My Name is Daemon Targaryen and I am Going Home

by Alperez16

A different champion steps up for Tyrion changing the outcome of the Trial by Combat and the game itself.

15. The White Wolf and the Red

Riverrun 300 AC.

The Blackfish.

Sieges by their very nature were at times dull affairs. A tedious and drawn-out process where ostensibly the goal was to see who could wait it out the longest. Should the keep you're trying to take be well provisioned, truly manned, and in the hands of a capable man, then it would be a damn hard task you'd set yourself. Even if the provisions weren't as true as they should be, it could still be an almost impossible one if the man in charge of the keep was stubborn and resolute. Something that Stannis Baratheon had proved during Robert's Rebellion when faced with the full might of the Reach.

There were of course ways to break the siege, on both sides. Allies riding in from behind to break the besiegers against the walls of the keep. A good plan and true men who'd storm those very walls and take down any who defended them. Or a barrage from trebuchets or catapults that eventually forced a break in the walls or gates. Brynden himself knew of countless other methods both foul and fair and had seen them employed during his lifetime.

Even though the Frey's siege of Riverrun was as poor a one as he'd ever had the misfortune to bear witness to, they had still managed to keep that siege up despite his best efforts. Their holding of his nephew as a hostage, as well as the fact that there were simply no allies for Brynden to call upon, had seen to that. Though not once had they come close to taking his family's keep and with his provisions set to last for at least another year, nor would they have. So it had descended into a daily routine of one Frey or another making threats they'd never live up to and Brynden suffering through all their pointless words. Or it had until the Red Viper, Lame Lothar Frey, and Edmure had begun their walk to the gates of Riverrun.

'What the fuck is the Red Viper doing with the Freys'

That had been the one thought that went through Brynden's mind as he moved to speak to the man himself and yet upon hearing Oberyn Martell say his words, it did not remain there for long. In truth, Brynden had cared not for the what or the why. Instead, he concentrated on the fact that once they were inside his gates, Edmure would be safe and he could then deal with Lame Lothar and Prince Oberyn afterward. Only to quickly find that what he believed to be true was very much not and it was a Dragon and not a Weasel that was in their midst.

After speaking to Edmure to make sure he was no more harmed than he looked, Brynden bid Daemon Targaryen and the Red Viper to explain themselves. Quickly finding out that what he believed to be the state of the realm was far from the truth of it. Every revelation filling him with happiness and joy as they were spoken aloud.

Walder Frey was dead. Tywin Lannister had since joined him. Stannis Baratheon had fallen in the North and his army had been broken. While in the South, the Lannister and Reach armies had been defeated comprehensively. Hearing about Dragons, the Golden Company, and the Company of the Rose, normally would have been things he'd have wished to speak more and often on. Yet it was when he was told that Cat's children lived and were safe that Brynden finally knew what true joy felt like.

"Truly." the Blackfish said as with a shaky hand he picked up his wine glass. "All Cat's remaining children live still. They're all safe?"

It was almost more than he could manage to take in. The one true failing that he blamed himself daily for, had now finally been put to rest. Much though Brynden had wished to go to their aid, he could not. Not only were there different stories about their fates. There were conflicting reports about their whereabouts too. Not to mention the not-so-small issue of Brynden being under siege in his family's keep. True, he could leave Riverrun unnoticed if he truly wished to. Yet, one man could not see his grandnieces and grandnephews to safety alone. Or so Brynden would have believed was it not for Daemon Targaryen and the tale he told of Sansa's rescue in particular.

Hearing that his grandniece was to be wed had at first caused him some concern. Sansa had already been forced to marry the Imp of all people and Brynden feared that once again she was being made to wed someone against her will. Only to find that it was not to be and that this was a wedding that his grandniece much welcomed. As too did the man she was to wed, given the way his eyes lit up and he smiled when he spoke of her. It was for this reason, as much as it was to see the Frey's suffer, that Brynden showed Daemon Targaryen to the sluice gates. Why he then raced back to speak even more truly to the Red Viper once he'd done so. A conversation that was to be held atop the parapets of Riverrun and with his nephew to be present, much to Brynden's surprise.

"Should you not be resting, nephew?" he asked when he saw Vyman help Edmure to a good vantage point to see the siege forces below.

"I'll rest later, uncle. This I need to see with mine own eyes," Edmure said. His nephew seemed far more resolved than Brynden could remember him being before.

"I too dearly wish to see this sight. A dragon in the flesh, to see what one is truly capable of….Few men are living who could speak of such." Prince Oberyn said eagerly.

Brynden had known many sieges. He had broken some and been broken in some. Never had he seen a siege broken in the way it now was. A dragon managing to do in mere moments what men and horses would take hours or even days to do. Flames from a dragon's maw being unleashed on men who deserved more than any to suffer from its fiery wrath. It was a glorious sight to bear witness to. Terrifying and majestic all at once and not Brynden, Edmure, Oberyn, Vyman or any man who was there that day looked anywhere else but at the Golden Dragon and the man who rode atop of it.

"For the Red Wedding," Brynden said loudly. "For Cat and King Robb," he added almost immediately looking to Edmure to see his nephew wipe a tear from his eye.

"Uncle, see that the king is treated as the honored guest he is. I….I'll take to my bed now and hopefully be more myself on the morrow."

"I'll see it done, nephew," he said moving to Edmure and placing his hands on his shoulders. "It does me good to see you safe, Edmure, truly it does."

"Free, uncle. I am just happy to be free once more."

The Golden Dragon had landed by the time Edmure had left the rooftop and made his way to his rooms. Brynden and Oberyn hurried down the stairs and made their way to the gates to welcome the king into the keep more fittingly. A call to his guards to open the gates and to form up as best they could bringing a smile to Oberyn's face as the two of them moved to where Daemon Targaryen now walked.

"Riverrun is yours, Your Grace," Brynden said as he took a knee. The guards followed him in doing so while the few female servants present made their best attempts at curtsies.

"Rise Ser Brynden and good men and women of Riverrun. The siege is broken and this keep and those inside it are once again under the protection of their Lord Paramount and of the Crown." Daemon said, bringing a true smile to Brynden's face for Daemon's naming of Edmure as part of what had truly been his victory alone.

