Tyrion Lannister

Kings Landing, 301 AC

To say his head ached was an understatement. For nearing two weeks he had been struggling to open his eyes as the moment the light of the room bounced within, a blistering pain followed by numerous curses from his mouth before he had no choice but to close them once again. For three days he had tried to complete the menial task, but every time it had failed, eventually groaning and instead keeping them closed and looking by all intents and purposes like he were simply sleeping. Unless it was Bronn, Varys, or Shae that is. Then he had no qualms in speaking as much as possible.

The sheer stupidity of people came to light then.

Because they thought he was sleeping, they thought he was even lower than before. Their tongues loosening the few times they came into his solar from nobles to servants alike. His father had managed to pull on both the wolf's and dragon's tail by seeing through what they were doing. Sending ravens ahead to all of his Lord's to leave enough men to not look suspicious whereas the remainders were to begin travelling south towards the border of the Reach before cutting straight across to circle towards Harrenhal where he was based. The attack on the castle from the Targaryen whelp had incinerated much of his father's army and Tywin was rightfully furious at such a thing. Lion's were prideful beasts, and those who were lions as their sigils were also prideful. It was an insult on House Lannister, that one attack from one green boy caused such carnage.

He'd not been there at the time, having travelled further south to speak to other Lord's in the Crownland's to secure Joffrey's reign more but he had found out alright. Whether from word of mouth or from when he had gone back to Harrenhal no one had divulged such a thing in Tyrion's vicinity yet. But soon it would, there was no denying such a thing. However, good things always had to come to an end, and now he could open his eyes without being in agony. But his head still ached terribly which was not surprising. The rage on Ser Mandon's face as he swung at him before Podrick Payne had speared him through the head immediately after right before his vision had gone black. He was Hand of the King, he was the second most powerful man in the realm. Mayhaps most powerful man in the realm as his nephew ruled only in name whilst everyone surrounding him worked tirelessly to keep his madness to barely a peep. There were only two people who could've given the order.

His brat of a nephew who was King, or his cunt of a sister who was Queen Regent.

Deep down, Tyrion knew which of the two it was. Cersei had always wanted him dead, always blaming him for taking their mother from her. Joanna Lannister in her eyes was her mother and not their mother, and she never tried to say it any other way.

"What's got your tongue in a twist?"

"Why do you always talk in riddles."

"Because riddles are fun once in a while. Not as fun as killing or fucking, but still fun."

Despite his annoyance, Tyrion could not help but to chuckle at Bronn's words.

"Do help me get out of this damned bed and send for servants to bring me fresh clothes, it is about time I get out of this room and find out what has been happening in my absence- "

"I ain't your maid- "

"Nay, but I am paying you to be by my side."

Bronn shot him a look of annoyance but it didn't last for long until he too chuckled under his breath and leaving to complete the requested task. Servants coming in not long after. The wound had scabbed over and the scabs were beginning to fall off, but the chunk of his nose he had lost would never grow back. He bathed for what felt like an eternity but was likely only a quarter of an hour at most. Pulling on clean clothes which signified his station before looking for his pin. Eyes furrowing as he could not see it anywhere. Shrugging to himself because everyone knew who he was, so he could find it later. Asking around for where everyone was. Making his way towards the small council chamber and many eyes turned to him when he entered, momentarily enjoying how red Cersei's face got.

"You would think I was really dead given how silent everyone has gotten at my appearance. Alas, I have only been resting and have been listening in on what has been occurring."

Cersei's eyes darted away for a split second which was all the confirmation needed that his assumption had been correct.

"Pray tell me, where is my darling nephew?"

"Ruling the Kingdom- "

"In other words he is sitting on that monstrosity of a throne whilst he leaves us to rule his Kingdom for him."

Varys' lips tightened trying to hold in a laugh as did Baelish's, Pycelle being affronted at being cut off in the way he had and beginning his usual blundering which was not at all convincing.

"Now, I wish to be made aware of what has been happening since the defeat of Stannis Baratheon."

Varys coughed into his hand, noticing now he was actually wearing a perfume which smelled like vanilla. Still strong enough to make ones eye sting but better than that lavender one he so loved.

