34. Jon
In the hours that followed the death of the Mother of Dragons, a hush eclipsed the occupants of Rosby castle. It was morose in its quiet reminder of all the ways in which things could have been different. They had left the war room quickly, none of them looking back.
It was late evening now, the sun dipping far beyond the horizon. Word had been sent out to the Unsullied and Dothraki horde but as to what would become of them, no one really had an answer. They had all looked to Jon and Hermione but neither seemed to have an answer at that moment.
Jon had been in another room with his family, the Lannister brothers and Lady Brienne. Ser Davos had been present too, as a member of his council and family. It should have come as a relief that Daenerys was dead. But it left more questions than answers.
Matters of the throne had to be discussed; ascension, armies and the governance of the southern territories needed to be decided. They had spoken a great deal before Jon urged them all out, for a small reprieve.
They would all be back soon, he knew. There was still too much to decide and not nearly enough hours left in the day. Thankfully, he managed to find some peace in the chambers he had shared with Hermione. It was only a small moment of quiet but he'd take it without complaint. He sighed, tiredly and then smiled when he felt her tiny arms snake around his waist from behind. He pressed his hand atop hers, holding her closer.
"It's okay my love, we'll figure it out." Hermione encouraged and Jon couldn't help but smile at her optimism.
He shifted, bringing Hermione to the front so he could look at her properly. She was dressed in simple grey today, with her hair down as he liked and her crown neatly atop her head. Jon cupped her cheek, his thumb grazing over her skin and Hermione breathed out slowly, her eyes fluttering shut.
"You did a dangerous thing earlier," Jon said quietly and immediately her eyes flew open. "I know why you did it but seven hells if my heart wasn't in my throat the entire time."
She smiled softly and pushed herself up just a little to press a kiss to his lips. It was meant to be chaste and quick, but Jon's fingers found purchase in her hair, and he was tugging her closer, pressing his body to hers. She moaned against his lips and then he was walking her backwards until she felt the bed hit her knees. She fell back taking him with her. Her hands fell to his waist, gripping the material of his linen shirt beneath her fingers. A moment later his lips were leaving hers, trailing kisses down her neck and making her gasp in delight.
"Jon," she moaned. He hummed against her and judging by the flush that crept up along her skin, it was a reaction she enjoyed.
"I – uh …" she gasped when his teeth nipped at the delicate flesh below her ear. "J-Jon!" she tried again, gripping his shirt tighter.
He pulled back smirking at her and Hermione felt that familiar flush creep up on her again. His eyes, as grey as they usually were, now were near black.
"I have to – no wait!" She giggled moving away from him as he tried to continue his administration. "Jon!" she huffed and he chuckled pulling away, just barely. He raised a brow at her in expectation. "When do you think we'll be able to go back home?"
Her question brought a slight frown to his face as he thought it over. "I don't know, love," he answered. "There is still much to do here."
"Yes, there is."
He sighed, shifting on the bed, propping himself up against the pillows and pulling Hermione with him. She settled herself against his chest and hummed in contentment. It was a sound he so deeply craved to hear again and again.
"What are we going to do about the mess we've created?" He asked quietly. His lips ghosted over her hair and she reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers. "We can't leave things as they are."
"No we can't," Hermione agreed and Jon was grateful to see they agreed at least on that point. "But this isn't home, Jon." He sighed knowing all too well that she was right. "You are King in the North, so the North is where you must be."
"And what of the South? What happens when we return north?" He asked. "What becomes of all these people?"
"How do we stay?" She asked in return. "Unless … you wish to claim your right?"
"Why would I do that?"
"How else do we stay, Jon? What right do we have?" she asked him. "You are King in the North. Not King of Westeros."
"If I … gods Hermione, if I become King of Westeros, we'd never go home. We'd never see the North for many more moons."
"I don't want that," she admitted in a small voice. She turned, burying her face a little more into his chest.
"Aye, love neither do I." He pulled her a little closer and she drew her leg up and over his. "So what do we do?"
He knew he sounded a little desperate, but it couldn't be helped. He was desperate for an answer. When he turned to look down at her, he saw that familiar spark in her eyes. "What is it?"
"Who do you want to be?" he frowned at her question. "Snow, Stark or Targaryen?"
