Wilting ♞ Sandor Clegane

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To the south of the capital, a host of Dornishmen waited, headed by Trentan Uller –son of Harmen Uller and Alyssa Gargalen. House Uller of Hellholt had ascended to the Dornish throne in the wake of House Martell's downfall. No doubt Trentan would be eager to learn of what had become of his baseborn sister, Ellaria. Rumors said Cersei had kept her locked away in the black cells –if they were true then the fate of Ellaria was clear.

Fours armies united for a single cause. All prepared to retake the city by force if it came to it. By the end of the day, Jon would be free either by truce or war and the fate of Westeros would be decided.

The leader of the Unsullied met them at the gate and glanced between the Westerosi host and those at its head. Leaders of the remaining Great Houses and respectable figureheads had converged on King's Landing. Grey Worm bade his men stand down. They were to be escorted to the Dragonpit on Rhaenys's Hill to await an audience with the Unsullied leader and their two prisoners.

Tyrion Lannister was brought forth –still shackled for his treason against a dead queen. His eyes darted around those gathered but found grim and unsmiling faces looking back at him. Anya and her nieces exchanged looks. The Unsullied's second prisoner was nowhere to be found. The King in the North had more cause to be at this meeting than a half-man who'd helped see a tyrant rise to power. "Where is Jon?" Anya Whent demanded.

"He is our prisoner," Grey Worm refuted, hands clasped behind his back.

"So is Lord Tyrion," Sansa snapped.

"Jon Snow cannot go free," Grey Worm told them. Anya's jaw clenched, nails digging deep into her knees. She was tired of bloodshed but she would spill as much blood as needed to free the boy she raised –the closest thing she'd ever have to a son. Sandor laid his hand on her shoulder and discussions commenced.

When the council drew to a close, Bran was named King of the Six Kingdoms as the North had declared its independence. Sansa would reign as Queen in the North and Anya knew she would be a good queen.

Tyrion Lannister found Anya Whent at the entrance to the Dragonpit. She was near tears. The Imp didn't understand how she could be upset –a tyrant was dead and her family all but controlled Westeros. "I just saved your nephew's life and crowned the other a king," he remarked. The way he spoke made it sound like she should be grateful for his actions.

The dolefulness of her expression twisted into anger. Jon would be sent back into the unforgiving North and Bran now bore the weight of the kingship –a dangerous profession. "I've lost my brothers and sister, my mother and father, and too many friends to count." Anya Whent's life had been defined by losses, but after each one she'd risen from the ruins and carried on stronger than before. Now though, she vowed not to lose another loved one for the rest of her days. "If you do anything to put any of the Starks in danger then Bran will be looking for a new Hand."

The Imp's lips quirked upward. Her fierce love and determination to see her nieces and nephews' safety reminded Tyrion of his sister. Cersei's devout love for her children was her one redeeming quality –that and her cheekbones. "Is that a threat?" He inquired.

"No, Imp," Anya answered staring down at him, "it's a promise." Tyrion Lannister looked up at Anya Whent with his mismatched eyes and disfigured nose and felt a chill creep down his spine. He'd felt the same kind of chill when Daenerys Targaryen burned a surrendering city. She was a woman of commitment, and Tyrion had never known her to go back on her word. His life was effectively in her hands and still, he trusted her.

After one of the Unsullied loosened the shackles on his hands, Jon wanted to see Anya first. She entered the room where he'd been kept holding a torch aloft. The flames were blinding and reminded him he hadn't seen fire since Drogon smelted the Iron Throne. Anya placed the torch in a twisted iron sconce and sat next to Jon on a cold, stone bench.