They feasted that night. As true a feast as they'd had since his niece and grandnephew had stayed in the keep. Something that soon had Brynden's thoughts turning melancholic and found him while not weeping or sobbing, shedding tears for Cat and Robb as he stood alone on one of Riverrun's many balconies. A polite cough to give him time to turn his head and wipe his tears was more than enough to tell him he was not alone. Though he was surprised it was Daemon Targaryen and not Prince Oberyn who had sought him out.

"I mourn them too, Ser Brynden. Though I knew them not, I mourn them as if I spent my life with them. I mourn them for my betrothed and know that no matter how much joy and happiness she may feel when we say our words to each other and are named man and wife in front of the realm, it will be those not there that her thoughts will turn to." Daemon said. His feelings for Sansa were even more clear to Brynden now as he spoke and moved to the small wall to take a seat.

"I thank you for giving them some justice at least, your grace. Prince Oberyn told me it was truly your own hands that saw to the deaths of the Freys responsible and those that did, all suffered greatly before leaving this world."

"They did and yet it's not enough, Ser Brynden. Worse than that it'll not bring them back and so my betrothed will be wed without her mother, father, or brother's presence." Daemon said sadly. Before he then composed himself so quickly that it took Brynden a little aback and so he heard not the words at first. "Ser Brynden?"

"Forgive me, your grace. I got lost in memories…I…"

"I would beg a favor from you, Ser, one I would hope you grant."

"Name it, your grace. If it's in my power to do so then it shall be done."

"Fly back to King's Landing with me, Ser. Stand for your grandniece in her mother and father's stead. It would mean much to her to have you there and the Riverlands though in need of much work to be righted, can forgo your presence briefly can they not?"

There was a pleading in the king's tone, a desperation that only further proved just how true the feelings he and Sansa shared. Asking only if it was true that Seagard was now in the hands of the Mallisters, Brynden happily accepted the offer and granted the king a favor that had been asked for out of love. He slept well that night and upon waking the next morning, he broke his fast with his nephew, Prince Oberyn, and the king, Edmure seeming somewhat on the road to recovering fully. Physically at least. Mentally and emotionally only time would tell the truth about those.

When Brynden spoke of the king's offer, he saw the worried frown that appeared on his nephew's face and just how quickly that frown went away. Edmure later confided that it was his wedding and what had happened at it that had been the reason for that frown and not Brynden's departure as such. As the time drew close to that departure, oaths of fealty were sworn and accepted in Riverrun's Great Hall. Edmure and Brynden himself swore to the King and House Targaryen and his nephew was then officially named as the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands and Warden of the Trident once more.

They said their goodbyes and Brynden promised he'd return to help his nephew with the rebuilding of the Riverlands. That he'd stand beside him in the moons and even years to come. Then Daemon spoke to Edmure alone for a few moments and Brynden saw a package handed to the king from his nephew that he knew not the contents of. Though the true smile that Daemon Targaryen wore when he accepted it, named it as something he was happy to receive.

Leaving the gates behind and seeing the full extent of what the Golden Dragon had wrought down on the Freys was an eye-opening experience for him. Seeing the white wolf run toward the king and watching as Daemon rubbed his hand through its fur, stirred up memories best forgotten. While then seeing the Golden Dragon land a few feet in front of him was humbling, to say the least. Brynden had always considered himself a warrior of some repute and took great pride in the skills he possessed. Looking at the majestic beast that the king was speaking to as if it was a mere pup or hawk, showed just how outmatched he and any other man were when it came to the Dragon who now sat on the Iron Throne. For no sword, mace, spear or lance was a match for a dragon's flames.

"Shall we." Prince Oberyn said and Brynden chuckled and shook his head. He tried not to think of the fact he was soon to be flying through the sky atop a dragon and instead allowed thoughts of family to be his comfort.

"I'll see she's happy, Cat. Hear it from herself that she is so. I give you my oath on that." Brynden whispered as the Golden Dragon took to the sky and Riverrun was soon left behind.

King's Landing 300 AC.

Jon Connington.

Jon had always considered himself a capable man. He felt suited to the role of Hand of the King and despite not wishing to sit in Daemon's stead, he believed he was managing things well enough. Still, it would be no lie to say that when it came to preparing for a Royal Wedding, he was completely and utterly useless. Thankfully in Sansa Stark, he had a future queen who was very much not. So other than speaking to the High Septon and dealing with the man's many requests, Jon kept out of things as much as he could.

Issues, questions, and matters regarding the royal wedding that he was asked an opinion on, he simply left to be handled at Sansa's discretion. Something that the girl herself seemed to appreciate as much as Jon did. It left Jon to manage the more important matters of the realm. Or at least what to some may have seemed to be the more important matters. For Jon well understood the importance of the upcoming wedding and what it meant to not just those involved, but to the realm at large. A stable Crown and a well-formed line of succession almost meant as much as men at arms and having a dragon to call upon.

It was thoughts of such that he had started the day with. Jon breaking his fast with Sansa Stark and her brother and sister. The three of them were speaking of the wedding and the younger two were not sounding too enthused about the fittings for the clothing they'd need to wear to it. While the older girl very much was looking forward to wearing the dress she'd worked so very hard on and seeing the look on Daemon's face when he saw her wearing it. Jon chuckled as he listened to them speak and was happy to have the future queen join him when they'd all finished eating.

"All is ready, Sansa?" he asked as they walked together. Myrcella Waters the newest of her ladies-in-waiting walked alongside them.

"Other than Daemon's clothing, all is ready."

"And your sister and brother?" he asked, smiling.

"Will no doubt do all they can to frustrate my efforts to have them look the lord and lady of a Great House that they are," Sansa replied, warmly.

"We can…."

The sound of Aemon Targaryen calling their names stopped him from speaking further. As then did the sight of what seemed to be mayhap one or even two raven scrolls in the Grand Maester's hands as he hurried their way. Jon turned and placed a comforting hand on Sansa's shoulder. As he could see her worries for Daemon's safety threaten to take hold.

"From my nephew, Lord Hand, Lady Sansa," Aemon said handing each of them one of the scrolls.

