A/N: Longclaw: Hey guys. Sorry bout the long delays. Moving jobs, moving homes, and my grandfather getting sick ran me ragged. but we're here!

BRuh4: Hey, it's new chapter time again. Lack of motivation took a swing at me this time around.

But this one is here.

Enjoy.

Chapter 47: See you Soon

"Get up!" A sharp kick to his side made Jaime grunt, coughing. "We can't waste time lounging around like sissies!" Arya barked. "Get up, Kingslayer!"

"I… am not lounging around," he shot back, though the fire wasn't there anymore in his voice. "Forgive me for tripping on a rock."

The Stark girl rolled her eyes. "Ye' could've pulled yourself up."

Jaime sighed. "Perhaps I would've had you not bound my hands." Truly, he smirked slightly in enjoyment when her scowl deepened and her face twitched at his comeback. They say she's Lyanna reborn, but that annoyed expression is completely of Lady Catelyn's. He had seen it first hand when the late Lady of Winterfell would interrogate him in his pen at the Northern camp. All her offspring shared it, except - ironically enough - Sansa.

While an ape of her mother in most things, her ire was closer to Ned Stark. The gods have a sense of irony, it seems.

"He's got you there, Arry," the Bull replied, breaking the silence.

Arya was not amused. "Shut up." At his stare, she shook her head. "I'm not untying him. He's too dangerous."

Jaime snorted. "Mayhaps I should be flattered. If you consider me, a one-armed man broken down by a week in the Black Cells then I must be a true monster." He vastly preferred Jon Stark to his half-sister. While Arya was a prettier face, her brooding was one liable to stab him in the eye if he looked at her the wrong way. Jon was more likely to stab himself in the eye to end his suffering… much easier to deal with if just as irritating. "Relax, my Lady. I am of no inclination to harm you."

"I'm no lady!" Arya kicked him again. "And I don't fucking believe you. Look what you did to my family… to my father! Then you ran away like a coward, so why should I believe you?"

"Can I answer, or are you gonna kick me again…? And I could use a swig of water."

"Fuck off."

That comment only got a pebble thrown at her. "Seven fucking hells, girl, we've all got blisters on our feet." The Hound was certainly one not to mince words. "We're restin'!"

Arya glared back at him. "We're moving to stay ahead of the patrols."

"We're restin' and that's that."

"I'm actually a bit tired, Arry," Gendry said - Jaime could definitely see the resemblance to Robert in him, a clean-shaven mirror of the Stag when he had won his kingdom and married Cersei… only without the sense of bombast, violent temper, and lust for pleasure. The lad was more soft-spoken. Probably why he and the wee Stark make a good team. If Lyanna Stark was anything like Arya as the Northmen liked to say, Jaime knew Robert's marriage to her would've been worse than his and Cersei's…

If that was possible, though Jaime figured his affair with his sister made it worse.

"Ugh, fine." Arya was a poor loser it seemed, and crossed her arms and sat upon a boulder with a sour scowl on her face. Jaime took advantage by righting himself into a seated position, doing his best to wipe the dust from his face and ease his chafing wrists from the tight rope. In the vast distance of the plains and scattered woodland of the Crownlands close to the sea and Blackwater Rush, it was as if the land was teeming with life but deserted of all men. The battleground between Stannis and the Dragon Queen. Northwest was Harrenhal and the Kingsroad to the North, while northeast led to Duskendale and Daenerys Targaryen. "You didn't answer my question, Kingslayer."

Giving Arya his best charming grin - a hard task, since he had little to grin over cockily these days - Jaime shrugged. "I got nothing else to fight for, Stark. My sister's dead, my father's dead, my aunt and distant cousins head our house and bent the knee for Stannis yet my brother is an advisor for the Dragon Queen."

"You still have personal motivation, then. Vengeance."

"What worth is vengeance? All I have to fight for are dead."

She tilted her head quizzically. "There's always vengeance to be had."

"Cersei thought that. Was why she had Robert killed… look where it led." He would've spread out his arms, but they were bound.

