Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Oldtown/King's Landing 308 AC,

The Keeper of Secrets.

Ebrose held the crumpled raven's scroll tightly in his hand. The news that it bore was expected and very much not welcomed. He celebrated not the announcement of the birth of the new prince. Cared not that the realm now had an heir and the succession was somewhat secured. Nor did he like that the bells of Oldtown had loudly proclaimed the birthing of the son of Jacaerys Targaryen and Desmera Redwyne.

Tonight and mayhap for the next few days, there were to be celebrations. Oldtown was fully behind the king and queen. Jacaerys Targaryen marrying a daughter of the Reach at the Starry Sept had won the city over even more so than the support of House Hightower. His actions since being wed, as well as those leading up to it, had all helped much in this regard. For not a single man, woman, or child had wished to name Ser Bronn of the Blackwater as their liege lord. While none had taken any delight in naming Brandon Stark their king.

Later that day, Ebrose found he had something else he disliked regarding the new prince. Rhaegar Targaryen had something his namesake could only have dreamed about. Just like his father before him, the young prince now had a dragon to call on. Ebrose had grimaced and ground his teeth as he'd been told the news.

"The Mage writes that a dragon has hatched."

"That where once there was one, now there are two."

"What if Jacaerys Targaryen sires more children? Are they to be Dragonriders too?"

"They cannot be allowed to grow."

"Root and stem, we must remove the dragon's root and stem."

"Enough!" Ebrose shouted.

It was enough to get him the silence that he needed to think clearly. He had already set his plot in motion. All he'd waited for was an excuse to travel to King's Landing. Something that he somewhat cursed himself for, as he was not a man known for travelling. Other than to visit the Hightower, Ebrose had not left the Citadel in nigh on twenty years.

The birth of an heir allowed for such travel, however. Ebrose knew that the great and the good would make their way to King's Landing at some point. There would no doubt be a tourney held in celebration of the new prince. Given that the babe was the firstborn to the House of the Dragon since the Dragonqueen, added to by the fact that the Throne had been regained and was once again sat in by a Dragon, it would be a large tourney indeed.

"We wait not for the news of the tourney to herald the birthing of the king's heir. On the morrow, I set sail for King's Landing and by week's end, the Realm will mourn the death of yet another king."

"And the babe?"

"The dragons?"

"I will do my part; you all will have to do yours," Ebrose spoke assuredly.

He left the room and spoke not to his fellow conspirators. Saw not the Gyrfalcon as its beady eyes watched every step he took. Ebrose made his way to the vault and opened it with the key he wore around his neck. One of only three such keys in the entire Citadel, for access to this room was restricted to only a precious few. Given what treasures were contained within and how dangerous they were, it had to be.

Opening the vault door, Ebrose lit the candles and looked to the shelves and tables. Books that were long thought lost. Magical items that worked not in his or any Arch Maester's hands, but could not be allowed to fall into the hands of anyone who truly possessed magic. Weapons. Jewellery. So-called enchanted items. Treasures from before and after the Doom. It was to one of them he moved. A book long sought after by not just House Targaryen but by other Houses, too.

"Signs and Portents. A gift worthy of a king." Ebrose smiled.

It was a dangerous game to remove such a powerful book from their vault. Even more so to hand it to the one man who may be able to make sense of it. Yet, in doing so, Ebrose knew it would earn him some favour from the king. It would allow him to get close enough to carry out his plan. It may even be enough to allow him to take not only Jacaerys Targaryen from the world, but his ill-begotten spawn and the accursed dragons too. Even if it allowed him to just remove the king from the board, it would be enough.

"Without him, his wife, children, and the dragons are far easier prey."

That night, he tested the poison on a large hound. Death was instant. The ring he used just required a flick of his wrist to release the pricked point. Coating it in poison was laborious but an easy enough thing to do. While the action of flicking his wrist was subtle enough that it would not raise the Kingsguard's attention. Nor that of a man as wary and careful as Jacaerys Targaryen had thus far proved to be.

Were it not for the need to be assured that the king died, Ebrose could have diluted or used less poison than he intended. There would be no escape for him, however. The need to see the Dragonking dead overruled Ebrose's need to survive the assassination. His life was precious to him, but his beliefs were even more so. He'd sworn an oath, and it was not one to the Citadel itself, but to something greater than even that noble order. It fell to him and his fellow conspirators to bring about the end of dragons. He swore he would not fail in his task.

Two weeks later.

His arrival in King's Landing was greeted only by the Mage and some guards. Something which pleased and irked him in equal measure. Ebrose was forced to wait for days for an audience with the king. No matter his requests, even when they almost rose to the level of demands, the Mage was uncooperative, and the king was unwilling to accede to them. That it gave him time to explore, see the dragons for himself, and try to work out a plan of action to take them all down was no great comfort.

"Why am I being denied a meeting, Marwyn?" he argued in the Grand Maester's chambers.

"You are not. His grace is spending time with his wife and son, Ebrose. None other than his closest advisers are allowed to intrude on their solitude."

"You are allowed," he spat to a chuckle from a man he liked not.

"Only to ensure that her grace and Prince Rhaegar are doing as well as they should be."

"And are they?" he asked unconcerned.

"Both the queen and the prince are as healthy as any mother or babe I've ever examined."

Ebrose hated having to defer to the Mage of all people. The role of Grand Maester was normally one that was decided on by the will of the Citadel, and so the man who was elected to that role would defer to them always. Marwyn had ascended to it because the king willed it. He deferred to them not. To Ebrose even less, as they had never gotten on. Marwyn may not lord it over him, but Ebrose always felt the Mage laughed at him a little.

While waiting to see the king, Ebrose took stock of the realm a little. He'd found that there was no way to the dragons or the new prince, and so it was to be but the father that fell when they finally held their fateful meeting.

Given just how truly the realm seemed to have sworn to Jacaerys Targaryen, his death would not lead to the chaos they hoped for. In Ser Davos, Jacaerys had a most respected Hand. The rest of the Small Council were well-liked and seemed capable. As for the Queen, Desmera Redwyne would be a regent that few would take issue with.

Militarily, there were no more enemies to vanquish. So while the Crown would be weakened when Jacaerys Targaryen fell, it would not be weakened enough to see House Targaryen crumble as it had when Aerys and Rhaegar were killed. Instead, it would indeed fall to his fellow conspirators to see that was so. Ebrose could only hope they were as up to the task as he was. That there resolve matched his own. For if it did not, then his death and the death of Jacaerys Targaryen would be for nought.