"Stannis suffered a stunning defeat at the hands of your father, the Westerland's armies, the Royal Guard, and the City Watch. His fleet is in ruins and only a few ships were able to get away. Those who we captured bent the knee to Joffrey and are now openly proclaiming Stannis a Usurper and they were simply misguided."

The insult tasted like salt on his tongue. He led the armies, he deserved recognition. But of course, the dwarf of Casterly Rock and the Imp of House Lannister would never be granted such a menial thing. Looking at everyone around the table and eyes catching on his pin on his father's chest. Anger coursing through him but deciding now was not the time to open a wound as such. Being cut off when a messenger entered the room unannounced with a scroll in his hands. Petyr Baelish standing up to take it before chucking the messenger out. Wondering what was happening here but the Spider realised his confusion.

"My little birds are getting difficult to contact, Lord Tyrion. We are having to rely on messengers as the days go on."

Something about those words reeked of mistruth, but he had no reason to doubt him so call him out on such a thing he would not. Baelish now seated at the table again as his sister snatched the roll to read it for herself. Making to rip it before his father grabbed it from her.

"Ripping papers does not get rid of what is written on the papers, daughter."

Her lips tightened in anger but even she knew arguing with their father would be a lost cause. Clearing his throat and reading the words aloud. And gods, the words were terrible. Stannis Baratheon a prisoner in his own castle, the Tyrell's having taken Dragonstone in the name of House Targaryen, and that Robb Stark and Jaeron Targaryen had finally figured out the ploy of their father and were riding fast for the capital. The messenger had come from Duskendale, where they were supposed to take out a couple thousand of the Stark army and to capture Lord Renfred Rykker until he pledged for his nephew, but that had failed. Groaning loudly as he squeezed what was left of his nose.

"We should throw the bastard pup in the sea and be done with it."

If only things were that easy, sweet sister. If only things were that easy. Although it did amuse him greatly that she was spitting the word 'bastard' with such a spit considering she herself had birthed three bastards and was passing all three off as legitimate heirs of House Baratheon. Their father was too prideful to accept the truth, but everyone knew. How could they not know?

"And say we did succeed, what are we to do with the damned dragons- "

"We don't know with certainty- "

"Do not interrupt me, daughter. You started all of this by not putting a leash on your son and letting him run rampant. Be glad we still have one Stark in our care- "

"Jeyne Poole you mean."

A collective hush overcame everyone at his words. Being replaced a moment later by Cersei's face reddening and kicking her chair back to lean over and smack him but his father stopped such a thing occurring. It becoming clear Tywin did not know Sansa had not been in the Red Keep for months. Bright green eyes boring deep into his daughters who to her credit, kept the gaze for longer than most before giving up. The air beginning to thicken as they saw the rage beginning to bubble up.

"You mean to tell me that we have not one Stark in our possession but instead a steward's daughter pretending to be one?"

Cersei did not speak a word, clearly not liking being seen as the stupid child but Tyrion found it highly amusing.

"Answer me!"

Still, she did not speak. Instead leaving the room in anger which only insulted his father even more.

"And not one of you lot saw fit to make me aware at any point? All of you, out."

No one even attempted to fight back. Leaving the room but his father shot him a look which was a silent order for him to remain. The silence between the two of them being so thick one could carve it with a dull knife.

"Why must everyone surrounding my grandson be such idiots."

Tyrion almost snorted at those words, because they were certainly true. No one could deny such a proclamation.

"How long has Sansa Stark been missing?"

There was no use lying, so speak freely he did.

"I don't know, but she had been gone a while before I got here."

Now, those bright green eyes were baring into his own like he were looking deep into his brain. Shoulders hunched in anger as he took this as a massive slight.

"As if I did not already have a full plate, it appears I am being served another course. Petyr Baelish is being sent to the Vale on the morrow to bring them to our side. Lysa Tully is a fool in love with the man, if we dangle the prize on the end of a rope she will join our side. This will cause a ripple effect into the Riverland's and weaken Lord Hoster's position which in turn will weaken Jaeron's position."

"You are actually calling him by the name?"

"There is only so much you can hear before the truth is obvious. How none of us saw through Eddard Stark's lies is a mystery. Whilst I have not seen them myself, I saw the damage those beasts of his cause. We've been hearing things weeks later than they are actually happening so where the whelp is now I cannot say. But what I can say is, he is preparing to siege the capital and it could be any day now. He has Dragonstone, he has the Riverland's, he has much of the North beside House Karstark and those on Skagos, he now has the Reach, he has Duskendale. So I wish for you tell me something, what tunnels do you know about?"

