She supposes that she hates to feel bored, and that's perhaps why she finds herself growing more and more joyous to wake up each morning to the appeals of the peasants and meetings with the nobles. Hardly a boring day, but indeed, Gabrielle thinks that the list of what they must do seems to be growing alongside the rebuilding of the city—seen from within her chambers and in the tower of the Red Keep. With enough time having passed—and word having spread—the number of petitioners to the King and Queen had surged in the past week since her return from the North...both that and this being the more trying of their duties as Gabrielle and Jon sit on their thrones and look over a finally empty throne room.
To her left, Jon splits the distance on the raised podium above the large chamber because neither is more powerful than the other, and Gabrielle supposes this is truly the best way to prevent corruption. Sitting nobly but tiredly, Gabrielle's eyes waver as she stares at their new thrones which look so similar—rosewood and aspen like the colors of the weirwood. But they depict scenes of such difference because their stories are so different. Jon's throne regales its viewers with the tale of the heir to the Iron Throne—the son of a dragon and a wolf who led the fight against the Night King—their Azor Ahai. And Gabrielle's instead tells the tale of the singular being of Children and Walker's blood—of her feats over the dead and the Dragon Queen, and her powers which would hence be legends into the long-lasting future. Truly, the thrones are as beautiful as her wedding gown.
But it is not the thrones that steal the moment, as Gabrielle looks out and into the room tinged in the rosiness of the setting sun, the first lights of night startling to twinkle in the east. Gabrielle is grateful for their decision to not close off the roof, for indeed, she would be unable to see her children basked in such light as this, spread out across the room and equally entrancing in their beauty. Viserion has tucked himself behind her throne, the ice of his nostrils blowing occasionally onto her legs as he falls into sleep. Rhaegal, on the other hand, sits nearer the doors, as if guarding this family of his from the outside forces that no longer seem so close.
And though Jon once voiced his concern, the dragons and wolves have seemed to make friends with one another—or at least hold enough respect for each other's legendary status to not become openly involved in a fight. The wolves—like the dragons—have free reign to leave and return, Lady and Nymeria having travelled with Sansa, Arya, and Stannis back to the North, though Gabrielle feels the beasts will be returning to her shortly. The rest of the wolves sit in a heap upon the steps as the night darkens and cools and stars replace the sun in the ever increasing fervor of sun-down. And the younger of the White Walker children sit between the beasts, looking around and to her with blue eyes of returned souls and the innocence once taken from them. Like true Northern children, they seem at peace, curling into the pelts of the wolves, and for this reason alone, the lot had become a steadfast asset in this room, leaving everyone other than Gabrielle confused by the sudden change.
But she cares not what others think, because Gabrielle has come to love this place in the past two months. Perhaps she is betraying the North and her heritage, but she hardly thinks that's fair when she spends her own weekends up in the cold air of Stark home—made easy by the dragons that were once used to frighten others. Any fear she once held that she would be parted from Sansa became nothing more than a fluke when Viserion bound himself to her, loving the travels for himself and being treated as a dragon should.
"Come here," Jon suddenly calls through her reverie, turning from the view and towards her husband. And it's not shocking—what with the abnormal plea for her attention—that the man bears his scars upon his façade, a common occurrence when they linger in this room and he is left to remember all that they've overcome and had to suffer.
Gabrielle smiles softly before rising from her throne and moving silently towards Jon as the wolves and dragons raise their heads to watch them, ever aware of keeping them safe...but more so now with Gabrielle. She shifts to sit herself across Jon's lap as they once did when he was King in the North, but their previous passionate romance has been replaced with a steady and real marriage that has both its ups and downs. Rubbing a hand over his chest—where he was once stabbed by his brothers—she watches the man wince under her embrace, and she moves her hand up to his cheek instead, asking, "It's hurting again?"
"Aye. Sometimes I sit here and hear the words of the people petitioning us, but I do not truly listen. Sometimes I feel the death of my soul as it were that night, ripped from my chest and then shoved back in by the Red Witch. It's hard to listen when I feel that way," Jon softly reveals, her eyes rising to his with a look of sadness and understanding that derives not from the same experience. Sure, her father tried to kill her, but she is still invincible to the pains of man.
Jon wraps her closer in his arms and into his chest, as he imparts, "You're the only thing that makes it go away—holding you like this."