He sucked in a breath at that. Jon was sure she knew the answer almost before she even asked. He sighed, the truth was his answer was no different now than it had been nearly all his life.
"All I ever wanted was to be a Stark. But I'm not. I made peace with the fact that I am always going to be a Snow."
"But you're not a bastard," Hermione reminded him.
"But being the bastard of Winterfell made me who I am. It made me the King I am," he explained. "I know there is no honour in being a bastard's wife but I don't know if I could forget that. It's who I am."
Hermione looked up at him and then pushed herself up a little so she could press a kiss to his lips. "There is plenty of honour in being your wife," she told him. "And I would gladly be Hermione Snow if I get to call you husband."
Jon grinned, leaning down to kiss her once more. When he pulled back, he looked at her seeing another question lingering in her eyes. He silently nodded for her to ask. So she did.
"And what happens to Aegon Targaryen?"
Jon frowned. "I don't know. Is there any place in the world left for Targaryens? Look at what we do!" he said looking out the window to the still billowing smoke rising above the city.
"So Aegon Targaryen gives one final decree. He rights the wrongs his family caused and then we put him to rest. We leave him and his ghosts here in Kings Landing," Hermione suggested. "You become Jon Snow of House Stark, King in the North."
Jon smiled liking how very much that sounded. Leave it to his very smart wife to find a solution. "Do you think the others would agree?"
"Why wouldn't they?" she countered. "It's what we promised. The North as an independent kingdom."
"There's still plenty we'd need to decide before going back home," Jon reminded her. "Plenty left to decide before we give up Aegon."
She smirked. "There always is. But so long as it doesn't delay our return, I don't mind."
He chuckled, understanding her eagerness to go home. Still, he teased her just a little. "Are you missing home that much, my queen?" she huffed. "I thought you'd like the slightly warmer south."
It was still winter but undoubtedly the south was warmer than the north.
She smiled cheekily at him. "I am of the north, am I not, husband?"
"Aye you are," Jon agreed. "A true gift from the Gods," he added reverently and she blushed again.
She bit her lip, an action he was quick to stop with his thumb and he could see there was something she wanted to tell him. Her hands gripped him tighter and she looked up at him from under her lashes.
"It would seem, the Gods have gifted us with something more," she told him quietly.
Jon frowned, trying to make sense of her words. She gave him a moment before her patience gave in and took his hand in hers. Taking it to press against her belly, she looked at him with excitement brimming in her eyes.
"Really?" Jon breathed and she nodded. "You're …. We…"
Hermione chuckled, then grasped his face in her hands as they smoothed over his beard. "A baby Jon," she whispered against his lips.
No sooner had the words left her lips, was he kissing her again. Ardently and with excitement that matched her own.
"A baby," Jon repeated in an awed whisper.
"The maester says the baby is strong and will be here in another six or so moons," Hermione told him. "I think I'd very much like our child to be born in Winterfell. At home with his family and people."
"Aye, I think I would like the same." He pressed his forehead against hers, still smiling. "We're almost done here, I promise."
"I know," Hermione sighed. "We cannot just walk away now."
Jon nodded and then winced slightly as a thought came to mind. "Would it be a waste of my breath asking if you'd go back to Winterfell without me?" he asked and then chuckled at the less-than-amused look Hermione gave him.
"I want our child born at home but I absolutely will not do it without you," she told him vehemently.
He ran his fingers through the ends of her hair, kissing her once more. "What do you think it will be?"
"What do you want?" she asked in return.
"I don't care. I know people will want a boy for us. An heir for the crown, but I don't care. As long as you and our child are safe and happy."
"We will be. I've always been safe with you. And I have never been quite so happy then in these past few months that I got to be your wife," Hermione said.
He didn't bother smothering his broad smile at her words. "Do the others know?"
"Just Sansa," Hermione answered. "She kind of figured it out."
"There will be plenty of time to tell the others," Jon assured her. "We're going to sort this out and then we're going home, love."
"Aye," she mimicked him and he laughed. "I do like the sound of that."
He grinned, wolfishly at her, pinning her to the bed as he kissed her again. She moaned beneath his touch and all but groaned his name in his ear. The lacing of her dress was easy to undo, his skilled fingers making quick work of them and then he was working his way down her neck, his lips blazing a path across her tingling skin.
