Elphaba818:

There's really no excuse for how long it's taken to get this chapter online, considering the last update was all the way back in November, and it's close to the end of April now… but life happened. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. The Disney College Program is so much fun… but succeeding in it requires all your time and energy! Whenever I have time off, I'm off enjoying the theme parks because I know that my time in the program is limited and I want to use all my free time taking advantage of my time here.

So if anyone out there wants to know who's to blame for how long it's taken Longclaw and I to get this chapter finished, point your fingers at me, not Longclaw. He's blameless in the long delay. It's my fault and I take full responsibility for that fact.

I'm so sorry for making you all wait so long to read this chapter! Truly I am! However, I think you'll find that it was well worth the wait! Not only is this chapter very long to make up for the long delay, but what you'll be reading in the chapter itself… Well, I don't want to spoil anything, but let's just say that what you'll be reading in today's installment has already been foreshadowed in earlier chapters regarding a few key details. I highly suggest after reading this chapter to go back and reread the story to see if you can find any of those old foreshadows. This chapter has been planned ever since the early outlining stages, and I'm very pleased with how it turned out!

I think I've said all that I wanted to say, so I'll pass the mic over to Longclaw now. Once again, I'm so sorry for the long delay! It wasn't intentional! And I hope you enjoy the chapter and will leave a nice review when you're done! :D

Happy Reading!

- Elphaba818

Longclaw 1-6:

Hey… not gonna focus on the delay, it is what it is. But the story is not dead and we're better than ever. A long chapter for all of you, some meaty stuff. Enjoy!

Chapter Twenty-Four: I Look Back, I am Lost

"I did this… I know I did…"

"Don't talk that way, Lyaella! It wasn't your fault!"

"N-No, it was… Thorne… He killed him… He k-killed him 'cause—"

"He killed him because he hated the Lord Commander, Lyaella. You had nothing to do with this."

"B-But… But—!"

Smack!

She yelped. "Ahh! S-Shireen…?"

Dark eyes narrowed considerably. "Did you tell Thorne you wanted him to kill Jon Snow?"

"No…"

"Did you ever tell anyone you wanted Targaryen supporters here at Castle Black to prove their loyalty to you?"

"W-What? No, I—"

"Then it's not your fault. Don't ever think otherwise."

Lyaella swallowed. She and Shireen were sitting quietly in front of the fireplace in the solar of her future father's private office. Ser Davos, Edd, and Tormund had all been rather insistent that they stay out of the way for a while before dragging Lady Melisandre back into the room where Jon's body was. Lyaella didn't know what they wanted with the Red Woman, but she truly didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore. She'd failed her mission. Jon was dead. The future would definitely go down a far worse path than the world she'd come from. Without Jon Snow, the world was going to be totally unprepared when the Night King marched on the Wall.

Granted, he destroyed the Wall last time because he killed one of her future mother's dragons. He used that to bring the Wall down… but the reason why Daenerys Targaryen's dragons went beyond the Wall in the first place was to rescue Jon Snow and his allies when they went searching for a wight as proof of the dead, right? Maybe the reason Lady Kinvara's spell sent her this far back in time was to ensure her father died before that happened? So no one would go looking for proof of wights and cause her mother's dragons to end up in the Night King's clutches? If so, she'd been a fool to trust Lady Kinvara. Because of her, she'd lost Torrhen and Shadow. She might have met her father and gotten to know him briefly, but she'd barely bonded with him at all. He'd always been so distant with her… This wasn't worth it! Going back in time hadn't been worth it if it meant losing Torrhen and Shadow forever and being forced to witness her own father's murder.

Fresh tears sprung to her eyes… but they quickly stopped when Shireen cuffed her again.

"Ahh! S-Stop it, Shireen!"

"No, I won't! Not until you stop pitying yourself like this! You can't spend your life always crying and not doing anything to help yourself, Lyaella! Not when you know you're here to make a difference!"

She cringed. Tucking her legs up to her chest from her spot on the bed, she hugged her knees tightly. "What do you want me to d-do instead? I… I don't know how to start making a d-difference, Shireen. Torrhen's smarter than me, there… I'm not a p-planner. I come up with ideas in the moment, not in a-advance. And besides… it's not like any changes I've made in time so far have been all that great…"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, excluding the fact you're alive — and I don't understand how me being here changed that fact, though I'm glad it did — I didn't know about some of the stuff that's been happening so far, so I couldn't change things even if I'd wanted to. I… I didn't know Maester Aemon even existed, so it's not like I could've prevented his death… I didn't think the army of the dead was even real, so I didn't do anything to help Jon save more of the Free Folk… And I definitely didn't know anything about Jon being attacked by his fellow brothers here in the Night's Watch! I couldn't stop it if I didn't know about it, could I?"

Shireen frowned as she considered this, then quickly straightened. "What's done is done, then. Maybe you should focus instead on what you do know and what you can change." Lyaella stared blankly. "Focus on the things you know for a fact will happen," she clarified. "Like… you said before your father is supposed to become the King of the North, yes?"

"Y-Yes…"

"And your mother is the Mother of Dragons. Well, if she's going to become the Mad Queen shortly after meeting your father, why not have them meet sooner so he can change her fate?"

"I… what?"

Shireen smiled, nodding to herself as she started pacing back and forth. "Yes, yes that would definitely change things… Jon Snow is a good man, Lyaella. You're lucky to have him as your future father. I don't know much about Daenerys Targaryen other than the rumors, but if she's a good person and simply succumbed to Targaryen Madness due to your relatives plotting, then the best thing to do is get Jon Snow to meet her sooner rather than later. Love is a powerful thing. It makes people change for the better in the right circumstances."

"That's t-true I guess, but—"

"My father might be gone, but I'm in control of his fleet, now. It's too dangerous for me to stay here in Westeros anyway with the Lannister's in charge… We should sail to Meereen! You, me, and Jon Snow!"

"Shireen—"

"I'll tell her I'll pledge the Stormlands to her cause if she lets me keep the Stormlands and Dragonstone! You'll be with your future mother! And Jon Snow and her will meet sooner—"

"Shireen! Jon is dead! It doesn't even matter anymore!" The little doe blinked, turning to Lyaella abruptly. Lyaella didn't meet her gaze, though. She just sniffled and buried her face into her knees. "He's… He's gone, Shireen. None of that matters, now. Not when my interference here in the past has already changed the future for… for the worst!"

Her shoulders trembled, and all at once she started sobbing.

"I… I just wanted to get to know him… I miss Torrhen and Shadow, and I was always… always more interested in my mother's stories rather than his, but… but I was still so happy being here! I didn't care about anything else! I just wanted to spend time with him… I forgot that he's important! That I was supposed to be helping him do better in this timeline! Now… Now he's gone! The Night King… he'll tear apart the Seven Kingdoms now 'cause Jon won't be able to rally everyone together! This… This is all my fault!"

She was right. She knew she was right. The future guaranteed the end of mankind with Jon gone. And it was all because her existence in the past made Thorne believe he had to kill the greatest man in the world just to appease her…

"Maybe not. I'm not convinced that's true."

Her head snapped up. "You saw what they did to him! You saw his body! Thorne and Olly… they admitted it!"

"No, no. I saw he's dead… I mean I don't think that's the end of the line."

Lyaella blinked at her. Once. Twice. Three times. Even Sōnar from where she'd been watching them quietly near the fire did a double take at the Baratheon princess, warbling in confusion.

Shireen grimaced, wringing her hands anxiously as she gazed nervously to the closed door. "I… I know this whole thing has been shocking for you, Lyaella. I had trouble accepting that my parents are gone, too… but unlike me, I think you might have a chance at getting your father back."

Her gray eyes were still blank, but Lyaella managed to shake her head. "You're… You're not making…"

"Hear me out! Please!" Shireen pleaded. "Think about it, Lyaella… If what you've told me about yourself is true, then you're Jon Snow's daughter from the future. You haven't been born yet… but if he's really gone for good, how can you still be here? If things have changed to the point that you'll never be born… shouldn't you have… I don't know… disappeared or something?"

"I… I don't know…"

"Exactly! You're still here. You didn't become a ghost or died on the spot the second he did. I think there's still a chance you can fix things… But you need to stop crying and feeling sorry for yourself whenever things don't go the way you plan! Get up! We need to think this through and figure out how we're going to change things for the better, starting with bringing Jon Snow back to life!"

Lyaella cringed. Her friend had a point. Sitting here crying wasn't doing anyone any favors, especially not Jon… but it was the only way she knew how to cope with things considering how she grew up in Winterfell. Torrhen was the only person in the world who could fully understand why.

But maybe Shireen could, too? "It's… It's good to cry, Shireen…"

"Not right now, it's not!"

"N-No, it is… Sometimes hiding away and crying is the best thing you should do…"

Shireen gaped. "If that's what you think, then that red priestess chose the wrong person to come back in time. Stand up! Wipe away your tears and help me think up a solution!"

Lyaella sighed, but rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand as she got up. She knew Shireen meant well, but it was silly of her to think she'd understand the truth of this. She was a Southerner who grew up in a good home. Selyse Baratheon may not have been a loving mother, but it wasn't the same as having an entire culture against you.

Slumping a bit, she crossed the room to wrap her arms around Sōnar's neck. "Fine… what do you think we do then? I don't know anything about bringing people back to life. What do you suggest?"

Immediately, Shireen's sternness vanished, and in its place was a certain rigidity to her form that bordered on uncertainty. "Come now… you really don't know anything? You're a Targaryen! Targaryen's have always been known to do extraordinary things!"

"I'm a Snow, not a Targaryen. And as you know, my relatives never let me or Torrhen study more than the bare minimum facts about our real House. My time studying in the library here at Castle Black about my real House is the most I've ever been able to learn at all."

"Oh… Oh, I see…"

"Wait… have you been urging me to really think about this because you don't have any ideas, either?"

"I… Well, I—"

A sharp knock on the door interrupted them, and moments later it swung open to reveal the sympathetic face of Ser Davos. "Princess, Lady Lyaella."

"Ser Davos," Shireen exclaimed, turning at once. "Is something the matter?"

"I'm… I'm not entirely certain, Princess. We've just had an idea we've been discussing with the Red Woman. About the Lord Commander."

Shireen jerked and quickly glanced back over her shoulder, but Lyaella froze, giving the Onion Knight her full and undivided attention.

"I've seen her do impossible things. Unexplainable things. You know very well I've never been a devout man, Princess, but what I've seen her do… I don't know if it's because of her Lord of Light, the Old Gods, the Seven, or whatever magic's out there, but she's shown me miracles exist. If there's anyone who can bring back the Lord Commander, it's her."