To say Tyrion was stunned was an understatement. But he gave all the information he could. Whilst he hated his father, he was loyal to his House and this would prove his loyalty to his House. Once done, no more words were spoken as he made to leave the room.

"Tyrion."

He turned to Tywin to see what he wanted to say.

"You are no longer Hand of the King. You were only so temporarily until I came to be here. But you will remain as you are still needed."

Catelyn Tully Stark

Riverrun, 301 AC

Her father was sick. That was something she could not deny.

Hoster Tully was a man who loathed weakness, and she had grown up knowing that to be the case. So, the fact that he was not even attempting to hide his weakness meant that it was worse than he was letting on. She'd asked around from servants to the steward to the Maester and to her brother, but all gave her the same answer. He'd been failing slowly over the last year but in the last couple of months it had turned from slow to rapid. Chunks of hair falling out, not a single ounce of red in the colour of it and now as white as fresh snow. Getting thinner as the days went on and now his cheeks were completely hollowed out.

There was no denying the inevitable, her father was dying, and it would likely be soon. Despite coming to this conclusion, a part of Catelyn didn't want to say it aloud because to say it aloud would make it more real. Remembering the fever her mother had caught which had claimed her life and watching her get worse and worse until eventually her weak body gave out on her. Edmure was too young to remember Minisa Whent, Lysa barely remembered her, but she remembered. Dark blue eyes and dark brown hair that fell in long waves to the centre of her back. Tears beginning to sting her eyes as she forced herself to think of something else.

Riverrun had changed little since she had last been here. The last time she had stood in these halls was when she was convincing her father to pledge to Jaeron which he had done reluctantly. Now though, he spoke on how he was glad he'd done so and they'd asked their current Maester to check Maester Kym's notes to see if there was anything that needed addressed. Kym had helped her father raise them all, yet it was obvious he was not loyal to any of them. No Maester was, for a Maester was loyal to the Citadel and the Citadel only. Sworn to absolute neutrality and to serve who occupied the castle faithfully even if their hearts were not in it.

News had been reaching them frequently of the war though, which she was glad for. Robb was understandably furious with her but what had been done was done. If he had followed through with what he planned it would've made things infinitely worse for their cause than the way she had forced things to go by freeing Ser Jaime. If he was dead, Tywin would either need to name Tyrion his heir or Kevan his heir. One would have House Lannister be a laughing stock and the other would make House Lannister weaker. Whilst Lord Kevan was certainly a force, he was nothing in comparison to his older brother. Then again, Catelyn doubted there was anyone who was as vile as Tywin Lannister.

A cunning man aye, a smart man too, but a vile man all the same.

Weeks had passed since she had been left here when the army had come out from the Westerland's to begin marching south. They'd been played for fools, and it was so obvious now that she thought back on it. But what was done was done. Stannis was defeated at Kings Landing, and had further been defeated by her nephew at Dragonstone. By keeping him close the Stormland's had no choice but to declare either for Jaeron or for Joffrey. There was no other option for them to take, for anyone to take a stance of neutrality now was nothing but a weakling. Too much had happened for anyone to sit twiddling their thumbs. Two more ravens she had sent to Lysa, to get her to see sense and pledge her men, only one of which they had received a reply for.

Her sister was still refusing to budge. Her men would not be sent to join the cause, she did not recognise Jaeron as the King, and she would not take up army against the Lannister's as she was convinced Robyn would be next if they got too close. She'd almost screamed when she had read those words. Family, duty, honour. That was their words. Yet it was clear her sister did not hold their values. Honour compelled her to pledge her men which she did not so she was not honourable. Duty compelled her to support her family and whilst she had no blood ties to Jaeron she had blood ties to Robb and therefore she was not dutiful. Family should always stand by family, and Lysa Tully had all but spat on them from the top of a tower.