"His grace is happy to see you today, Ebrose." Marwyn took him from his thoughts.

"He is?"

"Privately, atop the roof." The Mage's words confused and worried him for a moment. Or did until they were added to." He is showing his son the dragons." The Mage smiled, and Ebrose felt his heart begin to beat a little faster.

'Both of them. I have a chance to end both of them.'

"His grace's gift?" Marwyn asked, and Ebrose stopped himself from racing from the room in his eagerness to do what he'd come here for. He turned, rooted in his bag and took out the book. "He'll be more than happy to receive such a precious thing. You and our brothers at the Citadel will earn much favour from the king, Ebrose. 'Tis no small thing to have done so. With this king, especially."

"No, it's not," he smiled.

The first thing he saw was the dragons. One red that was larger than it should have been given when it had hatched. The other golden, and even that one, seemed bigger than he'd have expected it to be. After that, it was a golden eagle that was perched on one of the parapets and looked his way; its eyes seemed to bore into Ebrose's soul. Compared to the red eyes of the white wolf that lay on the ground, the eagle may as well have been ignoring him. Never before had Ebrose felt himself so seriously studied and watched.

It was as he moved that he remembered, and he cursed himself when he did so. He'd forgotten the poison for himself. Ebrose knew he could not be captured. He could not be taken alive. Thankfully, the roof gave him a way out. Or to be more precise, the fall to the ground that he'd endure once he threw himself from the roof did. Not that he relished that being his death, mind.

"Your grace, I…"

They were on him in the blink of an eye. The golden eagle flew and made Ebrose drop the book and raise his hands. He heard it not when the white wolf raced towards him. Felt it keenly when the fingers of his left hand, including the one with the ring attached, were bitten clean off and spat on the ground by the wolf. Then he screamed when he heard a word that he had long been terrified of and felt the flames of the red dragon as it cauterised his wounds.

"Dracarys." Jacaerys Targaryen said as he and his son, who was now being held even more protectively in the king's hands, moved to him. "Before you die, you'll sing every secret you know, Arch Maester. You and your fellow conspirators have woken the dragon. May the old gods take pity on your souls. For your arses now belong to me."

He wept as he was dragged away and locked in the black cells. They chained and bound him so securely that even with all his knowledge of anatomy, Ebrose could not harm himself. His death, when it came, would be one whose time and manner were decided upon by the White Dragon. It would not be one he would welcome, and never before had he feared anything more than he now feared that.

Pyke 308 AC,

The Lady Reaper.

Her part and the part of the Iron Born in placing Jacaerys Targaryen on the throne had been minor at best. They'd fought no battles, either at sea or on land. Taken no plunder and received no glory. Not a single man or woman from the Iron Islands had shed blood or sweat, truth be told. Other than performing a mummery and sailing into Blackwater Bay, they may as well have stayed on the Iron Islands.

Yara should welcome that. She should be pleased that there had been no diminishing of the Iron Fleet in serving a cause she cared not for. Instead, it irked her somewhat. Not even the crown that was about to be placed atop her head made her feel any different. So it was with dark thoughts and a foul mood that she made her way to be named Queen of the Iron Islands. Just how dark those thoughts would end up being and how foul her mood may turn was yet to be decided.

Standing on the beach, waiting to be called into the sea by one of the Drowned God's priests, Yara's thoughts were of her uncles. Aeron's fate was unknown to her, though she wagered her uncle Euron had done for him as he had for her father. Euron had died at the hands of the Kingslayer, and Yara took much joy in that. Shuddering as she remembered the whispered threats and promises her uncle had made her when she was his prisoner. Threats and promises that she believed he'd have lived up to had he not died.

"I'll wet my cock in your tight cunt before you breathe your last, niece."

"Mayhap I'll even fill you with a bastard babe."

"Though you'll not live long enough to ever see them born."

So wrapped up was she in thoughts of her dead uncles that Yara missed it when she was called forward. The Drowned God's priest had to do so more than once. There were no words spoken as the Driftwood Crown was placed upon her head. Though once it had been, those with her, those who had once been against her, every single captain with a ship in the Iron Fleet all spoke loudly.

"What is dead may never die."

"But rises again harder and stronger," she replied.

The words felt bitter in her mouth. Had they risen again harder and stronger? They had certainly died over the last few years. First, with their failed assault on the North. Then her father, her uncles, and finally her brother. Yara still mourned Theon even though he could be a pain in her arse at times. He'd left her when Euron had attacked, but had returned and rescued her afterwards before then heading North to die.

'For the fucking Starks of all people,' she thought angrily.

Brandon Stark had mourned her brother not. Even though Theon had probably saved his life. Sansa Stark had been helped escape from her monster of a husband by her brother, and yet had not spoken to Yara about Theon even once. If anything, it had been Jacaerys Targaryen who'd offered her condolences for her loss. Though he'd made it clear he considered Theon's death not to be one and that he shed no tears for him and believed not that he'd redeemed himself.

"Let's all get fucking pissed," she said loudly to much cheering.

Drink made her even more melancholy, however. The pain and anger that she felt about her losses were not enough to force the sadness away. Not that night. Instead, it was days later when news came about what Jacaerys Targaryen had done to his sister that Yara began to feel something anew. Hearing that the King of the Seven Kingdoms had become a kinslayer thrice over was enough for that to be so. Even if it was but only one of Jacaerys' kin that Yara wished breathed still.

"Do I owe it to Daenerys to avenge her?"

"Is the debt paid or one I must bear forever more?"

"Can he be beaten?"

Had it not been for the dreams, then Yara may have been able to answer those questions with the very same answer. No. She dreamt of the Dragonqueen, however. Of a call that she knew must be answered. Yara considered those who'd supported Daenerys and had been left behind in Essos. She wondered if there were enough of them to make a difference. More than that, she began to ponder on something she'd heard. Two things, actually. The first was from those who followed Jacaerys Targaryen and were closest of all to the man who sat on the throne. The Wildlings.

"He cannot be killed."

"King Crow took a dagger to the heart for us, and not even death could hold him back."

"For three days he lay unmoving, and then he woke to save us all."