There was silence broken only by the crackling of the fire. Shireen smiled at Lyaella, her eyes sparkling with hope, but Lyaella didn't meet her gaze. A thousand thoughts were swirling through her mind all at once. Was this the answer? Part of her wanted to run headfirst into the other room and see for herself if Jon could come back thanks to Lady Melisandre's magic. But the other…

"Is that… wise, though?" She croaked, her tongue like lead. "I-I-I mean… what if something goes wrong? If she does bring him back, will he still be Jon? She… She scares me! Is it safe for her to do it?"

Shireen looked baffled, but Ser Davos smiled. "She's just as nervous about doing this herself as you are, Lyaella, but that only proves she is the right person to do it."

"What?"

"If she were completely certain nothing would go wrong, I'd be suspicious of her doing it because arrogance is the last thing you should have when dabbling with life and death. The fact she's approaching this cautiously means she intends to be careful. I'd never suggest this if I were uncertain what would happen to the Lord Commander afterwards."

He had a good point. Moreover, Ser Davos had always looked out for her and Torrhen in her timeline and had served her future father faithfully. She was still somewhat wary of Lady Melisandre considering how she misinterpreted that time years ago between her Torrhen regarding their long gone other friends… but since Shireen was still alive, she hadn't sacrificed anyone to the Lord of Light to help Stannis' army prior to his advance on Winterfell. She may have still burned people alive before she arrived in the past, but perhaps her fate wasn't to be a murderer in this new timeline. Could she really save her future father's life?

"We have nothing to lose if it doesn't work, Lyaella," Shireen added. "We have to at least try."

It took her only a few more moments, but finally Lyaella nodded. "Okay… let's try it!"

"Follow me."

Jon's corpse rested on a table in the middle of the chamber of the next room, pale white flesh illuminated by a brazier in the corner. Lyaella had to bite back a sob. I have to be strong… be strong… Faced with the image of her father dead like this, it was just as hellish as before.

Even moreso, now that she had some hope.

Did this happen in her past? That he died like this? Jon Snow had brought the Wildlings back, and then he led them against Ramsay Snow at what the histories called the Battle of the Bastards. He was supposed to live, but Thorne and the others undoubtedly would've hated him in the past as well even without her for the alliance with the Wildlings. Is Shireen right? Was it not me that caused this?

If that was the case, then Melisandre must've saved him then too.

She had to.

She has to.

"You have to…" she murmured.

A gentle hand placed itself on her shoulder. "I know it may seem... fantastical," she heard Davos tell her, his voice just as comforting as she remembered — even moreso, without the same weight of pain that the older Davos possessed. "I've seen this one—" his good hand pointed a finger at Melisandre "—do a great many things. Things most men wouldn't believe. I don't even know what I saw at times. Still, bringing Lord Snow doesn't seem impossible to me."

Lyaella looked up at him, seeing his warm smile. "I… I've seen… so many miraculous things in my life. But… but…"

"You really trust him, don't you?"

He was perceptive — sometimes too perceptive. Shireen thought so, glancing at Lyaella with a worried look. "I… he's the one that protected me. Cared for me… after Aemon died…"

"I understand." Davos embraced her loosely — a natural father he was. "Are you ready for this, Lady Melisandre?"

With the others of the Night's Watch — Sam, Edd, and the rest of Jon's allies — and Wildings such as Tormund stood off to the sides of the chamber, Melisandre was still at the edge of the table. Hovering over the middle of Jon's corpse, a sheet covering his lower half out of respect for Lyaella and Shireen's modesty. "Everything is settled."

Lyaella swallowed. "Just… make it work. Bring him back. Please."

Melisandre showed no reaction. "I have all desire to do so, young dragon. The cause… the dawn, it is leaderless, and if Ser Davos is right, then Jon Snow is vital for—"

"I don't care!" Lyaella choked out. "Just bring him back, please!"

"Do it, Lady Melisandre," Shireen ordered, moving to Lyaella's side and taking her hands in hers. "No more talk. Just see it done."

Taking a deep exhale, Melisandre splayed her hands across the table — studying Jon, analyzing him from head to toe. His chest sported the scars he'd already obtained, ones long since healed yet four powerfully raw and open all over his stomach… and his heart. Ones that Lyaella couldn't help but stare at, wishing she had the strength to look away. To not torture herself. Only Shireen's touch and Davos' comforting presence saved her. Ghost's as well, the direwolf trundling from his post to set himself right in front of her, licking her cheek and doing his best to curl round her. Lyaella appreciated it.

The stewards having already cleaned Jon of blood and grime, the Red Woman merely washed her own hands in the bowl of warm water set to the side, the sounds of the sloshing liquid all that pierced the silent din. Once it was finally done, Melisandre retrieved a pair of shears from her sleeve. She began to recite a prayer in High Valyrian.

"We ask the Lord to shine his light, and lead a soul out of the darkness."

Melisandre clipped several locks of Jon's hair, tossed them in the fire burning in the hearth. Lyaella watched with growing apprehension. Then hair from Jon's beard, also into the fire. She brought a flagon of water from a separate table nearby, not before setting the water basin below Jon's head. This was… unnatural, but Lyaella couldn't help but remember all that Kinvara had done, in possession of the same magical abilities as Melisandre. Such stilled her worries. As she poured the water through Jon's hair, she said more words in High Valyrian. She raked her fingers through the loose hairs, making sure it was dried as much as possible.

"We beg the Lord to share his fire, and light a candle that has gone out."

Jon's body was unmoving, nothing had changed. The Red Woman moved to stand over him. Hands outstretched across Jon's body. Then coming to lay her palms over Jon's wounds. She spoke more words from the prayer again.

"From darkness, light. From ashes, fire. From death, life."

And then she fell silent. Her hand still hovered over Jon's chest, but nothing else emerged from her lips, looking as if she was simply waiting. Lyaella waited as well, her heart beating out of her chest. What did she expect to happen? Her father simply waking at that moment?

Melisandre shook her head slightly and kept repeating the words.

"From darkness, light. From ashes, fire. From death, life."

The same from before, but with more emphasis, Melisandre closed her eyes, and raised her voice like that would help. Her hands came off Jon, only to be pressed down harder.

"From darkness, light. From ashes, fire. From death, life."

Despite her best efforts, it didn't work. Jon didn't come back.

Turning, Melisandre grimaced. "I don't know what else to do."

"What?" Lyaella couldn't believe it. "You had to! This wasn't supposed to happen!"

"Calm down, child," Davos tried to say…

But Lyaella raced to Melisandre, fists out and pounding the Red Woman. "This isn't how it happens! He's supposed to live! Bring him back! Bring him back!"

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

Shireen was behind her, trying to pull Lyaella away. "Please, Lya, don't destroy yourself."

None of them noticed Ghost move to Jon's side, tail wagging and sniffing his chest. Altogether excited…

Until a loud gasp echoed through the chambers. Tormund whipped his head around, Edd stumbled, Sam looked ready to faint, while Davos gaped.

Breaking apart from Shireen and Melisandre, Lyaella saw what made the noise. There, bent over in sheer agony while sucking in ragged breaths was her father. Alive. Alive! "Unbelievable," gaped Shireen.

But Lyaella cared not. "Jon!" Father! She raced to his side, smiling and crying, embracing him. "You're back… you're back…"

Instinctively, Jon Snow returned the embrace.

It was hot. Blistering hot. The Essos sun was unforgiving on even a regular day. But now when being forced to trudge along as a captive across the scorching desert with his future mother by the Dothraki? Relentless. The heat was relentless.

"Let us drink!" Torrhen yelled at his Dothraki guards, the two of them riding atop their mounts while he and Daenerys marched behind, tied to ropes. One looked over his shoulder for a moment… only to shrug and focus ahead again. "Oy, stupid! I'm talking to you!"

Normally silent, Daenerys nudged him with her shoulder. "Torrhen, enough."

Her words only inflamed his anger, but not at her. "I know she's thirsty too! Give us water!" Torrhen's screeches drew their attention finally, the young lad remembering one of the few Dothraki words he had mastered. "Eveth! Eveth!" Water! Water!

Both mounted guards glanced at each other, speaking in mocking tones before laughing. One took out a waterskin, drained it half dry… then with a leer poured half of it onto the dusty ground. Belting out something before chuckling at him.

Torrhen gritted his teeth. "What did he say?"

His future mother sighed. "Something I shall not repeat, but it was insulting." The horses lurched forward again and they were back to where they started. "Torrhen, you can't just yell at them and expect to be served."

"But you're suffering… I can take it, but you shouldn't." She seemed to look down, hiding the tiny, touched smile on her lips. "Aren't you their Dowager Queen or something? That should be worth better treatment… at least a horse and some water?"

She shook her head. "Deceased Khals carry no loyalty beyond the grave. They may be admired for glorious deeds or brave deaths, but for Drogo…" Daenerys closed her eyes. "His death wasn't such, not through fault of his own. He died looking weak and thus even if they were inclined to respect me — they wouldn't."

He blinked, narrowing his eyes before gazing forward at the almost endless horde stretched out over miles… marching to what seemed to be nowhere. "No offense, your grace… but in other words, you're nothing to them then, right?"

"Correct."

"Then why aren't they killing us? Where are we going?"

"They're taking me where all widowed Khaleesis go… the Dosh Khaleen in Vaes Dothrak." She laughed all of a sudden. "Doreah told me of it once, but I always assumed strong Drogo would live long enough for me to end in Westeros and for Viserys to free me… naive, wasn't I?"

Peering at the woman who would become his mother, Torrhen fought the urge to cringe. He'd never met Jon Snow — though obviously he was alive in this time. Yet, just as when Daario would flaunt his closeness to the Queen, the lad hated the thought of any man but his father being… that way with her. Didn't mix with the tragic love story he and Lyaella spun for the man buried in the Winterfell Crypt and the woman honored only with a carving at the back of the sarcophagus. Hearing the wistfulness in her voice as she spoke of her former Dothraki husband was hard for him.

"I hope they all burn when we finally escape."

Before his mother could respond, the loud blow from a horn resonated from the front. It carried on, more horns cascading down to amplify the signal. "We're stopping for an hour," Daenerys told him, the guards swinging off their horses the key telling point. "Say nothing."

This time, Torrhen accepted the advice and before he knew it a half-full water skin and some tough jerky were tossed into their laps. While his throat ached with thirst, he waited until Daenerys drank her fill before she handed it to him. "Thank you, for going first." He took a long swig — warm and brackish, it nevertheless tasted wonderful. "I'd have given you all of it if you asked."