Reading through his own, Jon was more than happy at its contents. Ramsay Snow had been defeated and was dead. Seagard was newly liberated, and the Siege of Riverrun had finally been broken. Had it not been for the soft sob and then the sight of the tears running down Sansa Stark's cheek, he'd have known no worries and read the rest of the scroll's contents which named Daemon's return as imminent. Instead, worry, concern, and even dare he say it, fear, were his overriding emotions as he bid her to tell him what terrible news she'd received. Not that it was terrible news. Or that the tears she shed were anything but those of happiness.

"My uncle, my granduncle. Daemon writes to tell me that they are both safe and well and Riverrun is once again in the hands of my mother's family. I had…oh to know it's so, I had feared I'd hear only of their deaths, Jon…."

"Daemon would never allow that to be what occurred, Sansa. You know this is so."

"I do, I do…"

Jon forwent the morning he'd planned. He told the young lady to go and spend time with her family and that they could speak about the things they needed to later. Watching as Sansa, Myrcella, and the guards that Daemon had assigned her walked through the corridors. Once they'd left, Jon shared the contents of his raven's scroll with the Grand Maester. A true look of pride soon lighted up Aemon Targaryen's features as he read them for himself.

"My nephew is writing his song, Lord Hand. And what a song it shall be when it's finally finished."

"That he is and he's righting the realm as he does so, Grand Maester. Riverrun is in the hands of the Tullys once more. Seagard belonging to the Mallisters and the Frey army was broken, never to recover. The Riverlands are almost righted and their Lord Paramount has sworn his oaths. We have the realm almost, the North and the Iron Islands aside."

"The North belongs to Daemon and the Starks, Lord Hand. Winterfell may kneel to Roose Bolton still, but the North belongs to the Wolves and the Dragons."

"That it does." Jon smiled.

After bidding the Grand Maester farewell for now, Jon continued on his way to the Tower of the Hand, passing by guards who stood at their posts vigilantly. He'd done all he could to make the city and the Red Keep as secure as he could make it. Though in time he'd need to replace the men of the Golden Company with those he, Daemon, or even Sansa Stark handpicked. Few of his former colleagues would remain as fighting men in the years to come. The dragon had finally brought them home and they'd well earned the reward of a peaceful life.

Until then, however, some of those men now acted as Daemon's household guards. Some had been assigned to right the City Watch and a few had even decided to take up full-time roles with the Gold Cloaks. Lysono had thankfully accepted the role of Master of Whisperers. Jon was unsure if there was any man better than he to fulfill that role and after arriving at his solar, he sent his squire to fetch him for him so that he could share Daemon's news. Although knowing Lysono as well as he did, Jon would wager that the man may have found it out by the time he arrived to speak with him. Only the fact it was Aemon Targaryen who brought it to him and not Lysono himself was proof that the Master of Whisperers knew it not before him.

The day itself passed quickly and the reports from the realm that Lysono had given him were ones that Jon most welcomed. Other than the North and the Iron Islands, Westeros was at peace and united under Daemon's rule. True the Vale still needed to be dealt with and Jon put less faith in the ravens that Aemon Targaryen had sent to Lysa Tully and Petyr Baelish to see that was so, than he did with Daemon and Viserion.

'Though the Grand Maester is an older and wiser man than me and so mayhap he has the right of things'

In the end, it truly mattered not. The Bolton line would soon be ended and the Vale would kneel and name Daemon their king. Lysa Tully and Petyr Baelish were but names on a list as Daemon had put it. Their fates were already decided and only the timing and nature of their deaths were still left somewhat open to debate. As for the Iron Islands and the Iron Born themselves, they had debts to pay that were owed to both the Wolves and the Dragons. Debts that Jon was certain would be paid in full.

By the time Jon took to his bed, he felt he'd accomplished much and little during the day. Upon waking the next morning and finding it was much later than his usual rising time, he hurried to break his fast and was soon bid to join Sansa Stark in her chambers. His future queen wished for his opinion on her finished dress and Jon found himself awestruck as he looked at her wearing it. The look on his face was more than enough to bring one of her most beaming smiles to her own.

He'd only just told her that he'd doubted there had been a bride as beautiful as her ever in Westeros' history when the sound of Viserion's wings was the only thing either could concentrate on. Jon hurried from the room to allow Sansa to dress more appropriately and then together, the two of them and their guards made their way to the Dragonpit. They arrived a little after Viserion had landed and had been beaten there by Ellaria Sand and the Sand Snakes. After looking to see that Prince Oberyn and Daemon were both unharmed and forgoing his greeting by the king so that Sansa could more truly enjoy hers, it was to the other man with them that Jon turned his attention. A man who watched the warm embrace being shared by Daemon and Sansa with an eager eye.

"Lord Connington?" the Blackfish asked curiously.

"Ser Brynden." he nodded. The smile the other man now wore was much reminiscent of the one on Sansa Stark's face as she knelt and rubbed her hands through the fur of an enormous white wolf. A wolf that had moved silently and seemed to have come out of nowhere and Jon looked forward to hearing the story of how it came to be with his king.

With one reunion now over with, it was time for another and Jon could begrudge neither the lady nor her great uncle the happy tears they shared nor the feel of the other's arms as they held each other. That it gave him a chance for his reunion with Daemon to take place, only making the moment even better in Jon's mind.

"You are well, your grace?"

"I am, Jon, you, the city?"

"All is well here, all is ready for the wedding," he said, happy to see Daemon's eager look to where his betrothed and her great uncle had finished their conversation for now. A longer and truer one to be held back in the Red Keep no doubt.

"The wolf, Daemon? He is the same as your cousin's own?"

"Ghost, Jon, and he was part of the same litter," Daemon replied shocking Jon somewhat, and yet he doubted not that the words spoken were true.

"Come, we can talk more freely once you're settled. No doubt you're hungry and wish to bathe."

"I could eat, Jon. As for a bath, I think my betrothed may welcome me taking one," Daemon said, his eyes now firmly on Sansa Stark as she walked toward them.

Her own were just as focused on Daemon's. Jon was certain that before he got to speak to his king again or her great uncle got to truly speak to Sansa Stark, it would be they who sought each other out. That within the hour they would both be doing things that soon-to-be married people did. It was a welcome thought and one he believed the Blackfish shared. The look on Brynden Tully's face was enough to tell Jon this was so. A look that he'd name as one of confirmation. One that spoke to having whatever truths Daemon had told him about himself and the man's great-niece, were far truer than that.