Yara spoke to her men. To those closest to her. She listened as she was told that it was a red priestess who had supposedly brought Jon Snow back from death. Then she remembered what Daenerys Targaryen had told her one night as she, Ellaria Sand, and the Dragonqueen had been in their cups. Or as close to being in her cups as Daenerys ever allowed herself to be.

"The High Priestess of Volantis preached that I was the One who was Promised. She says I was reborn from the fire to remake the world. That I freed the slaves from their chains and crucified the Masters for their sins. That my dragons are fire made flesh, a gift from the Lord of Light and that I have been sent to lead the people against the darkness in this war and in the great war still to come."

Yara had put it down to the drink and to the fact that any woman with three fully grown dragons and who had accomplished as much as Daenerys had would no doubt think themselves a god almost. Certainly, there would be those who believed in gods who named them as their gods' chosen.

It was the second of the two things that charted her course for her. The words spoken by Jacaerys Targaryen, which again led her to make her decision. For what reason would a dragon take a body in its claws, and where would the dragon bring that body once it did so? Not to bury it, dragons burned things, and House Targaryen's fallen members were oft given to the fire if Yara remembered correctly. No, there had to be another explanation.

"Ready the Black Wind."

"My queen?"

"We sail for Volantis."

A part of her willed her to leave well enough alone. To not pull on the dragon's tail, for Jacaerys Targaryen was most certainly a dragon. Yara knew he was, mayhap, the most dangerous man alive, and for any man to go against him was folly.

"I am no man," she smiled as she rose to her feet and made her way to her ship.

Would she find the Dragonqueen alive and well in Essos? Probably not. Most likely not. Almost certainly not.

Was it worth taking the chance to do so? Definitely.

Whether or not she owed a debt? If she should avenge her queen? If Jon Snow, Jacaerys Targaryen, could be beaten? Yara believed she'd find the answers to those questions in Essos. More than that, she believed that if their own words were right, then she'd find that answer in Essos too.

"What is dead may never die. But rises harder and stronger." Woe betide Jacaerys Targaryen if that was so.

King's Landing 308 AC,

The Truest Friend.

Had it been a peaceful life that Tormund wished for, then he might have stayed with the men and women of the Hill Tribes. They were much like his own people, and their drink had been the best he'd enjoyed since coming south with Jace. Tormund had even found the weather to be the most tolerable he'd known since leaving the Wall and the North behind. Though mayhap he would never have left his people at all if peace were what he desired.

It was an odd thing to contemplate as he had sat alone on the ship from Gulltown. Alone by choice and not because he had none who wished to sit with him. The Wolves from the East and others who had knelt and named Jace as their king all now named Tormund a true friend, too, it seemed. Given just how close he was to the new king of the entirety of Westeros, that shouldn't have come as a surprise. Unlike the Free Folk, the Southerners all tried to curry favour as they engaged in the so-called Game of Thrones.

'They will have found out by now that Tormund Giantsbane plays no such game and Jace is a master of them'

The new Warden of the East had made a good and fair offer to the Hill Tribes. Land that was to be governed over by them and that had water, trees and plenty of game to be hunted. Tolls that would need to be handed over to allow free and peaceful travel and trade routes to be opened so that their newfound bounty could earn them some coin. Other than weapons and good steel, it was everything that the men and women who'd fought for Jace against the Knights of the Vale had ever wished for. As for those weapons, Jace had provided them with enough to make them fearsome if not formidable.

"A peace between you is what the king seeks and nought else. He names you his friends. Trust me, the last thing you ever wish to be is his enemy."

That was the truth of Jace's offer in a nutshell. The Hill Tribes were not the Free Folk. Jace didn't hold them in the same regard as he did Tormund's people. Yet he held them just as highly as he did the man he named as Warden of the East and would those who that man allowed to keep their heads and their lands. Far more of them were doing so than Tormund would have allowed had it been his decision to make. Still, the new Warden had seemed a good man to Tormund's mind. Loyal and true to Jace, which was all that truly mattered.

Tormund had more than enough of sea travel by the time King's Landing came into view. He'd drunk the remainder of the drink he'd been gifted by the Hill Tribes. Had moved past ale and onto wine and had not been properly drunk in more than a week. The black tar rum that Davos had introduced him to in Oldtown had been drunk by the Wolves of the East as Tormund drank his own supply.

Disembarking from the ship, the first thing that hit him was the expressions on the faces of those they passed on their way to the Red Keep. They were the same that he'd seen in the villages and cities that his people had begun to build after the War for the Dawn. Those worn when a man, woman or child of the Free Folk had looked to the then Jon Snow after he'd risen from the dead. There was hope in those expressions where once there had been none, and hope was a powerful thing to instil in a people.

"By the gods, this city has changed much since it fell to the king," he heard one of the men from the south say as they reached the Red Keep.

Tormund may have told him it was because of his friend, had he not just caught sight of Jace waiting for him. The smile that Jace wore and the true embrace that he was greeted with were almost enough to bring a true smile to Tormund's face. The words whispered in his ear and Jace ushering him inside the keep so that he could meet his friend's newborn son, was very much so.

"My son wishes to meet his uncle Tormund." Jace had whispered, and though his friend greeted those with him, they quickly left them behind as they made their way to Jace's rooms.

"The babe is healthy, Jace?" he asked as they walked.

"Very." Jace smiled. "My son is not the only new arrival, either. His egg hatched, Tormund. Just as I dreamed it would. My son is to be a Dragonrider one day."

"And just as fierce as his father, no doubt. Though hopefully with a more mighty member." Tormund chuckled, and Jace laughed for true.

They spoke not of the battles either had fought. The mere fact that they walked side by side and neither bore any wounds was enough to name the truth of those battles as what it was. Tormund had known from the moment they'd left the Wall behind what Jace would do to his enemies. It had been proven time and time again in the battles he and Jace had fought to see him named king for true. So he'd doubted not that the woman Jace had once named a sister was a match for him. Then he, the men from the South and the Wolves from the East had shown that neither were the Knights of the Vale.

'I wonder if there are any enemies left to fight or battles left to be waged,' he thought but briefly.

Entering through the double doors and past the two white-cloaked knights, Tormund was soon graced by a sight that robbed him of any clear thought. Sitting on the floor was Jace's wife. The queen who was kissed by fire. Lying in front of her, atop pillows and soft sheets, was a tiny babe. Next to that, a golden dragon hatchling, looking almost as if it were standing guard, stared in Tormund's direction and screeched in warning. The queen's words calmed the dragon before Jace had a chance to do so.