Enough chances were given, and Catelyn was exhausted in trying to fight this position. One week after this servants came running to tell her that Hoster had fallen and broken his hip, the Maester ordering he remain on bedrest until the bone had repaired itself. The words hung in the air, for everyone knew he would not live long enough for the injury to heal. It was a pitiful thing to see, someone as strong as him being unable to do anything. Edmure taking over as Lord in all but name and it became painfully obvious he lacked severely at it. Having to step in herself which her brother misliked but chose wisely not to fight her on it. She was a Tully, but she had lived as a Stark for long enough to grow fangs and claws, and she was not afraid to use them. The week following this another raven arrived from Jaeron explaining what had happened and her gut began to twist inside of her. Of course, there was the possibility that the army headed by Lord Randyll was simply there to seize Duskendale but to her the timing was far too coincidental. It reeked of something foul, but what was foul there was no way to know.

Spending the day worrying over what was occurring as now she was behind in everything, helping her brother run Riverrun and by default the Riverland's. By night, she spent by her fathers bedside as he got weaker and weaker. Groans of pain being all that left his mouth and now he was being given regular dosages of milk of the poppy to ease the pain. It done so, but it also sent him into a delirious state. Mumbling things which made little to no sense to her but she memorised the words as much as she could for each word may just be his last words ever spoken.

"Little cat. My little cat. I watched for you."

He'd not called her little cat since she was only a little girl. Something she had not been for a long time but the memories of her childhood were sweet. When her and Lysa were as thick as Arya and Jaeron were as children and would team up to prank Edmure and Petyr. Especially the time they had asked the cooks to make honey extremely sticky which had confused them but they had carried out the order. The two of them painting a thin layer all over their bedrooms so the moment they stepped inside they would get stuck and when they tried to get free would lose their balance and fall over only to get more stuck. Hoster had banned them from desserts for a week after that, but it was clear he had found the whole situation amusing. How times had changed. Now, her brother was Lord of Riverrun and Petyr was a Lannister lackey. He loved her, Catelyn knew that with certainty. But she would only ever see him as a brother and never anything else.

"Lysa?"

"No father, it's me, little cat."

He groaned again as another wave of pain overcame him but he'd already had his most recent dosage so she knew she could not give him more.

"That stripling wretched boy, do not speak that name to me. Your duty, your mother, she would..."

"She would what, father?"

Another groan followed by a whimper. A sound she never thought she would hear from his lips but that is what it was.

"Gods forgive me, oh forgive me."

"Forgive what?"

Her confusion ringing in the air like a bell beside her ear. Clearly he was trying to tell her something but what he was trying to tell her was lost on her. Another groan, another whimper. Taking in the way his face had sucked in on itself and seeing the shape of his skull as the muscle underneath was just now there anymore.

"Forgive me. The tansy, the tansy. Oh gods the blood, all the blood. Gods be good. I'm sorry my girl. Forgive me."

Jaeron Targaryen

Dragonstone, 301 AC

The preparations were well underway now. Nerves eating him up as now it was as clear as a memory and no longer simply a dream. So close that at times he swore he could taste the sweet taste of victory on his tongue. But it wasn't over yet, for he still had a lot of enemies. Winning the throne and taking the capital was not a guaranteed end to the war, but it would secure him into a much better position than before. Two more days he remained at Dragonstone. Spending time with Willas, Margaery, and Shireen whenever he could.

The road ahead was clear, but the end was not.

No further words had been spoken to Stannis nor had he spoken to Selyse, there was no point in it. The fact there was even respect between them was surprising. Especially given what Stannis had done. He'd found out from Margaery he had watched as the Red Woman burned Ser Axell Florent alive- Selyse's own brother. That in itself should've alienated House Florent from House Baratheon but it did not as they were allies a couple times over through blood. Whilst Edric was a bastard, he was still recognised as Robert Baratheon's son and therefore they had some claim to the throne through blood. Something which Margaery was certain they wanted as they had never accepted House Tyrell as their overlord's. They wanted the Reach for themselves, but this was squashed when Alerie Hightower married Mace Tyrell which united the two richest and most influential House's in the Kingdom in question.

A long time ago, House Hightower and House Targaryen were mortal enemies, but no more were they so. Whilst himself and Margaery were only betrothed, it was going to happen. A broken oath was a sin in the eyes of the Old Gods, and Jaeron still kept his beliefs in them and did not believe in the Seven. Granted, he'd need to make it appear as though he did when he inevitably took the throne, but that was something for another time. Walking through the many corridors before spotting someone heading outside. Someone he had seen around and someone many occupants within the castle were unsettled by. Maester Pylos had even confirmed she had killed the previous Maester and somehow drank poison without an antidote and was unaffected. Before he could even so much as think, he found himself following her.