"Slightly ironic seeing as I am half death," Gabrielle grins, and Jon snorts in response, rolling his eyes and yet pulling her closer. So tightly pressed into him, she can feel every plane of his body, her eyes meeting his with a heat as his breath catches at that passionate look...only to be disrupted by the growl of Grey Wind nearby.
Jon's eyes waver and then cast outwards towards the wolves that have risen around the Walker children, the dragons seemingly on alert as well. And Grey Wind has stepped closer than the rest, his eyes shining with displeasure at their closeness, but it is not quite as threatening as it could be. Gabrielle rolls her eyes and mutters bluntly, "Ignore them. They've been especially protective ever since they smelled it on me. The dragons too."
"Smelled what?" Jon asks, eyes finding hers and forgetting about the direwolf who only means to protect this woman.
"The baby," Gabrielle replies easily, her hand coming down to rest upon her flat stomach as Jon blanches white in sudden understanding. "I missed my moon's blood, and Sam verified it. I am a little over a moon."
For a moment, Jon just stares at her, taking it all in and listening to her words as he stares at the woman he never truly expected to have children with. He had accepted that—and yet, he had pleaded with the gods for children with blonde hair and blue eyes running through this Keep and through the streets of Winterfell with their cousins, the children of Winter but born with a Stark heart. And Jon doesn't know what to say as he stares into those hopeful blue eyes that sing of the present and future happiness, in reassurance that everything will be alright. He doesn't think himself capable of words to express how happy he is—truly incapable beyond a bright and open smile that wraps itself across his face, the largest Gabrielle has ever seen him express, and needing nothing other than that. Tears stream down his face blindly as she echoes his expression, heart beating firmly in her chest and above the small child as he lays a fierce yet loving kiss to her lips...promising that this is just the first child in the years to come.
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Gabrielle sighs wearily as she rushes in the muddled disarray—made messy only by the King's Guard that surround herself and Jon from the people and soldiers nearby, something she finds far from necessary but Jon deemed completely necessary given her state at the moment. Sending him a burning look, she turns her head to look anywhere other than the focus of her anger—likely due to pregnancy hormones—and decides that while this is a muddled chaos, it is also very organized. Streams of Northern soldiers march nearby in less armor than what may be necessary, streaming out of the King's Landing gates with herself and Jon and into the dusty sand where the battle once took place. While tall, she has a hard time seeing much else than feet and air, and she might have been lost to their reasoning had Varys not told her moments ago.
Life is ridiculous, had been her conclusion as she rolled her eyes, thinking on it now with the reminder she knew this would happen. On either side of the gates, Viserion and Rhaegal are perched on the two towers overlying the grounds, and the wolves fall in the slots between the King's Guard, a fierce bit of protection that seems potentially necessary as they come to a stop. At her wave, the King's Guard fall back as Gabrielle and Jon step forward, looking up to see nothing other than Drogon flying in the clouds above.
As if waiting for their arrival—which she supposes might be the case—the dragon plummets and circles lower, whipping up the dust and Gabrielle's hair before finding stability on the worn ground where men have died, many times over. The ground trembles at the impact, and only then do they see the white figure aback the dragon...a woman with white hair.
Jon coughs loudly, "How in the Old Gods—"
"Goddamn red witches," Gabrielle silences Jon and yet effectively answers his question, her husband huffing loudly as the Small Council come to stand beside their King and Queen.
Looking out, they watch with narrowed eyes as Daenerys Targaryen dismounts her mighty beast, the palpable howling of the wolves having no influence over her actions as she strides towards the King and Queen, eyes bright and undead. Jon steps closer into Gabrielle's side—but not in front of her—in protection of his child that she carries.
"Daenerys," Gabrielle greets bluntly with the nod of her head, not looking shocked by any means. And Daenerys supposes she did not expect Gabrielle to be unaware of her resurrection—and even if she was, Gabrielle would never show it.
"Gabrielle. Jon," the Dragon Queen returns the attention, not bowing or addressing them as the proper King and Queen. But as Daenerys suspects Gabrielle's character, Gabrielle knows this woman would never yield their proper titles.
Choosing not to dawdle on it, Gabrielle asks the pressing question they all have, "Red Witch?"
"Kinvara," Daenerys responds bluntly, and Gabrielle nods as if being able to expect as much from a woman she does not know.