"Be at peace. Tormund is your rider's uncle. Brother by choice to my son's father. You and Rhaegar have nought to fear and no need to be wary in his presence."

He laughed at that. A booming laugh that made the dragon tilt its small head before it took to the air and flew towards him and Jace. Tormund laughed louder as it seemed to hover in front of him before landing in Jace's outstretched arms.

"Māzigon, zaldrītsos. rhaenagon ñuha lēkia ondoso iderennon. Kessa mīsagon ñuha tresy Se ao lēda zȳhon ābrar. Sepār hae kesan." (Come, little dragon. Meet my brother by choice. He will protect my son and you with his life, just as I will.)

Tormund wished to go to the babe. Yet the way Jace looked at him and how he held the dragon hatchling bid him not to move. He stood as Jace, with the dragon in his outstretched hands, moved toward him. Then the dragon tilted its small head to the left, to the right, and seemed to breathe deeply before making a sound that Tormund had heard from Jace's dragon. Aegarax liked him and named him true, or so Jace had told him. If so, then the golden dragon hatchling seemed to have decided to do the same.

"I can lift him?" Tormund asked the queen when the dragon had judged him worthy, no threat, and Jace had motioned toward his son.

"Rhaegar has waited long enough for you to do so, uncle Tormund," the queen smiled.

The babe was the most precious thing in the world, as were all children. This one was one that everyone seemed intent on ensuring had never been birthed, however. Even more so than those among his people who'd never thought they'd win the war and live to see the dawn. Those who'd hoped to birth new babes and see them grow in peace. Jace's child was never supposed to be born. His uncle wished it not. The girl he'd named a sister once had sought to stop it from happening. Those who'd sat in judgment of a man they were ill-equipped to judge had done their very best to stop this babe from being born.

'But born he has been, and that makes him special, even without who his father is.'

"I'll teach you all the fun things your father and mother will not, little one. For your father is still at times a far too serious man, and your mother is a queen. Someone needs to teach you about the lands beyond the Wall. For one day, just as with your father afore you, they too will kneel and name you their king."

The babe gurgled, laughed, and Tormund laughed with it. It was not until he and Jace sat alone and drank what was the most pleasant drink he'd had in moons that Tormund spoke about the babe's appearance.

"What is this called again?" Tormund held up the glass and sniffed the pleasant aroma of the liquid inside.

"Peach Brandy. It's from Tyrosh or some other place. I remember not."

"You have more?" he asked hopefully.

"I have more." Jace sniggered.

"He looks nothing like you," Tormund said to a frown from Jace before he added and clarified what he meant. "I mean, he's clearly your son, yours and the queen's."

"Desmera, Tormund. How many times has she bid you name her as such?"

"You may be easy enough to name by your name, Jace. But your wife is a queen," he shook his head. Though it was more, he was getting used to the woman again rather than anything else. Tormund had simply not spent enough time in Jace's wife's company. "Your son, he looks more like the Dragonqueen."

Tormund had considered not speaking on it. He knew how hard it had been for Jace to do what he'd done to the Dragonqueen. It was clear that his friend had loved her once. Though compared to how he was with his wife, Tormund named it as more akin to how he'd been with Ygritte. Neither woman was the one whose heart his friend's belonged to, and once you'd found that woman, none would ever compare. Jace had found that woman in Desmera Redwyne. Even more so now that she'd borne him a son.

"It's the dragon in me." Jace looked at him far more seriously than he'd expected. "The blood that rushes through my veins." Jace held up his arms. "Lady Malora believes that the gods played their part in mine own looks."

"She could be right, you were always prettier than any of my daughters," he laughed, which Jace joined in with.

"I looked like my mother. Like my uncle. Bore the bearing of a wolf because if I resembled my father too closely, then I'd likely not have lived long enough to go to the Wall." Jace said after a few moments. "They needed me there, or so Lady Malora said, and so…."

"They hid the dragon in plain sight," he interrupted.

"Aye." Jace rose to his feet. "Now 'tis only my enemies or the enemies of my House that needs hide. My son…my children. They hide from no one."

"There are still enemies?"

"There are always enemies." Jace sighed.

"Then it's good I've returned," he laughed.

"That it is, my friend."

Tormund could have stayed beyond the Wall or with the Hill Tribes. He could have found a place to live out his days in peace. Peace was fucking boring, however. A man may as well be dead as one who knew only boredom. In all the years he'd known Jon Snow, Jacaerys Targaryen, the last thing anyone could ever accuse him of was living a boring life. It was a life he would live to the fullest and to whatever end the gods had decided for him.

"Where King Crow goes, so goes Tormund Giantsbane." A fitting epitaph for any man.

King's Landing 308 AC,

The Honourable Smuggler.

Davos had served as Stannis' Hand of the King. He'd somewhat done so as Jon Snow's. Serving as Jacaerys Targaryen's was a much different beast. Firstly, it was because they were now truly in control of the entirety of Westeros. Jace's title may name him as King of the Seven Kingdoms, but he was named by others as King Crow, as well. The Free Folk may not kneel conventionally, but they had knelt to the same king that Davos had. So matters beyond the Wall came under his purview, now, too.

Their coffers were the first thing he'd put his mind to. Without coin, they were fucked, and there was little enough of it in the Royal Treasury. Taxes needed to be reinstated, and given the realm had just suffered through several expensive battles, that was no small thing. Thankfully, Jace had won those battles swiftly, and none were dragged out. Still, there were costs to be paid and much that needed to be done. So, Davos had sent out the ravens and to his shock and welcome surprise, those ravens had been answered.

Gold was sent from Casterly Rock. From Oldtown. Gerold Grafton had promised much from the Vale and Aurane Stormbreaker from the Stormlands. The North and the Riverlands were given some grace. Both had suffered far more during the War of the Five Kings than anywhere else, and the North had then borne the brunt of the cost for preparing for the Great War.

Supplies of food and materials had been even more important early on in his tenure. Both of which had come from the Reach, and it was a huge relief that the supply chains had been restored and now operated unhindered once again. It allowed for fuller bellies than the city had known in some time. More than that, it gave opportunities to those who'd known little of any during their lives. Given there was much work that needed to be done to bring the city to rights, those opportunities were now plentiful.

