I Do Not Own A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones/Fire and Blood/House of the Dragon

Aemond slipped quietly into the room after speaking with the midwives, Helaena was laying in her bed, the exhaustion of her labor still shone in her face. The grief, the agony, the tears, it was all there, because Helaena had refused to be cleaned up after this labor.

"Sister," he murmured as he kissed her brow. She turned her violet gaze on him, before she turned her gaze on the child. Aemond looked down at her babe, he had heard she had not relinquished her babe in the hours since he left her to attend to a few of his duties. Aemond had been there when she had birthed the stillborn, and he had held her during her inconsolable hours while Aegon was missing. Aemond sat beside her now on the bed and looked in the cradle where her babe was. He could not imagine the amount of agony his sister was in at this moment.

The babe had been born two moons too early, Helaena's labor was brought on after she had tripped down the stairs of the Red Keep in her efforts to avoid Aegon who'd been in a particularly vicious mood as of late. Aemond had not been present when the incident had occurred, though he wished he had been, if only to stop his sister's suffering. Helaena had sought him out when she had noticed blood and he had been quick to get her to the midwives and maesters. He had held her hand the entire labor as she cried and begged for the gods to give her a healthy child, to not let Aegon kill this one. He had hurt hearing her pleas and whispers, the desperation in her voice for this child to live.

But alas, it was too late.

The babe was a boy, with whisps of silver hair, and violet eyes, too small to live, big enough to be seen as a babe though. It was a painfully small child, which had Helaena sobbing when the midwives had handed her the babe.

"You've come to take him away," she whispered softly, her fingers were trailing over the babe's cheek.

"Only if you permit it," he murmured as he gingerly pushed her hair aside; it was sweat streaked and damp still, and her skin was cool to the touch.

"I don't permit it," she hissed furiously as she glared at him.

"Then I am here to keep watch over him and you," he murmured as he continued combing his fingers through her hair. She laid down again, closing her eyes as she bit her lip.

"Did you have a name for him?" Aemond asked her softly.

"Baelor," she whispered.

"That is a strong name," he assured her softly. Her lips twitched in a humorless smile as she opened her eyes to look at the babe again.

"Why must the gods be so cruel?" she whispered tiredly.

Aemond did not reply as he just sat there with his sister. He could not answer her question because he had never bothered to genuinely believe in the gods.

"Can you make sure… Jaehaerys and Jaehaera are… safe?" she whispered tiredly.

"Would you like me to bring them to you?"

"Would you mind?" she asked.

"Whatever you need, Helaena," he replied softly.

"The red wolf comes south… beware of ice and fire's dance…" she murmured tiredly. Aemond just waited until she closed her eyes again and was sleeping again. He looked at the babe again and rose quietly before he walked out of the quarters. Stepping out he saw the nervous midwives and servants.

"She would like to have time with the babe, and have Jaehaerys and Jaehaera brought to her," he ordered quietly. The servants darted off then, and Aemond looked at the midwife; Kristyne, who was looking tired.

"My Prince," she gave him a hasty curtsey and he nodded as they walked a bit from the door.

"Is there concern," he asked softly.

"No, no, she passed the babe and afterbirth with ease, and no long-term damage has been done, she will bear again. But the babe…" Kristyne started. "I must speak with your brother about the babe, and burial…" she started.

"No," he cut her off. "Prince Baelor Targaryen will be honored as a Targaryen, but my brother will have no part of this affair."

"My Prince the father must consent…"

"I consent," Aemond cut her off. He did not want Aegon near Helaena, the twins or the babe, he did not want to deal with the reparcussions of Aegon's temper on his sister, or her children.

"You… my prince," she started, she was stammering and blushing now. He waited for her to compose herself. "My prince, this is highly unusual…"

"I consent to the burial of Prince Baelor Targaryen," Aemond repeated steadily. He didn't want to have to keep repeating himself in regards to this matter, Aemond wanted his sister to have peace and he knew if this affair was left in Aegon's hands it'd be a nightmare of a different brand. Aegon would make whatever funeral was needed a mockery and Helaena would be in tears and destroyed, and Aemond could not kill his brother no matter how much he wanted to. "I will see to the shroud and the pyre, but I consent to the burial, I will send for the maesters when it is time, for now, please have the maids assist in drawing my sister a bath, and prepare her for the bed. The babe will remain with her as long as she needs."