"Torrhen, you need not harm yourself for me."

"No." He shook his head. "You're more important than me. I'm… meaningless." Torrhen shrugged. "Can't even control my temper enough for you to trust me."

He was aware of her eyes on him, but the hug came out of nowhere. Torrhen didn't try to resist it, in fact accepting the embrace greedily. Lyaella's and sometimes Ser Davos' were all he was given growing up apart from stiff ones from his aunts — none of them could compare to a motherly embrace. It almost drove him to tears. "You are my family, Torrhen… I see that now, and I'm sorry I didn't before, but we are all that we have." She kissed his forehead, and that did drive him to hot tears.

Near trembling, the Dothraki around them not bothering to pay a slight woman and a child any heed, Torrhen gave in and fully melded himself to Daenerys. It felt… wondrous to finally let go and seek out his mother. However infuriating she was at times for not letting him in or somehow listening to him, she was in all other respects exactly what he had dreamed… no, better. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I hate being angry all the time…"

"Shhhh… I understand." Another kiss, this time to his cheek. "And forgive me, for not listening to you. While you need experience and more finesse, your ideas aren't without merit." He noticed a wry grin on her face. "And it stands to reason Captain Daario needs to learn finesse as well."

He scowled. "So you agree, he's an irritating fool."

"Sometimes, though he has his uses… and he is loyal to me." Even Torrhen had to grudgingly admit that. "Now," she stroked his cheek. "The Dothraki will be resting for a while after the long ride, so we have some time to pass." A look of melancholy crossed her face. "You are my blood, Torrhen Snow, the only blood of House Targaryen remaining besides your sister and I." Torrhen didn't correct her. He couldn't, not yet. No one could know the full truth yet. Only him and Lyaella. "It pains me — though all my fault — that Ser Barristan, Ser Jorah, and Missandei know more of you than I do. So please… tell me your story."

Torrhen bit his lip. "There's a lot to tell… much of it painful."

"Then you are in good company," she cagily replied. "Please, I want to know."

Truth and half-truth time.

"You don't have to be here."

Looking up at Jon, bundled up in her gray wool cloak over her dyed-black dress, Lyaella's eyes were set with such a cold rage as to make his heart ache. "No." Her voice was as hard as steel. "I have to."

Bending down, Jon clapped his hand on her shoulder. He could literally feel her trembling. "They killed me. I must be the one to swing the sword."

"You are not Lord Commander," Lyaella replied, though her words were tight. Desperate for his comfort. She needed him to stay strong. "They killed you for me. I must be there."

She had a point. "Just know you do not have to be so strong."

She faltered at that, biting her lip and looking away. Still, her gray eyes met his own after a tired sigh. "I don't wanna be… but we're Snows. We're either strong or we die."

There were still some signs of the scared little girl that had mysteriously showed up at the tail end of the Battle of Castle Black… but now there was something else there, too. The inner fire of a dragon — one coupled with ice.

The ice of a Stark? It certainly reminded Jon of his own family. Of himself even. Still, it was puzzling seeing that in her. She was a Northerner, yes, but still a Targaryen. Why did he see the traits of his own House inside her? It made no sense…

His head hurting alongside every other part of his body not numb, Jon dismissed his thoughts. No point dwelling on them right now. There were more important issues at hand. "Let's get it done then."

It was a familiar sight for the both of them. All had gathered in the center of Castle Black to watch the execution, much as they had for Mance's. All his black brothers. Former black brothers. The Free Folk, led by Tormund and his daughter Munda… not to mention the massive giant Wun Wun. Melisandre gazed upon the sight with that all-knowing expression of hers. Stannis and his wife weren't present for obvious reasons, but Davos was there. Shireen was next to him, as defiant about showing up as Lyaella was. No wonder they're friends. Jon didn't smile, but the fact brought a tiny warmth to his shattered heart.

Lyaella was the only one that did… her and Ghost.

As if by thought, Ghost trotted up to their side — Lyaella's hand immediately burying itself in his fur. And atop the roof, Sōnar made her presence known with a loud screech. She'd been healing well. Good to know dragons recovered quickly unless their wounds were truly debilitating.

When the three of them reached the platform of the gallows, Ghost waited at the foot of the stairs while Jon led Lyaella up to the top. "Stay here," he warned, to which she was silent… except for a nod. Glad she wasn't making it difficult, he approached the four men whom he had once called his brothers. Watching them… seeing the various emotions playing out on their faces.

Feeling a deep loathing for them all, thinking of the pain in the little girl's eyes whenever she gazed at him first thing in the morning, wondering if he was truly alive.

"If you have any last words," he spoke, voice hoarse as the snow fell lightly all around him, "now is the time."

"You shouldn't be alive," spoke Bowen Marsh, the former First Steward, in a stunned tone. "It's not right."

A snort. "Neither was killing me, your Lord Commander," Jon bit back. He watched Marsh's adam's apple bob up and down with disbelief and panic before moving on to the next man. The former first builder, Othell Yarwyck.

"My mother's still living at White Harbor," Yarwyck pleaded when Jon met his eyes. Begging for a form of mercy. "Could you write to her? Tell her I died fighting the Wildings."

Before he could speak, Jon heard the wood creak as small boots marched forward. Seeing Lyaella approach, he stepped aside… only to watch her spit in Yarwyck's face. The girl's grey eyes blazed with fury before she looked to Jon and backed up to where she began.

He turned back to Yarwyck. "I will not lie to your mother," Jon spat as he moved down the line. What a coward.

Next in line was someone that brought him more regret than loathing. A young boy, barely past puberty and yet with eyes so hardened as to have rivaled Lord Commander Mormont. Yet while the late Jeor Mormont had been grizzled with experience, he hadn't held hate in his heart or expression. This one did — consumed with it. As if such were the only emotion he had left.

"Olly?" Jon asked sadly, looking the young boy in the eyes. Did he fail this boy, one who had been so devoted to him when he first arrived at Castle Black? Glancing at Lyaella, whose eyes only softened when falling on him, he knew the answer to that. Olly failed himself. "Do you have any last words?"

His former personal steward — still bearing the claw marks and black eye from how Lyaella had set upon him — just stared at him with an unwavering hate, proving once more such was all that was left of him.

Leaving Olly, Jon finally arrived at the final figure tied to the noose. One he wished to hate as much as Olly hated him, but finding his heart only holding an icy contempt. "Ser Alliser," Jon announced with a clipped tone. "Any last words?"

Thorne was different from the others. Two were criminals honed to battle and the other a vengeful child, but this one had been a knight. "I had a choice, Lord Commander. Betray you or betray the Night's Watch. Betray you or betray the house I once served." His eyes flickered to Lyaella before looking once more at Jon. "You brought an army of Wildlings into our lands. An army of murderers and raiders. You bewitched this girl. A girl that could bring Westeros back to the way it should have been had your aunt not bewitched the Last Dragon." He shrugged. "If I had to do it all over knowing where I'd end up, I pray I'd make the right choice again," the older knight said proudly with his head held high. "I fought, I lost. Now I rest. But you, Lord Snow, you'll be fighting their battles forever."

Jon hadn't planned to say anything more, but hearing the words about Lyaella… he couldn't help the words that formed on his lips. "You think I am her enemy?"

"Where Starks go, Targaryens die. Such is the truth of it."

Having nothing further to say to Thorne, Jon was about to simply walk off when the scuffing atop the wooden deck filled his ears again. Unlike with Yarwyck, Lyaella's expression didn't radiate fury. True it was there… but the smirk on her face was far more menacing. "I am still here and still alive, Thorne. What does that say of Lord Snow?"

He didn't back down. "His family destroyed yours, seduced the Crown Prince and then murdered all of them."

Shaking her head, Lyaella chuckled. "There is so much you don't know, Thorne." She turned to Jon. "I'd like to share a word with him."

"Lya…"

"Please, Lord Snow?"

Jon found he couldn't deny her a single thing. Motioning to two of the brothers, they brought a stool over for her to stand on — bringing her to Thorne's height if she stood on her tip toes, which she did. He couldn't hear what she whispered in Thorne's ear, but the man's eyes widened in disbelief. Eyes set dead center on Jon.

But before he could say anything, Lyaella shoved a rag into Thorne's mouth. Not stopping till he was properly gagged and unable to speak, though damned did he try. Babbling, writhing like a desperate madman whereas he had been stoic only moments prior. Even Marsh and Yarwyck stared at him in confusion.

Olly simply glared at Jon.

Lyaella noticed, and quickly fixed her attention on him. "Believe it or not, Olly, I understand how you feel."

Jon blinked. Bowen Marsh and Othell Yarwyck blinked. Thorne kept writhing desperately, but even he paused for a split second in confusion. Olly did nothing, but he did shift his glare from Jon to the younger girl.

Lyaella was undeterred. "I said it before, didn't I? My brother and I never knew our parents. They're dead because of the cruelty of our relatives. I understand better than anyone how you must feel… but you're stupider than stupid to take that hatred out on Jon. You think every Wilding still alive is responsible for the deaths of your parents?"

Red hot hate burned in Olly's eyes as he gritted his teeth.

"I hate my aunts and uncle. I wish they were dead… but I'm not going to kill people who aren't responsible for what happened and were simply third parties just to get revenge. You're stupider than stupid. I pity you."

"Pity?!" Olly spat. "Fuck you! Fuck you and Jon Snow!" He leapt furiously against his restraints, the venom in his glare promising an never ending onslaught of pain if he managed to get free.

Lyaella shook her head in disgust and hopped off the stool without another glance back. "Poor excuse for last words," she muttered. Dragging the stool aside, she finally looked back at him. "I'm done."

Nodding, Jon walked to the rope keeping them from falling to their deaths, drawing his sword. He glanced behind him at the still writhing, desperate Thorne. To Olly's glare. To Tormund and Edd… to Melisandre and Davos… and finally to Lyaella, who nodded herself. Sighing, Jon twirled his blade and brought it down as hard as he did for Janos Slynt, severing the rope.

Barrels knocked out from under them, the four condemned dropped, writhing around with gasping breaths as life was slowly choked out of them.

He wanted to watch them, savor their death and hope it would add some emotion to his tortured soul, but a faint whimper drew his attention. Lyaella, trying to be strong, was starting to falter. Watching the execution… and her good heart overwhelming the draconic steel.

Wordlessly, he crossed the platform and squeezed her shoulder, trying to turn her away from the sight. Sheathing the child from the still writhing traitors. She shouldn't watch this.