All of this led to long sleepless nights and dealing with figures, sums and logistics that Davos was ill-suited for. At first, at least. With the queen's help. Then, with Jace's assistance and help from the other members of the Small Council, things had become easier. Along with the aid from Lady Malora, who instinctively, or through whatever magic it was that she possessed, was able to rout out the honest from the dishonest and the lazy from those who were not. Though what he was most thankful to the lady for was what she'd told his king was the true reason for the visit from the Arch Maester.

"What would have happened had the man been successful…" Davos shuddered.

He was about to rise to his feet and take his daily walk around the keep and the city when he heard the knock on the door. Before he had a chance to bid whoever had knocked to enter, the door opened, and he was graced with a sight that could only be a gift from the gods themselves. His king. The heir to the throne. A golden dragon and a white wolf all entered, and then were standing no more than two feet from where Davos sat. Or three of them at least. The Golden Dragon flew and landed on Davos' table, and if that was not godly, then he knew not what could be named as such.

"Jace?" he asked, greeting his king as he wished him to and not by his title.

"Rhaegar and I sought some company on our walk. Care to join us?"

"You mean you've not got enough escort?" he japed.

"I would welcome your counsel. And mine son always enjoys your presence, Davos."

"There is ought wrong?" he asked worriedly as he rose to his feet.

"Things to ponder on, Davos, nought more than that."

Outside his rooms, Ser Humfrey and Ser Triston stood to attention. It may be a morning stroll the king was taking his son on, but the Kingsguard were not going to allow it to be one taken unguarded. Not that Jace or Rhaegar were in any danger, even despite what Arch Maester Ebrose and his fellows' plots may suggest. Ghost. Syrax and Aegarax, whom Davos wagered, were high in the sky outside the keep all offered their own protection. Jace himself, who wore a sword on one hip and a dagger on the other, would do so most capably. The Free Folk and other men who guarded the keep. No, there was no true danger that could put the king or his heir at risk. Still, it was better to be prepared for it than not.

"He always seems so eager to take things in, Jace. A babe's curiosity I'd have named it once and yet now…" Davos looked at the babe as Rhaegar's deep indigo eyes took in the sights around them as they walked.

"Mine father was much the same, according to Lady Malora. She's seen him in her traversing of the rivers of time. Told me that just like mine son, he too was a most curious child. It brings me comfort to know it. To know that it's not just his looks that Rhaegar seems to have taken from his grandfather."

"For why?" his words went unanswered as Jace paused. Though it was not to contemplate on them, as Davos believed. Instead, it was to welcome first Syrax, and then Aegarax, as the Golden Eagle and then the Red Dragon landed some distance in front of them.

He, Ser Humfrey and Ser Triston. Davos wagered that the guards in the towers, those in the murder holes and atop the parapets, all now looked on as a king and his son played with the incredible creatures in front of them. Rhaegar's dragon hatchling seemed to be having a conversation with its older sibling. The two dragons were chirping and screeching at each other as if that was so. Davos looked on in amazement as Rhaegar's tiny little hand reached out to stroke the golden feathers of the eagle that was large enough to carry the child away in its talons should it wish to. As he looked closer at Jace, he saw such a look of contentment on the king's face that he almost named him a different man than the one he knew. Almost. For it was a look that Jace now wore more often than not, truth be told.

The sound of the queen's voice calling out to her husband turned not only Jace's but his son's head towards it. Both father and son wore the same smiles as Jace rose to his feet and moved to greet his wife with a soft kiss on the lips. Behind the queen, Ser Asher stood guard, and within a moment, Jace had handed over their son to his wife and nodded to Ser Triston, who moved to join his fellow Kingsguard. Ghost, for once, did not move to take up a protective place next to the queen and young prince.

"I won't be long." Davos heard Jace whisper to his wife and then, as Desmera moved, so too did two dragons and a golden eagle.

Both Davos and Jace stood there watching the queen and prince depart, and it brought a smile to his face to see Jace look so longingly after them both.

"It pleases me because mine father was either denigrated or forgotten, Davos. When without him, without his belief in a prophecy or foresight, mine son would never have been born." Jace answered the question that Davos had all but forgotten asking him.

They spoke more of it as he accompanied Jace around the outside of the Red Keep. The king seemed to be looking over the repairs, which were coming along splendidly, and yet Davos wondered if that was truly so. However, Jace spoke much and without pause. So Davos interrupted him not as he did so.

"Lady Malora tells me that the love my father and mother shared was true. That, despite it being a prophecy that somewhat led to my birth, it was a birth that his heart would have sought and one he truly would have welcomed. In mine mother, my father found his beliefs challenged. That it was not a promised princess or third head of the dragon that would come from her womb, but a promised prince."

Davos spoke not that he believed such nonsense, and he knew too that Jace didn't, not truly. When it came to prophecy, his king was just as wary as Davos himself had been.

'For different reasons, though that may be so.'

"In opening his heart to another. In seeking that third head, mine father and mother brought me forth. And while some may say it was to lead men and fight in a war that could not be won, I know the truth. It was for this, Davos. To be a husband. A father. To right the realm and to teach the world a lesson they've forgotten. A lesson that starts with the man in our dungeons and ends not here, but at the Citadel."

"A lesson, Jace?"

"Here there be dragons, Davos."

It was a lesson that Davos knew would be writ large and writ in fire and blood.

King's Landing 308 AC,

The Lady in the Tower.

Jace had set her to task after the events in the Riverlands. He'd bid her to look to the lords and ladies of the realm and to gauge their true thoughts about the fate of Sansa Stark and Harold Hardyng. Some of them he expected to take issue with the fact that he'd killed a woman he'd named a sister once. Others would look to the opportunities presented in the Vale and wonder if they would be able to avail themselves of those opportunities. While there would be those who simply took the message that Jace wished them to from all he'd done.

Those who'd fought by Jace's side did so knowing what fate was likely to befall Sansa Stark and her husband, and so they had made their peace with it. Whereas those who'd not, both worried that they'd lost favour with the king and wished not to ever be named as Jace's enemies. So, with that in mind, Malora bid Jace to not only send the ravens informing them of the birth of his son, but to make it clear that oaths sworn were ones that he accepted as good and true.