"It is unhealthy for the mother to hold the babe," the midwife started but withered under his glare.

"And bring the herbs to dry her milk…" he said without blushing. He had heard from Helaena about all the discomforts of her breasts when she'd nursed Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, and it had to be worse when there was no babe to nurse.

"Y-Yes my Prince…" the midwife curtseyed as she scurried off. Aemond waited until he was alone before walking back into her room. Helaena's eyes opened slightly as he approached her.

"You're going to get a bath and some clean garments, I will have the maids clean the bedding, and take care of Jaehaerys, Jaehaera and Baelor, you're safe," he promised her softly.

"You won't let them… take Baelor?" she whimpered.

"No one is taking Baelor, I will prepare his shroud when you're ready to let go," he murmured.

She nodded weakly and he helped her up. The maids were there, and the attendants, he carefully handed her off then. It was a few minutes that his niece and nephew were brought to the chambers. Jaehaerys reached for him, and he carefully took the boy from his nursemaid before taking Jaehaera as the bed was stripped. He sat with both toddlers, and he absently rocked the cradle Baelor rested in. He kissed his nephew's head as he rubbed his niece's back. Both children were subdued at this time, they had witnessed Helaena's fall, and start on her labors, and he knew it upset them greatly. Their hatchlings appeared in the windowsills, and Aemond motioned for a maid to open the window which had two feline sized hatchlings flying in.

Jaehaerys' dragon, a small she-dragon, was named Shrykos, she was a green and gold beauty, growing quickly, her egg had only hatched last year. Jaehaera's dragon was a pure black dragon with violet tinting in his scales, name Morghul meaning death.

Aemond saw Dreamfyre fly by the tower, and he knew the bond between Helaena and Dreamfyre was calling the pair closer together. Closing his eye, he just held the toddlers closer. When Helaena was helped out into the main room, he watched as she was lowered into the bed, she winced in pain, and he got up as he settled her toddlers beside her. She reached over to the crib, and he pushed it closer to her as he grabbed a chair. Dismissing the servants, he opened the latest records and lessons from Lord Beesbury to read while he sat guard over his sister and her children.

Shrykos and Morghul went to claim spots beside Jaehaerys and Jaehaera as they cuddled against Helaena.

"He looks like you," she whispered.

He nodded to confirm her opinion, though he didn't see it. She smiled softly as she closed her eyes.

"Ice is forged in fire… red wolf runs…" she murmured tiredly. Aemond looked at the tea at the bedside and weighed the options carefully, he knew it was milk of the poppy; he's been seeing his father take dosages since he was a small boy and knew that bitter scent well. He also had witnessed how reliant his father had come to be on the herb… grimace he looked at Helaena and sighed as he got up and poured it out carefully. Walking back over to her, he saw her wince.

"It helps," he murmured.

"But…"

"I'll be right here, you are safe, sister," he promised gently. She was wary but soon sipped it before settling to rest.

Alicent left the Small Council meeting feeling a bit peeved, her father had not permitted her to speak, or share her opinions, asking her to rational for this meeting. She had promptly shut up and just listened. When she had received word Helaena was laboring and did not want anyone but Aemond with her, it had devastated Alicent, but then, Aemond and Helaena had always been close. Walking to her apartments she had Ser Cole with her on this day, and she paused looking out at the sea where the dragons were flying and free.

There were times… bitter, horrid times, she wished she had agreed to run off with Rhaenyra, to abandon realm and duty to fly across the sea and eat cake. But those memories were bitter reminders to Alicent how far her friend had fallen and how alone she was at the end of her days.