She wasn't innocent, wasn't sheltered, but a girl her age should've been. By the seven above, she was younger than his sisters were when they went to King's Landing.

It wasn't fair, what she'd endured over her young life.

But Lyaella was like ice, firm and unmoving as she refused his prompt to look away.

Finally, the writhing stopped. Each of the prisoners passing into the sweet mercy of death — for them, their troubles were over. Yet for those alive, theirs had just begun. Looking at them, their eyes wide and all emotion but agony vanished from their expressions, Jon tightened his grasp on her shoulder and forcibly turned Lyaella away. "It's done. Let's go."

"I… I…" she murmured. "I didn't… I wanted them dead, but… but…"

"I know, Lya. I know." He smiled down at her. "You were incredibly brave."

She glanced up at him at that with furrowed brows, but he only steered her back down the platform steps. No reason she should be near the bodies for even a second longer. "Can… we go to a heart tree? Please?" She murmured. "I need… I need to be near one…"

Jon nodded. "Of course, just dress in your riding clothes." She nodded and dashed off for the main keep.

Trying to follow, he was sidelined by Edd. "We should burn the bodies."

Watching her, Ghost right by her side, Jon sighed and looked at Edd. Needing this over with so he could go to her. "Aye, you should."

Edd's brows furrowed. "What…?"

But Jon had removed his cloak, the biting cold feeling like nothing against him — since his death, he had always been cold. "You are the Lord Commander now, Edd." Thrusting the cloak of a black brother into the shocked Edd's arms, Jon followed after Lyaella. "My watch has ended."

It worried him to take Lyaella north of the Wall, but Jon didn't show it outwardly. Still, he was nevertheless quite armed, carrying Longclaw and a suit of mail underneath his old cloak from Winterfell — not to mention several dragonglass daggers and finding a sword sheath that fitted Dark Sister for Lyaella. She also brought her lyre for some bizarre reason. Ghost bounded through the snow next to them while Sōnar flew overhead. Slowly, but essentially healed completely.

The weirwood that served the Night's Watch — where he had sworn his vows — was close to the Wall. One of the few areas in the southern tip of the Haunted Forest that Mance's army avoided as they advanced on Castle Black.

It took about a half-hour's ride to arrive at the heart tree. Already, Jon could feel the spiritual power overcoming him. But he hung back. Scouting the area around the tree while Lyaella headed to its base. Nothing much. "Ghost, let me know if you spot something," he murmured softly to his wolf. Ghost swiped his nose with his tongue, which drew a smile and a ruffle of his fur.

A shuffling in the snow behind him caught his ear and he turned back around. Within seconds his eyes went wide. "Oy! What in god's name are you doing?!"

Lyaella jumped in alarm, her gray cloak slipping from her hands and landing in the snow. He had no idea why she'd taken it off, but she'd been approaching the weirwood's face with it held out in front of her. "W-What?"

He marched forward, snatching it up. "Put your cloak back on! It's freezing out here!" Seizing her wrist, he tried to drag her closer to drape it back over her shoulders, but she squeaked, vehemently shaking her head as she retreated several paces.

"N-No! No, no! I need to hide!"

"Hide? What're you—?"

Quick as a flash, she ran around the base of the heart tree's trunk until she was directly behind him again, and promptly snatched her cloak back. He blinked, but before he could say anything she spared a half-second glance at the weirwood's eyes before darting back around the tree the same way to be back on the other side. Keeping one eye on the screaming face at all times, she made sure to keep out of sight of the weirwood's gaze as she carefully hung her cloak over the branches like a curtain, covering the face completely.

Only when she was done did she finally relax. Retrieving her lyre from atop a nearby boulder and motioning her dragon to join her, she plopped down in the snow to sit against the heart tree. Sōnar had grown considerably however since they had arrived at the Wall, and thus her bulk was behind the tree with her neck curled around it, resting her head in Lyaella's lap. Snuggling even closer to Sōnar to stay warm, she gently stroked her scales with one hand while idly plucking the strings of her lyre with the other. She would've looked so sweet and innocent… were it not for the hollowed out look in her eyes and how hard she was shivering.

Baffled, Jon shook his head and slowly approached, kneeling down beside her. "Are you alright?" She didn't respond. "Aren't you cold?" No answer. "Why hang it up like that? Why cover the face?"

"To hide."

He blinked. Her response was so short and to the point… yet it only raised more questions. "Hide? From the Old Gods?"

"No."

"Then who?"

She tensed, curling further into herself as a cold wind whipped past. "It's… It's a long story, but to put it simply, my uncle."

"What?"

"I'll explain another time. Don't ask right now."

Jon didn't know what to make of that, but he let it go. "All right… but you'll freeze like that. Here, move over." Settling down next to her, he draped the edge of his own cloak around her shoulders and dragged her closer.

She blinked in surprise, but quickly scooted over so she was pressed up against him, smiling appreciatively as she clung to the wool and furs. "Thank you…" she whispered.

Silence reigned over them after that, broken only by the random notes Lyaella plucked at her lyre and from the soft snorting and panting from Sōnar and Ghost. And it was only after several minutes passed that Jon realized she wasn't going to talk at all unless he urged her to.

"You were affected by the execution." It wasn't a question.

Lyaella nodded. "They deserved to die for what they did to you. The last of my family left anywhere near me."

He blinked. "Family?"

There was a long beat until she finally said, "Uncle Aemon, he… he called you the closest thing he had to a living son — as old as he was." Her voice was a little halting. "That makes us family, no?"

Jon wasn't sure she was telling him the whole truth, but accepted it. "I suppose it does." He reached around her shoulder and pulled her closer to him. "You are too young to be in the middle of all this death and suffering, though from what you've told me about your life, I take it you're used to it."

She sobbed softly. "Y-Yes…"

He let out a breath. "Well, I am free of my vows, having died and all." Jon quickly added after that, "I am free to travel wherever you wish."

Now the tears flowed freely from Lyaella. "Do… do you mind if… I play something?"

"If it would soothe your soul, then I'd love to hear it."

Pausing to give him a hesitant smile, she slowly propped up her lyre and plucked the strings, calling forth a sad, haunting tune. As he listened, a sense of familiarity coursed through his mind. He knew this melody. He was sure he knew it… but Jon couldn't figure out how he knew it. Or at least, not until she started to sing.

"Are you, are you,

Comin' to the tree?

Where they strung up a man,

They say who murdered three.

Strange things did happen here,

No stranger would it be,

If we met at midnight in the hanging tree…"

The hairs rose on the back of Jon's neck. Fuck… now he remembered. The Hanging Tree. One of the most morbid Northern songs ever composed.

"Are you, are you,

Comin' to the tree?

Where a dead man called out,

For his love to flee.

Strange things did happen here,

No stranger would it be,

If we met at midnight in the hanging tree…"

Jon glanced down at Lyaella, doing his best to not be too obvious. Lyaella didn't seem to be aware of this, though. She just stared listlessly at a snowbank some ways off as she kept playing.

"Are you, are you,

Comin' to the tree?

Where I told you to run,

So we'd both be free.

Strange things did happen here,

No stranger would it be,

If we met at midnight in the hanging tree…"

His mind was racing. Where had Lyaella learned this song? Who would teach a little girl like her this song? She was so young… did she even understand what she was singing? Moreover… why sing this here? Underneath a weirwood tree?

"Are you, are you,

Comin' to the tree?

Wear a necklace of rope,

Side by side with me.

Strange things did happen here,

No stranger would it be,

If we met at midnight in the hanging tree…"

And with a few last chords, the melody faded away, carried off by a whisper in the wind.

Lyaella was silent for several moments when she finished. Then she sighed, dragging Sōnar's head closer to hug. "Doesn't matter who you are in the end, does it? We all die one day. Bad people and good people…"

Jon swallowed. "…Why sing that?" He asked thickly, trying to keep his horror to a minimum. "Do you… Do you even understand what that song means?"

She shrugged. "More or less…"

"Then why sing that?"

"I just saw a hanging, Jon. Why else?"

"No… I mean why here? Why sing that here underneath a heart tree?"

"…Because in the song, a man waits for his lover to join him in death."

"Lyaella—"

"And my father hung himself from a weirwood so he could be with my dead mother."

Silence. Dead silence. Heavy, heavy silence.

Jon stared at her. He blinked repeatedly. He opened his mouth to say something, anything… but nothing came out. He didn't know what he'd expected her to say, but he definitely didn't expect that. What was someone supposed to say after hearing that?

No, wait… that wasn't true. He knew exactly what to say. "You… You said before your father was executed."

"No, I didn't."

He swallowed again. "But — But that day you got sick… you said he was hanged instead of beheaded. How—?"

"I said people wanted to behead him, but he died from hanging. I never said they were the ones who hung him."

It was the blankness on her face that scared him the most. The pain in her voice was undeniable, but she was so outwardly calm it frightened him. And moreover, he knew it had to be true. There was no reason for her to lie about this.

But still… "What about your mother? The people who wanted to kill him… did they get her instead?"

She tensed. "Yes and no."

"What—?"

"They wanted her dead… they all hated her… but… but…" Her eyes shut, lip quivering. "I don't wanna talk about that, alright?" She was close to pleading. "I was a baby. Too young to remember it. You wanna know more about my past? Ask me things I can actually remember happening. The memories that hurt me."

His throat bobbed. "Is that what you talked about with Maester Aemon, when he was alive?" She stiffened at the words, only for Jon to calm her with a hand on her shoulder. "He is… was very easy to talk to, so I don't blame you. He always felt like family to me. The kindly grandfather or older uncle I never had… but just know that you can confide in me as well."

She glanced at him briefly, her gray eyes so empty and sad, and then let out a heavy sigh. Shoving her lyre away, she tugged Sōnar's head closer to her chest and hugged her tightly. Sōnar warbled. "It's… It's a long story. I don't want to talk about all of it, but the part I can tell you…"

"It's okay. You — You don't have to—"

"T-That's just it. I want to… I want to, even though Torrhen and I don't ever talk about it… I just don't know where to begin…"

"Well, start at the beginning. That's the best place to start."

Lya snorted, only to giggle softly. "Everyone says you're dour and brooding, but that was actually funny." A deep sigh. "Let's see… the beginning…"

She sat there quietly for a while, eyes shut and brows furrowed in contemplation as she snuggled with Sōnar. Jon didn't dare move. Considering how hard it'd been to get the few details he had from her that day in the Main Hall, he knew he had to allow her to explain at her own pace and on her terms. Pushing Lyaella to explain herself could make her fall apart and refuse to say anything.