The Vale 300 AC.

Littlefinger.

The world made no sense at times. Whether it was the fact that the gods loved their little japes and took pleasure in seeing man's plans fail. Or that they simply much enjoyed messing with his own. Petyr knew not. Whatever the truth of it, at times he was certain it could only be the gods themselves who saw that his best-laid plains failed or faced obstacles that he knew not of. For surely it could only be them who'd allowed a hidden Targaryen that none were aware of to swoop in and take all that Petyr had wished for himself.

How that hidden Targaryen and Sansa Stark had ended up together in the same place, Petyr knew not. What fell magic he'd used to steal the most important cyvasse piece in Petyr's plan from right under his nose, was unknown to him. As for what his next move was to be, on that for once Petyr was completely stumped. After all, it had taken the union of three kingdoms, the madness of a king, and the foolishness of a prince and a young girl to bring down the dragons last time.

Sitting in his solar, looking down at the raven's scroll, Petyr did not need to read the words again. An order to come and swear fealty, yet one disguised as a wedding invitation. A call for a beloved aunt to be there when her niece was wed and crowned as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Added to a suggestion, hint, whisper, that the rule of the Vale, the Riverlands, as well as the makeup of a new Small Council, all required his presence to be discussed and resolved.

To the Lady Regent of the Vale.

I write this raven to inform you of the upcoming wedding of Lady Sansa Stark and King Daemon Targaryen. A wedding that would be much added to by your presence. For to have family stand with her as she is wed and crowned would be much welcomed by your niece and his grace is ever keen to do all he can to make his betrothed happy. There are matters of the realm to discuss and right too, my lady. The rule of the Vale, of the Riverlands, and how best to see both regions prosper going forward. A new Small Council is soon to be formed and it would benefit greatly from the addition of good and true men. Men who are experienced and who have served before such as your husband, Lord Baelish. Come to King's Landing, my lady, and show yourself to be the true and good kin of our future queen. Or do not and leave his grace and I with no choice other than to ask questions that thus far we've very much not in regards to your rule.

Lord Jon Connington,

Hand to the King.

Had the raven come without mention of Sansa Stark, then Petyr would have simply ignored the message and killed the raven itself. In time, if need be, he'd have claimed that the raven had never arrived. For swearing fealty to a Targaryen king helped him not to rise. The mere fact that not only did it make mention of Sansa, but it named her as soon to be wed and crowned, changed things dramatically in Petyr's mind. However, he knew not if they changed things in his favor as of yet.

Rising to his feet, Petyr moved to the window and looked down at the long drop to the ground far below. If he was a different man then he may contemplate the fact that he'd risen high and now worry about how far he could potentially fall. For now, his mind turned more to the thoughts of just how much higher he'd intended to rise before he was done. To how key Sansa Stark had been and still was to that plan and to whether or not there was any other move in the great game than the one Jon Connington bid him make.

For the rest of the night and much of the next day, Petyr was lost in these thoughts. With Lysa, he paid lip service to her fears and doubts and knew that in the end, she'd agree with whatever choice he made. He spoke not to the other Lords of the Vale, as of yet. Deciding only to approach them when he'd figured out how best to take advantage of the situation he now found himself in. While when he slept, he dreamt of red hair and blue eyes, of a crown upon his head, and of Seven Kingdoms kneeling and naming him king.

'I should have had the mother, I'll not accept losing the daughter'

Above all other thoughts that one rang out truest in his head. Sansa Stark was the key to everything for him. To the crown. His heart. The future he wished for and had planned so very diligently for. Every road to where he wished to go was one that required him to walk it with Sansa Stark by his side. Without her, there was no true path to the Iron Throne. This would mean that all his years since Brandon Stark's death, the rise he'd worked so very hard to make happen, all that he longed for, would all be for naught.

"No, I'm closer than ever. This is an opportunity, not a setback." he declared loudly as he once again stood alone in his solar.

Losing Sansa Stark from under his very nose had been a setback. Cat's death at the Twins had been a setback. Finding out there was a hidden Targaryen would have been a setback.

'Yet this was an opportunity, was it not?'

He had intended to use Sansa's marriage to Harrold Hardyng to rally the Vale behind her and then take the North from the Boltons. Using the combined might of the North and the Vale, they would have relieved the siege of Riverrun and seen Edmure Tully rescued or dead. Either one was acceptable to Petyr and led to the same inevitable outcome. The Riverlords once again handing a crown to a Stark.

Three Kingdoms would be theirs and the path to the Iron Throne would now be open to them. True, he'd have needed a way to deal with the Reach and the West and their union would have needed to be broken before he ever faced them. Petyr though had plans for such. Long-term, short-term, complicated, and simple, he had plans for future weddings and deaths in the night. Contingencies in case those plans failed and he was required to fall back onto other ones. All were rendered moot by the appearance of a new player in the game that none had known a thing about. A Hidden Dragon who was soon to wed a woman he deserved not.

In adversity sometimes you find your greatest opportunity, however. How Sansa Stark and Daemon Targaryen ended up together, was far less important than the fact they had. Petyr's plan to make himself a king had required many steps and was one that could take years to come to fruition. Now, it required fewer and was mayhap closer than ever. There was no need to beat the Lannisters or the Tyrells, that had been done for him. Freeing the North and the Riverlands was no longer required of him. Sansa was soon to be named queen, soon to sit on the Iron Throne, and while the man she would sit beside was for now not him, she need not sit with that man for long.

"After all, Kings fall all the time," Petyr smirked.

A week later.

There had been arguments, words of warning, and talk of how a dragon could not be trusted. Lysa worried about her sickly son and how much the traveling would take out of Sweetrobin. Yohn Royce spoke of the death of his kin at the hands of a mad king and how they were not to know if this new king was Aerys come again. Through it all, Petyr stood as the dragon's advocate almost. He talked them down from their worries and doubts and made the case for why they must go.

He spoke publicly of how they could not leave Sansa Stark to face the dragons alone. How her being kin to their lady left them honor-bound to make sure that it was by her own volition that she was being wed. Petyr made much mention of Harrold Hardyng and how they needed to know just where he was and what had happened to him. Those words alone brought Lady Anya Waynwood on board almost immediately.