Gods… Rhaenyra just did not understand! The selfish, spoiled girl, the Realm's Delight, the Crowned Heir, the Princess of Westeros, and she did not understand at all what it took to be a Queen. Alicent wanted to scream that this wasn't her choice, her desire, she was not like Rhaenyra, she did not have freedom to be whatever she wanted, and her friend could never understand. Never understand the fear of failure, of never finding a good, safe husband, of finding comfort in family. Rhaenyra understood nothing of life, she was a selfish, spoilt brat, and even now, the woman was a brat. Alicent wanted to scream at her stepdaughter at times.

Rhaenyra painted the realm in a horrid light with her insulting affair, her open mockery of her vows to her marriage, and her disgrace of being a whore. The Princess would never understand, Alicent thought bitterly.

There was a sound of swishing skirts, and she pulled herself out of her musings as she looked at Kristyne walking towards her.

"Your grace," the midwife stopped before her.

"And what word is there on my grandchild?" Alicent asked with a soft smile.

"Princess Helaena bore a dead son… there was no saving the babe," Kristyne said. "Prince Aemond… your grace, I am concerned for his closeness… to the Princess. He has claimed to have fathered this child and will prepare it for burial… and his unusual relationship with the young Prince and Princess… there's been whispers of concern for the paternity of the babes Princess Helaena births…" she whispered.

"Thank you… I will manage this, do not spread word though," Alicent warned. She'd have to see to it that this rumor was contained, and she'd have Lord Larys investigate if there was any validity to the rumors. She had always known Aemond and Helaena were unusually close, but they were also a mere eleven cycles apart in age. However, Targaryens were not normal, and their… proclivities were well documented. Alicent could not dare to ask her children about the paternity of their children in fear of the answers.

As if there were not enough worries for the succession already.

"Aemond and Helaena are not involved," Cole suddenly murmured in her ear.

"How do you know?" she whispered as she turned to look at the man who was more a father to her children than Viserys ever had been. Cole gave her a charming smile.

"Well, for one thing, Aemond is not interested in sex since… you know," he shrugged. "And also, Helaena only shares her bed when Aegon is drunk and in a mood, Aemond does not ever leave his chambers once he's retired for the night, and unless it is Jaehaerys or Jaehaera seeking comfort, he does not permit anyone in his bed."

"He's not interested in…" Alicent started anxiously. She knew what Aegon was, and she knew the perversions he had, but so long as others did not, she could hide his violent nature, and his cruelty. Though it was difficult always replacing maids, disposing of bastards he sired to abuse, or worse. She could not figure out where she had gone wrong with Aegon! He had been such a sweet babe, and now…

"He's not Aegon," Cole soothed.

She nodded slowly. "We must put a cease to that rumor, if Rhaenyra should here it and call Aegon's children into question… it will create more instability," she whispered.

"I will see to it that the rumors are ceased," he promised as they walked.

"I worry about Aegon, I do not what went wrong…" she murmured.

"Aegon will be fine, he is lashing out, boys his age do," Cole soothed.

"Boys his age only grows into their perversions," she sighed miserably. "And he is no longer a boy, he is ten and nine! And he acts this way…"

"I was his age and had no idea what I was to do in my life," Cole sighed. "He is young, Alicent, he will grow."

"Of course, I'm his mother, I worry," she sighed as she hugged herself.

"Do not worry," he assured softly.

"It is just… terribly difficult, and he is being challenging as of late… and he terrorizes the maids…" she sighed.

"He will grow," Cole repeated.

"Of course," she nodded as she wrung her hands. "How have Aemond's studies been going."

"Well," Cole smiled. "He will be the best swordsman of this era; he is a natural prodigy despite his eye."

"Truly?" she smiled at the praise. The guilt for what had happened to Aemond's eye had always haunted Alicent. Her sweet, emotional child was gone, and in his place was this very cold, difficult to read young man.

"Truly," Cole chuckled. "He is challenging now; I have almost lost my arm a time or two. His new height gives him a great advantage."

"It also has the ladies swooning over him," she chuckled. She had been unsurprised when Aemond's late growth spurt had him towering over everyone, and his voice settling in a deeper octave though he rarely spoke. He'd grown into his features, and now had that lithe Targaryen build. It was time to think of a match for Aemond, but he was so... challenging, a simple match would not service her son. She wanted him happy, he was such a kind soul, she wanted him happy and loved, but she had never met a woman who could ever be worthy of her sweet boy. She would not let just anyone have him.