"What are you doing here?" Jon demands, interrupting the niceties of the women as he steps towards her with rage in his eyes. "If you're expecting the Throne—"
"I want nothing of the sort. You have no need to fear me," Daenerys replies, momentarily stunned by Jon Snow's gall that he once failed to possess, and yet the Throne makes kings out of bastards.
But that doesn't matter. That is not why she is here, her head falling parallel to the ground as she pauses. And then, her eyes reach up once again, this time with that Targaryen confidence. "You have no need to worry over my existence. My intentions are nothing more than to rule the lands I've already held in Essos. I was mistaken to think the people of Westeros were my people when really the east has always been my home."
Jon shifts under his weight, slowly turning to look at Gabrielle as the political game is suddenly playing before his eyes, and he is out of his element. But Gabrielle is not, failing to meet her husband's eyes as she looks to Daenerys instead and asks, "So why've you come?"
"To apologize," Daenerys sincerely imparts, and Gabrielle's eyebrows furrow because that truly shocks her. "I was not fair to you. I took you as a traitor when you were not one. And I was jealous. For those things, I am sorry."
There is a pause, and a silent one at that—strange when there are no less than a thousand men in this field, all listening. A city she tried to destroy, and Tyrion is still livid with this woman who attempted the worst, asking her loudly, "And the thousands you murdered here in King's Landing? Are you sorry for them? For their families?"
"I cannot ask for you to forgive those sins. They are not yours to forgive," Daenerys responds to Tyrion, looking at him with a blank expression that shows how different she has become. And Gabrielle supposes Daenerys correctly refers to the Gods then: the only beings capable of doing anything with forgiveness. But that would have been impossible for her to consider just two moons ago, and like Tyrion, Gabrielle sees then the change in the woman's eyes and her being...a woman of seven years ago, a woman before she set her sights on Westeros. And who is Gabrielle to deny another forgiveness when so many have granted her some?
"You're forgiven," Gabrielle responds slowly, meeting the stone-colored eyes of the Targaryen. "On my part, I was not much better. I did not give you the chance to prove yourself before I took sides. That was not fair, and I am sorry."
"Thank you," Daenerys yields, and the eyes of the two queens meet in the middle, sharing a moment of silence and understanding of each other without the pretenses of competing politics. And then, Daenerys's jaw sets and she addresses the other purpose for her arrival.
"The other reason I have come is to yield an invitation," the eastern Queen imparts, cryptically...before her eyes lock onto those of Robb Stark, drawing the gaze of the others onto them, not shocked. They had all heard of his fling with Daenerys Targaryen—never having supposed her to live again, perhaps naively because of Robb's own state of being. And while the focus of her attention is not a shock, her words are: "Join me as my King in Essos. It'll be little more than a title, but—"
"Yes," the man interrupts, his blue eyes staring solely at her with both hope and love, and he then turns to Gabrielle and Jon as he loudly asks, "Should you allow...?"
Jon stares at his cousin who is surely more of a brother—his playmate during childhood, his competitor in training, his King from afar, and his friend now that he's risen. This could be the last time Jon'll see him. And while that frightened him eight years ago, they've both done much since then—loved, married, fought, lost, won, died, and lived again—and he wants his brother to be happy once more, not just living an empty life. And so, he eventually imparts, "Of course, brother. I've only ever wanted what's best for you."
"She understands me..." Robb mutters, looking back at Daenerys's deepened eyes of grief and loss...and then back to Jon, "perhaps now more than ever."
At Jon's acceptance, Robb turns to Gabrielle who looks between the two separated yet risen and reunited lovers, wondering how a more perfect situation could be created for either of them. But what makes it different is not the resurrection but the change in Daenerys...and that difference in her eye—Gabrielle realizes—is a certain sanity she's regained.
Maybe Targaryens lose the mad part of their soul in death. And perhaps—had Jon not died many years ago—he would have retained that soul and fallen into madness as Gabrielle's King. To her, the notion is both enticing and frightening as her blue eyes bore into Robb's...and yet this is not the time for it.
"I did not return you with the intention of making you unhappy, Robb. I wish you all the best," she grants him, and he nods with a loyal smile before walking towards Daenerys who smiles at the man with love that's perhaps grown deeper in absence. Grinning at her for the first time in months, Robb follows the woman onto Drogon's back, righting himself as Daenerys turns to Gabrielle from above their heads.
"Rhaegal and Viserion..." the Dragon Queen addresses, looking at the two dragons on either side of the gates, having grown larger and seemingly wiser as their eyes resound with the experience of age and battle. Gazing back at Gabrielle, Daenerys offers the woman her piece, "They've left their mother's nest and found their homes. I trust you'll take care of them."