"That's my father yer' talkin' bout, Lannister," he heard the bull say. But Gendry sighed. "Never knew him - barely knew of him even, those livin' on a bowl of brown all day don't much see any difference between one King and another… lest they blow up the city," he added sheepishly. "Don't worry, Lannister, I shan't seek revenge for a person I never knew."

"I knew my father… and my mother and brothers… I won't be as merciful." If only you knew about your other brother. Jaime may have felt guilty about that at his lowest points, but even now he wasn't keen on divulging that and giving Arya another reason to butcher him where he stood. "You'll be taken North."

Gendry raised an eyebrow. "North, Arry?"

She snorted. "You were willing to go to the Wall with Yoren and I. Don't tell me you're now scared of the cold?"

"I'm not keen on freezing myself, girl," Sandor cut in. "But not much fuckin' choice of where to go, is there? Yer sister got chickens?"

"Yeah." Arya couldn't help but snicker at that. "You and chickens, Hound."

"Gotta eat somethin'."

Shaking her head, the frown returned when she shifted her gaze back to Jaime. "My brother killed your uncles… Lord Karstark killed your cousins… I killed Cersei, but it's not enough. You're the one responsible for all of this as far as I'm concerned, and the only mercy you'll get is what my sister decides to give you."

Another trial… just perfect. "And why don't you just kill me now? I know you want to, Stark. Avenge my crippling of your father."

"Because Jon trusted you enough to ask me to take you. That means somethin' to me, and Sansa will take it into consideration as well." Standing up, she cracked her back and stretched her arms - Jaime was not one that didn't notice Gendry simply stare, eyes full of longing. "Aight, let's get the fuck back on the road."

"Kiss my ass, I'm still fuckin' tired."

But Arya smacked the Hound upside the head. "Don't be a cunt, let's go." It still never ceased to amuse Jaime to see the Hound comply. Grudgingly, but compliance nonetheless.

The Dusken river wasn't the size of the Blackwater Rush or Trident. Though to a traveler on foot, it was pretty wide. Their two-pack donkeys could swim the tranquil yet fast current with ease, though the others may have had trouble. "Can you swim?" HiHi Arya asked the Hound.

"Of course I can fucking swim." He looked affronted. "My cunt brother couldn't, so all's I had to do was swim across the river and he couldn't get me. Worked till he got so tall that he just walked through the water." Gendry, having grown up right next to the Blackwater, also knew, so that left… "Can you swim with that hand of yours?"

Inexplicably, the Baratheon guards had left Jaime's golden hand. He still kept it… sentimentality perhaps? "I can, but not well."

Arya rolled her eyes. "While it might give me amusement to see you thrash around like an idiot, we don't have time for this. Bull, Hound." At her command, the two of them hefted Jaime onto one of the donkeys. It wasn't gentle, and he let out a cough and a retch as the saddle slammed into his stomach. "Complain and I'll dunk you under the water… and not in the clean part of the river either."

"Generous, Stark, generous." At least Arya afforded him that mercy.

It turned out to be more of a curse. If he had been swimming through the deep waters, he'd at least have been able to fight to keep his head above the water. Here, barely able to do anything but wriggle, he was at the mercy of the donkey's bobbing up and down. Every few seconds his face would submerge, making Jaime cough and sputter.

Soon, they were in the middle of the river… where the current was strongest. Arya had each of them gripping a rope tied to the donkeys to stay together - and that's where he had his idea. A stupid plan, made up on the fly as he had that time he escaped from Robb Stark and killed Rickard Karstark's boy, but in this one the only person to be risked was him.

It was good enough, cause he didn't intend to let himself be put to death by Sansa Stark. "Sorry… bout this…"

Trying to stay above the surface, it took a bit for Arya to reply. "What the… fuck… you talkin' bout?"

"Sorry you won't… get your… vengeance on me." Sucking a deep breath in, Jaime could only hear the Stark girl's snarls before thrashing so hard that he fell off the donkey's back into the river.

The river was violent. Tossing him in every which way as he flowed downstream.