Then he spoke of the forces that the new king could muster. How Daemon Targaryen had beaten Tywin Lannister and Mace Tyrell in battle and how he'd not see the Knights of the Vale fight a war when one was not needed. Reluctantly though it had been, in the end, Lysa, Yohn Royce, and the other Lords of the Vale had come around and ships were prepared, journeys undertaken, and Gulltown was now a day or so behind them. His next port of call would be Blackwater Bay and King's Landing itself. There Petyr would take the measure of this new king and more importantly, he'd see her once more.

He was so very close. Closer than he had ever been. True he'd have to yet again watch the woman he loved marry a man who was not him. Petyr would even have to fight down his anger when his thoughts would come of that man bedding the woman who belonged only in his bed. There was little comfort to be found in the fact that her maidenhead was never to be his in any of his plans anyway. A week, a moon, mayhap more than one, he could wait until he'd figured out the true lay of the land before then making his move. Yet make a move he would.

"I've seen to the end of the Wolves, Lions, Stags, and Falcons. The Dragons too will fall when the Mockingbird sings his songs."

King's Landing 300 AC.

Jaqen H'ghar.

A crowning and a wedding were not what he'd imagined was his god's plan for Daemon Targaryen. Nor had he believed was it to see the man who'd been tasked with one day ending a god who sought to bring the gift to all, smile and jape so freely. To play protector, guard, and to use not his gifts as the days, weeks and moons passed, Jaqen understood it not, and in truth, it concerned him greatly. So much so that as around him men and women were preparing for the upcoming wedding, Jaqen sought out the man himself and bid him speak to him to put his mind at ease.

It took longer than he wished for. Daemon was about the work of either their god or someone else's and so Jaqen was forced to be the guard and protector that he had no wish to be. He followed after the young girl and boy. Watched them as they went about their youthful endeavors. At times he looked at those who were now closer to Daemon than even he had been and judged them worthy or not. While at others, he walked about the Red Keep and took note of the weaknesses in its defenses.

He did it not to exploit those weaknesses, however. Instead, Jaqen handed his findings to the lady that Daemon was to wed and spoke to her of his concerns when it came to her and Daemon's security. Later when he managed to speak to Daemon himself, Jaqen was pleased to find that steps had been taken to shore up those defenses. Though he was even more pleased to find that just as he had done, Daemon too had taken note of the defenses and the list he'd come up with was the same as Jaqen's own.

As for their conversation on the matters that Jaqen was concerned about. That one happened far away from prying ears and was one that would soon set him to traveling once again. Daemon had bidden him to meet him deep below the Red Keep and Jaqen was only too happy to be in the shadows once more. Happier still to see the bag of faces that Daemon had brought with him to their meeting and the knowledge that he would once again be about their god's work.

"Speak your mind, Jaqen. You're one of the few who'll do so and not hold back because you name me your king."

"A man has no king, only a god, Daemon."

"Mine own god too, Jaqen," Daemon replied.

"A crown, a wedding. A man understands it not." Jaqen said to a snort and a chuckle from Daemon in reply.

"You think I do? That when I came here I had any idea of the second of those things?"

"You knew of the crown?"

"I'm no fool, Jaqen. Two large groups of sellswords, this sword." Daemon said pointing to Blackfyre." Who the names on my list were and what their deaths would lead to. Who I am….I'm no fool, I knew I came here to take a crown for myself."

"A man is No One, not a king, Daemon."

"Yet, our god wills it of us both, does he not?"

There was silence for a few moments. Daemon seemed to be deep in thought and Jaqen too was lost in his own. It was Daemon who broke it, his words making some sense as they were spoken.

"You were tasked with taking me from the Tower of Joy, Jaqen. To bring me to the House of Black and White and there to help with my training. You, the Kindly Man, our god, all were aware of who I truly was, and yet for most of my life, I was not. Then truths were shared and I was sent out into the world with names on a list and the truth of a family I knew naught about. With little idea of what I was to do other than mark those names off and make offerings of them to the Many-Faced God, I set about the task I'd now been set."

"A man knows what he was tasked to do, Daemon."

"Yet wonders what his task is now, does he not?"

Jaqen nodded and waited for Daemon to answer. He did not have long to wait and he was surprised that when the answer came, it didn't come alone. The face that Daemon held in his hand intrigued Jaqen as much as the words that Daemon spoke did.

"There is a war to be fought, Jaqen. One I believe I've been chosen to play a big role in. A war that the Many-Faced God has a vested interest in. As the bringing of the Gift is his domain is it not?" Jaqen nodded and bid Daemon continue. "To win this war, we've been sent out to do our god's will. We've been given the tools we need just as we are when we're sent out to bring the Gift to those deserving of it. Though this time those tools are far stranger and much different than those we both are usually given."

"A man…" he began only for Daemon to interrupt him.

"A crown, a wife, sellswords, and Seven Kingdoms, Jaqen. I may have chosen the second of those for myself and believe it's my heart that did so, but it could so easily be just as the crown or this sword."

"Gifts from the Many-Faced God," he said to a nod of Daemon's head.

"I need you to go North, my friend." Daemon began as he handed Jaqen the face. "A raven will be sent to inform the Company of the Rose to give you men and livery. Once they join you, it's to Winterfell you're to ride."

"A man is to bring the Gift?"

"Only to those who deserve it and not to the Lord who rules there."

"The Many Faced God will have his due, Daemon."

"It's not just our god who wishes to see this man dead, Jaqen, and unlike those you and I make offerings of, this man must be offered to the Old Gods too."

"A man will do as you say, Daemon."

"Should you wish it, you can return and speak to the Kindly Man once your task is done."

"A man was tasked with staying with you until your own task is done, Daemon."

"I'm glad of it."

Face in hand, Jaqen made his way to the ship and was sailing to the North before the next night. He'd miss the wedding and though he'd understood it not, he found he wished he'd not needed to. As for the task he'd been set by Daemon, he'd see it carried out and do as he'd been bid.

"A man is not meant to understand his god's plans. Just to carry them out."

King's Landing 301 AC.

Myrcella Waters.

