I questioned whether or not to upload this chapter today given the news yesterday (Thursday 8th September 2022). While many of my readers are from the USA and there's a chance that they won't understand or care, one of the few aspects of my true self that I've shared here is that I am English, but I'm also a monarchist. While there is a legitimate argument about the role of the Royal Family today, I have always been one that loves to learn about history, and my nations Kings and Queens have been huge parts of world history for the last 1100 years, from the truly great to the truly horrific. Queen Elizabeth II was undeniably one of the greats. She inherited the throne when the country was still in the middle of recovering from the Second World War and oversaw it through some tumultuous times in the past 70 years. Her example of service to all of her people, and even those outside of her influence, is one that shall never be surpassed. Thank you for your service, Your Majesty, and may you rest in eternal peace.

As for this chapter, it's a death free one which is honestly the only reason I've uploaded it (though in the next couple of weeks the death toll will be increased…) Also in this chapter there is a brief part of a scene that is borrowed from Season 5 Episode 5.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I once again don't own anything other than the OC's. All the characters and locations from the show or the books are the property of George R R Martin or HBO.

The King regained his consciousness as he was in his bed inside his chambers, the pain of the bolt being pulled out of his shoulder jolting him back to the land of the living as he let out a pained scream through clenched teeth.

"Stay still, Your Grace!" Grand Maester Gormon insisted. "Allow Maester Myle to assist you."

Luke tried to settle down as the silver-chained healing Maester cut open Luke's gambeson and undershirt to reveal his skin, and rubbed a foul looking salve over the wound which caused the King to hiss in pain. "We need to stitch up the wound, Your Grace." The healer stated. Luke nodded, looking the other way as his left shoulder numbed, and soon all he could feel was a light tugging on his skin.

Half an hour later he was sat in bed, his arm having been properly stitched, bandaged and put in a sling to stop movement from aggravating the stitches, and the King was ranting to whomever would listen. "I want any available force to march into the Sept and root these cunts out!" He was raving. "I want the Traitors Walk filled with the heads of these fanatics! This Theodan Wells shall have his own taken by Blackfyre!"

Jon Connington however, was having none of it. "Enough, Luke." He stated firmly. "You are in no condition to be moving anywhere, let alone back to the Sept."

"They shot their King!" Luke roared.

"And they will pay!" Jon raised his voice back. "We have already begun to work against them."

Luke scoffed as he looked at Jon questioningly. "Work against them? This is not a time for negotiation and diplomacy!"

"This is exactly a time for that unless we want to turn the Most Devout against us." Jon snapped. "Spilling blood in the Sept is something you cannot do. Leave it with myself and the Queen. She is already in the city spreading the word of the misdeeds of the Sparrows from their time in the Riverlands and spreading word of their butchery of the High Septon. Let the news filter around the people and the city will be behind us as we starve them out."

Luke shook his head. "Patience is your sage advice?"

"It is. Rest, heal, and we shall have the Sept back in loyal hands when you are back on your feet." Jon insisted. "Grand Maester, some Milk of the Poppy."

"No! I will not be dulled into submission…" Luke began, but sets of hands grabbed him and held him down as the thick white liquid was poured down his throat, and Luke's jaw was held in place so that he was forced to swallow it, sending the King into a slow slumber.

It was dark when Luke was able to open his eyes once again, and this time he was alone. Once he was sure that all of the effects of the Milk of the Poppy had left his system he hauled himself up, wincing at the pain in his left shoulder. Mumbling under his breath the King swung his legs over the side of the bed and hauled himself up, slowly walking to the separate room where he could unload his bladder.

As he returned to the room he noticed that Ser Barristan had entered, and Luke hobbled over to an armchair where a crimson robe had been draped over the back, wrapping it around his bare torso. "Ser Barristan." He greeted.

"I heard movement, My King." The Kingsguard knight informed. "I came to check on you."