She had been cleaned up, he could tell. The absence of a pungent odor certainly spoke volumes, but the sheer amount of grime, filth, and dried blood that so shrouded the daughter of Oberyn Martell - one of the infamous Sand Snakes - surprised even him.

Euron is a savage. Stannis knew this when he made his deal with him, but the Ironborn were all the same. It made his skin crawl to deal with them, only military necessity and the need to reward those that did favors saying otherwise.

But he yearned to take Euron's head for what he did to Tyene. And the strength of such a thought shocked him.

Guarded by two of the Kingsguard, Stannis entered the maidenvault - the infamous hall that once housed the sisters of Baelor the Blessed. Only Daena managed to escape, fierce and wild as the chronicles said. Tyene was rumored to be just as willful, so the guard was doubled so as not to tempt fate again.

Imagining the girl being Daena, getting pregnant with a bastard… Stannis wouldn't allow it.

Gods, he knew not what was becoming of him. But he was the King, who took the Iron Throne by right of blood and conquest. None should scare him, all should fear him. "You look well," he spoke emotionlessly, but not as gruff as he intended.

Tyene Sand looked up with a steely-eyed glare. Her body was emaciated, skin covered in fading bruises and scabbed abrasions and cuts, but she hadn't been broken. "What do you want?" Accent heavily Dornish, the frivolousness and seduction that they were notorious for was completely absent.

"You dare speak to your King…"

Stannis held up a hand, stilling the kingsguard. Unlike that of Cersei Lannister, he was actually quite skilled and disciplined, but a bedside manner he did not possess. "I trust you are comfortable."

Saying nothing for the longest time, just as Stannis turned she spoke. "I'd be more comfortable in Sunspear."

A snort. "You are my hostage, you stay here."

Laughing weakly, the mirth not reaching her eyes, Tyene's glare never wavered. "You'd be better off killing me. Arianne will not break."

"Everyone breaks."

"Would you break?" Staring at her, Stannis didn't dignify that with a response. Simply looking her over… something about her… He shook his head and turned, fists clenching. "Why?" She called out at him. "I'm just a simple hostage. Why come here?" Taking a deep breath, Stannis didn't have the answer even if he wished to tell her.

"You are not some simple hostage," Stannis smirked. "You are quite valuable."

"Valuable?" Tyene scoffed. "You mean to use me as a shield to ward Arianne away? That won't work."

"Not as a shield," Stannis shook his head. "People shoot arrows at shields. You, full of arrows don't help me."

"You expect me to help you?"

"I expect you to act in your own self-interest."

Tyene crossed her arms, "You're mad."

"The way I see it, you have a few options," Stannis said. "One, be totally hard-headed. I throw you in a much darker and shittier cell to reside forever. Two, be open-minded. There is a situation forming you may be comfortable in. In that situation, you get everything you want. Three, be completely hostile. I tie you to a post and set it ablaze." Hearing the last option did make Tyene pull a face. Stannis leaned over her a bit, and whispered, "You see, I hope you are open-minded. However, I am prepared for all the options."

"What does being open-minded entail?"

"Nothing overly difficult, though you may refuse at first, regardless," Stannis told her. "It's simple. You were right, in a way. I do want to ward Arianne away. Honestly, the addition of her numbers to The Dragon Queen's forces would be troublesome. I want to forgo having to deal with that. You can be greatly helpful in that."

"I don't want to help you. Why would I?"

"Because, as I mentioned, the alternative isn't pleasant," Stannis uttered, plainly. "I know you suffered under the stress of Euron Greyjoy. I am not a savage like him. Though, I don't have to be to get what I want. That is why I am King."

"I think others might speak differently about you."

"Their opinions are irrelevant," Stannis said quickly. Then he clapped his hands, "I will allow you time to marinate on your options. Choose wisely." Stannis left the room without another word.

Outside the Maidenvault waited Littlefinger and Davos, the former with a tiny smile while the other looked distracted with other matters. "The Ironborn didn't break her," Stannis said simply, beginning to amble off with his cane tight on his leg.