"Jon," she whispered rolling her hips against him and he hissed against her at the delicious friction.
He felt her fingers skim under his linen shirt and then hastily push it up and over his head. She worked his hair out of his bun, digging her fingers into his curls as he bit down on a particularly sensitive spot.
"Gods!"
He smirked, his tongue soothing over his administration. Her hands ran up his back, and Jon moaned when she wrapped a leg around his waist. He felt her tug on his breeches, impatiently and with the most ardent desperation. Only as it got loose, another thought gave him pause.
"W-wait…" he panted and she whined in protest. She was delectably flushed, lips swollen from his attention and her hair mused up just so. "Is … the babe … is it safe…?" he stammered.
Hermione looked up at him, a hand cupping over his bearded cheek. "It's perfectly safe," she told him. "I promise." And then kissed him sweetly.
He didn't argue further. He didn't have the mind for it. Not when he felt his wife grasp him in her hand. He swore against her lips and battered her hand away, lest he finish early like a green boy.
She kissed along his jaw and her hands found purchase in his hair again. He grasped her hip, his fingers biting into her flesh and then a moment descended upon them; as he shifted between her legs, he caught her gaze. Eyes fluttering and cheeks blushed prettily, he knew he would never tire of looking at her. His fingers danced along her hip, dipping further to the still-flat surface of her belly and she inhaled sharply. She looked at him from under her lashes, pulling her lip between her teeth as his fingers traced where their child now rested. He grinned and she did too before deciding she had enough of his sweet torture, pulling him closer and planting a searing kiss on his lips.
"Jon," she whimpered when his fingers finally dipped, teasing her just a little more. "Please …"
He was whispering sweet nothings in her ear, naughty little encouragements that quickly sent her over the edge. She gasped, clenching down on his fingers, riding out her high. She was mumbling incoherently in his ear as he hitched her leg up and over his waist, sliding in and catching her gasp with his lips.
It was a well-known dance between them now, their pace slow and deliberate. Jon pressed his forehead to hers, as she grasped his face in her hands, her fingers scratching along his beard. They ran over his cheeks and then her thumb grazed his lips, as she looked up at him adoringly.
"I love you," she whispered.
He thrust a little deeper, eliciting a throaty groan from her. "I love you too," he replied huskily.
Jon knew she was nearing her peak, her grip on his tightening as she whimpered beneath him.
"Jon… more … please," she begged so prettily.
He did as she asked, picking up his pacing, going harder, making her cry out in absolute ecstasy mere moments later. He followed, feeling her tightening around him and found his release with a deep guttural moan and the whispers of her name on his lips. Their breathing was harsh and deep as Jon pressed slow languid kisses to Hermione's flushed skin. She hummed in delight and then groaned a little as he eased himself off her, suddenly extra careful of himself now that he knew she carried their child.
Hermione had her eyes closed when he looked up at her, and a soft smile grew as he trailed his fingers over her belly.
They had decided to make the trip down to the capitol the very next day. Before any decisions could be made, they would have to assess the damages done to the city and its people. Jon caught the scent of smoke and something equally putrid as they neared the city gates. He turned, to see Hermione looking slightly pale. Reaching across, he grasped her hand in his and squeezed gently. She glanced at him, and he could see the anguish in her eyes as she squeezed his hand back.
At the gates, the Dothraki and Unsullied lingered. Jon might have expected some resistance from them now that their queen was dead but all they were met with was silence. It unnerved Jon more than anything as they guided their horses through the throng of soldiers. The city gates were broken and burnt. But at the gates, among the survivors, lingered a familiar face.
"Lady Missandei," Hermione breathed just as surprised.
Lady Missandei looked at them, first with scorn and then in disbelief. She was covered in dirt and grime, with a few cuts and scrapes, the most alarming being the sharp line cut across her cheek and the worrying way she held her arm close to her body.
"How … are you hurt?" Hermione thought to ask.
"I fare far better than most beyond these gates," Lady Missandei mumbled. They could see the tears she refused to shed in her eyes. "She … this was not her. This was not my queen."
Jon felt rather sorry for her. To have come so far, following and believing so religiously in the one they called queen, only for her to turn into something far too sinister for them to reconcile with.