"I'm alright." Luke stated, using his right hand to lower himself down into the same armchair with a painful grunt.

Ser Barristan nodded. "Allow me to be the first to apologise, Your Grace. We should have covered you more capably. That shot should never have hit you…"

"Do not beat yourself up about it. I'm alive, and more angered than hurt." Luke waved away. "You got me away safely, commend yourself on that."

The White Cloak shook his head. "With respect, Your Grace, that isn't how it works."

"I do not blame you or your brothers, Ser." Luke insisted. "But I do need you to do something for me. Fetch me Prince Oberyn, as well as some food."

Ser Barristan bowed. "At once, Your Grace. Ser Rolly and Ser Symon are outside, so you are aware."

Luke simply nodded, listening to the heavy, armoured footsteps recede into the living area and then out of the heavy doors, and the Targaryen settled into his chair trying to relax. His food arrived first, and he was finishing off his plateful when the doors reopened, and Prince Oberyn made his way through the King's living quarters. "You summoned me, Your Grace?"

Luke nodded. "It has been a year since I tasked you with investigating the Wildfire, how is the removal process going?"

Oberyn quickly shook off the surprise of being asked about that. "Slowly, it is a difficult substance and there is a lot of it. Aegon's High Hill is safe, as is large parts of the Eastern city.

"But the Western…"

"We managed to get up to Visenya's Hill two fortnights ago, but the Sparrows are aware of some of the tunnels underneath the Sept of Baelor, we haven't tried going underneath the Sept for caution of battles."

Luke nodded. "This issue will not go away with words or negotiations as the Hand or the Queen think. This will be a battle, and one that I intend to win."

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but what has the Wildfire got to do with the Sparrows?" Oberyn asked.

"If it turns to war, fires will be started." Luke explained. "I would not have half of my city engulfed on the orders of some black robed fanatics."

Oberyn thought for a moment. "We have the steps to the Sept guarded and the square beneath it locked down. There are no other routes to the building above land."

"Fire does not travel down roads and paths." Luke countered.

"I shall set up a perimeter, surrounding the entire Hill." Oberyn nodded. "All tunnel entrances shall have a dozen men guarding them."

"And start clearing the Wildfire away wherever you can get to it." Luke tasked the Dornishman. "Ignore the eastern part of the city for now, focus your efforts on the area around Visenya's Hill."

"It will be done, Your Grace." Oberyn bowed, turning on his heels quickly and striding out of the room at pace.

Luke stayed in his chair for a few moments before he hauled himself up uncomfortably again, making his way over to the balcony that overlooked the entire city. His eyes were focused on the lit areas over by Visenya's Hill however, narrowing in anger as he stared at the Sept illuminated in all its glory.

Winterfell hadn't changed in the four years since Jon had stepped inside it. He could still smell Gage's cooking wafting out of the Great Keep into the courtyard, hear the steel being beaten into shape from Mikken in his forge, and if he turned around, he knew he would see Ser Rodrik scolding Robb for showing off. It was a blissful experience.

"My Lord." One of the servants came running up to him. "It's time! She's birthing!"

Jon rushed inside the castle to his chambers, the large and spacious ones that housed the Lord of Winterfell. He could hear the wailing screams coming from inside, and barged the door open to see the messy red hair sprawled out across the bed, Maester Luwin and Sansa beside her helping her.

"Push, My Lady… push!" The Maester was saying, and Ygritte wailed and swore, shouting obscenities at him. Eventually though, the swearing stopped, and Maester Luwin turned to face Jon with an armful of blankets. "Congratulations, My Lord."

Jon took the bundle, and opened it up to see a bright green, scaled egg the size of a child's head. Confused, Jon looked over at the Maester, only to realise that he was alone in the room. Sighing, he looked at the egg again only to notice it cracking, and out popped the nose of a young baby dragon.