"It has helped," Cole agreed.

"Viserys will never look for a match though," she sighed. "And he's so young, and shy, I do not think just anyone will satisfy him."

"Aemond has always marched to the beat of his own drum," Cole agreed. It was at times like this she felt Ser Cole was her only friend in this keep; he had helped her raise her children, and helped her manage them, and their exploits and he loved them. He was more a father than Viserys ever had bothered to be, but it made her sad for her children. Their father's neglect had led to Aegon's perversions and proclivities being free to run rampant, while Aemond was neglected and forgotten, Daeron wasn't even remembered by Viserys most the time. Helaena had escaped the torture of her father by being born a daughter, but she had never escaped Aegon.

"I should check on Helaena," Alicent murmured as she looked away from Cole. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she couldn't, instead she settled for checking in on her daughter which was more important at this moment. Helaena had experienced a pain no mother should ever experience, which broke Alicent's heart. Helaena was her sweet, eccentric child who was only good, it was heartbreaking she would experience such a loss.

Making her way to Helaena's apartments she saw her daughter sleeping soundly with her toddlers in the bed, Aemond was there, he looked up at Alicent as she walked in. Carefully coming over to her son and daughter she kissed Aemond's brow as she looked down at the babe they had lost. It looked like a Targaryen to Alicent's sorrow, and she reached out to touch her grandchild. Aemond's eye was on her, and his gaze was very solemn as she examined the child.

"How is she?" Alicent asked.

"Tired," Aemond replied quietly. "I have taken the liberty of preparing the body when she is ready to let go," he informed her.

"Oh… that is Aegon's right…" Alicent started.

"I do not think Aegon should have rights to the babe he killed," Aemond murmured. "And I doubt he will mind, mother. Helaena deserves peace knowing her babe is cared for, does she not?"

"Yes…"

"Then I will prepare the body when it is time," Aemond murmured as he looked back to his book. She nodded as she took a seat. She nearly yelped seeing the dragons with her grandchildren on the bed. She hated that Targaryen tradition!

Ignorign her loathing of the pets, she picked up some embroidery as she sat with her son and daughter.

Sansa was sitting in her quarters as she worked on some embroidery Cregan had kindly provided for her when she had started sitting up in her bed. She could not figure out what Cregan was thinking, and she couldn't figure out how she had gotten… knocked into the past? Dragged into the wrong time? She didn't know, because she wasn't certain of much, but she was certain she was not in the right era. Cregan was… very much a Stark, she couldn't deny it, so it was not like it was an elaborate ruse to get her to drop her guard; she didn't know what sorcery had done this, but she was most certainly in the beginning era of Cregan Stark.

Which would be marked by the Northern Civil War, followed by a plague which would decimate the region and cause the death indirect death of Queen Rhaenyra, but also, it would kill Cregan's first and later second wife.

Cregan's first wife, Lady Arra Norrey, would die birthing her second child, and both she and the child would pass, the maesters had recorded her death as a result of starvation and fever, the babe had followed quickly; unnamed. Babes were only named in the North if they survived a fortnight after their birth, there would be a grand naming ceremony where the father would bless the child before the Old Gods, and pray for their child, it was important to the family. If the child died before though, they were left nameless and unrecorded, given to the Godswood to reconnect with the Old Gods in hopes for a better life.

Cregan's second wife, Lady Alysanne Blackwood would bear him four daughters, Sarra, Alys, Raya, and Mariah, all strong Northern women, and all four died of the second fever; the very same fever which would claim their mother. Cregan was rumored to have been devastated at the loss of his family, Mariah had died when she was a mere summer old.