When it came to the announcement of the birthing of a new prince, Jace needed no help. He took it not only as the rebirth of his House, but as the true forging of a new realm. Jace wished the lords and ladies to see it that way, too. So once the ravens had been sent out announcing the birth of Rhaegar Targaryen and naming him as the heir to the throne, Jace bid her to look to the lords, ladies and the small folk, as well as the Faith and the Maesters at the Citadel. Malora's thousand eyes and one had already been on the latter, however.

"They seek to take your life, Jace."

"And mine wife and son's in time too, I wager."

"Indeed."

"And you know how they intend to do such a thing?"

"Not only," she moved to place a hand on Jace's shoulder. "I know who it is who has tasked himself with doing so as well."

Ebrose and the rest of his conspirators believed they were hidden deep in the shadows. They underestimated Jace, who had already begun to look their way. His talks with Marwyn had been enough for that. Their own discussions on the matter had only added to Jace's preparedness for the Maester's plots. Plots that her king wished to know the true extent of. Jace had run with Marwyn's words about his brothers in the Citadel and realised it was his family and his House who had always been their target. Malora had simply confirmed what the king already knew to be the truth.

"Your grandfather's madness," Malora said as they sat in Jace's solar. "They were not the root of it," she added when she saw Jace grimace.

"But they poured oil onto the flames of it."

"They did."

"Before then?"

"There is so much, Jace. From Maegor to Aerion, some of it was simply doing as they did with your grandfather, while some was more direct."

"The dragons?"

"Your grandmother," she replied to a growl from Jace.

"And what of my father and mother?"

"They played their part there, too."

Now, as she moved through the keep and sought Jace out, she did so with the knowledge of a new threat. One that she could not see the outcome of. Or not truly. For she had seen her king and queen with three, not one, children, and so it meant that whatever was to happen between Jacaerys Targaryen and Arya Stark, it would end badly for No One.

She found him not with his son for once. Not even in the keep. Jace was outside and stood alone with Syrax and Aegarax. The two magnificent beasts were more than happy to be with the man they were bonded with. Syrax had grown to the size she would forever remain in, larger than any bird of prey in Westeros or Essos. The Golden Eagle would have been the queen of the skies were it not for the fact that the dragons had returned.

Aegarax was now close to fifty feet long, and there were only certain places the red dragon could land safely near the keep. Soon, it would be time for Jace to climb atop his back and take to the skies. Two moons. Three. Even Malora could not be certain which it would be. Before the year ended, Jace and the dragon would be able to travel almost the entire length of Westeros. By the middle of the following year, Aegarax could take passengers and fly to Essos should the need arise.

Whether or not it would, she knew not as of yet. Her thousand eyes and one found no purchase there, and the Old Gods' magic was lesser across the Narrow Sea than that of R'hllor or the God of Death. There at least. Here in Westeros, it was as strong as it had ever been, thanks to the man who now rubbed his hand over the dragon's red scales while speaking softly. Syrax looked her way, and it was that and not the sound of her footsteps or anything else that alerted Jace to her presence.

"Jace."

"He feels it," Jace said as he watched first Aegarax and then Syrax take to the sky. "She does too."

"Feels what?"

"That the time for us to fly has almost come. A moon, no more, no less. One more moon and I'll become a Dragonrider once more."

"I had thought longer," she said, surprised.

"Aegarax is cleverer than you, then, Malora." Jace chuckled.

"I had thought to find you with your wife and son."

"You didn't check up on us before seeking me out?" Jace asked with no annoyance.

"Some things are best left to simply walking and seeking, Jace. Besides, I'm your Master of Whisperers, not someone else's. Other than for your safety and that of your family, I do not use my gifts when it pertains to you."

Her words earned her one of Jace's true smiles. The ones he shared with his wife, his son, and those he named more than friends and almost as family. There were but a few that he named as such, and it was an honour to be one among them.

"You can find her not?" Jace asked, and Malora shook her head. "So she wears another face," he sighed.

"She does."

Malora was about to chide him for leaving himself unprotected, and then a thought came to her head. One she could not let go of. So it was the question that thought led to which she asked instead.

"You're waiting for her?"

"I am and will be until she arrives."

"Is that wise?"

"No." Jace moved to place his hand on her arm. "Yet it is how such a threat must be faced and the only way I know to do so."

"I…."

"Have seen my wife and me with more than one child. You have seen the dragons hatch and my children wed. Seen me hold my grandson in my arms."

"I have."

"As have I."

No more was spoken of Arya Stark. Little on the Arch Maester who was being held in their dungeons. Malora knew that Ebrose had been tortured and that he'd given up the names of his co-conspirators. That list had then been compared with the one that she'd written and had matched perfectly. As for the fate of the men on that list, that had long been decided. So when she and Jace parted, Malora made her way to the Weirwood and prayed instead for the fate of her king.

"Save him from himself and ask no more of him than he can give you," she said to the gods. Whether or not they would listen, she knew not, and could only hope.

King's Landing 308 AC,

The White Dragon.

He was a father. The babe he held in his arms was his son. It was a miracle that had never been meant to happen. A thing that so many had sought to ensure never came to pass. Jace tried not to be so angered that most of those had belonged to his mother's house. His uncle. Two girls he'd named as sisters once, and a thing he'd once called brother.

At times, that anger would be too much to bear. Some nights, he'd wake up in a cold sweat, and his wife would need to calm him down so he could get back to sleep. Even Desmera was not always successful in doing so. Jace would stand over Rhaegar's crib and look down on his son and try to allow the fact that he breathed and slept so peacefully to be enough for him to do likewise. He was not always able to, and so he'd dress and walk the Red Keep instead.

His father. His mother. Events had conspired against them to ensure they never got to see him grow. To deny them the chance to meet their grandson. Jace had tried to blame them for their part in things. He'd named them fools for what they'd done, and yet, for as much as they were at fault, it was others who deserved far more of the blame. Maesters. Men of Ambition. A Mad King. An uncle whose blood ran far too hot. All of them, along with the folly and hubris of his House, had almost led to the end of House Targaryen.

"And yet it was mine mother's family who truly came closest of all to seeing that was so."

Rhaegar looked up at him with those indigo eyes of his as full of wonder and curiosity as they always were. His son took in the world and studied it as if it were some long-forgotten treatise. He was cleverer than a child of that age had any right to be. Malora had looked to the future and named him both a scholar and a warrior. She'd told Jace that he was his grandfather come again. Yet, unlike Jace's own father, his son would be a far happier child.

"You and your wife, Jace. You will ensure it is so."