The last few weeks had been tumultuous, to say the least. Myrcella had looked on powerlessly as the life she believed was to be hers had been unceremoniously taken from her. Truths that had long been hidden had finally been revealed and as if that was not enough to deal with, her family had faced a reckoning they'd never recover fully from. While she mourned not Joffrey's loss, she very much did that of her grandfather. However, if she was being completely honest with herself then it would be the loss of Tyrstane's love that had truly broken her heart.

'Even if that loss was not because of death'

What made it all so much worse for her was that there was truly no one she could speak to about it all. Her anger at her mother and the man she now knew was truly her father, wouldn't allow her to accept any counsel from them. Tommen was dealing with his own broken heart and even if her brother's affections for Margaery Tyrell weren't as true as Myrcella's were for Trystane, he was still more in need of comfort than able to offer it.

It left her with only her uncle Tyrion to speak to. Yet even when she did speak to him, he spoke more on what her future would be than on the losses she'd suffered. Not that knowing she had a future didn't bring her some comfort, mind. However, it was the losses she needed help with and to her surprise, when that help came it came from an unlikely source. Margaery Tyrell, her fellow Lady in Waiting, took the time to speak to her and offer her words of comfort that Myrcella most welcomed.

"I know not what love truly feels like, Myrcella. With Renly, your brothers, I….in time should the gods be good I may find it with my betrothed, and yet while I know it not, I understand how the loss of it is most painful."

"I…."

"You will get over it and though you'll not believe it to be so, 'tis for the best you learned this lesson now."

"I wished not to learn any lesson." she snapped back.

"No, you wished Trystane to fight for you as you would him. To take you far from here and make you his wife." Margaery said, a sympathetic look on her face as she spoke.

"How could you…How could you know?"

"I may not have known such love myself, but that means not I never wished to do so."

"Why didn't he fight for me?" she asked. A question that she wished for and got no answer to, not from Margaery at least.

Instead, it was another unlikely woman who came to her and told her what she needed to know. This one was the girl whom Myrcella had much looked forward to being a Goodsister to. A girl who would now be the queen and who in truth held Myrcella's fate in her hand. Sansa had bid her to stay in her chambers with her after she'd made the final alterations to her wedding dress.

"I know you're unhappy with all that's occurred and worry about the life you'll lead." Sansa began and Myrcella nodded, even though she wished not to. "In time you'll find some of it at least is for the best, Myrcella."

She wished to argue, to rant and rave. To shout out loudly that it couldn't be for the best. That she'd lost her family, had her life torn asunder, and now faced a future that she had no control over. Myrcella longed to scream out and say that her heart had been broken into a thousand pieces because the man she loved had proved himself unworthy of that love. More than any of that, she so desperately wished to shout that Sansa Stark knew nothing of what she was going through.

'Yet she more than any mayhap does'

"I've been where you are, Myrcella," Sansa said, her words mirroring the thought that had come to Myrcella's mind. "Suffered from the loss of family and found myself forced to realize that the man I believed I loved was not who I hoped he would be."

"Trystane and Joffrey were not the same." she snapped. Though why she was defending her former betrothed so passionately she knew not.

"Not in their nature mayhap, yet in this action they very much are."

"I…"

"Will know a much better future than you fear it may be, Myrcella. You will wed a man of your choosing. Aye, one that the crown must accept, but you'll not be forced into a match against your will. 'Tis far more than most women know."

"I'm not ungrateful, your grace." she stuttered.

"Just upset and in need of time to mend your broken heart," Sansa said and Myrcella gasped. "As I said, I've been where you are and believed I'd never be happy again."

"And you are? You are happy, for true?"

"I'm not such a good Mummer, Myrcella. Nor I wager are you." Sansa smiled.

The talk with the future queen allowed for her to speak to her family. Her mother would be sent away soon and while she spoke of things that could never come to pass, Myrcella ignored them mostly and just enjoyed their time together. With her father, it was somewhat different. Jaime cared not for some silly stupid plan where they'd regain all they lost, instead he asked her if she was being treated well and begged her forgiveness for the life he'd made her live.

Tommen enjoyed having his sister back with him and their time together was more how it had once been. Her brother cared not that he was no longer a king or even a prince and Myrcella believed a life in the Citadel would suit him well. As it would her uncle Tyrion. Over the last few days of her time with her family, Myrcella's duties were both lightened and increased at the same time. The wedding was to be held just after her uncle, brother, and father departed, and there was much to do before then.

What it was that made her mother do what she did, Myrcella knew not. Why she took her own life, was beyond her, Tommen, her father, and even her uncle's comprehension. Where she got the poison from, was a mystery to them all. As too was why her body was treated with as much respect as it was and why vigils were allowed to stand over it. Her uncle, brother, Myrcella herself, and mostly her father all doing so. Once again it was the future queen who offered her comfort and Myrcella found in Sansa a truer friend than she'd dared hope she would be.

'She's doing so to curry favor with you, Cella. Believe her not' a voice that sounded much like her mother's called out loudly in her head.

Myrcella believed that voice not. There was no need to curry favor with her, certainly not from the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Sansa empathized with her as few others could. For she too had lost her mother. It brought them closer together and made Myrcella consider that the life she was now to lead may not be so bad after all. Above all else, it allowed for her to feel joy and happiness and not regret or sadness when she watched Sansa ready herself on the day she was to be wed. Myrcella for the first time in more than a moon not thinking about the wedding that she had been denied. Instead, she thought of the one she was to attend. While a much larger part of her pictured her own that would now take place some years in the future.

King's Landing 301 AC.

The Wedding.

Arya Stark.

Her great-uncle offered them his aid and guidance. Brynden told both her and Rickon that should they wish it, he'd return to Winterfell with them and serve them in any role they required of him. It took a huge weight off Arya's shoulders. While Rickon cared only for the fact that they'd both soon be trained by The Blackfish.

Knowing they had more kin in the world. Meeting that kin and learning that their uncle Edmure was safe and well and the Riverlands was being righted. That Riverrun was once again in the hands of her mother's House. All of that combined to make Arya feel ever more relaxed and certain that her cousin truly was the man to right the wrongs of the past few years. It allowed her to be even happier that this was the man her sister was to be wed to. As too did the fact that she had never seen Sansa as joyful as she now was.