"I didn't think she would. Oberyn Martell was a tough specimen and his children inherited that spirit. Doran didn't have it, but Arianne does as well." Littlefinger had spent much time thinking of Dorne… or at least more than anything else but the North and those from the North. "They'll back the Dragon Queen to the end unless you offer them something they can't refuse."

"And what would that be… you know what, never mind." Stannis needed to get away from his jumble of thoughts and focus on something that could completely distract him - even something mentally excruciating, which what he was about to ask would be. "Is he ready to speak?" His attention was now on Davos.

"Last time we spoke, he was eager to do it, though his mood… left a lot to be desired."

Stannis felt a certain disappointment at the latter. The boy could've been my heir… Could've? It was still in the balance, and for the King, he still clung to that hope that the right hand who won him his most glorious victories would return. "Bring him to me, Davos. It's been enough time."

Davos nodded, silently thanking the gods that the fugitives had managed to escape the city and lose the tracking teams. There'd be no hope if Arya Stark was captured and imprisoned. There could be no reconciliation if harm befell his sister by Stannis' hands, even if the reconciliation was mummery. Focus on what is, Davos. Not what isn't. Words his wife had told him that he always kept at heart.

Watching the Onion Knight leave, Stannis looked back to Baelish. "Tell me I'm making the right decision, Baelish."

"You are making the right decision." It may not end the way Stannis wanted it, but it was right… right for Petyr Baelish that is. "Jon Stark will be the undoing of Daenerys Targaryen, whether he betrays you or not - and he shan't betray you, don't worry." Only the latter might be a lie, but it was what Stannis so wanted to hear.

"How can you possibly be sure Daenerys would only fall through this… it's risky beyond belief for Jon." Stannis… the dourest man in the Seven Kingdoms, was rarely sentimental. Shireen had been one element of sentimentality, and Jon Stark the other. Even Davos didn't rate such, let alone someone like Selyse. "We could launch an invasion of Dragonstone, cut the head off the snake before her armies have a chance to react…"

Baelish shook his head. "You'd die, along with your entire army. She crushed Stark with one dragon and annihilated Baelor Hightower with two - imagine what she could do with three." This had been percolating for some time in Littlefinger's mind… oh, did he miss Varys. The cockless irritant so sharpened his wit. "The Targaryens… they are a great Empire like Valyria was before them. That's what the dragons provide. If you try to attack them directly, they will annihilate you. However, if you make them attack each other… crumble from within, then they fall. It happened with the Dance and shall happen with Jon Stark and the Dragon Queen. Stay the course, your Grace."

Tapping his fingers on his desk, Stannis sighed. Releasing the air trapped in his lungs as if unburdening himself. "Stay the course… aye. I've wavered not since sailing to the Wall, and it's brought me to the cusp of ultimate victory." He clasped his hands together. "The Dragon Queen is just the last of all my obstacles, and as such the most dangerous." Aside from the Army of the Dead, notwithstanding.

"Exactly, your Grace."

The door then opened to reveal a procession of at least a half-dozen guards - as well as two white-cloaked men of the Kingsguard. Marched in chains was Jon Stark, the lad disheveled and brooding but mostly clean. He should be detained in guest quarters rather than the Black Cells anymore. It was a wonder that he didn't go mad down there… lesser men had done so serving less time down there.

Stannis reacted in a rage. "What are you doing?! Get those chains off him before I have you sent to the block!" The guards complied quickly, removing the offending chains. The King's expression softened. "Forgiveness, Jon. I did not intend for this."

"No, I suppose not," Jon replied. His grey eyes were cold, calculating. They had been cold before, but Baelish had never seen the latter in him - interesting. "It wasn't you that asked me to challenge you to a duel, even if you threatened my sister with death for simply carrying out the sentence you decreed for Cersei Lannister."

"I decreed for her death in the flames, not the mercy of a knife."

"Dead is dead, Stannis… forgive me, your Grace. Either way, she tells no more tales."