Swiping his pink tongue across his nose, Ghost suddenly trotted forward, pointedly coming to sit right in front of them so he could be all but nose to nose with the silver-haired little girl.

His sudden appearance made Lyaella blink, and she even stopped petting Sōnar to instead run her fingers through his fluffy fur.

Jon chuckled and gave him a quick scratch. "Hey, I thought I told you to stand guard, boy. If the dead come—"

"Ziry rhaenagon lēda iā wisp hen ānogar."

He jumped. "What? What did you say?"

"Maester Aemon… he warned me against using words from the Common Tongue if there's no direct translation for them in High Valyrian, but I don't have a choice. I… I don't know what the closest translation word is for 'wisp,' but I need to use that one…"

"Lyaella?"

Staring deeply into Ghost's dark eyes, Lyaella sighed and murmured an order under her breath to make Sōnar move off her. Planting a quick peck on his wet nose, she urged him to sit closer and rest his head on her lap in place of her dragon. "Do you remember when Maester Aemon talked about teaching me High Valyrian, he asked how much I knew already in the language?"

"Aye. I think you said you knew… four words?"

"Three."

"Oh, right. You said something about Sōnar's name meaning 'winter,' I think… And then that word you used back at Hardhome. The one that made her breathe fire?"

"Yes. Dracarys. It literally means 'dragon fire.'"

"Ah. And then… you didn't tell us what the third word you knew was."

"No… but would you like to know now?"

"Uh, I guess so…"

She paused, and then quite suddenly— "Ānogar. That means 'blood.'"

The hairs rose on the back of his neck. He might be a Northern fool, but Jon knew he wasn't going to like whatever she was about to tell him. "Why are you telling me this, Lyaella?"

Lyaella sighed. "You asked me to start at the beginning, right? Well, that's it. Ziry rhaenagon lēda iā wisp hen ānogar."

"I… beg your pardon?"

"You're the real Targaryen between us, your grace. You should know perfectly well what I said."

"No — Yes — I mean, no—"

"It's a simple sentence in High Valyrian. How can you not understand it?"

"Torrhen, It's not that I didn't understand you, I just… I just don't understand the context of what you mean."

"Well, that's the start of the story. 'It begins with a wisp of blood.'"

Dany was glad she'd waited to question Torrhen until now. If they were still being dragged along by the bloodriders, she was quite sure she would have been repeatedly stumbling due to her confusion. "'A wisp of blood…?' Who was bleeding? You? Your sister? Were one of you hurt badly?"

Torrhen humorlessly snorted. "No, no. You've got the wrong idea."

"But you just said—"

"I told you, my sister and I Northerners, your grace. It's our culture to remember what happened and to never forget it… but we hate remembering it, so we don't talk about it. We think of it in that terminology whenever we have to remember it. Wisp of blood — wisp and ānogar. Everything… Everything started going bad for us after that… but we weren't ever hurt… We weren't. But them?" He paused, kicking his toe at a lone pebble. "They were. And now they're gone…"

Dany tilted her head, feeling more confused by the minute. "Who's gone? And why does a little bit of blood bother you and your sister?"

Her words earned her a blank look. Dany was baffled. Did she just confuse Torrhen? How? He was the one confusing her.

Then his face suddenly lit up. "Oh! You think—! Right, of course!"

"Torrhen?"

"Sorry, your grace. 'Wisp of blood' is just a phrase. But the words 'wisp' and 'ānogar' alone? I didn't mean them as literal words. They're names."

"Names?"

"Aye. Wisp was Lyaella's direwolf pup… and Ānogar was my dragon egg."

"Your… Your direwolf? Your brother's dragon egg?"

"Yes…"

"But — But you said your brother didn't have a dragon, and that his friend's name is Shadow… Why isn't Wisp with you? Why only Sōnar? And why would you both have direwolves in the first place? I don't—"

It was just too much for her, and Lyaella wrapped her arms around her knees and hid her face. She didn't want to start crying again, but these questions… they just hammered home the pain from the memories of way back then. To remember it all hurt. It hurt so much…

Thankfully, Jon got the message. Lyaella kept her face buried in her knees, but after a few tense moments she heard him sigh.

"Sorry… Go ahead when you're ready."

She sniffled, and took a deep breath. "Y-You… You need to understand… we were f-five when this happened. If my m-math's right, I've been here at Castle Black for about a y-year now… So if Torrhen's still out there, we're both ten now. This stuff… it's been in our m-memories for half our lives…"

Jon didn't say anything to that. She heard him shift a bit in the snow, but this time stayed quiet.

Her shoulders trembled, but she forced herself to carry on.

"I don't like talking about all this, but if you really want to understand, your grace, I need to explain what happened a few weeks before our fifth nameday. Looking back… I think that should have been the first clue for me and Lyaella."

"First clue?"

"About what our relatives are really like. Fucking bitches and a jackass, and that's not including the scum that were their friends and allies…"

From the corner of his eye, Torrhen could see Daenerys — his mother — tilting her head, brows all muddled, but he didn't dare meet her gaze. If he was going to talk about this, he needed to focus on the memories themselves, not her. Not how he loved her or wished her happiness. No, instead he turned to scowl at a cluster of stones nearby. If he stayed focused on them, he could ignore his audience and just talk. Yes, yes that was for the best.

Still, it didn't make it any easier to remember the events themselves, and he blew a loose curl out of his eyes with a loud huff. "What did you do when you were little, Queen Daenerys?"

"Pardon?"

"To play, I mean. You and your brother who escaped the Usurper. Viserys. How'd you two play?"

His future mother looked stricken. "I… I never really played when I was little, Torrhen. Most of the time, we were running for our lives, trying to stay ahead of assassins. They aren't happy memories…"

"You don't have a single memory of playing when you were my age, your grace? Seriously?" Yet more agony, yet it was something that bonded them he supposed.

She swallowed. "Well, not playing, exactly… but the happiest memories of my childhood were when Viserys and I were living in Braavos, in a house with a lemon tree and a red door. We were cared for by an old knight who served House Targaryen, Ser Willem Darry. He was always kind to me, and told stories about life in Westeros. That house with the red door? It's… It's the only time in my life I felt like I was home…"

His heart clenched at her words. He never knew that. Nothing about his mother's life prior to her first marriage with the Dothraki khal had been recorded anywhere in the Song of Ice and Fire history tome. "Oh…"

"But why do you ask, Torrhen? What does my childhood have to do with anything?"

"I wanted to compare what you did for fun with what Lya and I did for fun when we were little. You liked hearing stories about what your life should've been like… Lya and I liked hearing stories like that, too. But we also liked playing with our father's wolf."

"What?"

"Our father died when we were babies, your grace… but he had a direwolf himself. We loved playing with him. He was really old by then and I'm sure he must've been frustrated having the two of us always chasing him around… or in my case, climbing on his back and riding him like a horse, but he never let it bother him. He was always there for us, playing with us whenever we wanted."

"Oh, how sweet. You two had a small piece of your father watching over you."

Torrhen nodded, his throat too tight to reply. His memories of Ghost were some of the happiest he had from when he was little. Playing hide and seek with Lyaella while Ghost searched for them… making snow wolves in the Winterfell courtyard with Ghost as the model after a fresh snowfall… climbing on Ghost's back and trying to kick his heels to make him giddy-up like a pony as Lyaella giggled at his silliness… They were all happy memories, but it'd been so long since he'd dwelled on them. Because thinking about those carefree days now just hurt.

Swallowing thickly, he forced himself to continue. "Long story short, our relatives didn't care if we played with our father's wolf. They knew he wouldn't hurt us… but they did have a problem with how he always tried getting us to leave with him."

"Leave?"

"Mm-hmm. He always tried leading us away from… from the place we lived. To us, it was a game. We'd follow him outside, try avoiding adults who'd tell our relatives what we were doing, but then get caught and laugh and promise not to try again. It was all a big game."

Jon just looked confused. "But… But if you two hated your relatives so much, shouldn't you have wanted to leave?"

Lyaella sighed. "You're not thinking about this as how you would have looked at the world when you're a child. Especially not where our relatives are concerned."

"I don't understand…"

"Well… let me put it like this. You told me yourself that Catelyn Stark always hated you, yes?"

"Aye."

"But when did you realize that?"

"When did I…? What?"

"How old were you when you finally understood why she treated you the way she did? Do you remember the moment you realized she'd never treat you like family?"

He blinked and turned away to stare at his lap, sighing deeply. "I'll never forget." Yet… he shot her a few befuddled looks as his eyes darted back and forth. "I… I don't get why you're asking me this. Why does that matter?"

"Because," Lyaella murmured, sighing heavily as she let her head fall back against the heart tree's trunk, "to understand, you need to remember that no matter how you feel about someone now, you didn't always feel that way. Just like I'm sure there's a moment or two in your life before you realized why Catelyn Stark would never accept you, you saw her as family… and before all this happened to me and Torrhen, we saw our relatives as family, too. No one's born hating someone. You need to have a reason to hate them, and you need to learn why you should. I've told you already why Torrhen and I hate our relatives for what they did to our parents… but it's not like we were old enough back then to know what they did to them. This story? This is only the first half of other reasons we have to hate them for what they've done personally to both of us. Things they didn't have to do at all since they already got our parents out of the way, but they did them anyway."

"…Why?"

Lyaella quivered, fighting back the urge to sob. "Because they're terrible people."

"The bottom line is that back then, my sister and I didn't understand that our relatives were people we shouldn't trust or love. To us, they were family. We saw them as family. Loved them as such… which made everything all that worse for us with what happened."

"Well what happened, exactly?"

"Long story short, Lyaella and I managed to sneak away one day by pure luck, and as soon as we were far enough away and positive we wouldn't get caught, we climbed on the wolf's back and literally rode off with him into the Wolfswood."

"The Wolfswood?"

"Aye, it's a huge forest in the North, your grace. And don't worry, nothing happened. Our father's wolf didn't make us get lost or anything. He took us out there to meet his mate and pups. A big female black wolf… and two small pups. One pitch pitch black with red eyes, and the other was such a light gray, she almost looked pure white. Her eyes were red, too."

"Red eyes on direwolf pups… Then… Then, Shadow…?"