Through the castle itself, through the intricate caves below the castle, along the rocky shore, and finally to the beach. Carrying a single torch with her which was all the light there was as the moon was not as bright as it usually was this night. Watching as she walked over to a pile of dry wood and lighting them on fire before standing completely still, staring into the flames as if she were in a trance. Everything about her was red. Hair, eyes, lips, and clothing alike. Of course, he'd heard of the Red Priests of R'hllor before, Maester Luwin agreed they all should know what lay outside the shores of Westeros so they were more rounded in the ways of the world. Which he was glad for now.

"Āeksio hen Ōños, nykēla arrigon." (Lord of Light, show me.)

It was strange hearing the language again, especially as he was now massively out of practise in it.

"Melisandre Ābrazyrys." (Lady Melisandre.)

Red eyes turned up to stare him directly in the eye.

"Valyrian drasi?" (You speak Valyrian?)

"Byka." (Little.)

She nodded a little before turning to the flames once again, completely transfixed on the way the flames danced on the beach.

"You are making a grave mistake Prince Jaeron."

"In what way, my Lady?"

Red eyes still did not leave, not even blinking which unsettled him even more. Yet somehow, his feet were walking towards her until he was sat on the opposite side of the flame, not even being able to see her the flames had gotten so high and the smell of burning invaded his nostrils. It was a scent he'd gotten somewhat used to thanks to Rhaegon and Lyrax which in a strange way he was glad for currently.

"King Stannis is the Prince that was Promised. He is the one that will bring the Dawn from what lies beyond."

Confusion whirred in his mind for a while, wondering what that even meant. Despite him not speaking a single word, she seemed to read his mind which given what he had heard of the Red Priests from Maester Luwin- would not surprise him.

"When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt."

"That's an old Northern prophecy- "

"It is not a Northern prophecy. Even the North does not remember everything young Prince."

The insult had its intention, and he felt like a knife had been shoved into him. What did she mean by that? The North always remembered, it was why they refused to convert to worshipping the Seven and fended of the Andal invasion so long ago. But he bit his tongue, waiting on her to clarify.

"The prophecy is ancient, even older than the Freehold of Valyria, before the Valyrian's of Old even knew of dragons existing never mind before they began experimenting a little too much. This goes back to the Great Empire of the Dawn in the far east of Essos which spanned from Asshai all the way up to where the plains of the Jogos Nhai begin. Where dragons were first mastered and their power was used but not for lost. Eyes of amethyst, eyes of emerald, of opal, tourmaline, and jade. An empire that was unmatched yet it all fell when greed invaded the heart and mind of one."

For a moment, Jaeron could've sworn it was Old Nan speaking with her terrifying stories which always fascinated Bran and made Sansa cry in fear.

"He wished for power, he wished for expansion, he wanted not just the Empire but more. Yet there was an obstacle in his way, a sister who was the Empress. And so the story goes where he took a sword and killed his sister in cold blood, the slaying of kin is sinful and this tainted his own blood. Thus an age of darkness came about. People died, crops died, rivers and lakes ran dry. And then the cold started, a cold so vicious a person could not remain outside for longer than a few minutes before freezing solid themselves. The empire grew and grew, over the Northern bridge- "

"The Northern bridge?"

The flames had dimmed down a lot now, noticing her eyes were still fixated on the blazing fire and she was still not blinking.

"The North does not always remember, everyone forgets the truth and remembers only lies and stories. The Northern bridge was said to have been a land bridge much like the arm of Dorne which connected the northernmost city of the Empire which was situated between the plains of the Jogos Nhai to the west and Mossovy to the east all the way to the northernmost area of Westeros. Far beyond the Lands of Always Winter."

"And what does this have to do with Stannis?"

It went quiet for a few minutes before a single word was spoken.

"Everything."

Jaeron's mind was running at a speed it hadn't for a long time, trying to make sense of what she was saying but it was like a riddle. A riddle he knew the answer to as it was sitting on the tip of his tongue but no matter how hard he tried he could not think of the words.