"Impossible…" Jon whispered. The dragon took no notice however, fully freeing itself from its shell casing and climbing onto Jon's shoulders before it flapped its way over to the bed. "What's your name?" Jon asked, kneeling down before the baby dragon, only to have it sneeze in his face.

Wiping his face from the smoke and snot, Jon opened his eyes again to find that the room was completely engulfed in flames. Panicking, he grabbed the hem of his cloak and covered his mouth and eyes as he ran out of his rooms to see the entire castle was burning around him. He sprinted outside to the desolate courtyard illuminated by flame and moonlight and fell to his knees at the sight of the castle of his childhood home falling apart, with smoke and flame popping out of every window. As he knelt there in the dirt, a fierce roar took him by surprise, and the distant moon was completely covered by a huge, dark shadow, before bright orange flames raced towards him with an earth-shattering explosion.

Gasping, Jon Snow woke up, shooting upright as he patted himself down having expected fire, only to see that instead of Winterfell he was in his chambers at Castle Black, and instead of an intense heat, he felt only the chill of the North.

The dream stayed on his mind all day as Jon went about his business as Lord Commander, until finally he forced himself over to the library, where the man Jon had come to see was sat on his own. "Maester Aemon." He greeted.

"Lord Commander." Aemon responded back.

"How are you feeling?" He asked the elderly Maester, moving to sit down in a seat beside him.

"Oh, like a hundred-year-old man slowly freezing to death." Maester Aemon chuckled.

Jon smiled fondly, but his smile dropped as he got to why he was there. "I need your advice. I had a… a terrible dream last night, and I wondered what you thought about it."

"I would not put too much stock in dreams, Lord Commander." Aemon said wistfully. "Even the prophetic among us can be driven mad trying to decipher what our subconscious mind is trying to tell us."

Jon still felt uneasy. "It wasn't normal, it didn't feel like they normally do."

"Tell me what you saw, and I shall try and help." The Maester offered, and so Jon did. He explained the birth of the dragon, the fact that he was somehow Lord of Winterfell and explained the terrible fate of his childhood home. Once he had finished, the Maester sat back and digested it all. "Since I arrived at Castle Black, some 70 years ago, I looked over many texts and scrolls about all manner of topics. The Long Night interested me the most of course, but the Greenseers were another I poured over more than most anything else. I have only ever met one man that claimed to be a Greenseer, and like you, he wore the Lord Commander's cloak and slept in the bed you reside in now. My Great-Uncle, Brynden."

"The Bloodraven?" Jon asked, his childlike enthusiasm creeping back up.

"He hated that name." Aemon chuckled. "But yes, Ser Brynden Rivers called himself a Greenseer, though I only saw the typical Targaryen dragon dreams. All of us have them, to varying degrees, though only a handful get powerful dreams to the extent of predicting devastating events."

"Daenys the Dreamer dreamt of the Doom." Jon recited from his old lessons.

"And the second Daemon Blackfyre dreamt of the Redgrass Field before it happened, along with Ser Duncan the Tall wearing the White Cloak over two decades before my brother Egg had one placed around his shoulders." Aemon explained. "And another of my brothers, Daeron, he dreamt of my uncle's death at Ashford and the dragons returning. Dreams coming true is a Targaryen trait, linked somehow to our connection with the dragons. Nobody understands them truly, and nobody ever will." Aemon sighed. "Put it out of your mind, Lord Commander. I saw Daeron drink himself to an early death because of his visions. The future will come for us all, whether we dream about it or not. Focus on the here and now."

Jon knew that the Maester was right, though the image of Winterfell exploding just wouldn't leave him. "Thank you for this talk, Maester." He said.

"Help me to my chambers, if you would Lord Commander." Maester Aemon held out a hand. "And I will find you a set of letters I received from my dear brother Egg about the dreams he saw as an older man, along with my responses. Perhaps seeing the thoughts and fears of a true dreamer may ease your mind."