"Quite true. Gods… if you had known her the way I did, that she's no longer talking is a favor to all of us from the Seven." Did… did Stannis just make a jape? He apparently did but did nothing more than a grunt to recognize it. "Your sister still defied me."

Jon raised an eyebrow. "Did it deserve a death sentence? You certainly thought it did." Stannis said nothing, which Jon took as an invitation to continue. "I didn't join my sister in her attempt to save me because I have unfinished business here, but I am glad she escaped. Fuck the Kingslayer though, you can do what you wish to him, but if you ask me to carry out what I refused to, then you can just throw me back in the black cells."

Davos winced, the Kingsguards glowered, and Littlefinger watched expressionlessly. But to their surprise or intrigue, Stannis deflated - looking like a whipped puppy. "Perhaps I wasn't of the right constitution to order your sister's death. Perhaps a chastisement for sure, but not that. It is a shame that it took all of this to realize that."

"Aye, it is."

"Baelish," Stannis barked. "Be sure to rescind the bounty on Arya Stark's head for treason. Keep that on the Kingslayer, though."

"Of course, your Grace," Littlefinger replied, only to find Jon Stark's wolf-like, predatory eyes on him.

The Stark looked bored. "Is that it, your Grace? I am grateful for your new directive, but there was more reason than my sister that you summoned me." Jon already knew, but wanted it to come out of Stannis' mouth. For his plan to work, it had to be that of Stannis.

"Jon, truly, where do your allegiances lie?" Stannis asked with a serious tone.

Tone equally as serious, Jon stayed calm. Taking a deep breath. "Do you consider me an oathbreaker?"

"Your father wasn't an oathbreaker," Stannis replied almost immediately. "And you are more his son than any of your trueborn siblings. So no, I don't consider you one."

"Then you have your answer, your Grace." He paused, thinking - knowing that even his well-crafted response needed a bit more. "I made my oaths for one reason, to see that my family was safe and reclaimed its birthright. Thanks to you, I saved Sansa, Rickon, Arya, and Bran. All that is left of House Stark is alive and now thriving because I made an oath to you." All true, ironically enough. Jon figured he would take a chance to obtain an accord between Daenerys and Stannis.

There wasn't though. Dany was determined in her goal, and Stannis moreso. Jon made his decision long ago and knew he needed to stick to it. Idle sentimentality is worthless. He knew where the remnants of his shattered heart rested - with his blood and Daenerys.

Silent for a moment, Stannis ended up letting out a chuckle, wiping nervous sweat off his forehead. "Thank the gods, you sound like you mean that, Jon." He wrung his hands together. "Gods be good."

"It is the truth, your Grace. Now the initiative is with you. Kill me, continue to hold me as a hostage, or let me go North. Your choice."

But he shook his head. "I know you wish to go home, Jon. Gods, sometimes I wish I could head back to Storm's End and live my life in peace, but I cannot. We all have our duties. Mine is to be the King and Promised Prince, yours… you are to bring peace to the Realms of Men."

Check. "And how can I do that?"

Stannis smiled softly, though there was a glint of darkness in his eyes. "It is simple. What you told me earlier of the Dragon Queen… I suggest we use that."

Check. "In what way?"

"I shall send you to the Dragon Queen, send you in a position that she cannot even attempt to harm you without incurring the wrath of any Lord with even a sense of honor or self-preservation."

"You want me to go to Dragonstone?" Jon said. Trying his damnedest to sound surprised.

"Yes," Stannis said. Rising from his chair, he drew close to Jon's side. "You spoke of Daenerys' supposed affection towards you. I believe that may be useful."

"In what way?"

"Seduce her. Learn all her secrets. Send the information back to us," Stannis said, sounding out of breath. "Battle plans especially. Those are most important."

"I see," Jon said, scratching his chin to seem contemplative.

"If her attraction to you is as strong as you say. If she trusts you fully. It is a foolproof plan. Do you agree?"

"We've been apart for quite some time. It's possible any feelings she had have faded."

"In that case, this plan would require some wooing on your side," Littlefinger said.

