~Daenerys
In a state of shock, I lift my leg over the side of the boat and slowly descend the steps Greyworm had placed next to it. As I walk, I reflect on how many of my ancestors must have trodden this beach before me. With a deep breath, I halt and kneel down to touch the ground, my thoughts racing. My breathing becomes erratic as my hands reach down to feel the sand. Just as my fingers make contact with the moist beach, a wave of love and support washes over me, calming my heart. Slightly bewildered, I retract my hand, letting the sand slip through my fingers before I realize its source. "Thank you, my wolf," I whisper, rising to my feet. Looking back, I watch as Harper disembarks, then turns to her brother. Together, they assist Missandei. As if they had planned it in advance, they make their way towards me, leaving Tyrion to his own devices while their wolves jump into the shallow waters.
Once Harper and Rickon reach me, I take each of their hands in one of mine. Together, we walk up the beach, taking in the towering storm-worn walls and rugged cliffs rising from the ground. Soon, we arrive at a brick path leading to a tall black-stoned gate adorned with menacing spikes, built into the cliffs. My eyes scrutinize the structure, adorned with small dragons intertwined with basilisks and other mythical creatures. Two small yet prominent iron braziers protrude from the sides of the two pillars supporting the gates, seemingly held up by the claws of dragons.
Waiting for us atop the stone steps is my nephew, still wearing his golden chestplate, but now with a black cloak trimmed in red. "My Queen," he approaches with a long yellow cloth, placing it at my feet as he kneels. "Welcome home."
Harper steps forward, picks up the cloth, and unfolds it for us to see. "Stannis Baratheon," she mutters with disgust as we all gaze at the faded crowned stag within a flaming heart. I observe her clenched fist around the fabric before she tosses it to the ground. "Ser Aegon, remove any and all evidence of Stannis Baratheon from this island."
Aegon, looking puzzled, stands and gives me a cautious look. I nod in agreement, then return my attention to my impassioned daughter. "As you wish, Princess," he answers with a bow.
Placing my hand on Harper's shoulder, I give it a reassuring squeeze. Her eyes meet mine, and I offer a gentle smile. She takes my hand, intertwining our fingers. Together, we turn toward the gate just as two Unsullied push it open, revealing a winding walkway surrounded by verdant fields leading directly to the inner walls. My breath catches in my throat as I take in the castle's sight, and unshed tears of disbelief fill my eyes. The Great Hall resembles a dragon lying on its belly, with the entrance within its open mouth. The towers resemble dragons perched atop the walls or poised for flight, while the Sea Dragon Tower gazes almost serenely out across the waves. After taking a deep breath, I step forward, leading our group up the beach, immersing ourselves in the grandeur of the storm-worn castle.
As we walk, I can feel Rickon's hand being pulled aside. I glance down with a smile as he peeks over the railing, cautiously moving away from the steep drop leading to the turbulent waters below. Suppressing my chuckle, we continue on the path until we reach another gate that leads into the inner walls. An Unsullied guard turns with a lit torch, pushes one side of the gate open, and leads us into the castle's dimly lit depths. Trusting his guidance, I follow with the children in tow. We follow the flames for what seems like a long time until we reach another high-arched doorway. As soon as I step through, I notice another of Stannis Baratheon's banners. Harper drops my hand and strides forward, tearing it from the wall with a look of disdain. Two more guards holding torches face each other with their free hands resting on the handles of another set of imposing, vaulted doors. Giving them a nod, they push the doors open, unveiling a vast room that appears as if carved out of the volcano itself.
Entering the room, I stand before the Dragonstone Throne in the dimly lit chamber of Dragonstone Castle. My heart swells with a profound connection to my Targaryen ancestors. My eyes sweep over the throne, crafted entirely from obsidian, gleaming with eerie and otherworldly beauty. Its polished surface shimmers in the flickering sunlight that filters through the slim yet tall windows carved into the walls, casting dancing shadows across its intricate carvings. Dragons are etched into the throne's dark surface, their wings outstretched and tails coiled. Positioned on a raised platform, it commands the entire chamber, with an imposing dragon skull as its backdrop.
"Wow," Rickon whispers as he releases my hand.
Not saying anything, I make my way through the room and walk up the steps, stopping before the Throne. While it is beautiful, I can't help but be saddened, realizing there are only a few left to whom this island rightfully belongs. Something catches my eye through a doorway to my left, a sliver of sunlight sparkling in the dark corners behind the Throne. I hear Harper and Tyrion follow me up the stairs and through the small, dimly lit walkway.
As I step into the room, my eyes are immediately drawn to the magnificent sight that commands the chamber's attention—the legendary Painted Table of Dragonstone. The enormous stone map sprawls across the center of the room, detailing the entirety of Westeros. Each kingdom, each castle, and each road is meticulously rendered. My finger skims over The Painted Table's dusty surface, following the delicate lines and symbols. Unable to tear my gaze away from the depiction of the Seven Kingdoms, each territory marked in vivid detail, I try to remember which of the weathered wooden figures strewn across it belong to which house as I make my way towards the open windows that carry in the salty air smelling of smoke and brimstone. It is not only a representation of the realm I seek to conquer but also a symbol of my family's storied history and my determination to reclaim the Iron Throne. Standing there, in the presence of this ancient relic, I can't help but ponder how often this room was used before and after the fall of my family.
I stop at the end of the table and turn my back to the windows. My eyes meet Harper's, and together we watch Tyrion explore, his curiosity evident. Finally, he comes to a stop next to me. I look back to the dusty table once more and place my hands atop it. "Shall we begin?"
