The Lost Stark

Dragonstone.

~Harper
Sitting at the Painted Table, I slice up an apple with my knife and pop a piece into my mouth as we wait for the meeting to begin. Currently, we're awaiting Prince Oberyn's return from his venture through the villages below the Dragonmont, where a strange bald-headed man stands at the opposite end of the table. In the week we've been here, fishermen from those villages have come to the castle, begging to see my mother to confirm the rumors of a Targaryen returning, as if the three dragons constantly flying overhead weren't confirmation enough.
"Maybe he's gotten lost," I say out loud to my mother before enjoying another piece of apple.
"This storm would make traveling the walkways dangerous. He may have tried to find a different route," Tyrion agrees, flinching as a bolt of lightning strikes the cliffside not far from the open windows where my mother stands.
I tilt my head in thought and take a good look at him. "You know who you remind me of?" I ask him. "Those fancy people we met when we first saw mother," I gesture to his overly decorated clothes.
"They were called the Pureborn of Qarth, My Princess," Tyrion corrects me as he fills his cup with wine. He then mimics my head tilt and lets out a laugh. "Yet, you're not entirely wrong," he admits, taking a sip before moving to stand next to my mother. "On a night like this, you came into the world," he tells her.
"I remember that storm," the bald man speaks for the first time, surprising me. "All the dogs in King's Landing howled through the night."
"I wish I could remember it," Mother speaks, almost coldly. "I always thought this would be a homecoming. But it doesn't feel like home," she says as she turns around to face us, and I smirk at the look she gives the Lannister as she walks up to the table.
"We won't be on Dragonstone for long," Tyrion says, defending himself.
"Good," she shoots back quickly.
"We could always go to Winterfell," I offer, pointing to my family's home in the North, surrounded by wooden wolves. Instead of answering, she gives me a small, knowing smile before hardening her features and looking down at the figures scattered on the map.
"Not so many lions," she says, looking toward King's Landing.
"Cersei controls fewer than half of the Seven Kingdoms," the bald man informs us. "The Lords of Westeros despise her. Even before your arrival, they plotted against her. Now-"
"They cry out for their true Queen?" Mother cuts him off with an unimpressed stare while removing her hands from the table, brushing them against each other, and walking in my direction. "They drink secret toasts to my health? People used to tell my brother that sort of thing, and he was stupid enough to believe them." She comes around the side of my chair and picks up Viserion's wooden figure. "If Viserys had three dragons and an army at his back, he'd have invaded King's Landing already."
"Conquering Westeros would be easy for you. But you're not here to be Queen of the ashes," Tyrion speaks up.
Mother turns to me and holds eye contact for a moment. "No," she replies, placing the figure back on the table.
"We can take the Seven Kingdoms without it turning into a slaughterhouse," he reminds her. "If the great houses support your claim against Cersei, the game is won."
"Well, with Mother's army and the Dornish army on our side..." I start to say.
"The Lords won't recognize the Unsullied and Dothraki as a threat until they've seen them in battle," Tyrion interrupts me.
"I meant my other mother, Lannister," rolling my eyes, I look at him.
He lets out a frustrated huff as Missandei and my mother try to stifle a laugh. "Perhaps there is another name you could call Lady Margaery to help all of us distinguish who you are talking about."
I shrug my shoulders and look back at my mother. "Anyways, my point is, we have powerful allies not only in the North but the South as well."
Flashing me a quick smile, she turns to the bald man. "I never properly thanked you for that," she tells him.
"They joined our side, My Queen because they believe in you," he replies, trying to give her all the credit.
"We joined because we want vengeance for our families and to seek safety for the innocent. We stayed because we saw that you are not your father," Oberyn says, walking in and dripping water everywhere. He walks around the table, sitting down in the chair next to mine, and hands me a flagon while shooting me a wink.
"Your served my father, didn't you, Lord Varys?" She asks him.
"I did."
"And then you served the man that overthrew him," she speaks coldly.
"I had a choice, Your Grace. Serve Robert Baratheon or face the headsman's axe," he explains, attempting to defend himself.
"But you didn't serve him long. You turned against him."
Smiling at the visible unease on Tyrion's face, I lift the flagon to my lips. As soon as I can taste the wine, it's ripped from my hand by a set of disapproving green eyes. "Robert was an improvement on your father, to be sure," Varys replies as I sink down in my seat, avoiding eye contact with everyone as my first mother takes a seat on my other side. "There have been few rulers in history as cruel as the Mad King. Robert was neither mad nor cruel; he simply had no interest in being King."
"So you took it upon yourself to find a better one," she clarifies slowly.
"Your Grace, when I was ready to drink myself into a small coffin, Lord Varys told me about a Queen in the East-"
"Before I came into power, you favored my brother," my mother cuts off the little lion, turning her attention back to Varys, who looks down in shame.
"All your spies, your little birds, did they tell you Viserys was cruel, stupid, and weak? Would those qualities have made for a good King, in your learned opinion?"
The bald man puffs his chest as he straightens his back. "Until your marriage to Khal Drogo, Your Grace, I knew nothing about you, save your existence and that you were said to be beautiful."
"So you and your friends traded me like a prized horse to the Dothraki."
"Which you turned to your advantage," he points out.
"Who gave the order to kill me?" She asks coldly, making my heart stop.
He pauses for a brief second, glancing at Tyrion, then back to my mother. "King Robert."