"A raven from Last Hearth, My Lord." Maester Corwin, the Stormlander chosen by the Citadel to serve Winterfell, stated from the open doorway almost immediately after Robb had opened his mouth to begin eating his breakfast.

Swallowing down the pork sausage, Robb turned to the Maester. "Read it to me."

Corwin bowed his head and did just that. "Lord Umber is concerned that the Wildling's have so far stuck to their end of the bargain, he believes it to be a prelude to treachery and has asked for the border guard to be doubled just in case."

Robb actually laughed at that. "Trust Lord Umber to see a storm on a sunny day. Write back, Corwin, and tell Lord Umber that the border guard is strong enough to repel an assault, and that he is to converse with Lord Celtigar if he is worried for a reason beyond his own prejudices."

"At once, My Lord." Corwin bowed, before finally leaving the Stark to his meal.

"Lord Umber is quite a character." Roslin smiled from the other end of the table.

"Aye, that he is." Robb nodded. "But I would consider him among my most loyal bannermen, despite Grey Wind snatching off two of his fingers." He nodded his head over to where the Direwolf was laid out on a woollen rug having a snooze.

Roslin chuckled. "I cannot imagine Grey Wind ever being so vicious."

"He is calm around me, My Lady, but he also reflects my moods. When the battle fever is high, there is no fiercer warrior around than Grey Wind." Robb explained. "That I feel comfortable enough around you for Grey Wind to sleep is only a good sign."

"They really can sense you like that?" Roslin asked, intrigued.

Robb thought about mentioning his dreams at that moment, but didn't feel like ruining the budding friendship between the pair with tales of madness, so he just nodded. "I do not understand it, but Mother says they are a gift from your Gods sent to protect us."

"My Gods apparently don't lift a finger unless you pray to them regularly." Roslin countered. "It is your Gods that seem the more peaceful."

"You have all your rules, we only have nature." Robb shrugged. "But there was a time when blood offerings were thought to be crucial to receiving the Gods favour. Starks of old would hang the innards of their enemies over the branches of the Weirwood Tree. Thankfully that is no longer practiced."

To Roslin's credit, she didn't look disturbed as she took a bite of her own breakfast. "Men do horrible things in the name of power." She said bluntly. "My own Father prefers young girls; some prefer blood sacrifice." She looked up at him. "I admire that you only go so far as to protect your family, My Lord. All the horrors of war I am sure you faced were for them, not your own personal gains."

"It didn't feel like that at the time." Robb admitted. "But ultimately, yes. I have all I need here in Winterfell except Bran. Gods willing, I would never have to leave again. I could grow old and fat here in Winterfell with you and our babes. But Winter is coming, and with it will come a fight the likes we have never seen."

"But for now." Roslin said quickly. "We enjoy the peace. I spoke with Sansa late last night after our talk, she told me about a lake nearby that you used to play in."

Robb had forgotten about that and the memory returning caused him to grin happily. "A different time, but a fond one. In this weather it would take a day to travel there."

"I should like to see it, one day." Roslin explained, mopping up the last of her breakfast with some bread.

Robb had already finished his too. "You shall, I am sure." He smiled, rising from his seat. "Wrap up warm, My Lady, the North is cold and the first covering of snow is due soon. I shall see you by the stables in an hour."

He watched as Roslin bowed her head acceptingly before he left the room, heading back to his own personal chambers to change into his boiled leather, smiling fondly about the day he had ahead.

As dawn shone on a brand new day in King's Landing, Daenerys Targaryen found herself backed by her ever faithful sworn sword Ser Jorah Mormont, along with a dozen red cloaked Targaryen guards marching towards the Sept of Baelor. All throughout the city the reaction towards her was mixed, with some continuing to shout obscenities at her as they had done with Luke the day before, but more of the King's Landing citizens that expected were shouting their praise for House Targaryen. The only frustrating thing about the support for the Princess was the regular shouts for Queen Margaery, though Daenerys couldn't deny the impact that her brother's wife had had on the people of the city.