It would be years later, after the loss that the maesters arranged the match between Cregan and a distant cousin, Lynara Stark, and he would go on to have five more children. Sansa knew though that none of Cregan's younger sons would leave good impressions on the North, the North lamented the loss of Cregan's first born, even in her era. Cregan and Lynara's children would lead to Sansa's line, but Jonnel would bear no issues, leaving the Lord of Winterfell to his brother Barthogan. Barthogan would die though in the Skagosi uprising, which would have his brother Brandon succeeding him. And Brandon was trouble… not in the sense of the infamous wolf's blood, but rather for his affair and Lonnel Snow's existence as a whole… That wasn't good.

And it did not get better until her father, and even then, Sansa could objectively agree, her father was not meant to be Lord of Winterfell or Warden of the North. Her father was a good man, and a fair man, and he'd been honorable in how he had led the North as best as he could, but he was also never meant to be Lord of Winterfell. Sansa could see that looking back on her memories of her father in her youth, and her mother had been more in charge of the Lord's duties while her father carried them out mostly; at least from what she remembered. She didn't think her father was passive, but her mother had definitely been in charge of something very important and Sansa did not believe it to be the Keep.

But… somehow, and Sansa didn't know how, whether this was a bit of Bran's magic, a cruel jest by the Old Gods, or just a mishap with her own death, she was here, and Cregan was very real, and young. He was maybe a year older than her, and he was… different. Very Stark, very… not Jon or Robb, rather like her father but not. Cregan had a wildness in him, he had a harsh, direct manner, biting humor, he was sharp, and quiet, he spoke happily with his friends and family happily for hours. But he was introspective, and calm, so calm, she wondered if anything riled him up; he was legendary for his skills as a commander, a military power, a Lord, he was everything the North loved, and strove to be like, he embodied the North! And he was… alive, it was odd.

Cregan seemed to be in the same dilemma as she was, because neither of them really knew what to do about the other.

He would come into her room, looking like he had something he wanted to discuss, but would just sit there having a contemplative look on his face as he glared at her. His glare wasn't that of a threat, but merely one which was trying to decipher her, and she did not feel like she was hiding much of herself from him at this time. There wasn't much to hide.

On occasion Cregan's sister, Sara would come and keep Sansa company.

Sara was a Stark, she had the same long face, strong, sharp features, and awkward gangly build Arya had possessed, and with her wild black curls and icy grey eyes, she could not be mistaken as anyone but a Stark. She was a sweet, wild girl who could talk a mile a minute, without pausing for breath, it was refreshing and impressive. Sansa had found herself being endeared to Sara who was gleeful in sharing her stories of hunting quests, or misadventures in the Keep, or her distaste for her lessons, or her amusing escapades with the great Rody! Sara was, overall, a very endearing girl and Sansa would listen to her for hours when she came around. Sara was by far Sansa's favorite person in Winterfell at the moment.

But it didn't matter, Sansa had to await Cregan's judgement before her life would move forward or just end, properly this time. Only she could mess up dying, there was irony here, she couldn't see it, but she felt this situation was ironic on some level.

Also, she could not move a lot, her side, the wound from the Night King, was still healing, though that was an odd icy chill in her body whenever the wound was touched, or moved, or cared for. Cregan's friend, Lord Domeron Cerwyn had warned her when he was about to pour alcohol on the wound, informing her it would burn, but she had never felt the burn, merely the annoyance of a chill in her blood. Still, the pain of moving, the wound would remind her she was not moving at all, for a while, she'd have to recover before she could be up and walking freely.

Not that she lacked company though. Lord Cerwyn was a very kind, humorous young man, and he was pleased to keep her company. He was a stock man with dark hair, nearly as tall as her, with dark eyes. His cohorts were one Lord Bryan Stane, who had dirty blond hair and a set of bright green eyes on his rather feline features; Sansa had thought him mute, but he had an inability to speak without cursing up a storm which would make sailor blush, and he tried to be 'polite' for the ladies, it wasn't working. Then there was Roderick Dustin, youngest son of Lord Roderik Dustin, and Rody was… loud, he was very loud, he was fun, amusing, a jester, a bear of a man, and sharp; he was trouble and dangerous, and he was a character. He reminded Sansa of Jon's wildling friend, Tormund Giantsbane, Rody was… a character.