"Give me him, lest all he learns from his father is how to brood." Desmera moved behind him, and Jace turned to hand her their son.

"I believe he's mastered it already, my love." Jace smiled, which was mirrored by the one that appeared on Rhaegar's face.

"He's mastered this at least," Desmera said happily.

Jace took a seat and watched as his wife fed and then helped bring up their son's wind. Desmera rocked Rhaegar gently in her arms before putting him back in the crib. A soft touch from first her hand and then his own was enough to allow their son to begin to drift off to sleep. Though it was when his dragon landed at the bottom of the crib and curled up next to him that their son's slumber truly began.

"We'll soon need a larger crib," Desmera said softly.

"Aye. I think he'll grow more slowly than his brother." Jace replied, looking to the golden dragon.

"Really?"

"I believe they seek to fit us. Aegarax grows so quickly because we are soon to fly together. Yet, even now, he wills it to be quicker still as we spend less time in each other's company than he wishes."

"And you believe Rhaegar's dragon will seek to do the same?"

"I do."

How he knew such a thing, he couldn't tell. The knowledge came from somewhere. More than that, it was something that just felt right to him. Jace remembered what Dany had said about her dragons. He'd worked out their ages from when they were hatched until she'd taken her first flight atop Drogon's back. It was longer than what he believed his own first flight would take, and the reason for that was down to the dragons themselves.

Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal had sought to grow as quickly as they could. They knew their mother was in danger and that once she took to the sky, they could protect her better than anyone else. Dany's actions in locking two of those dragons up had meant that she'd flown far later than she should have. Jace would not make the same mistake as she had, and the sooner he and Aegarax flew, the better. As for his son's dragon. A year, mayhap slightly longer. For at least a year, the golden dragon would remain small enough to share a room with his son. After that, they would need to go to Dragonstone, and by the time they left, the dragon would be large enough for a child to fly atop its back comfortably.

'Whether or not I can convince his mother to allow Rhaegar to do so, remains to be seen.'

Rising to his feet, Jace moved to Desmera and placed a kiss on her cheek. Together with Ghost, he walked from the room and shook his head when Ser Asher went to follow him. He needed to be unguarded, and other than in his room, he would remain so. She would not make it into his room; should she try, he'd cut her down before she could ever look at his child. The girl she had once been, Jace would have not only allowed her to do so, but would have longed to see her hold her nephew in her arms. That girl was long gone, and the one she was now deserved no such boon.

That his footsteps brought him to the cells that held the Arch Maester should have given him pause. Looking at the man who was chained and broken, only briefly did. Why he then took the dagger out and made to slit Ebrose's throat, he knew not.

"You've lived long enough, Arch Maester," Jace said as he ran the knife across the man's throat and watched the life go out of his eyes.

They'd learned everything they needed weeks ago. There had been no need to keep Ebrose alive, and Marwyn was more than able to forge the man's letters. Letters that were sent back to the Citadel and which told of how his attempts to get close enough to the king to do what needed to be done had been frustrated. Yet, he was suspected not, and he would prevail. Lies upon lies, and Jace laughed now as he remembered the words he'd spoken in the Dragonpit more than two years earlier.

"Some lies are needed."

He spoke to Davos and told him what he'd done. His Hand had chided him not and simply nodded his head. Tormund cursed him for not allowing him to be there, while Ser Humfrey again bid him to take guards with him whenever he walked alone. The time was drawing ever closer when he would do so once again, and so Jace had simply told his Lord Commander that he would, but not yet.

"It's time," he said, and how he knew it was so, he could only put down to the Old Gods themselves.

Jace walked to the Weirwood and offered a prayer. Then he made his way to his and his wife's chambers and was happy enough to see both at rest. Leaving them to their peace, he briefly stopped and bade the Kingsguard to be even more vigilant tonight.

"Your grace?"

"All of you. I wish for all of you on duty, and none are to pass. Not a single one unless it's me."

"Your grace." Ser Humfrey asked worriedly.

"Your oath."

"You have it, your grace."

"Thank you."

He strolled the keep once more like a spectre. On his hip, Jace he wore Dark Sister and tried not to think of it as Irony given who he expected to face. For his sister was dark indeed. It was to the dragons that he went. To Balerion's skull and as Ghost hid among the shadows, Jace awaited fate to play out and for the future to be decided once more.

"Valar Morghulis." (All men must die), his words echoed in the silence.

King's Landing 308 AC,

No One.

Arya had arrived in a city that was celebrating. A city that she had hoped she'd never see ever again. Around her, people drank and made merry as they celebrated the birth of a new prince. Rhaegar Targaryen, son of King Jacaerys Targaryen and Queen Desmera Redwyne. It was something that should give her joy. The thought that she was now an aunt should fill her heart and bring a smile to her face.

It did not.

So she had sought to get a look at the babe. She wondered if it looked like Jon, and as people spoke of silver hair and indigo eyes, she grimaced. Jon was truly dead if his son took his looks from that accursed House. The wolf he'd once been was now a thing of the past, and the dragon he now was, he was all that remained. It should make her task easier. Allow her to put aside the feelings she'd had for her brother and to do what she had come here to do.

It did not.

From the shadows, she watched and waited. Arya knew she could take a face and move freely through the Red Keep. None could stop her, and yet she was fearful of what she might do if she truly became No One once more. Already, she had resolved to take the life of Jacaerys Targaryen. Would she take the life of his wife and babe, too? Could she? Wearing one of the many faces of her former god, she believed she could. More than that, she believed she would.

"I cannot."

So instead, it was to the tunnels that she went. Night was her ally, and she wished for darkness to become her friend once more. She knew her way to the Royal Chambers. To the rooms that she believed her brother would take for his own. One life. That was all she'd come for. A life owed not to the Many-Faced God, though Arya knew he'd claim it for himself too. Instead, it was owed to House Stark. Payment for a sister's life. For the lives of two brothers. One she'd mourned not. The other she'd mourn for true once she killed him.

"For Jon," she whispered.

Arya tried not to remember the last time she moved through these hidden passages. More than that, she tried not to remember the first time. Would that she had been as skilled then as she was now. Those two men would have died, and mayhap she could have saved her father's life. If she'd done so, then Robb, her mother, Rickon, Bran, Sansa and Jon would all live now too. Jon may have still gone to the Wall, but he'd be alive, and Jacaerys Targaryen would never have been born.