"This … this was not her… K-khaleesi …" Lady Missandei mumbled looking over the rumble to the smoking city. "She wouldn't …"
"I am sorry for your loss, Lady Missandei," Jon said. He was sincere in his condolences. He hated that it had all come to this. How very hard he had tried to make it different.
"They say the Spider and the Imp killed her." Lady Missandei looked at him with rage burning in her eyes. She glanced over, eyeing the others that were riding behind them. No doubt, she hoped to catch a glimpse of whom she believed to be her queen's killers.
"No," Jon corrected her. "Lord Varys had her poisoned. Tyrion Lannister had nothing to do with the death of your queen."
"He was with Cersei when he should have been with our queen!"
"He was trying to broker peace," Hermione said, her voice far firmer than Jon's had been. "He was trying to avoid these very circumstances. He might not be a perfect man but then again, neither was your queen. He, alone is not to blame for this."
Lady Missandei looked utterly shattered at Hermione's words. "Where is my queen?" her voice was brittle and small.
Jon knew Lady Missandei expected no answer. She already knew the truth of her queen's demise, but he could not look away from the sorry form she cast as they stood before the city gates.
"She rests at Rosby Castle," Hermione answered quietly. "When the time is right, perhaps we will take her to Dragonstone. It was rightfully hers, after all." It was no great consolation but it was all they had to offer.
Jon could see that Missandei did her best not to let her anguish show. She clutched her injured arm closer to her body as she looked helplessly around her. The others were being seen by those less injured. The men from the North had started clearing out as much of the rubble as they could. Jon had ordered that they begin the search for other survivors almost immediately.
"How did you escape?" Jon wondered turning back to Lady Missandei.
"There was such chaos when the bells started ringing," Lady Missandei answered. "They left us down there to die. The other two – from Dorne I believe."
"Aye," Jon said gravely. "Did you break out?"
"You could say that. When the dragons started fighting, it felt like everything was coming down. The dungeon gates … it broke open when she … and you crashed into the keep."
"What of the other two?"
Lady Missandei looked over her shoulder and Jon already knew her answer. "I don't know. I don't think … when we left, they were going to find Cersei. I haven't seen them since."
"Let's get those looked at," Hermione offered kindly.
Lady Missandei looked between them with all the anger she had in her. "Am I your prisoner now?"
"No," Jon told her.
"Then why are you here?" she demanded. "Have you not come to take your victory tour and gather your prisoners?"
Jon scowled. "Look around you, my lady. There is no victory to be found here."
"What will you do now?"
"For now, we'll help those we can," Jon replied.
Lady Missandei looked uncertain and when Hermione offered for her to join them on their path she shook her head.
"If it would …" she cast her eyes down, again clutching the injured arm Hermione had bandaged. "May I go to my queen? To say goodbye?"
Jon felt a strong sense of pity for the young woman. She had lost her queen and her family all in one day.
"Of course. We will talk again at Rosby castle," Jon said.
Lady Missandei nodded and then unsure what to do next she bowed to both Hermione and Jon and then quickly backed away. They watched her for a moment as she weaved her way through the streets in unsteady feet.
"Will she be okay?" Hermione asked.
"I don't know, love," Jon sighed.
He reached for Hermione's hand and they continued on their path. They trudged through rubble and dust. Along the streets, Jon could see the many injured, lingering in pain waiting for aid. But more alarmingly were the signs of the dead, sticking out from every corner. It turned his stomach. Buildings had been toppled; fires had eaten away what it could. There had been no chance of survival. He felt the weight of his crown then as they walked through the destruction and those injured turned to them with only pain and helplessness in their eyes.
"What have we done?" Jon whispered to Hermione. But his wife had no answer for him. She grasped his arm a little tighter and muffled her shock as they walked.
They turned a corner and this time, Jon heard Hermione gasp. The crumbling, smoking castle was a little clearer to them now. He gave her hand another reassuring squeeze and turned to Ser Davos.
"Let's see what we can do about the wounded," he told the knight. "And if we spare them, let's get more digging out … the rubble."
Ser Davos gave him a sevre look. "Some might make it to Rosby castle, yer Grace. But judging by the looks of most, I doubt they'll make it past the gates."
"Aye, but we can't leave them to die."