They were all kind to her and kept her company; she was pretty sure they were here to guard her until Cregan figure out what to do with her, which was fine. They helped break up her monotony of being bed ridden because of this stab wound.

Cregan burst into her room, startling her to drop her embroidery as she broke from her musings about being stuck in this era.

"You're a Stark," he stated.

"Yes…" she stammered.

He nodded and seemed to be thinking as he prowled her room. "How old are you?"

"Seven and ten," she replied.

He pulled out the book in his arm as he read it over then looked at her, frowning as he thought this over. She didn't know what he was thinking, Cregan was more difficult to read than her own father. He had a look on his face though which Sansa equated with Robb or Arya before they did something crazy.

"You're my little sister," he blurted out. "Sansa Stark."

"Pardon…" she sputtered.

"No, I need… fuck… I need help," he said as he sat down. "I had a brother, Jonos Stark, he lived a full cycle, but perished, records are messy enough, we can forge them. Erase Jonos, and replace it with Sansa, say you were raised by a wet nurse and when my father's health declined, he sent you to be fostered in the South… or something it would aid me in attempting to explain my uncle's motives for the marriage alliances he selected in the South…" he started.

"Cregan…Um… I'm supposed to be dead."

"You're not, and I need help, Stark help!" he snarled. "You're here for a reason, and the Old Gods have a demented sense of humor for answering my prayers, but you're here and I need Stark help."

"I'm… Cregan, I'm not opposed to helping, but I'm not supposed to be here," she started. "I was dying, I think Bran intervened or something… because I can't even die correctly!"

"Sansa… you're not dead," he sighed. "You're here, so… live," he shrugged. "I don't know what is to come, but, we are Starks."

"The lone wolf dies…" she muttered as her father's ominous warning popped into her head.

"The pack survives… please," he pleaded.

"Sansa Stark, in place of Jonos?" she asked tiredly. "They aren't even similar, and he's a boy…"

"And the maester's records are a wreck, and attempt to tell me that this name is not able to be mistaken for something else?" he handed her the book. She winced at the weight of the book and stared at the most atrocious handwriting she'd ever seen.

"Who wrote this?" she grimaced as she looked through the pages.

"Maester Emmon…" he said.

"Oh Gods… this is atrocious, even Jon's writing was better," she whispered. She looked over the records, it felt like this was written in another language entirely, one she could not decipher.

"We say you're my little sister, I corresponded with you, where you were fostered, and during my campaign our uncle took you hostage, you escaped, we reunited, and you hid a grave injury from me, until it nearly killed you," Cregan explained swiftly.

She paled as she looked at him. "You've given this thought."

"You're a Stark, I need Stark help, and Sara… Sara is a Snow, because of my uncle, and I... if you're legitimate, it will aid me greatly," Cregan said.

"As a bargaining chip?" she raised her brow at him.

"What? No… what?"

"I'd be a valuable piece to marry off, gain a bride's price, assist Winterfell."

"No," Cregan sneered. "Gods no. You… you spoke… in your fever… you spoke like you had… experience, running the North."

"Not really," she snorted. "I helped my brother, Jon, reclaim the North from my dead husband, who I killed by the way, after I sentenced him to death. And for a brief moment, the North was ours, then Jon went to find that Targaryen Queen, and I did manage the affairs of the North, but we were preparing for war, again, and then we were suffering shortages… and then Jon undid all my work by bending the knee to that Targaryen!"

"But you ave experience running the North."

"Yes… but… why?"

"You're a Stark," he stated. "I'm not looking for bargaining chips, Sansa, I need Starks, and I need aid."

"Um… I'll try…" she started tensely.

"Thank you," he breathed. "I've spoken to Domeron, Bryan, and Rody, they'll help me conceal your origins, and Arra… Arra will be of help here, and I'll talk with Sara, she's too young to know, but… we can hide your origins for now."

"You're going to just… trust me, just like that?" Sansa asked skeptically.

"Yes," he replied. Sansa stared at him for a long moment; she couldn't decide if he was a moron or just a good judge of character. Jon had had this annoying habit of being able to just trust people, without question, and even after it had gotten him killed, he trusted people, it was vexing; and her father had the same quality. It had gotten her father killed though. Sansa stared at Cregan for a long moment, and he stared back, just as levelly. "Does this bother you?"