She felt the eyes on her, and so Needle was removed. With it in one hand and the Catspaw in the other, she moved silently in the darkness. The shadow of Balerion's skull loomed large ahead of her, and Arya felt the hairs on the back of her neck begin to prick. Warily, she took each step, and as prepared for it as she was, she still almost shat herself when she caught sight of the two red eyes and heard the voice call out to her.

"You should have stayed away." Jacaerys Targaryen spoke softly. Sadly almost.

"You knew I could not."

"They needed to die, you don't."

"You murdered them," she shouted.

"No," the voice rang out. "I simply refused to allow them to murder me and mine."

"We were yours," she turned as she tried to get her eyes to adjust and found they would not. This was not the Waif she was readying to fight. Unlike then, darkness was not her friend today.

"Once you were." Arya turned to her left. "There was a girl I once named a sister. A girl I loved with all my heart and who I'd have taken a dagger in that heart for. I'd have taken it for any of you. But for you…for who you once were….I'd have stabbed myself if it brought you peace and saw you given the life you wished for."

"Liar," she lied.

"For all my life, I was never a Stark to any of you. Not even the brother I still love named me so. I was but a thing to be used and discarded when I'd served my purpose."

"You were my brother."

"Then why did you not fight for me? Why did you allow them to send me back to a place I died in once before? Why didn't you tell them who I truly was?"

"I…"

"You used me to kill her as if I were no more than just an assassin's blade."

"She had to die." Arya spun as the voice seemed to be coming from her right, then her left and then from behind her.

"Aye, but you damned me that day and would have damned me for every day since had you your way."

"I wanted you to live," she pleaded.

"Then you should have fought for me as I did for you. As I did for all of you."

"You killed my brother," she snarled, lashing out with the Catspaw. "My sister."

"They deserved to die for what they did to her and what they sought to do to me. To my babe. My wife."

"You swore an oath," she clutched at the straw that came to mind.

"And died for that oath. The next time I die will be for a cause I believe in and none other."

"Face me, you craven. Valar Morghulis."

"Not Today," she felt the breath on her cheek.

He stood in front of her. Eyes closed and with his sword in hand. Arya swung Needle, and Jacaerys Targaryen easily batted it away. She lunged with the Catspaw, and he simply sidestepped.

Then she was fighting for true. Her two weapons against his one. Jacaerys seemed to move in and out of the shadows, and each time she swung her sword or dagger, his sword was there waiting. She was quick. So was he. The darkness hid her movements, but hid his from her even more. Somehow, every attack of hers seemed to be predicted, and Arya couldn't understand how that was. It was the fight with the Waif all over again. Except this time it seemed as if Jacaerys Targaryen had spent the last few moons blind and so had come to know the darkness like it was a friend.

Arya believed that the only reason she was not cut or bleeding was that, unlike her, Jacaerys was fighting defensively. She tried to move in random patterns. To strike from odd angles. At times, she moved both weapons simultaneously in a vain attempt to catch her opponent off guard. It didn't work. Nothing did. She was outmatched and never was this more clear than when she felt the butt of Jacaerys head and the smack of his sword's hilt on her wrist.

"It never belonged to you," Jacaerys said as the Catspaw fell to the ground.

"Fuck you," she replied.

They danced the dance of death and yet never did it reach its inevitable conclusion. She breathed deeply as she sought to get more air into her lungs. Jacaerys moved as if he needed no breath at all. Arya remembered hearing people name her brother as the greatest swordsman in Westeros. It had filled her with such pride to hear them speak of Jon that way. As she now fought Jacaerys Targaryen, she named him even better than her brother had once been.

The end when it came was quick. Needle, which had done such an admirable job for so many years, was broken in two. Dark Sister, just like Longclaw, was made from Valyrian Steel, and when he wished to, Jacaerys had cleaved through Mikken's handiwork with ease. So shocked was she by this that Arya dropped the smaller broken part of the blade to the ground, then she knelt and accepted her fate. The tip of Jacaerys' sword pointed to her neck.

"End it. Finish off the House that welcomed you and named you as one of our own."

"Grief is a powerful thing," Jacaerys said. "I grieved for my brothers. None of whom deserved to die. Rickon, I tried to save, but the thing we both named a sister had decided his fate long before Ramsay Bolton took his life. Robb…what I would have given to fight and die by his side. Aegon…many is the night when I've longed to take his place. I grieve for my sisters. Rhaenys…was but a girl and deserved to grow into the woman she could have been."

Arya felt a tear fall on her cheek and at first believed it was her own. When the second one fell, she knew it was not.

"Arya, by the gods, what I'd give to see that girl once more. To see her eyes light up in mischief and to look on as she held my son and promised to teach him all the things that a Septa would not."

"Jon?" she asked, looking up to see someone she'd named her brother once more look down at her.

"Is dead. Killed by you, your sister and your brother. He died alone and broken. And not a one of you cared enough to mourn him."

"I…"

"Are no longer the little girl who held my heart in the palm of her hand. Leave and leave now and never come back. I sentence you to live out the rest of your days far from these shores. You are banished from Westeros, and should you ever set foot here again, I'll end you."

"I…"

"I'll forever mourn the girl you once were. The one you are now, I'll not even waste a single thought on. You're no sister of mine nor of Jon Snow's. What you are is No One. And you are no longer welcome in the lands I rule over."

She tried to argue, but no words came out. Rising to her feet, she moved to Jacaerys, to Jon, but he moved away from her. Almost recoiled from her, and then she felt Ghost move to force her away from him.

"You are no wolf, and I am finally the dragon I was born to be. Remember that and remember that well, for if our paths cross again, I'll be more than happy to remind you what I do to those I name as mine enemies."

Arya wished to call out that she was not his enemy. She wanted nothing more than to name herself as his sister. Jacaerys Targaryen, he may now be, but he was Jon, too. Deep inside, he was still the brother of her heart. Had it not been for the voice she heard as she was escorted to the docks by the white wolf, then she might have. As she walked up the gangplank and the ship set sail, it was that voice she heard and listened to. The words spoken were ones that she could not name as lies. No matter how much she wished to.

"Arya Stark of Winterfell died the day you sent your brother to the Wall. The moment you refused to fight for him and sought him to do your bidding was the moment you truly became No One."

Arya wept and did so for some time to come. As for the ship, it sailed to Braavos, and there were people there who had much they wished to speak to her about.