark.
Cersei took a deeper drink, seething with pure fury that stoked hot in her belly. The fucking wolf girl just wouldn't stop harassing her life. Her worthless, dead husband had been hopelessly in love with Lyanna, had even spoken her name on their wedding night as he bedded Cersei. That had formed an irreparable rift in their marriage.
But worse was the fact that Rhaegar, the Prince that should have been hers, the lovely young man Cersei had been so enchanted with in her youth, had chosen the wolf girl above all others. Above her.
Her. The most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms.
Her.
It was said the young Jaehaerys greatly resembled Lyanna with his Northern features, but was quiet and solemn as Rhaegar had once been. Cersei felt like she might desire to swallow poison if she ever laid eyes on the child. A Dragonwolf—she scoffed at the idea and dove deeper into her cups.
She was going to mount his head on a spike beside Euron's and Eddard Stark's when she was done with them. Joffrey was King, and he would remain King. Not these pretenders, these pirates and bastards and traitors.
And if they succeeded in taking King's Landing, they would find themselves seated on a throne of ashes. They would get nothing.
She wouldn't let them.
Doreah sighed, a smile upon her face as she watched little Visenya nurse at her teat. The quiet sounds of the babe suckling were so sweet to hear, as was the way her daughter's tiny hands kneaded Doreah's breast—trying to encourage more milk to come.
"How can you be so hungry all the time?" Doreah wondered aloud. "You eat and sleep and cry, my sweet, and that's all. Where do you get this appetite?"
Visenya big, purple eyes peeked open at the sound of her mother's voice, but she did not pull away from Doreah's breast and just looked up with wide-eyed innocence. Doreah beamed down at her, the hand holding her daughter in place tenderly stroking her back. Caring for her babe was exhausting—especially after fighting off the birthing fever in Braavos and then embarking on a moon-long voyage across the Narrow Sea to Westeros, but Doreah would have suffered anything so long as she was able to be with her daughter.
The babe had become her whole world, and what a beautiful world it was.
"Hopefully you'll get to see your cousin soon," she cooed to the baby. "Do you remember Jon? He'll sing you to sleep again when next we see him. I know you love how he sings."
Visenya's eyes closed again, and only now did she release her mother's breast. Her little mouth went slack around Doreah's nipple, and she shifted around a bit to adjust her dress and slowly stand up from her place on the bed.
She heard a knock at the door and called for their guest to enter. Ser Jaime peeked inside, smiling at the sight of Doreah cradling Visenya. "Did she finish?"
"She did," Doreah gently bounced her babe in her arms. "You've memorized her feeding times well."
"Whatever I can do to help. I know it's not easy," he told her quietly, stepping into the room. "Would you like me to burp her for you?"
"Oh, I couldn't ask that of you, Ser."
"It's no trouble. I did it enough on the voyage here, anyway," Jaime reminded her. "And you can't hide how tired you are. There are still dark spots under your eyes."
Doreah pursed her lips, still bouncing Visenya. The promise of a little more rest was very tempting…
"Let me help," Jaime encouraged her gently. "She needs you to stay healthy."
"Well…alright, if you insist," Doreah agreed. Jaime stepped close and they carefully shifted the baby into his arms. Visenya made a little gurgle at the exchange, but she knew Jaime by now and adjusted quickly enough—she was just full and sleepy by now.
Doreah moved to sit back on the bed while the Knight began to encourage her daughter to burp. She watched him fondly—though she knew Jon and Daenerys were wary of the man who had slain the Mad King, he was proving to be worth the tiny grains of trust they'd placed in him.
He was a good man. Of course he had his faults, but his heart was good, and that was a rare thing in the world Doreah had come from.
"Come on, little dragon," Jaime murmured gently, his hand lightly patting Visenya's back. "You need not spit fire upon me, but I know you are eager for sleep."
Doreah let out a soft laugh. "'Tis not fire she shall spit upon you."
"Oh, I'm aware," he chuckled. "Wouldn't be the first time, won't be the last, I'm sure."
Jaime fell silent save for his quiet murmurs and gentle pats as Doreah fell back into her bed and made herself comfortable. She closed her eyes and sighed, nuzzling into her pillow. After a few minutes, she heard the telltale soft belch of her daughter, causing a smile to rise upon her lips.
"There we are. Was that so hard?" Jaime asked the infant in his arms, who didn't respond verbally in the slightest. Clearly, Visenya was ready for her nap.
Doreah heard him shifting round the room to place Visenya in the small crib they'd set up while they were staying in White Harbor. Though they would soon leave for Winterfell and wouldn't be able to bring the crib with them, it was currently where Visenya spent much of her time.
"Here we are, little dragon," he murmured. "Let's get you tucked in."
More shuffling, the sounds of Jaime placing Visenya in her crib and pulling furs over her tiny body. There was silence for a while and Doreah peeked an eye open to see what was happening.
Jaime was standing by the crib, his hand still inside. She could see Visenya holding onto one of his fingers with her tiny hand—unwilling to relinquish her grip while she was awake, it seemed.