"Never doubt that," Gabrielle promptly responds, and Daenerys trusts her word—for if Gabrielle has done one thing, she has protected the innocent, animals included. Nodding at one another in both agreement and a peace between them, Daenerys turns her attention back to the dragon and then to the skies as Drogon takes off and into the clouds, leaving the West behind.
And while this could have been the end of the relations for the two continents—the two nations—this is instead just the beginning of a friendship between the two couples. And what they at first imagined to be a simple truce was really the beginning of much more—of time spent together in laughter and love, family and joy.
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It's not the air of tense silence that it once was, but a state of peace as Tyrion watches the others wander in, across the table from Davos as the opposite heads of the table. The last time he had sat at this table, the cruel mug of his own father had stared back—green eyes on green eyes in the endless game of charades they often played. And while great tragedies and victories had played out in the almost five years since that last moment, Tyrion has no regrets. He does not regret killing his father, fleeing the capital, taking Daenerys's side, and then betraying her. These years—well, they had been trying for all of them. But they survived, and in the end, that's what mattered.
It is rather strange, though, to think that this is the first time the Small Council is actually meeting, some six months since the election of their new King and Queen. But with the mass devastation of King's Landing—nonetheless the rest of Westeros—they had all been busy, none more so than the two Hands. Indeed, looking at Davos now, the man reflects his own dark circles at the sleepless nights spent both worrying and working—all for the good of the realm. Tyrion really wants to scoff at how he's turned into Varys, but must remind himself once again: silver linings.
He takes a drink of his Dornish wine, only to discover—once again—that the taste is just slightly off, his nose quivering in distaste as Davos grins across from him. And the man rightfully guesses, "She put iris lily in it again?"
"Every fucking glass," Tyrion gripes loudly, yet still sips at the glass. "I swear to her Old Gods, I will commit treason against her if she keeps this up."
Davos chuckles as his eyes crinkle with joy, knowing this never to be a true threat as they hear and then see Bran rolled into the room by Brienne, nearly rounding out the table. Between Tyrion and Davos, the table is filled with Bronn, Jaime, Oberyn, Varys, and Stannis on his right along with Ned and Bran to his left, leaving two seats nearer Tyrion. And at the reminder of those who are missing, the puzzle is made full as Jon and Gabrielle wander—at last—into the room, the former looking rather exhausted as his pregnant wife of six moons sits nearer Tyrion, looking particularly lively and golden this day.
"You shouldn't threaten the pregnant, Tyrion. We tend to be very... unpredictable," Gabrielle reminds him with a smirk as she slouches into her chair, if only to relieve the pain in her back.
But Tyrion refuses to fall for her mocking that never seems to cease, instead echoing, "I think our King would agree."
Of course, Jon glares at the dwarf, but no further words are uttered as the others relax into their chairs even as an air of business seems to take hold. Looking at Davos, the Hand of the King prompts Tyrion to begin, the dwarf thus calling them to attention, perhaps in his most typical way: "Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, Lord of Highgarden, Lord Paramount of the Reach and Master of Education, would you say the crown's debt to you has been paid?"
"In full, my lord Hand," Bronn responds with a gluttonous grin as Gabrielle rolls her eyes, unsurprised at how this turned out, thanks to Tyrion. Surely, Bronn would have been one of the last people she'd place such an important duty on. But as she thought of it more in these past months since Robb's departure and Bronn's appointment...Who other than a common-man would know how important education is? Indeed, as a commoner herself, she would be a hypocrite ever to doubt him.
"Good. The goal is to have the preliminary academies running in King's Landing within six moons. From thence, we shall work to install them across the Kingdoms within the year," Davos calls her attention back to him, and then to Stannis as Davos remarks, "Lord Stannis, we have an armada to rebuild and ports to repair."
"We have. These projects will begin as soon as the Master of Coin provides funding," Stannis replies bluntly, sending the Dornish man a stern look that borders on accusatory.
But, for once, Oberyn neither rebukes nor mocks this man who is often his foremost target, instead replying, "While Cersei was able to pay off the Iron Bank, we unfortunately are still incurring the expenses of rebuilding King's Landing, the Red Keep, and temporary accommodations. Thankfully, our Queen has granted us a loan from her inherited funds, so we shall be able to continue said activities as well as invest in the construction of ships and ports."