"Contrary to belief, I know the legend of Azor Ahai. My father believed himself to be this Promised Prince and something about a flaming sword. Yet when my brother was born he believed Aegon was the Promised Prince."

"Lightbringer. The sword which will inevitably bring the Dawn."

"Can we stop talking in riddles, my Lady?"

She was really beginning to grind on his nerves.

"I know of the betrayal of the Bloodstone Emperor and the age of darkness that came after, but I was unaware of this Empire you speak about. A night came from it which lasted a generation, and during this night the White Walker's came with their army. They took over much of Essos and finally moved to Westeros through the arm of Dorne and this was why the Children and the First Men signed a pact to put aside their differences and fight their common enemy as one. Azor Ahai had a wise called Nissa Nissa and to put an end to it all he had to make the ultimate sacrifice and drove his sword through her which impregnated his sword with her blood. And the sword glowed. It was said this sword is what ended the Long Night."

And Jaeron knew that it was all too true. He rarely thought of it as the few times he did a fear so sharp rippled through his body it were like he were stuck beneath a frozen lake. Having no escape, not being able to breathe, and finally having to accept his fate.

"You know nothing, Jon Snow."

"My name is Jaeron Targaryen."

"But before that your name was Jon Snow."

He bit his lip, knowing there was no use in arguing with her. His own eyes fixating on the flames and he jumped after a moment as he swore he saw something.

"What did you see, young Prince?"

"Ice and fire, converging as one."

A voice coming to the forefront now, one he had heard in a dream.

"Dreams are fickly, prophecies are fickly. Sometimes they come true, sometimes they do not, sometimes they don't come true until hundreds of years later."

Dreams. Prophecies. Dreams. Prophecies. They had to be linked, Jaeron knew that now. Too many people around him had dreamt and prophesised, there had to be some layer of truth to it. Especially as he had first hand experience.

"The White Walker's are real. The army of the dead is real. I know this as I have killed a wight before."

For the first time since they had come out, her red eyes tore away from the flames as they bore into his own. Red meeting purple, looking for traces of a lie as she stood up and walked to directly in front of him and gripping his chin so he could not look away from her.

"You killed a wight? When?"

When was it? So much had happened in such a little span of time everything was just a massive maze.

"When I went to the Wall for the second time. When Lord Howland came for me in Winterfell and took me to Castle Black to make it look as though I had sworn the vows. Two bodies were brought back and were kept in a room to be examined in the morning as Maester Aemon was asleep at the time. But that night, their eyes opened. Eyes so blue they were like crystals, no thoughts behind those eyes, and nothing would kill them or even so much as stop them."

"Then how?"

He reached down to unsheathe Dark Sister, holding the blade up so the flames dancing beside them reflected of the smoky grey metal.

"Valyrian steel kills them. Many members of my family knew of the prophecy. Aegon the Conqueror dreamt it and that a Targaryen must be seated on the throne when it eventually comes for us, Viserys I dreamt a male of his line would be the one to unite everyone, Aegon V dreamt of the return of dragons, Jaehaerys II heard of a prophecy from a Woods Witch which is why he wed Aerys II to his sister Rhaella. My father believed himself to be the Promised Prince and then later believed it to be my brother. Yet my father is dead, my brother is dead. Dreams are not truth, my Lady."

"You know nothing."

That same voice echoed in his mind, words he had not heard in his own dream before.

"To go south, you must go north."

"I have to take the throne."

He thought quietly, but the voice argued back.

"If you do not go north there will be no throne for you to sit, young dragon. The dragon has three heads, and soon it will be as clear as a memory to you."

Then an image appeared in the flames again, not even realising Melisandre had let go of him and they had returned to staring at them. Yet flames he did not see. He saw the sea, he saw land, he saw the coast, and he saw ice. The sea dousing the west, fire raining down on the east, getting ever so closer to one another as ice slowly crept down to where the two would meet.

"I have asked my Lord to show me a glimpse of Azor Ahai, yet R'hllor shows me only snow."

A chill wracked down his spine in a way he had never experienced before. But he had little time to think, for now Rhaegon was on the beach awaiting for him to mount. Sparing one more look at the Red Lady before doing just that and flying towards Rosby to meet the army.