"Can you handle this, Jon?"

Jon pretended to marinate on it - in reality, he was elated. Things were finally shaping up, and it was amazing that they progressed just how he and Jaime planned it. But… "You can send me there, but how would it look?"

"How would what look?"

He smiled softly. Deceptively, as if the whole situation intimidated him… from all he could tell, the person he had been before his death was not experienced with plots and deceptions. Sam told me I tried to deceive the free folk, only to end up falling for one. Ironic, he found himself in a similar situation - in love with one he once called his enemy.

The last ended up as a tragedy if I remember the account correctly. This one won't. "The way I see it, Daenerys would accept me into her court simply as someone she at the very least lusts after." The feeling was completely mutual, though Jon figured they didn't need to know that. "That isn't the problem, since I'm sure she'd be fine with a story that I escaped with Arya. However, why would her advisors, or her as a Queen and not a wanton woman accept me there? If Arya brought me as an escaped prisoner, it's one thing, but you releasing me of your own free will?"

Unable to help himself, Littlefinger laughed. "My my, Jon Stark. From what Sansa told me about you I never thought you were so perceptive. Must be your mother's blood, whoever she was."

A pang of pain and sorrow hit him… not just one born from what he knew about himself, but something deeper. "Aye, whoever she was." Jon decided to move on. "Your Grace… what do you intend to do?"

Regardless of his iconoclastic and hard personality, Stannis had been a player in the game of thrones for long enough to know how to survive in it. Robert and his lust for pleasure was a nonfactor that needed to be propped up by others, while Renly's vices and scheming nature beyond his station led him to thrust himself somewhere beyond his ability. Stannis survived where his brothers didn't, and it took a certain animal cunning that he had that they didn't. As such, he knew what he would do without Baelish advising him of it.

"Misunderstandings happen in court all the time. If a ruler was to execute every man that insulted him then half his retinue would be dead. I shall announce that Arya Stark has been cleared of all wrongdoing, and thus your supposed treason has no basis."

"The King's fondness for you is well-known, Jon," Davos said helpfully. "Both among our court and likely the Dragon Queen's."

Jon nodded, finding nothing false about such a statement. "And why I'm being sent to Dragonstone?"

Stannis smiled softly - from how firm his face was, it was remarkably warm. "You are to be my envoy to the Dragon Queen. Someone to seek some sort of favorable terms in order to end this fight so we can face the others beyond the wall."

The others… as if by instinct, Jon felt that Dany and his family weren't the only things he was fighting for. "And would you abide by these terms if I somehow negotiated them?"

"I would."

Gods help him, Jon couldn't tell if Stannis was lying or not. I'll just have to see.

Coughing and sputtering, Jaime clawed his remaining good hand through the mud of the riverbank. What had to be hours of churning in the icy current, close to blacking out numerous times, was finally over. He was cold, waterlogged, and exhausted, but alive and away from Arya Stark.

Thank the Seven for small favors.

Finding a jagged rock, he cut the binds holding his hands… Well, his forearms together and pushed himself to his feet. The sun was low in the sky but not close to the horizon so he had some time before nightfall to get dry. Standing on a boulder prevented his boots from getting any more filthy in the mud, and he assessed his options.

Alone and without any prospects.

A clean slate, ironically enough. Even when with Brienne in the middle of the Riverlands he wasn't so lucky.

Holding the elegantly molded lump of gold in his hand, for the briefest of moments Jaime thought of taking it with him. Selling it… finding some sort of profit to which he could simply escape. Off to Braavos, or Pentos, or even a boat back home to Lannisport to the safety of his aunt Genna and cousins…

He killed that as soon as it came to mind. There was no point. Jaime Lannister would be a hunted man no matter where he went, nor did he truly wish for this… this thing to be a part of him any longer. In the golden hand that served as a cheap replacement to the magnificent sword hand that had won him his reputation both good and ill, the old Jaime dwelled within. The one with the highest of dreams that crashed into a morass of illicit love, bastard children, assassinations of kings and boys alike… The magnificent knight of the Kingsguard as adored as the Sword of the Morning or Barristan the Bold before him… no longer. He was dead, and the cocky bastard that replaced him was but a shadow of that dream.