Though she hated wearing a dress and Rickon pulled and prodded at his clothing, neither of them would deny that Sansa looked a true vision. Her white dress was the color of pristine snow. The embroidered stitches were as perfect as ever her sister's were. While the shawl that covered her sister's head and had been gifted to her by their uncle was a thing of beauty. That it had been something made by their mother during her time at Riverrun only added to its beauty in Arya's and especially Sansa's minds. Sansa, Arya knew, took great comfort in having a small piece of their mother present with them on the day that she was to wed a man she loved, As for how Sansa had managed to both hide and not the designs she'd incorporated into the dress, Arya knew not. What those designs represented, however, she very much did.

"I wanted them here with me, Arya. Though I know that can't be so, I want to feel as if they are."

"And beads will make you feel that?" she asked confused.

"Not the beads no, what those beads represent."

A leaping trout, a flowing river, snow falling, and wolves. Her sister had incorporated the North and the Riverlands into her wedding dress design. Her mother and father's sigils. Seeing them so clearly for the first time had brought a tear to Arya's eye and she'd been glad that Sansa hadn't been wearing the dress at the time. Had she, then they'd not have been able to share in the comfort of each other's arms and Arya would not have felt her sister brush her tears from her cheeks.

Today, seeing Sansa standing there and looking at her sister's beaming smile, Arya almost felt those tears threaten to fall again. Instead, she offered up her own full and true smile and spoke words that she'd never have believed she'd ever utter. Words that affected her sister greatly given the look that came over Sansa's face.

"You look like the Maiden herself, Sansa. No bride has ever looked half as good or half as happy."

"I am happy, Arya, truly I am."

"As am I for you, as is Rickon. As too would…."

"Arya?"

"They're watching us, Sansa. Father, Mother, Robb, they're looking down on us and I feel their joy at what they see. I know they're happy for you, I know it as truly as I know mine own joy at seeing you get all you deserve."

Tears were shed, but not by her. Sansa turned away and wiped her eyes before needing to redo her face so no one knew she'd cried today. The knock on the door took them from the thoughts and threatened memories that had begun to take hold and to the true business of the day. Their greatuncle's loud gasp and the words that he spoke, once again almost caused tears to fall.

Arya and Rickon along with their great uncle rode in a separate carriage to Sansa. The bride needed to arrive alone or some other silly tradition that Arya knew not nor cared about. That they arrived first was by the god's good fortune as Arya wished to see how people reacted to Sansa's arrival. In this, she found she very much enjoyed witnessing the spectacle of it and the loud cheers that rang out when her great uncle opened the carriage door and helped her sister out of it.

"Hail Lady Sansa."

"Long Live the Queen."

"Queen Sansa."

Be it the people themselves or some mummery, Arya couldn't be certain, yet she believed it was far more the former than the latter. For surely they had to be much happier with the woman who was to be their new queen, than they had been with one of the last two that they'd known. A queen who had met her end not at the hands of an axe man but by taking her own life and swallowing down poison. Arya, hoping that she choked on it and it was as painful a death as Cersei Lannister deserved.

Feeling Rickon grab her hand and pull her forward, she put aside thoughts of dead queens and instead thought only about the one who was soon to wear a crown. A nod of her head to the two guards that Sansa had appointed to them and she and Rickon were being helped into the Great Sept, where they quickly took their places. Arya smiled at her cousin who stood at the front of the large open hall and who looked expectantly at the doors.

A hush came over all those there when those doors opened. Women made the noises that women were oft to make when they looked at Sansa and the Blackfish as they made their entrance. Arya turned her attention from her sister and great-uncle and back to her cousin. Smiling to see the happy look on Daemon's face.

He'd make her sister happy.

He already did.

There is as much wolf in him as dragon.

Father would have been happy with the match.

It was the last of these thoughts that finally brought about her tears. Arya cried for the family that should be here to witness her sister's happiest ever day. She felt herself to be a poor substitute for those who had been taken long before their time. Yet she smiled, however, when Rickon handed her his handkerchief. Mussed her brother's hair and even kissed him softly on his cheek for doing so. Then she turned and looked only at her sister and the man she was marrying. Listened only to the sound of their voices as they spoke their vows.

"He's a good man and one I'm happy to name a Goodbrother" Arya whispered.

Sansa Stark.

Sansa had barely slept the night before. The few hours she had were more than enough and her eagerness for the day to come had meant that she rose early. She broke her fast with her ladies and with Arya and Rickon. Daemon was nowhere to be seen and yet it worried her not. Her betrothed had his tasks to do this day and his preparations to make and so once she'd eaten, Sansa went about hers.

There had been some worry that Cersei Lannister's death would cast a shadow over her wedding day. Yet, if anything it seemed to lift one instead. Daemon confided in her that it was by his hand that the former queen had met her end and Sansa was surprised that she found no reason not to accept that he'd done what was best for the realm. Even if when he'd spoken to her, he'd made it clear it wasn't for the realm that he'd done so.

"Joffrey may have given the order, but his mother played as true a part in the death of your father as he did. It was by her orders that your father's household was put to the sword, not anyone else's. I may have sentenced her to the Silent Sisters, yet never could I have lived with myself if she knew many more days in the world, Sansa. For she deserved none and her life was owed to your House above all."

While it had at first made looking at Myrcella more difficult than it should be, the feeling quickly passed. Daemon was right, Cersei could not be allowed to live. Not even in the Silent Sisters would the threat of her be removed. As for her knowing more days after all she'd done or seen done in her name, on that she and her betrothed were completely in step. The woman had known far too many. So, in the end, Sansa had welcomed that she'd know no more.

What she'd less welcomed was the arrival of her aunt and Gooduncle. Lysa and Littlefinger's ship docked on the day before her wedding and Sansa had needed to speak to Daemon as soon as she'd heard. All other thoughts were put aside until she found out the reason for their arrival and what was to happen to them now that they'd done so.

"My grand uncle sent them a message. He suggested that they would do best to come and how much you would welcome your aunt's presence at your wedding."

"I would not," she said loudly.

"No, I wager you wouldn't. Yet, having them here stops me from going there and I wagered that would be more to your liking."