"Agreed. I'll send a raven to have more maesters sent to the capital. We'll fix up a few stations within the walls too. Help those here best we can," Ser Davos suggested.
Jon nodded and they continued their walk through the city. It was not long before the Red Keep loomed closer than before. The Unsullied had managed to keep the castle from being looted but it was a small victory considering there was not much left to steal.
Up close, Jon could see the destruction the dragons had done to the castle. The guilt built heavy in the pit of his gut. He told himself that he had tried to stop it. That he had done all that he could, but looking around, Jon wondered if there was not more, he could have done. Another way he could have convinced Daenerys.
Jon held tightly to Hermione's hand as they entered the keep. Behind them were Ser Jaime, and Sansa with Brienne and Arya. In front was the Hound and Tyrion with Ser Davos.
They all descended into a nervous silence as they came upon the throne room. Only one of the double doors stood up, slightly ajar. The other was bent and looked charred. The fire had touched through it like most of everything else. They pulled the doors apart and it groaned in protest but they were able to clear a way into the room. Jon stepped through, one hand on the hilt of Longclaw, and the other grasping Hermione's hand tightly in his. He quickly came to a stop and he heard Hermione's mumbled 'oof!' as she nearly walked into him. He took a few more steps inside, descending the stairs slowly.
"Oh my …" Hermione gasped.
The room was in absolute ruin. A greater part of the walls had been destroyed when the dragons crashed into it. Stone and glass were scattered everywhere. A large pillar had fallen and blocked a good part of the room and they could see the charring of where the dragon fire had run its course. The wall behind the Iron Throne was completely gone and it looked like nothing more than a cold and uncomfortable chair rather than a coveted throne.
"She's gone," Ser Jaime whispered. He looked around the room frantically. "What have they done with her?"
"She's safe," Tyrion was quick to assure him. "She's in one of the rooms on the other side of the castle. I didn't think it was a good idea to leave her …"
"You were right to do so, Lord Tyrion," Jon said. He walked through the rubble as the others went about inspecting the room.
He could hear Jaime asking Tyrion questions, and the sound of Clegane moving the stones around. Jon's focus however had remained on the throne. Hermione let go of his hand as he walked up the stairs to it.
As he stood before it, Jon noted how underwhelming it felt. All that fighting and bloodshed for a chair that he thought looked bloody uncomfortable. He reached out, inching his hand towards the cold steel but then quickly drew back. It was only then that he noted how quiet the room had become. Jon turned around slowly, a light flush on his cheeks as he realized everyone was waiting for him to make a decision. He took a step away from the throne.
"By rights, it's yours, Snow," Ser Jaime said. "Or will it be Targaryen?"
Jon held back his scowl, instead looking at his wife. Hermione smiled up at him, offering her silent courage. He thought back to the conversation they had had earlier that day. He was conflicted by his choices. All he had ever wanted was to be a Stark and now he was not only a Stark but the last true Targaryen heir. He had a father that had once sacrificed everything for the realm and it had not been enough.
He looked across the room, to the faces of Tyrion and Ser Davos and his sisters who watched keenly.
"I am as I have always been," Jon declared.
"Then what shall become of it?" Tyrion asked.
"Nothing. It's nothing more than a chair now, Lord Tyrion. What would you have me do with it?"
"We still have a responsibility to these people," Tyrion argued. "You are King in the North but here, in the South, the people still need someone to lead them."
"And you think it should be me?" Jon asked with a raised brow. "I told you I don't want it. I didn't say it to please your queen. I said it because I belong in the North. Not here." He looked at his sisters and Sansa had a determined look in her eyes. "I am a Stark. And the Starks belong at Winterfell."
"But you are also a Targaryen. The last Targaryen and the last true heir to that," Ser Jaime pointed to the throne. "You're going to just walk away?"
Jon sighed. This was the problem he had been battling with since Daenerys' death. "I cannot rule here and the North. Not if the North wants to remain an independent Kingdom."
"And it still does?"
"Yes," All the Northerners in the room answered at once.
Ser Jaime smirked and Jon wasn't sure how he felt about that. "But you are right, Ser Jaime. These people need someone to lead them. We have a duty to them and I intend to see that this is carried out."