Jaime's eyes flickered about. From the hand to the river and back to the hand again. Did he wish to live? Aye, cause if he didn't he could've let himself drown. He didn't, instead struggling to stay afloat and alive. That said more than any sort of internal monologue?

Didn't it?

He chose to believe it did.

With that settled, the second question slammed against his mind. What did he want to be? What could Jaime Lannister be? Before, there was no other choice. Kingslayer. Oathbreaker. Sisterfucker. Murderer. Lapdog… A life was chosen for him, most by others but oft of his own making. Jaime didn't regret killing Aerys, but the rest… He shook his head. The choices had been all bad, and very few in the light of hindsight were ever preordained to work out as fucked up as they were.

Cersei's madness wasn't preordained. Nor was Joffrey's cruelty. That didn't mean Jaime's actions didn't contribute, but they weren't the true cause of them either.

Whoever was at fault, Jaime closed his eyes. There was no sense in this pain. Not anymore. All were gone. Cersei, Aerys, Rhaegar, Rhaella, Joffrey, Tommen, Myrcella, his father… only Tyrion was left, but he'd have just as much a reason to want to kill the past as Jaime did.

A past represented by the damned golden hand.

One last time, Jaime let himself remember the few joys of his past. The moments alone with Cersei when Robert fought in the Iron Islands, carefree and happy. Holding Joffrey when no one but he attended to him in his infancy. Teaching Myrcella how to dance before a feast - just prior to his crippling of Ned Stark. A moment alone with Tommen, showing him the basics of swordplay. His own sparring sessions with Rhaegar and Arthur Dayne, the youth idolizing the great men. Conversations with Rhaella… before she was shipped off to Dragonstone.

It had been so long since his mother passed, whenever he remembered her, by now he merely pictured Rhaella's face.

Perhaps he'd continue to remember her and Rhaegar and Arthur. The rest…

Sighing deeply, Jaime took the hand and kissed it. "Goodbye Cersei… Goodbye, my children." A tear rolled down his wet face. "May you have the peace in death that you didn't have in life." With that, he yanked his arm back and hurled the hand into the river. Still strong, Jaime watched it plop about two-thirds to the middle, sinking rapidly into the current.

Along with the demons of his past.

To tell the truth, he did feel a little bit lighter - the weight on his chest much less. He would always mourn Cersei and his children that he could never acknowledge, but no longer would his mindset be defined by them.

If there was still a chance to become the man he always wished to be, he would take it.

"Well, this is it."

"Aye, this is it." Jon allowed a smile at Ser Davos, this one actually genuine. Very rarely did he genuinely smile, and there was a feeling that he rarely did even before his resurrection hardened him further. "You, I will truly miss."

A wry grin. "Not used to the goings and comings of court?"

Jon shook his head. "Not at all." After the royal declaration to the assembled bannermen of House Baratheon gathered in the great hall of the Red Keep, Stannis proclaiming his exoneration of Arya Stark and that Lord Jon Stark had reclaimed his position as his Master of War, a feast was held in his honor. Facing the honeyed words of courtiers, the ambitious proposals from Lords, and the batted eyelashes and unsubtle flirting from maidens were not one he enjoyed.

He preferred Northmen, brash and open. So too do dragons fit that category. They wore their emotions on their sleeves, if a bit more devious and cunning.

Or perhaps he could simply read the one dragon that he knew. A side of their connection.

Shuffling his feet, Davos shed a tear. "Good luck, Jon. I wish you only the best… that something good can come out of this."

Jon nodded, tendrils of emotion stirring in his heart. Davos had always been good to him, regardless of what it did for his standing. "I intend to chart the best course, Davos. Too long have I been passive on such fronts, and it ends now."

"You've grown up, Jon. Become a true leader of men." 'Kill the boy… kill the boy and let the man be born…' The older man looked him in the eye. "Just promise me something."