She watched, half-awake, as Jaime stroked the tiny fingers with the utmost care. Doreah heard him speak, his voice a whisper in the silence of the candlelit room. "Is this what it might have been like?"
Eyelids heavy, Doreah finally gave in to the pull of sleep, only vaguely aware of Jaime as he quietly slipped out of the room.
Dany stood outside of Winterfell's walls with the Starks as Jon summoned Frostfyre to the ancient castle. They were speaking, but the conversation was awkward and not at all as easy as it had been in the days prior.
Their time together was at an end. He had to return to his uncle's army to fight Euron Greyjoy, the Lannisters, and the Ice Dragon lying in wait somewhere to the south.
He wouldn't be present when they started searching the crypts for the dragon eggs Vermax laid. When Doreah and Visenya rejoined them at Winterfell with the rest of their people. When Arya began to study what she could of Wargs and how she might hone the magic.
He wouldn't be present if Dany found out she was with child. Gods, he might not even be present when their babe was born—if it was born.
She pushed those thoughts far away. She would not let such things consume her last moments with her husband. It could very well be the last time she ever saw him. War was not a game.
All too soon, the roar of a dragon filled the air, and then Frostfyre was descending to land close by. Her great wings sent up a flurry of snow as she rumbled a greeting, fixing her violet gaze upon her Rider and his family.
"Be safe," Catelyn told him. "Give Ned and Robb our love."
"I will," he promised.
"Try Warging with Ghost—or maybe Frostfyre?" Arya suggested, frowning. "Can you Warg with a dragon?"
"Skinchange," he corrected. "Warging is for Skinchangers who share a wolf's mind. I'm not sure if I can Skinchange with Frostfyre. She's not an ordinary animal."
"Well. Try?"
He smiled slightly. "I'll try, little wolf. In exchange, you be careful with your magic and keep Dany safe for me. Promise?"
Arya grinned. "Nymeria and I will keep her safe. Promise."
He gave Arya a tight hug, then did the same with Bran and Rickon—telling the older boy to keep practicing on his horse and informing the younger that he needed to eat more so he'd be all grown up when Jon returned. It got smiles from both of them.
Jon faced Sansa and she hesitated before holding her arms open for a hug. He cracked a smile and stepped into her embrace, holding his sister tight. Whatever the rift slowly bridging between them, Dany knew he still loved his sister.
"Remember what we talked about?" Jon asked quietly. Sansa nodded and he pulled back, holding her by the shoulders. "Just do the best you can. I have faith in you."
She slowly nodded, a hesitant smile upon her face. "I will. Good luck, Jon. Stay safe."
Jon returned the nod and then pulled away from the Starks. He faced Dany and she stepped forward, taking his hand and moving towards the dragon awaiting him.
When they stood before Frostfyre, she turned to face her husband and took both of his hands in hers. She looked down at the snow between their boots, trying not to tremble and failing miserably.
"Dany," he murmured.
"You will come back to me," she whispered. "You will not die."
"Aye," Jon leaned his forehead on hers, taking a deep breath. She squeezed his hands tight as he let out a shaky exhale. "If—if you end up carrying our child…Dany, promise me—it can't be like your mother. Like mine."
"We will be there," she promised, breath hitching in her throat. "Both of us."
He opened his mouth to say more, but then gave up and pulled her in for a bruising kiss. Dany threw her arms around his neck, eyes spilling tears down her cheeks as she kissed him fiercely. She tried to pour out all the love she felt for him as if he could drink it up and keep it forever inside of him.
"I love you," Jon choked out.
"And I you," she cried. "My sun and stars."
"Moon of my life," he returned, placing one more kiss on her lips before he pulled back, hands slipping free of hers with one last squeeze. Dany reached after him without thinking before letting her hands fall to her sides, watching as Jon rushed to mount the dragon.
Perhaps he feared he wouldn't have the strength to leave if he didn't go now.
She set her hand on Frostfyre's snout, wiping at her blurry eyes. The dragon's violet gaze met her own, solemn in a way Daenerys had never seen before. She could sense the sorrow between them—knew that a parting was coming.
"Protect him," she begged the dragon.
Frostfyre made a soft keen, a sound that made Dany want to weep, and then the snow-scaled dragon lifted her head to turn away. With several quick steps, she was launching herself into the air with Jon on her back.
Frostfyre let out a roar of mourning, a goodbye as only a dragon could voice.
Dany heard footsteps in the snow and felt the familiar hand of Catelyn Stark lay itself upon her shoulder, pulling the girl into the older woman's embrace. She sucked in a shuddering breath.
"Is it always this hard?" Dany asked, voice quivering.
"Always," Catelyn uttered softly as they watched the dragon fly off with Dany's husband—separate from her for the first time since he'd come to save her in Pentos.
Notes:
Still exhausted, still trying to keep consistent chapters coming out. We'll have some timeskips obviously in the chapters to come, but mostly by a matter of weeks as the armies move around. We might see a jump or two of a few months just to keep things moving along.
As ever, please review! Reviews are my lifeblood! You like the story and want more? Feedback is the best way to encourage me to keep chapters coming!
Thanks for reading!