"Aye, your grace," said Torrhen, his nails digging into his palms as he clenched his fists. "That's how I got Shadow… and how Lyaella got Wisp. Her direwolf pup…"

"I… I see…"

"Shadow… Apart from being similar to my father's wolf, he was always so quiet. Aside from occasional noises, he was as silent as a shadow, so the name was perfect for him." He paused, glaring harshly at his own shadow stretching out across the ground. "You've seen this yourself back at the pyramid, your grace. He follows me everywhere, my extra shadow. That's why I was so mad when you told me we left him behind when the Harpy's attacked. Considering what happened a few weeks later after our nameday… I never go anywhere without him."

"I… I still remember how soft she was… How she literally fell asleep in my lap as we sat out there with them… She had little clumps of gray all over her fur… The rest of her was white… I called her Wisp because for one, I wanted to be like Torrhen by… by naming her something similar to what our father's wolf was called…"

Ghost's ears perked up at that, and he purposefully nuzzled his head under her arms to force a snuggle. Lyaella smiled sadly, running her fingers through his fur.

"And my other reason… Torrhen and I didn't fully understand back then why people hated us because they hated our parents. We were really, really little… Still, I guess you could say we had a vague idea about it… We knew they weren't remembered in the North in high regard…"

"Alright, but what does that have to do with you naming your pup?"

She blushed, embarrassed. "I was little, Jon… Little and stupid. I named her that because I thought my parents were only 'wisps of memories' to people now. Stupid idea, I know… I thought it was a cute name and I was being clever…" She stopped, suddenly tensing. "But I'd give her that stupid name all over again if I could…"

Jon could sense the tears coming again and gently touched her shoulder. Lyaella whimpered, but kept hold of her emotions. She furiously scrubbed her eyes with the back of her wrist and continued.

"We stayed out there for hours with our pups, but when it got darker we headed back. Our father's wolf and his mate didn't care if we took the pups… so long as they came with us too as we went back to our relatives."

"So in other words, you and your brother showed up out of nowhere in front of your aunts and uncle one day with four wolves?"

She humorlessly snorted. "I guess you could say that."

"And they didn't take the sudden appearance of all those new wolves well?"

She frowned. "Not exactly… For starters, they were already mad at us for wandering off like that, but they didn't care about our father's wolf. As far as our newly found wolf pups went, they were surprised by them… but I don't think they were against us keeping them since we already had our father's wolf. It was the mother they had a problem with."

Jon quirked his head, befuddled. "Why's that?"

Lyaella shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe they just didn't like having an extra full grown wolf around. Maybe they felt threatened by her. I'm not sure. All I know is that the mother wouldn't leave since Torrhen and me had her pups, and we already loved them so we wouldn't let her take them away. Our relatives finally decided to let us keep them, but the mother was locked up in the kennel all the time, and we had to leave the pups with her whenever we couldn't be around them, too."

"Oh."

"To be honest, I really don't remember the mother all that much. My relatives really didn't like her, so they tried to keep me and Torrhen away from the kennel as much as possible. We saw her so little, we never even got a chance to name her."

"That's awful."

"Mean, yes. But awful? No. That was actually rather tame for my relatives, your grace. You want awful? Keep listening. You haven't even heard about mine and Lya's nameday yet."

"Your nameday? What happened?"

Torrhen paused, scuffing the heel of his boot into a clump of dirt. "First of all… keep in mind that nameday's aren't really all that important to me and my sister, Queen Daenerys. I can count on one hand the number of presents Lyaella have ever gotten on our namedays considering there's always this other… event that happens on it that our relatives schedule for. It has nothing to do with either of us, and it actually doesn't even need to happen on that particular day. They just schedule it to happen then because they don't want to celebrate our nameday in the first place, so they give themselves a legitimate excuse to not do so. Does that make sense?"

Daenerys wanted to hold him and never let go. "I think so, even if I can't fathom denying two sweet kings their nameday."

Saying nothing, Torrhen scooted next to his future mother. Greedily wanting comfort which she gladly gave. "Thank you." He leaned his head against her shoulder. "While they don't celebrate it, there are a few people out there who do acknowledge it. I told you before there's a few people out there Lya and I trust, right?"

Daenerys nodded.

"Alright. This is where things start getting a little complicated… Lyaella and I don't even know all the facts on why things happened the way they did about this. I'm just telling you what we do know, or at least figured out for ourselves."

"That's fine. Go ahead."

"Well, when we were really little, there was this lady. She was very loyal to our mother. Even after our mother died, she stayed loyal to her memory and kept honoring her in her own way."

"How do you mean?"

Torrhen paused, a small smile tugging at his lips. Unlike others, Queen Yara had never failed to be kind to him and Lyaella. "Let's just say that there were… reasons why this woman couldn't stay with us in the North full time, and because she wasn't actually our blood relative, our aunts and uncle wouldn't let her take us away. Just another example of their cruelty, your grace. They rather have us grow up being miserable and hated in the North than have us live with a good woman on the Iron Isles who would've treated us fairly and let us be happy."

"Iron Isles? She was Ironborn?"

He sighed… another slip of the tongue. "Aye. They have a bad reputation, but she was kind — visiting us as often as she could when we were little, your grace. Again, circumstances kept her from staying for very long when she did come see us, but she came as often as she could. Come to think of it… if certain things hadn't happened the way they did and Lyaella and I didn't lose each other the night we ran away, I think we would've hopped on Sōnar once she was big enough and flown off to the Iron Isles looking for her. She would've taken us in a minute. That's how decent she was to us."

"She… She would tell us all sorts of stories about our mother whenever she visited. She really respected our mother, Jon, and no matter how confused other people left us about things considering she was the only person who told us good things about our mother, she never had anything bad to tell us about her. It was nice having one person out there who had good things to tell us about at least one of our parents."

"And what of your father? Did she tell you both good things about him, too?"

To Jon's surprise, Lyaella tensed, fingers freezing abruptly in Ghost's fur. "…No. There's certain reasons why this woman didn't like our father. Reasons I don't wanna talk about. Please don't ask anymore about that."

"Oh. Uh, very well…"

"Anyway, our nameday's were good excuses for her to come visit us for longer periods of time. Other people would stay with our relatives for a few days after that big event was over, but she'd stay for at least two weeks. It was always fun for us when she was there."

"Well, that's good to hear."

Lyaella nodded with a wistful smile. "On our fifth nameday, she came for the event like usual, but she brought this big trunk, too. She was really excited about it…"

"It was big, your grace. Really, really big. It took two of her guards just to get it off the wagon and bring it into the big feast after everything was over."

"She brought a huge trunk to a feast? Why?"

To Dany's surprise, Torrhen snorted. "Because she wasn't at the feast that day to celebrate the event. She went to it to remind everyone that it was our nameday, too. And it wasn't being celebrated at all." He laughed lightly, shaking his head in amusement. "That trunk had our nameday presents from her — or rather, our mother — inside. She was giving them to us at the feast to make a point about showing everyone that Lyaella and I didn't deserve to be ignored just because our relatives would always use that day to make themselves look better by comparison."

Dany blinked. "Your mother…?"

"Aye. Apparently my mother entrusted this woman with something very precious for me and Lyaella before she died. We don't know the full story on that, but it doesn't matter. The point is, she showed up at the big feast and called out our relatives for ignoring our nameday just because they hated our parents. And to top it off, she called my sister and I forward and told us to open the trunk. I'll give you three guesses on what was inside."

She swallowed. Torrhen's words were rather matter-of-fact as he said all this, but that last sentence… it brought forth a rather haunted looked in his eyes. "Dragon eggs… Your mother entrusted that woman with dragon eggs, didn't she?"

"Got it in one, your grace," said Torrhen, his smile ever so fake. "Well done."

"I'll never forget what our eggs looked like. Dragon eggs… they're not like regular eggs, Jon. They're big. Really big, and covered in scales."

"Scales?"

"Mm-hmm. Thick, thick dragon scales. Sōnar's egg was pure white, but there were speckles of wintry blue mixed in, kinda like how she looks now. I actually pulled aside the one man Torrhen and I know who knows a few words of High Valyrian and asked him to tell me what the right word was for 'winter,' because looking at her egg reminded me of winter. That's how Sōnar got her name even before she hatched. And it's a good name too, isn't it Sōnar?"

The dragon trilled. Twisting her neck along the trunk of the tree, she gently nudged Lyaella's hair, making her giggle. Jon tensed a bit as he felt Sōnar bump against him mistakenly while cuddling with her little mistress, but he forced himself to stay calm. Sōnar still made him a bit uneasy, but he knew the dragon wouldn't hurt him. It was just like with Ghost. People saw a dangerous beast upon meeting his direwolf, but at the end of the day, Ghost was as harmless as a kitten unless provoked. And Sōnar was just the same.

"And Ānogar's egg was red. Blood red with black streaks. To Torrhen, he said it reminded him of blood, so again, he asked the one man we know who knows High Valyrian to tell him what the right word is for 'blood,' and that's how he named Ānogar's egg."

"Wait, they didn't hatch right away? You two named your dragons while they were still in their eggs?"

Lyaella blinked at the question and immediately turned to him. She seemed at a loss for words. "Oh! That — Well, I — That's because…" She stared at her lap, swallowing thickly. "That… That probably doesn't make sense to you, does it?"

"Considering you told me I'm not looking at your reasoning behind certain actions you and your brother did back then with a child's mentality, then no it doesn't."

She bit her lip, brows furrowing. "To be honest… I'm not sure how to explain it because I don't understand this myself. When Tory and I got our eggs, we… we felt our dragons."

Jon cocked his head, his expression muddled.

"Again, I don't understand what this was. We just… felt them. They were still inside their eggs, but we felt them in there. They were just as alive as you and me, Jon. It was like Torrhen and I already had our bond with them even though they hadn't hatched yet, and we instantly knew I was meant to have Sōnar's egg and Torrhen was supposed to have Ānogar's. Does… Does that make sense at all?"

He paused, considering her words carefully. "I'm not sure… It does but it doesn't."

To his surprise, Lyaella's face lit up and she earnestly nodded. "Yes, exactly! You get what I'm saying, but you don't fully understand it! You believe me! Thank goodness!"

Jon blinked. "You're not making sense. I might not get what you mean, but it's not like I assume you're lying. What's the problem?"

"Oh, nothing with you personally, Jon. It's my and Tory's relatives. They didn't understand this. That was the problem."

He hung his head, rubbing his temples with a tired sigh. "Shit, your grace… I know that probably sounds like nonsense to you, but I don't know how else to describe this. It's the truth. I swear it is… I just don't know how to explain this better…"

"No. On the contrary, Torrhen, this is actually the first thing you've said that I do understand. I understand completely."

His head snapped up, and he gazed up at the queen in bewilderment. "You — You do? Seriously?"