"Who hired the assassins?" She asks, moving slowly over to him. "Who sent word to Essos to murder Daenerys Targaryen?" Her questions make an unexpected anger boil in my gut, and I twirl the knife in my hand, getting ready to let it fly the moment my mother says the words.
"Your Grace, I did what had to be done to-"
"To keep yourself alive," she cuts off his light plea.
"Lord Varys has proven himself a loyal servant," Tyrion speaks up nervously for his friend.
"Proven himself loyal? Quite the opposite," she fires back at him before turning her attention back on the man in question. "If he dislikes one monarch, he conspires to crown the next one. What kind of servant is that?"
"The kind the realm needs," Varys answers, then with an angry tone I do not like, he continues, "Incompetence should not be rewarded with blind loyalty. As long as I have my eyes, I'll use them. I wasn't born into a great house. I came from nothing. I was sold as a slave and carved up as an offering. When I was a child, I lived in alleys, gutters, abandoned houses. You wish to know where my true loyalties lie? Not with any King or Queen but with the people. The people who suffer under despots and prosper under just rule. The people whose hearts you aim to win. If you demand blind allegiance, I respect your wishes. Greyworm can behead me, or your dragons can devour me. But if you let me live, I will serve you well. I will dedicate myself to seeing you on the Iron Throne because I choose you. Because I know that people have no better chance than you and King Ryker."
The tense silence hangs heavy, his offer hanging in the air as I look at the back of my mother's head with my knife clenched in position.
"Swear this to me, Varys," she finally breaks the silence. "If you ever think I'm failing the people, you won't conspire behind my back. You'll look me in the eye as you have done today, and you'll tell me how I'm failing them."
I watch him nervously nod his head. "I swear it, My Queen."
"And I swear this: if you ever betray me, I'll burn you alive," she tells him coldly, making me smile.
"I would expect nothing less from the mother of dragons," he replies with a grin.
My attention is quickly changed to Alexandria walking in with a wet guard. My eyes furrow at her disturbed aura as the guard talks with Greyworm before he leaves.
"Forgive me, My Queen," he interrupts the pair. "A red priestess from Asshai has come to see you."
Every eye in the room turns to focus on Alexandria. "There are more of you here?" My mother asks her.
She nods her head. "Very few, including one you need to be very wary of."
My mother nods her head and glances at me. Without a word, I place the knife on the table as I stand to my feet and follow her out. Together we walk to her Throne room with Tyrion, Greyworm, Missandei, and Varys following us. In the middle of the room, a woman wearing a similar style to what Alexandria used to wear turns to face us.
"Queen Daenerys," I wince at how loud her voice echoes as she bows her head. "I was a slave once, bought and sold, scourged and branded. It is an honor to meet the Breaker of Chains."
"The Red Priests helped bring peace to Meereen. You are very welcome here. What is your name?" My mother asks her, as Alexandria steps next to Missandei. Instead of looking at her, I watch the reaction of the one who saved my favorite knight.
"I am called Melisandre." The moment the woman answers my mother, I see how much Alexandria's eyes widen.
"She once served another who wanted the Iron Throne. It didn't end well for Stannis Baratheon, did it?" Varys asked the woman.
"No, it didn't." Melisandre responds as her face falls slightly.
"You chose an auspicious day to arrive at Dragonstone. We've just decided to pardon those who once served the wrong king." Mother says, turning to give a look to Varys who bows in submission quickly. She then glances at Alexandria quickly before turning back to the red woman. "The Lord of Light doesn't have many followers in Westeros, does he?"
The woman looks to Alexandria, and I move my body in between them, placing my hand on the hilt of my sword. "Not yet." She answers then moves her eyes to my mother. "But even those who don't worship the Lord can serve his cause."
"What does your lord expect from me?" Mother questions, and by the tone of her voice, I can tell she's growing tired of her.
"The Long Night is coming. Only the prince who was promised can bring the dawn."
"The prince who promised will bring the dawn." My mother repeats. "I'm afraid I'm not a prince," she tells the woman.
"Your Grace." Missandei interupts. "Forgive me but your translation is not quite accurate. That noun has no gender in High Valyrian. So the proper translation for that prophecy would be, the Prince or Princess who was promised will bring the dawn."
"Doesn't really roll off the tongue, does it?" Tyrion says sardonically.
"No, but I like it better," my mother says, looking to me with a smile. "And you believe this prophecy refers to me?"
"Prophecies are dangerous things. I believe you have a role to play, as do two others: your King, Ryker Stark, and Jon Snow."
"Jon Snow? Ned Stark's bastard?" Tyrion speaks up, and my breath grows heavier.
My mother looks to me first, then to the Lion, "You know him."
"I traveled with him to The Wall when he joined the Night's Watch," he answers, looking confused.
"Why do you think the Lord of Light singled out my father and bastard uncle?" I ask the Red Woman.
"Besides the visions you've seen in the flames, that is," Varys interjects mockingly.
Her eyes shift from me to my mother. "As Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, he allowed the Wildlings south of The Wall to protect them from grave danger. When Ryker Stark took Winterfell from the Boltons, she had given them the Dreadfort, uniting them with the Northern Houses so that together they may face their common enemy."
"My wife is quite the woman," my mother muses.
I take note of the way Melisandre winces at the way my mother describes my father before she nods her head in agreement and store it away in my mind. "They are on their way here now. Let Jon Snow tell you the things that have happened to him, the things he has seen with his own eyes."