There was a tiny silence. "Only if you promise me something as well, but you go first."

Davos cleared his throat. "You do what you have to do for your lady, but just remember what Stannis did for you. If you can ensure both of them live in peace, take it. Don't let greed get in the way of the threat we face."

Jon closed his eyes, remembering a haunting blue… the deepest cold. "You have my word, Davos. I don't want any further bloodshed… but if I must then I must."

"I know." The older man was tired, but resolved. "And your request of me?"

A smile crossed Jon's face. "Go see your wife and sons. Find some bit of happiness in your life again. Take it from me, you have to cherish what you do have." Davos' eyes welled with tears and he hugged Jon… an embrace the young Lord returned.

Resting on the prow of the ship, Jon looked behind him and watched as the blackened near ruin that was King's Landing began to grow smaller and fainter as the winds filled the large bank of sails. The Red Keep still loomed large, the home of Stannis. Of Daenerys' family, the ones who built it. All this death over that damned Iron Chair. It was worthless to him, though coveted by the two that fought for his loyalty.

King Stannis, First of his Name - the one who legitimized him from a damned bastard into one of the greatest Lords in Westeros. For years Jon had apparently fought for him, from the Land of Always Winter to Winterfell to the Riverlands and finally Duskendale. A man that saw Jon as a son… and yet possessed a callousness and near-religious zealotry in believing in his own destiny. Something that allowed the most unspeakable things.

A duopoly. Divergent qualities.

Queen Daenerys, First of her Name - though if Jon remembered his history correctly, one thing that hadn't been lost in the shattered remnants of his mind, she hadn't been the first Daenerys but the first to rule. There had been no love lost between them in the beginning, she being Stannis' opponent for the throne and ending up torching much of his army at Duskendale. Jon was a prisoner thanks to her, Jon died thanks to her… and yet…

There was a good heart underneath the dragons and hardness and fire and blood. One that loved fiercely and exposed her to pain. He could see it, since perhaps he shared such a heart - why else would he save the wildlings? Or fight so hard for his siblings? The way Arya looked at him, it was clear she valued him more than mere blood could deserve, and Daenerys' closest advisors were much like that to her as well.

And she looked at him in that manner, adoring him even though she had every reason not to.

Was it love? On her part Jon was sure, inexplicable but true - something Daenerys explained as being a trait shared with her dragons. The hardest person for her to love is I, but that's what a dragon would choose. The gist of her argument, and he knew it was true of a wolf as well. Did he love her? Aye… likely I do. Jon needed to see her once more to be absolutely sure, and that was soon to take place as the ship began to reach open water.

Two monarchs, each seeking his loyalty. Both were powerful, both capable of the most unspeakable cruelty - cruelty they had both displayed in the past. Both cared for him deeply, one expressing such through loyalty in Jon's faithful service and the other through the most intimate manner of trust and emotion.

He needed to make a choice. Jon needed to know who he would fight for if there was no other option. Davos' words still filled his mind and it somehow felt like he was on familiar ground to follow it… seeking an accord with all his might were both the man that had legitimized him and the woman who loved him could coexist without further war or bloodshed. He resolved to try, for both their sakes and his own.

But if all fell apart, who would he fight for?

Resting his head against the railing, Jon closed his eyes. Finding the empty blackness behind his lids that he usually saw, filled with pain and sorrow. Only one served as a balm to such agony. Only one he ever knew could warm his shattered soul and make him feel any close to healing. Wind blowing against his face, coating him with the cool touch of the sea-spray that seemed so familiar and soothing, Jon's course was clear.

"I'll see you soon, Dany."

A/N: BRuh4: Jaime on the run. Jon on the move. Stannis on the prowl.

Other shit. Lots of other shit is happening. Lots of shit we've been talking about for a very long time now.

Slow updates suck. Sorry if you're frustrated. But to those of you who write, you know the rub.

See you again down the road.

Longclaw: The Jonerys reunion is coming! Stay tuned!

Until next time!