"And how will you do that?" Ser Jaime asked. "What authority does Jon Snow have in the South if his Kingdom is in the North?"
"Jon Snow won't be the one making this decree."
"Then who will?" Ser Davos asked.
"Aegon Targaryen," Jon answered. "It will be my first and last as Aegon Targaryen. I will use the claim of my birth to right the wrongs of my – the Targaryen family."
"Where would you start?" Sansa asked.
"A warden of the South must be elected. We will not leave them to their ruin just yet," Jon said. "But we will have no hand in their politics and laws of the state."
"Is that wise?" Sansa asked with a frown.
"Once I give up the name Aegon, I will assume no claim on the throne, Sansa. It is better this way. There are still plenty of lords and ladies of the South that will see it to fruition and under the guise of Lord Tyrion, I know it will prosper."
"Me?" Tyrion asked aghast.
"Yes, you Lord Tyrion." Jon fixed him with a steady look.
"What makes you think you can trust me to do this?" Tyrion challenged.
"I don't trust you. But I don't need to. You won't be answerable to me, my lord. It's them you will answer to," Jon replied pointing to the streets of Kings Landing. Jon took a step forward and he didn't mean for it to be threatening but perhaps it was a little more intimidating than he anticipated.
Tyrion shook his head. "After everything Cersei did, these people would sooner kill me than let me help."
"Do not misjudge them, my Lord," Hermione said. "They are angry and they have every right to be. These needless wars have taken everything from them. You served two queens who brought nothing but destruction to this city."
Jon could see the guilt and embarrassment rise on the Imp's cheeks.
"I did not sack this city on my own!" Tyrion objected.
"No you did not," Hermione agreed. "But those who are largely to blame are dead and we are left with the pieces. We can't do nothing and we certainly won't be neglectful to the throne and Kingdom we serve."
Jon felt a swell of pride for his wife. She had a sharp way with words, far better than himself.
"This is the best we can offer," She finished.
"What exactly would your decree be?" Tyrion asked looking away from Hermione.
"The South would be governed by a Warden, and the ruling lords of each region," Jon explained. "As I said before, we have no intentions of getting involved in your politics and laws. The North will remain an independent kingdom answerable to our laws. Our family has ruled over the North and will continue to do so per the wishes of our people." Jon glanced over to Sansa to see the barest -of- there nods.
"You're talking about two separate kingdoms," Tyrion said. "Why not just establish a seat of power in the South?"
"Because we do not belong in the South."
"Then in the North," Tyrion insisted.
Jon sighed; he felt the urge to fidget with his crown like always when he got anxious. "Perhaps that is something we can consider in time but for now this is the way it will be."
"Then who will sit the throne?" Ser Jaime asked.
"Who said anybody had to?" Hermione asked.
"Of course, somebody has to! That's how it's always been," Ser Jaime insisted.
"And historically that hasn't seemed to work out so well. Maybe a change is needed," Hermione suggested.
"I have decided that my place to rule is in the North," Jon interrupted before Jaime could respond. "I know what I am giving up. I know that it might be considered risky or foolish but I believe it could work."
"There is nothing left to lose," Hermione reminded them.
"What of Daenerys's army? The Dothraki and the Unsullied?" Ser Davos asked. "Where do they go?"
"Back to Meereen," Jon answered. "At least for those that want to. I feel it might be safer to keep the Unsullied in the capital city until things are less …"
"On fire," Jaime snarked and Jon had to bite back a smile.
"They could prove useful," Tyrion agreed. He turned and looked out to the city.
Jon felt a sense of pity for the man. It was not entirely his fault this had happened and yet he was left standing to bear the consequences.
"I do not wish to leave the city like this Lord Tyrion," Jon told him. "I wish to see it rebuilt, better than what it was. You lived here so you know better than myself how to make changes that matter. Our men want to go home and I owe it to them to respect their wishes."
Jon could see that Tyrion had realized that there was no going back on this decision.
"So a kingless South and an independent North," Tyrion mused. He glanced over to the Iron throne. "And what becomes of that? Just a relic now?"
His answer came in the form of a screech. A dragon screech. It filled the air and Jon was sure the people below would cower under what they could out of fear for what they had seen.