As she arrived in the square beneath the Sept, she immediately noticed how tents had been erected and barricades placed by the steps leading upwards, with the square being filled with red and gold cloaks. She spotted Ser Daemon Sand stood by the barricades and the Targaryen Princess made her way to the commander.

"Princess." Ser Daemon spotted her before she could greet him, bowing his head in respect. "We were not expecting you."

"I came to talk to the men barricading themselves in the Sept, Ser Daemon." Daenerys explained, a sweet smile never leaving her lips. "If you would allow me through."

"I cannot, Princess." Ser Daemon said. "By order of the Lord Hand."

She was expecting that however, and instead of getting frustrated she just closed her second for a moment, feeling the link that sat inside her mind constantly. When she reopened her eyes, she looked over to the direction of the Dragonpit, where a high pitched shriek was growing louder. "I won't be in any danger, Ser. Not with my guards."

"It isn't safe…" Daemon stated, but the shrieks were growing louder until Viserion landed atop one of the buildings that bordered the square, roaring into the morning sky.

"Viserion won't let any harm come to me, he is quite protective." Daenerys smiled as she stared up at the cream and gold dragon fondly.

Ser Jorah cleared his throat. "We have a white banner, Ser Daemon." He gestured behind him to one of the Targaryen guards. "Either let us through now, or the Princess will end up flying alone up there."

"Which I wanted to do in the first place until I was persuaded otherwise." Dany rolled her eyes.

Ser Daemon looked uncomfortable as he stared between herself, the Sept and Viserion, but he finally groaned in annoyance and shifted some of the wood. "Ten minutes, Princess, or I shall come up there and retrieve you myself."

Dany smirked flirtatiously as she nodded. "As you say Ser." She told him before walking through to the steps, rising them with her small force of men behind her. As she reached the top, she saw that she had a small audience, as the doors to the Sept had opened and half a dozen black robed men with the mark of the Seven carved into their foreheads had come outside. Dany stopped about ten feet away from their leader. "Ser Theodan Wells."

"Princess Daenerys." The man bowed his head. "Has the King decided to hide behind his lover's skirts?"

Chuckling, Daenerys shook her head. "Your lies and barbs will not pierce me, Ser. I have heard worse by better men than you aimed towards my late brother Viserys and I. I am simply here to encourage you to stand down. His Grace shall be merciful if you surrender now, without any further bloodshed beside his own."

"His Grace can sit atop his hill for the nonce, Princess." Ser Theodan stated. "Our mission will not stop, not even if you bat your eyelids with a sultry smile."

That smile still failed to leave her face. "Then perhaps a history lesson." She began. "I doubt many of your men know the histories as well as you should as a noble, Ser Theodan, and even in exile I had my lessons, learning the history of my House and all those who rose up against my ancestors."

"The Blackfyre's are well documented about." Ser Theodan shrugged.

"I'm talking about the Faith." Dany countered coldly. "There are few things that anybody would actually praise King Maegor for, the Red Keep being one, but the other would be how he handled the Faith Militant the last time they popped their heads over the parapets." She gestured eastwards, to where the ruins of the Dragonpit sat. "Before the Hill of Rhaenys housed the Dragonpit, it was a Great Sept, did you know this?" The knight remained silent. "The Sept of Remembrance, the books call it. It was the site for the first wedding between Targaryen siblings, and became a fortress commandeered by the Faith Militant, just as this Sept has become." She noted amusedly. "King Maegor didn't have that, and he rose into the air on Balerion the Dread and burned the Sept to ash. No warning, no chance of surrender, only Fire and Blood." Her voice was cold and hateful now.

"Are you trying to scare us, Princess? Are you comparing your brother to King Maegor the Cruel?" Theodan asked with a smirk. "It isn't working if that is your aim. Our mission is to root out sinners from the seat of the realm. The High Septon has fallen, and soon your brother shall be next."