"Daemon?"

"They need to be dealt with Sansa. Not only for whatever plots they may consider in the future, but they need to pay for what they did in the past. My mother would demand it of me as too would my god. I demand it of me." Daemon said firmly.

"They are to die?" she asked.

"Death is the last thing they'll know," Daemon said chillingly.

Though she liked it not, she accepted it all the same. Sansa had no issue with them both dying nor did she believe that anything she said to Daemon would stop that from happening. Not that she'd even try to do so, mind. She simply liked not the mummery she was forced to perform or the way that Littlefinger looked at her and Daemon. Two very different looks and ones that Sansa far more recognized now than once she would have. Lust and Hate were easy to see when you knew where to look after all.

Now, however, all thoughts of anything else were long since passed. The morning itself was almost a blur to her and before she knew it, Sansa was being led to the front of the Great Sept by her great uncle, her eyes only on those of the man who awaited her there. She kneeled when she was bid to, feeling her Maiden Cloak being taken from her shoulders and her Wedding Cloak being placed there. Saying the words while listening to Daemon as he said his own and feeling the ribbon as it was wrapped around her hand. All of it was like something out of a dream and had it not been for Daemon's fingers wiping the happy tears from her eyes, then Sansa may not have believed it was not one.

"What the gods have joined together let no man dare break apart." the High Septon said and then around her the world seemed to still.

Her eyes were locked on Daemon's own. The breath she held deep in her chest was one that she was unable to exhale. Daemon's smile brought one to her face and the feel of his lips on hers was something that she could and did get lost in. Only the need to breathe allowed her to break from the kiss and once she'd taken that breath, she then hungrily initiated the next kiss they shared.

Soon enough she was being led from the Great Sept and though there were cheering, happy faces, Sansa heard or saw none of it. She felt herself being helped into the carriage and then as Daemon went to speak, Sansa kissed him again and again. His lips, his cheeks, his neck, at one point she swore she kissed his nose and even his eyes, so eagerly was she placing kisses on his face.

"I am yours and you are mine," she repeated over and over again. Daemon finally stopped her by placing a finger on her lips.

"I am yours and you are mine," Daemon said and this time he kissed her. Truly, deeply, passionately, he kissed her and nothing in the world had ever felt as good as that kiss now did.

Daemon.

The feast was in full swing. Meals had been sent to each of the other tables and Daemon had allowed his wife to be the one who did so. Conversations were had around him and yet Daemon had taken part in few if any of them. His words instead were spoken only to Sansa and they were words spoken softly and into her ear more often than not.

When the time came for the first dance of the night, Sansa looked his way eagerly and Daemon wasted no time leading her out to the dance floor. No sooner had they begun to move together than memories of another wedding and another dance filled Daemon's mind. Something the look on his face must have shown and which led to a question from his wife. Daemon answered and made Sansa laugh truly due to what he said.

"I was thinking of the Vale, Sansa. The Eyrie and a wedding night that we were both but mummer's."

"I believed my new husband to have lost his mind," Sansa replied when her laughter stopped. "The way you had us both bounce up and down on the bed and the sounds you made."

"I shall promise not to make you do so tonight then," Daemon said, making Sansa laugh just as fully.

As the music played around them, Daemon leaned closer to his wife and kissed her softly behind her ear. He whispered that he'd force her to do nothing tonight that she wished not to and that they had much time to spend together before they needed to be more physical with each other if she so wished. Though he'd not lie and say he wasn't pleased when she shook her head and said that she wished to be with him fully and completely this night and for all the nights to come.

Feeling her stiffen slightly, Daemon pulled her tightly against him and looked to where her gaze was directed. The sight of Littlefinger and how he was looking at her would have led to much pain for the other man. Had that not already been Daemon's plan for him. Lust-filled looks and an envious stare were both quickly replaced by a more schooled expression on the face of the man who'd wished to use her for his own gain. While beside him, her aunt looked at them both with naught but disdain.

"Their time in this world is drawing to an end and they'll not leave this city alive, Sansa. I make this my solemn vow to you here and now. My wedding gift will be to see them suffer for all they've done and all they sought to do. On this, you have my oath."

"I wish to think not of them, Daemon. Not them nor anyone, just us." Sansa said and once again he kissed her softly.

Sansa danced with her great uncle and with Jon Connington, and once with Daemon's grand uncle too. While Daemon danced only with his wife and once with her sister. When Littlefinger moved their way seeking his dance, Daemon took his wife by the hand and led her back out to the dance floor. Stopping the man in his tracks much to his wife's delight.

Soon enough the time came for the bedding and yet it was not one that Daemon allowed to take place. Instead, he simply rose to his feet, thanked them all for coming, and then took Sansa's hand in his own. He felt her nervousness as he led her to their rooms. The small trembles that ran through her body and down into her hand were ones that even Sansa herself was mayhap unaware of. Again, Daemon whispered in her ear that they'd take things slow and once again Sansa shook her head resolvedly.

There was much still to do to right the realm. Names on a list that were still owed to both the Starks and his god. His mother's list was almost but not yet complete and the North had still to be righted truly. While the Iron Islands presented their problems and would need to be dealt with too. Off far Beyond the Wall was a threat that Daemon wasn't truly sure he was ready for, and one he now knew was the true reason why he'd been taken from a tower all those years earlier.

Yet as he reached his rooms, as he looked into Sansa's bright blue eyes, and then as the door closed behind them both, Daemon thought of none of those things. Instead, it was the one thing he'd not expected when he had set sail for Westeros all those moons ago that filled Daemon's mind. The one thing he had never wished for, sought, or even considered was to be his. Daemon thought only of the woman in front of him and the life they'd now share.

"My wife," he said as he and Sansa slowly began to undress each other.

A/N: Thanks to all who've read and reviewed. I'll answer them all in the next update. Up Next: Daemon and Sansa spend their first night together as husband and wife. In the North, Jaqen puts Daemon's plan into action and preparations are made for the Daemon, Sansa and the rest of the Starks to head North and pay Roose Bolton back for his treachery. Yet before they can go, Daemon makes his move to cross off two more names from his mother's list.

For those following my other fics, Winter King and Last Wolf are up next followed by Aemon the Dragonknight and Purple Deception.