His future mother nodded, her expression thoughtful. "From what you've said, it sounds like you and your sister established the traditional Targaryen bond with your dragon eggs. The dragons sensed your Valyrian blood and you reacted to them accordingly. The same thing happened to me with my dragon eggs. It's a perfectly natural response, and the fact you're describing this at all is further proof you're indeed related to my House." Tears welled in her eyes. "I truly do owe you my apologies for not believing you before…"

An immeasurable weight he hadn't been aware of lifted from his shoulders, and Torrhen's smile split his face. "Then we weren't mad! We weren't!" He chortled, his relief unmistakable. "Thank the seven heavens! Thank the Old Gods! Seven hells, thank the Lord of Light!" Throwing his arms around her, Torrhen hugged her giddily. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Chuckling lightly at his burst of happy emotion, the more she thought about it… Daenerys frowned. "People thought you two were mad?"

He quickly sobered. "No one knew what to think, really. Especially not our relatives. Lyaella and I could feel the warmth of our eggs. We knew they were alive… but no one else did. They didn't get it and told us we were being stupid."

His future mother just stared at him. "You two were only five, yes?" He nodded. "Even if they didn't understand, shouldn't they have assumed you were both just playing? I… I mean…"

Torrhen snorted. "Again, you don't realize just how cruel and heartless my relatives are, your grace. Nor do you understand just how much the North hates House Targaryen. Our very existence in the North makes people spit on us and be smacked around if we do anything to annoy them — shun us at best. And our relatives…" he hissed. "They only criticize us if we do anything they don't like. They definitely didn't like it that we had dragon eggs, or 'cold lumps of stone' as they put it. Lyaella and I never understood that part. We kept telling them they weren't cold or made of stone. They kept insisting they were. Even the Ironborn woman we liked didn't understand us about that…"

"That wasn't your fault. Without Valyrian blood, it's only natural they misunderstood that."

"Either way, our relatives wanted our eggs gone. They kept telling us to leave them alone after we started carrying them everywhere, like we did with Shadow and Wisp. We wouldn't, though. We threw tantrums and went mad whenever people tried to forcibly take them away. And when I say mad, I mean mad. Kicking, biting, screaming blood murder… We wouldn't let our relatives take them away from us. We wouldn't. Plus, the more they fought with us about it, the more offended the Ironborn lady was. The last thing they wanted was cause unnecessary problems for themselves by insulting her by openly confiscating our present immediately. She even stayed past our nameday to see to it that we'd get our eggs for longer than just a few days."

"So what happened?"

He folded his arms, kicking at the ground again. "They took matters into their own hands."

"It became a habit for us to go everywhere with Wisp, Shadow, and Sōnar and Ānogar's eggs, Jon. Mealtimes, bedtime, playtime? Everywhere. Where we went over the next few days, we brought them too. That's how much we loved them."

"Makes sense, I suppose."

"However… there was one place we went where we couldn't bring either of them."

"Where?"

"The underground baths, for bath night."

Her future father stared at her, blinking repeatedly. There was no need to wait for him to recover from her blunt answer to hear the obvious next question he planned to ask. Even so, she couldn't help but sigh.

"It never occurred to me or Torrhen that we should take our eggs and direwolves to bathe when our meanest aunt told us one night we were both too filthy to even sit down for dinner with them. We just took Wisp, Shadow, and our eggs back to the kennels and left them with the big wolves before going to wash up. We figured we'd be back to get them right after."

"And… things didn't work out that way?"

Tears flooded her eyes as she shook her head, the memories overwhelming her. "We… We weren't gone that long. I don't remember how long exactly, but… but a half hour? A little longer? It wasn't a full hour, that I know. I remember someone say in the crowd later it definitely wasn't that long…"

"The crowd?"

"Yes… Tory and I were in the middle of our baths at the time, but… but out of nowhere all the direwolves in the kennel started howling and barking. Everyone in the castle could hear the racket. We didn't know what was going on, but Tory and I did know something was wrong. Our father's wolf… he wouldn't have gone crazy like that for no reason. Then came the shouting."

"Shouting? From who?"

Her shoulders quivered, and it took everything Lyaella had to keep herself together. "From the attacker…"

"Lyaella and I ignored the protests from the servants in charge of bathing us and just pulled on our old dirty clothes before bolting out. We weren't the only ones, either. Half the castle was hurrying outside to find out what was going on, that's how noisy it all was. Come to think of it, I'm actually amazed we didn't get trampled considering the chaos and how little we were. Everyone was running outside in the confusion. Everyone."

Dany's throat bobbed. Torrhen was doing his best to stay calm, but she could tell by how he clenched his fists and how the muscles were tensing in his neck that he was reaching the end of his rope. Whatever happened couldn't have been good. Not when the mere memory of it seemed like it might cause him to fly into a rage again.

That couldn't happen. Not now when they were with the Dothraki and the only treatment Torrhen would have would be from the willow bark in his pockets and the flask of the highly addictive watered down Basilisk Isles remedy the bloodriders had unfortunately confiscated from them upon their capture. Dany could only hope they hadn't tossed the mixture if they'd figured out what it was or even drank it themselves if they were oblivious to its contents. She set a hand on his shoulder to bring him back to the present. "It's a good thing you both were all right then, yes? Whatever happened… at least you two weren't hurt from it. That's what's important, Torrhen."

She smiled kindly, but to her horror, her words did not calm Torrhen down as she thought they would. If anything, they only added fuel to his fire. "It was worse than death! At least had we died it would've been over!" Seeing the terror in Dany's eyes… he stilled slightly, trying to control his temper. "What we found…"

"…it was a n-nightmare," Lyaella sobbed, burying her face in Jon's shoulder. He didn't tense at the contact, though. If anything, he let her soak his cloak as he soothed her. Rubbing her back and embracing her gently. "T-They… They were… It w-was awful!"

Knowing Sōnar was alive and Shadow too from Lyaella's past stories, Jon put the pieces together rather quickly. "Your wolf and your brother's egg…"

Lyaella wailed even harder. "There w-was… There was a m-man in the kennel with… with a b-big hammer! Ā-Ānogar's egg… it was s-shattered everywhere! And f-father's wolf and his mate… they were dead! And Wisp, too! They were… They were all d-dead!"

She couldn't stop crying. The horror she'd felt that day when she and Torrhen arrived in the kennels washed over her again like a wave. A Winterfell maid attempted to hold her back when she'd tried sprinting to Wisp's mangled body, but for the life of her, she didn't remember how she broke away. She vaguely recalled from the shocked daze she'd been in the hours following the incident that the woman had to have a poultice applied to her hands and arms. Had she bitten her? Scratched her? She'd been too shocked and hysterical to recall.

Half expecting him to pull away as everyone else did, instead Jon tightened his embrace. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice filled with a soothing affection Lyaella was unfamiliar with. "I'm sorry, Lya."

It only made her sob harder, the added bittersweet relief mixing with sorrow. "Thank you." Thank you, father.

"You don't have to go on…"

But she shook her head. What she did remember was wailing and screaming through her tears as she clung to Wisp, rocking her back and forth. Torrhen though… His reaction was unforgettable. The man who'd tried holding him back was forced to ice his foot for three days from how hard her brother stomped on it. When he broke away, he was all but wild as he too dashed into the middle of the horror scene, falling to his knees when he reached the crushed remnants of Ānogar's destroyed egg and screaming at the top of his lungs as he frantically tried fitting them back together.

Sheathing the crushed dragon inside.

"F-Father's wolf… he died protecting S-Shadow and Sōnar's egg while his mate d-died from… from failing to save Wisp and Ānogar. W-Were it not for everyone arriving right then, he… he probably would've killed Shadow and c-crushed Sōnar's egg, too!" Ghost, at that point trying to nuzzle her back, let out a tiny whimper and nearly enveloped Lyaella from behind.

It was welcome, their furry companion back among the living. I missed you so much, boy. Ghost licked away her tears, his own way of communicating his affection.

"I'm so sorry, Lyaella. Truly I am, but…" It was clear he didn't want to hurt her or seem to doubt her, but Jon didn't know. For him to be curious was only natural, right? "The hate of your relatives… how does any of that relate to your relatives being terrible people? I don't understand that… unless they set this up?"

She sniffled and pulled away from his shoulder to reveal surprisingly hard eyes. "Because the man who did it… he was one of their bannerman. Among their household guard. He killed an Ironborn guard and donned his clothes to pin it on them… but the Ironborn woman confirmed she'd never seen him before and they eventually found her man's corpse." She shut her eyes. "It was all planned. Our relatives told him to do it!"

"So they did arrange it." He believed her, but it still was shocking to him. How could their family hurt them like that? Lyaella was an innocent little girl.

Lyaella nodded, wiping away fresh tears. "They denied it, of course… Said he acted alone and they didn't give the order, but… but Torrhen and I aren't stupid! Nobody does anything without our aunts and uncle's approval. We know they gave the order… and everyone there that day knows it."

"I take it the Ironborn didn't react well?"

"The Ironborn woman we trust? She was furious about it. Not only did… did our relatives go so far as to attack one of her men unprovoked and try to frame her people as the ones who did it all… but they went so far as to publicly destroy the inheritance our mother entrusted her with for us. Torrhen and I… we'd never… never seen her go berserk with rage towards them before that day."

"Well, I can't say I blame her…"

"... even the gentlest soul would've reacted the way she did," Daenerys finished, keeping Torrhen wedged in a tight hug. Hoping her comfort would calm him.

It worked. For all his clenched fists and seething breaths, not once did he push her away. Instead holding her tightly, desperately — as if any form of weak grip would lead her to turn to salt and vanish before his eyes. "We never saw her again… sometimes we got ravens from her, but that's it. Our treatment was pretty much worse after that as well."

Dany kissed the crown of his head. "You didn't deserve that. What they did… a sweet, wonderful boy like you deserved to have all the love in the world."

"It's why I tried so hard to get into the pyramid, to find you. I thought that if you could see me and realize I was your blood that I could finally find someone besides my sister and my companions that could love me."

Her heart broke. "I should've realized that you were my blood, Torrhen. I'm so sorry…" She refused to cry, not wanting to make this about her rather than him. "You'll get all you need from me from now on." Kissing his forehead again… then his brow, and then his cheek, soon both were smiling at each other. "And do not worry, we will get out of this. House Targaryen will not perish in the middle of the Dothraki Sea."

"No, that would be a horrible story, now wouldn't it?"