"King Maegor didn't offer his enemies a chance to surrender." Daenerys explained. "King Lucerys is. You have no hope of victory, Ser Theodan. You are outnumbered and only live due to your position. Sooner or later, you shall run out of supplies and your men shall begin to starve. The King is offering you a chance to avoid that. Strike down your weapons and surrender, and you shall live another day. Refuse, and well…" She turned to look over at Viserion. "Perhaps another message must be sent to the faithful."

"Your threats matter not, Princess." Ser Theodan stated, though Dany could see some unnerved faces from behind him. "Kill our leader in your Black Cells and it shall make no difference. Burn us in our holy place, and we shall rise to be with the Gods willingly. If you want the people to know our words are true, cut out our tongues."

"Mull it over." Daenerys smiled at them. "When you come to the right decision, I'm sure you know how to ring the bells. Else you'll come to understand intimately why House Targaryen are the children of fire."

She turned at that moment, not wanting the holy men to see the fierce scowl that set upon her face as she began to descend, almost hoping that these so called Sparrows would refuse her warnings.

Luke is pissed off, and he doesn't trust that diplomacy is the right way to go about things either. For now though he's stuck in his rooms as his shoulder heals, and the ruling is left to his Hand of the King.

Now that House of the Dragon has confirmed that both Aegon I and Viserys I had dragon dreams, I'm a subscriber to the theory that every Targaryen can have them to varying scale, though only a handful have the truly prophetic ones about apocalypses and natural disasters. I definitely believe that Aerion Brightflame had them, as well as Aegon V before Summerhall and probably even Rhaegar. Aerys II also likely saw some things that didn't help his mental state. I've also put bits into this story that have come from Luke having prophetic dreams that you may remember.

With Jon's however… nobody knows he's a Targaryen so Aemon is disbelieving that it means anything. We know better though…

Robb's scene was a bit of a bonding one more than anything, but I wanted to give an update on the feeling of the newly formed peace.

Finally, Dany goes to see the Sparrows of her own accord… I won't lie, I borrowed some Rhaenyra in her talk with Ser Daemon. And her talk with Ser Theodan was meant to show the fire of the Targaryen's. She's got a bigger bloodlust than the rest of the Council after all.

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter on what is a sombre weekend.

Next Time: The court is divided on how to deal with the Sparrows, while Luke and Dany have an important conversation…

Reviews:

daspeedforce: Don't underestimate the power of religious fanatics, they've shaped the real world for thousands of years and still do today.

suppes1: That's a bit hard when he's drugged up and wounded!

Oddballzebra: An offer of surrender isn't being a pussy, it's mercy. As Daenerys said in this chapter, Maegor the Cruel did just that without warning and look how he's remembered. Daenerys here is operating on her own but the point is the same as when Luke spoke to the High Sparrow. They get a chance to surrender. As David Tennant's Doctor was like to say, "No Second Chances." But they're still entitled to one warning.

DarylDixon'sLover: Me too, and it's only going to get better!

SpartanWolfj6: Luke's got to recover first, but he's not happy whatsoever…

C.E.W: I won't outright steal lines from the new show but you've hit the nail on the head with certain reactions. As for the Daemon/Rhea OC, you're along the right lines on the dragon… I've not formed the story enough to say anything either way on your last paragraph however.

Jason Kreuger Myers: I think she appreciates the power that Margaery brings them, but she doesn't like to be fighting anybody for her brother's attention. As for the Tyrell's, I genuinely believe that if they'd had a skeleton siege and brought most of their army to the Trident or King's Landing then a Targaryen would have remained on the Throne.

RHatch89: Thank you!

El: The High Sparrow kind of didn't care about it… but I admit I laughed at your reference to Dumb and Dumber!

Xman123: I think there's some truth to the theory, but I think Summerhall will tell us more about if it's legitimate or not.