~Ryker
"The horses and carriages are ready for departure, Your Majesty," Condon says as he walks with me across the courtyard.
"Thank you." I continue to scan the area, trying to spot my sister. "Have you seen Sansa?" I ask him as we proceed along the path leading to the kennels.
"Unfortunately, I haven't, but her guards are there," he points to the entrance of the crypts.
My heart skips a beat before racing again. Throughout my time at home, I've avoided setting foot in the crypts. I don't know why, but the thought of seeing my father and Robb etched in stone statues sends a cold shiver down my spine. Perhaps that's why Sansa chose this moment to visit them, knowing I'd want to bid her farewell before leaving. I give Condon a nod and swallow the nervous lump in my throat as I approach the entrance.
Taking a deep breath, I start descending the steps into a labyrinth of passageways lined with statues of the Lords and Kings of Westeros who came before me. The further down I go, the colder my limbs become, and the more visible my breath becomes, each exhale a puff of white in the frigid air. I hear the sound of flint striking and mumbled, cursed words. I turn the corner away from the stairs and find Sansa attempting to light a match in front of our father, who stands between our aunt and brother. I reach out, taking the match from her trembling hands and effortlessly lighting it. With a gentle smile, I lean over and light the candle on the side of our father's alcove.
"They should have had someone who knew their likeness better carve their stones," she whispers, her gaze fixed on our father's statue and then Robb's.
Painful tears well up in my eyes as I meet my twin's lifeless gaze. "Aye," I agree in a rough voice.
"You're leaving?" She whispers. I nod, unable to tear my eyes away from Robb.
"When will you return?"
Drawing in a ragged breath, I wipe the frozen trails from my face. "As soon as I can."
"I know he's been a difficult brother, but don't leave him there," she says, pulling my arm and forcing me to look at her. "His mind may be clouded with falsehoods, but he's still our brother. Give him another chance to bend the knee."
"And if he still refuses?"
"I don't know," she whispers, lowering her head. "Just don't let her kill him, please, Ryker."
I let out a sigh and gaze at my father's statue. "If he refuses to bend the knee, I cannot guarantee his life. However, I can try to keep him as a prisoner."
Her head lifts, and she throws her arms around my shoulders. "Thank you, Ryker," she whispers, planting a kiss on my cheek.
I nod and hold her close. "I'm going to miss you."
"Me too." She gives me one last squeeze before pulling away. "Give Rickon and Harper my love."
"I will." I nod and kiss her forehead.
Sansa takes a step back, offering me a final smile before turning and leaving me in the quietude of the crypts.
"I'm sorry," I say to the statues as soon as Sansa's footsteps fade. "I never wanted this to happen. This was never supposed to happen." My sadness turns to anger as I remember all the things I wished to tell them on the hill. "You were supposed to come back to me. You were supposed to live," I tell Robb's statue. "We were meant to grow old together, raise our children together. Why did you two trust the wrong people? Honor isn't everything to those who don't understand its meaning." I shout into the cold, damp air. Breathing heavily, I step back, trying to calm myself before I inadvertently shift.
"I delivered his bones myself," I jump at Littlefinger's voice as he approaches me. "I presented them to your mother as a gesture of goodwill from Tyrion Lannister." I turn away from him and face my father's statue. "Seems like a lifetime ago. Do give Lord Tyrion my best when you see him," he continues, as I ignore his presence as he stops beside me. "I was sorry when he died. Your father and I had our differences, but he loved your mother very much. So did I."
Looking past him, I resist the urge to unsheathe Blackfyre and relieve him of his head. "You don't belong down here," I warn him.
"Forgive me," he turns quickly. "We haven't talked properly. I wanted to remedy that."
"I have nothing to say to you," I growl as I walk away, knowing that if I kill him now, the Knights of the Vale will leave Winterfell.
"Not even thank you?" He snarks. "If I hadn't come at your sister's request, the Boltons would have destroyed your brother's army, and Ramsay would have taken Sansa as his wife again."
"It's a good thing there was never a battle," I say over my shoulder as he follows me.
"You have many enemies, My King. But I swear to you, I'm not one of them," he rushes out. "I love Sansa. I loved your mother."
As soon as I hear his words, my control snaps. Swinging my fist out as I turn around, I feel it make contact with his nose. He stumbles on his feet as I advance, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him against the stone wall. I hold him there for a moment, my grip preventing any air from entering his lungs. His hands weakly fight against mine, attempting to break free. "Touch my sister, and I'll kill you myself," I growl, getting closer to his face and letting my canines extend.
Just as his eyes start to roll back into his head, I release him and leave him gasping on the ground, gulping in the damp, cold air. Anger consumes me as I climb the steps and leave the crypts. Just as I'm about to mount my horse, I see Lord Royce talking with Lady Brienne. Abandoning my horse, I approach them with my hand on my sword's hilt.
"Lord Royce, Lady Brienne," I call out, getting their attention.
"My King." "Your Majesty." They both say as they bow.
"Peytr Baelish is not to be alone with my sister," I order them. "I don't care if you have to follow her wherever she goes. Do it. If she tries to dismiss you or her guards, tell her I ordered you to stay. And if he tries to overstep, put him in chains. Do you understand?"
"Yes." "Of course," they agree, nodding.
"Good. Thank you." I nod and turn back to my horse. As I prepare to mount, I see Sansa standing on the balcony where we used to watch Bran practice his archery. I give her a brief smile and a small wave before nudging my horse forward toward the Southern Gate.
~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."