That made her chuckle a bit. "Torrhen… You may never meet anyone else besides your sister that understands the bond between a dragonrider and their dragon, but know that I feel your pain. I understand completely, so don't think that you need to keep secrets from me because you won't be believed."

"I know." He sighed. "It's just hard, trusting someone after so long knowing not to trust anyone."

Again her heart broke for the boy, but he was here now. Once they were rescued or freed, they would both be safe. "Perhaps…" Dany hadn't let herself think on this because she was too afraid to hope for him being her blood without true proof. "Did you feel with Drogon what you felt with Ānogar?"

Torrhen furrowed his brows… "I did, like I do with Sōnar. It was weaker though. We can understand each other and connect, but it's not as strong. They both belong to another."

I am Drogon's rider. It made sense to Daenerys, likely the only one it did to… and such was ironic since she herself was also learning from scratch given how long the world had gone without dragons. Whatever knowledge of dragons remaining in our family died with the last dragonrider. Was it Baela Targaryen or Rhaena Targaryen that was the last? Daughters of the Rogue Prince — Viserys had told her once but she didn't remember. "And with Viserion and Rhaegal…"

"NO!"

She pulled back, startled by his reaction… especially since he seemed to be calming down. "What?"

"No! I won't do it!" Torrhen shook his head, face red and a combination of anger and sadness upon his expression. "My dragon is dead! I will not take another!"

"Torrhen, both Rhaegal and Viserion are without riders…"

"I can't… Ānogar was mine… He never hatched, but I bonded with him. He was my only and I can't take another! I won't!" The gaze he gave her shocked Daenerys in the worst way. An empty gaze, one of loss — one she recognized. "How can I recover a piece of my soul that died, Daenerys? How? How?!"

Just like her after Rhaego died. Nothing could ever make her whole again — no one could ever replace Rhaego, not her dragons and not any other children she ever could have or to love as her own. No matter how much she loved them, her son had been a unique soul. "I'm sorry." Daenerys hugged him again. "I shouldn't have… I'm sorry, Torrhen."

He wept again. "I know… just… just hold me." Torrhen didn't feel ashamed of needing her embrace. Just hold me, mother. She complied, the two of them embraced on the floor of the hut, swaying softly.

And there it was. Laid out bare for all to see, for Jon to understand — leaving her a quiet mess, fatigued and close to numb. And only Jon could comfort her to the extent that she needed it. "You deserved none of it, Lya… none of it, do you understand?" She merely nodded weakly. "My gods," Jon ran a hand through his hair. "There really was a dragon embryo in the crushed egg?"

"Yes," Lyaella was emotionless at this point, pale and croaking. "Gods… it was horrifying. Torrhen's dragon, my wolf…" Tears welled in her eyes. "I threw up on the ground and Torrhen had one of his episodes… it's the first one of his I can remember now though he must've had them before." She shook her head. "I had one of mine too, which led to the maester pouring that disgusting concoction down my throat."

Jon leaned against the tree next to her, letting Lya rest against his shoulder. "I am sure you are right about it being under their orders, but even if your relatives didn't authorize it…"

"They did," Lyaella interrupted firmly.

"But even if they didn't, it was their fault." He clenched his fists. "That is what being in charge means… the actions of those underneath you are your fault whether for good or for ill." Jon snorted. "My father always said, you own the blame for anything going wrong that you would take credit for if it went well."

"He must've been very smart."

A nod. "He was, just like Maester Aemon." They sat in silence for a moment. "How did you hatch Sōnar? She was still an egg at that point."

Again, Lyaella was quiet and trembling. "We… We prepared a pyre for my father's wolf, his mate, Wisp, and Ānogar."

"The traditional Targaryen funeral."

"Our relatives always buried or entombed their dead, but we didn't want them anywhere close to that. To the ones that killed them." She closed her eyes. "On impulse I put my egg into the fire… and Sōnar hatched. She was so little and I both laughed and cried when I held her." She wiped a tear from her cheek. "Everyone kept her locked up as much as possible… she only started growing when we came here."

"That I can understand." Feeling her shiver, Jon rose to his feet, retrieved her cloak from the weirwood branches, and took her hand to guide her up. "Can't let you freeze here. Let's get back to Castle Black… I'm sure they'll have taken down the bodies by now."

Lyaella nodded. "Alright." Ghost bounding by her side and Sōnar soaring overhead, she drew comfort in them… them and her father. While she was loathed to be optimistic, it seemed like their relationship changed this moment.

Changed for the better.

Their return to Castle Black revealed Shireen waiting for them in the courtyard. "Everything alright, Lyaella?"

"Yes, I'm fine, Shireen. Just… Just needed to get away from here for awhile."

The little doe nodded in understanding, then promptly turned to Jon. "Lord Commander, there's something I—"

"Forgive me, Princess Shireen, but I'm not Lord Commander anymore. If you have something you need to discuss with the Night's Watch, please speak to Eddison Tollett. He's the new Lord Commander."

Nodding politely to Shireen, Jon sidestepped around her and continued towards the wooden steps leading to the upper walkways, but Shireen quickly grabbed Lyaella's hand and — ignoring the silver-haired girl's squeak of surprise — hurried after him. "My apologies, Lord Snow, but it's not the Night's Watch I wish to speak to. It's you in particular."

That made Jon turn, casting a queer look to the Baratheon princess. "Me?"

"Yes, that's right. Can you spare a moment?"

Passing her lyre to Ghost to carry as he trotted along behind them, Lyaella did her best to try prying Shireen's fingers from her wrist. Shireen elbowed her to stop, but didn't dare turn to face her. She kept her gaze cool and pleasant as she stared up at Jon. "What is this all about then?"

"I know that you are planning to leave with Lyaella for her relative in Essos." Jon wasn't surprised that Shireen guessed. She was smart like her father, even if she possessed a sunnier demeanor than the dour pretender to the Iron Throne. "I wish simply to know how you will get there."

Biting her lip, Jon heard Lyaella sigh. "I don't know… do any ships travel from Eastwatch to Meereen?"

"None, but that doesn't matter." Jon pressed a hand on her shoulder. "We can get one to Braavos and then from Braavos travel anywhere."

"Are you sure?"

He shrugged. "While I've never been south of the Neck, I know Braavos is the most common foreign vessel that would try to make for Eastwatch port, whale in the Shivering Sea. Our best hope."

"You need not worry," Shireen interjected. "I have ships. I'll take you."

Jon's eyes widened. "You'd loan us your ships? Even with your claim?"

"I have no army, Lord Snow. What's the purpose of me staying here? The Lannisters would kill me and most would just send me to the Lannisters for the ransom. Thinking on it, the Dragon Queen's court is the safest place for me."

"You don't have to do this, Shireen," Lyaella said.

"I know, but I want to." The two girls then hugged each other, smiling. That takes care of that problem, then.

The sound of a single blow of the horn startled Lyaella, as it caused Jon to instinctively reach for Longclaw. "Jon?" she asked, both of them finally comfortable to speak each other's first names.

"Shhh…" he said curtly, head tilted. Listening intently for several tense moments… until he seemed to relax, a relieved smile on his lips. "Thank the gods."

"What happened?" It took a moment before Lyaella understood. "Oh, no second horn."

Shireen furrowed her brows. "Second horn?"

Jon chuckled. "One horn being returning rangers or visitors. Two being the Free Folk… and three being…"

"The dead," Lyaella said ominously, shuddering. "But where are they coming from?"

A shrug. "I wasn't aware of any rangings…"

The tension gratefully passed as the southward lookout called out, "Open the gate!"

Jon shared a look with Lyaella. "Well, that answers our question." With that, they turned on the railing to watch whomever was entering Castle Black. Perhaps someone important.

"Maybe stragglers from father's army survived?" Shireen mused. That was one option.

"Or those from your ships still at Eastwatch, Princess," suggested Jon. Another good option.

Or someone else entirely. Lyaella felt a cold shudder, as if instinct was telling her to be wary. To be on guard.

Her instincts were right on the mark.

Three figures rode into the courtyard, two of them in armor. But the other… Lyaella felt ice in her very heart, eyes wide and truly stunned.

Tired, worse for wear, and shivering, her bright and vibrant red hair made no secret of who she was. No… no… Red hair.

There was only one person she knew with red hair in the past. Someone she would've been better off never seeing again. Quickly, the ice morphed into a swirling blizzard, deep inside her an uncharacteristic heat starting to ignite.

Before all of Castle Black was Sansa Stark — Aunt Sansa to Lyaella. A far cry from the cold, hateful Queen in the North but there all the same. Dismounting her horse and keeping a cloak wrapped tightly around her slender frame. Her distinctive red locks were scraggly, matted things, but Lyaella didn't care. It was her aunt, one of the three inhuman villains that had so destroyed her and her brother.

Years of mental abuse and forced civility flashed like lightning through her mind, instinct forcing her to step back and away from the rail. Create distance between herself and the Queen of the North. Stay out of sight and not draw attention to herself. Why did you come, Aunt Sansa? Why didn't you just die? Never before did she wish anyone's death, but now she had crossed that line. First with Thorne and Olly, now Sansa.

Shireen seemed to realize that Lyaella knew who the visitor was. "Lyaella? Lord Snow?" The question was left unsaid, but obvious.

Stepping back further to be in the doorway leading back inside, Lyaella looked back at Jon. Instantly, her expression changed from hate to horrified… horrified at how… awed Jon was. Tears were welling in his eyes. No… she's your enemy… Please don't, father! But Jon merely gasped, nearly collapsing. Eyes locked with the familiar blue of Sansa's. Seconds later, she took off in a brisk walk towards the stairs nearest her. A gesture he reciprocated, scrambling down and stepping into the courtyard, boots squelching through the thick mud and snowmelt.

"Lya… Lya, what's wrong?" she heard Shireen ask from beside her, voice filled with worry and confusion.

She watched as they closed the distance between them, arms thrown around each other in a tight embrace. Sansa began to weep onto his shoulder, almost certainly lizard-lion tears.

"That's… That's my future aunt…" she murmured under her breath, knowing she hadn't told Shireen the full truth about him. "The aunt that raised me, Sansa Stark."

"That's Sansa?"

"Yes…" Still clutching Jon tightly, Sansa began to look around. Lyaella promptly closed the door. She didn't want to look at her. She didn't want to even breathe the same air as her. You will not destroy him, Lady Sansa. Not again. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New…

Somewhere over one of the many forests of the Gift, she could hear Sōnar roar in rage.

Longclaw 1-6:

Big exposition dump, plus Lyaella gets her kepa back and Torrhen and Dany are finally together as a family even in an inopportune circumstance.