"Yes," she ground out.

"Mmm…" he hummed. "I've listened to your fevered ramblings, Sansa, and you appeared in the Godswood from nowhere, there's no blood trail or signs on how you could get there. I've heard your fevered pleas, and I'm not a fool. Either you're a committed liar, which I would commend you for being quite the actress then, or you are who you claim, or you're mad. If you're mad, then you're uncommonly calm about this matter, if you're actress you'll lose the act in another few cycles, even the best aren't that committed, if you're a Stark then you'll help me save the North."

"You saved the North," Sansa whispered.

"I need aid to save the North," he said softly.

"I can try, but there's about to be much bigger problems, Cregan," Sansa sighed.

"Like what?"

"A Targaryen civil war… I think it's to come in a few years on the passing of King Viserys I, and it will divide the realm, and tear us apart," she murmured.

Cregan leaned back in his seat with a deep inhale as he seemed to ponder that. She could see him thinking and wondered what he would do now.

"That is in a few years time… right now we are facing a famine, I would like to focus on the immediate issues, then we will worry about the Targaryen civil war, and then the Night King…" he said softly. "We solve one problem, then move to the next, and so on and so forth, we will treat this like war."

"You… you don't know what I can do."

"You don't know what I can do."

"And yet you'll ask me to help you with this?"

"We all die, Sansa, it's just a matter of when, you did not, you're here, and alive now, and a Stark, so, you can either aid me or wilt away. I would prefer the help, given the Gods answered my prayers with you."

She blinked a few times as they stared at one another.

"Are you willing to assist me?" Cregan asked her.

Aemond rode quietly along the fields outside of King's Landing. He had burned Baelor's pyre for Helaena and promised to scatter his ashes for her given the birth prevented her from riding right now. He walked though with the express purpose of visiting Vhagar. The night was long and lonely, with the agony of his day crippling his soul.

With Vhagar he held a kinship, which was a comfort he had long since ceased having. Aemond stood strong for his mother, his sister, his own niece and nephew mistook him for their sire, he attempted to keep his brother in line, and took his father's displeasures and neglect without complaint. Aemond was always along, he was painfully aware that he was alone; or he had been until the night he claimed Vhagar.

Vhagar pulled to him in a way he could never explain, he just felt less alone.

Inhaling sharply, he looked out at the night, his eyepatch was giving him a headache this evening. He paused to watch the starts of the sunrise, finally reaching his horse where he had left the beast.

Part of him wondered what would happen if he turned around, raced back to Vhagar and flew off to never return, but alas, he was the ever-dutiful son, which had him pulling himself up onto his steed. Glancing behind him where Vhagar was resting in her nest, he envied her, then he spurred his steed forward, he had to return to the Red Keep before mother and Heleana awoke. He also knew he had to be back for Jaehaerys and Jaehaera; who would seek him out before they sought out their sire. Aegon was probably still lost in his cups, or a whore's cunt.

Aemond wondered if his brother even grieved the loss of the child he had killed, or the pain he had inflicted upon Helaena and their mother. Or if Aegon was just too absorbed in himself to even notice the torment he wreaked upon them. He shook his head, it would not do to dwell on misery or misery's thoughts. He had to be strong again, he would have to keep everything together because he had to keep his family safe. That was all that mattered.

It did not take Aemond long to return to his prison, the Red Keep, and he swung off the horse. He wished he'd flown off with Vhagar.

"Mon!" Jaehaera smiled as she ran for him. He caught her before she fell in the mud. Morghul glided beside her, and climbed up Aemond's shoulder to chitter at Jaehaera who was giggling hysterically. "Mama is talking funny."

He hummed a bit as they walked.

"Fire and Ice dance!" she giggled. "Ice disappears with fire!"

"It does," he agreed.

"They can't dance!"

"So they can't," he nodded.

"Mama silly!"

"Your mother is a very wise woman, and you will see that, one day," he predicted.