They all turned to see Rhaegal flying along the Keep. He rose high into the clouds and then swooshed back down. The dust kicked up around them when he landed on the steps beside the iron throne. He was too large to fit entirely into the space. His tail curled around the building as he studied them carefully.
Jon had taken a few steps back, lingering on the stairs uncertainly. He felt Hermione grab his arm and he reached for her, securing her behind him as best he could.
Rhaegal looked between them all and then turned to the throne. The dragon let out another mighty roar and in the next breath released its fire on the throne. They watched, in utter shock as Rhaegal used his dragon fire to melt the throne. Jon, standing the closest could feel the heat of the flames as it destroyed the source of all conflict. When Rhaegal stopped, the flames were still dancing around the throne. They could see the metal gleaming as it melted together into a pitiful heap of nothing.
Rhaegal gave another roar before his claws dragged along the floor and then he took flight again.
"Wha – where is he going?" Ser Jaime asked.
"Home," Jon answered. That was all Jon knew of it.
They all turned back to the throne. It was completely useless now. Jon could still feel the heat coming off it but the flames had been extinguished.
Tyrion looked at Jon with a steadfast gaze. "Do you still stand by your decision?"
"I do. Are you agreeable?"
Tyrion nodded. "Then make it official, Your Grace."
Jon turned so he faced them all now, his back to the melted throne. "I, Aegon Targaryen, of the Houses Stark and Targaryen, name you Tyrion Lannister, warden of the South. Do you swear to govern justly and with honour?"
"I swear."
Jon nodded. "Lord Tyrion, I leave the welfare of the South in your hands. But know this, you will have an ally in the North so long as you do right by your people."
Tyrion wore a solemn look on his face as he looked at the others in the room. He bowed his head slightly. "I will endeavour to do better."
Hermione stepped forward, reaching once more for Jon's hand. "See that you do, my lord. These people cannot afford to lose much else."
"Then the South Kingdoms have seen the last of King Aegon," Jon proclaimed.
"Are sure about this Jon?" Sansa asked worriedly. "What if … what if the southern lords rebel? There is no one left to dispute your claim to the throne?"
"I am certain Sansa," Jon assured her. He looked down at Hermione and they shared a knowing smile as her hand rested casually against her belly. "It's time to go home."
"Then the South bids farewell to thee, King Aegon, the saviour," Tyrion said and he bowed a little more this time.
Jon chuckled as Hermine wrinkled her brow beside him. He had pulled her up the remaining stairs so they stood side by side now. The smoking melted throne behind them.
"And the North eagerly awaits the return of their King and Queen," Sansa said and Jon could detect the pride she held in her voice. It was subtle but it was enough for him.
"Aye, King Jon, the White Wolf and his Warrior Queen Hermione," Ser Davos said
He stepped forward and knelt before them. It was a new reign now. Much to their surprise, Ser Jaime followed suit, at the very same moment as Lady Brienne, who had been standing watching over them all silently. Sansa too stepped forward and curtsied as Arya bowed and Jon's lips quirked at that. After everything, they were still his sisters. While Lord Tyrion had been the last to kneel, there had been no resistance from him.
"Long may they reign!" Ser Davos called.
Jon turned to Hermione and pressed his lips to hers. "Aye, if the gods see it so," he whispered against her lips as his fingers danced along her belly.
"Long may they reign!" they all echoed.
Hello all,
I know it's been far too long since I last updated this story. What can I say? Life somehow always manages to get in the way. Please don't come at me for the way I've chosen to end MY story. Honestly I spent a great deal of time researching and rethinking how I was going to end this. I am happy with what I have written because I feel it works best with the story I wrote all those many months ago. I do hope in some way, you can understand and enjoy the way I've chosen to bring things to a close. (I stay by the fact that this ending is still better than what they gave to us for S8...)
The last chapter is mostly completed. I just have to decide how much I want to edit out. I've been toying around with the idea that Hermione needs some kind of closure on what's going on back home in England, nothing too life altering I think.
I can't promise a quicker update on the last chapter but I do promise that I will absolutely finish this story.
Thank you to all the lovely readers who have followed, favourited and commented long after I stopped updating. Please know that I read every single comment and always appreciate the feedback.
I'm still on Tumblr if you wanna chat.
Until the next (and hopefully last?) one!
Stay safe