Stannis nods sternly at the man, but from the resting of his shoulders, Gabrielle can tell he is pleased with the promise of payment. Indeed, Gabrielle has—frighteningly—become incredibly good at reading Stannis, if not for his relationship with Sansa then for the time they spend travelling between King's Landing and the North. If anyone had told her even a year prior that she would be able to tell the difference between Stannis's frustrated scowl and indifferent scowl, she'd have called them insane.
But crazier things have happened.
Tyrion, on the other hand, finds himself perpetually grateful for Gabrielle's seemingly endless loads of cash that he is sure she acquired from the brothel business. But he knows not to ask such questions, so Tyrion thus turns his Sam with almost a question, "Grandmaester, ahem, it is my theory, based on my years of work on the Casterly Rock sewers, that clean water leads to a healthier population."
Sam nods enthusiastically, "The Archmaester has done some research on this subject and it turns out—"
"The strong live and the weak don't," Bran cuts in, the others looking to the boy's blank eyes that seemingly stare through them. Equally uneasy as the rest, Davos coughs in direction of Sam, "Find the best builders and set them to the task."
"Speaking of builders, all the best brothels burned down," Bronn reminds the lot as Gabrielle smirks.
And it is then that Oberyn truly comes into himself, offering without pause, "The Master of Coin is willing to fund reconstruction."
"Uh—" Sam coughs hesitantly, his face flushing with the gall of these other Council members, before imparting, "the Archmaester is less than enthusiastic about the salutary effects of brothels."
Gabrielle sighs, ever quarreling with herself—and now apparently the others—about the houses of prostitution. It led her to where she is today, it generates vast income for the Kingdoms, and women have every right to dictate what they do to their bodies. But it is also fosters corruption and abuse, especially amongst those like her father. But with her sigh and then silence, the others look to her, drawing Gabrielle's attention back to them and knowing they need her rule, "Brothels are money. I agree we ought to better enforce sanitation policies and anti-corruption practices, but should men want and women willingly provide...it's not our place to impose morals on others."
The others pause, gazing to her and then awkwardly at each other with few having strong opinions on the complicated manner. And as one of the uncertain lot, Jaime weighs in, "I think we can all agree that ships take precedence over brothels."
"I think that's a very presumptuous statement," Bronn—one of the partial few—rebukes with the tilt of his eyebrow and glint in his eye.
Gabrielle and Oberyn want to laugh, but Tyrion will forever be the more focused of the trio, instead asking, "Lord Stark, can you please begin marking some new laws for working conditions of brothels?" The man of his attention nods, and Tyrion considers the matter settled, Gabrielle at once grateful for Tyrion's inheritance of Tywin's seriousness in matter like these. The dwarf turns then to the Master of Whisperers, asking aloud, "Lord Varys, any word from the east?"
"Daenerys Targaryen and Robb Stark rule Meereen, and they continue to expand their empire into Astapor, Quarth, and Pentos, aided by the Unsullied and remaining Dothraki who have reconnected with their undead queen," Varys responds, shivers racking some of them but most just roll their eyes at the penchant of Grey Worm and his kin. Of course, the Starks are more akin to understanding the soldier's loyalties, but even then, their demands were unrealistic.
But Varys draws their attention back, "As for Westeros, the only discontent is that of the Northerners. They believe that Wildlings should not be the ones to man the Wall."
"Then, they should volunteer," Jon snidely replies, and Gabrielle wants to congratulate him, as he rolls his eyes at the stubbornness of his people. "Either way, the Wall has never been so thoroughly secured. Sansa will deal with the discontent in her own way."
The others look appeased by that, but Davos seems to have a lingering question, looking to the Queen with, "And the hole in the Wall?"
"Plugged, corked, and blocked," Gabrielle responds—and Tyrion wants to argue that those are all synonyms—but she sends him a glare that reminds him of her position...and that she always knows his thoughts. But turning back to the others, she continues, "I rebuilt the ice and pushed the Wall further out into the sea for added protection. I have strengthened the magic as well, so—should the Night King or any other creature try to cross again—no loopholes can be used."
"For the next thousand years, Westeros will know no threat from the North," Bran—again—mysteriously imparts, the others again drawn to his blank eyes as they shiver slightly. Of course, they believe him without a doubt, and yet it leaves them to again wonder: where then will the danger lie?
But they knew better to ask, as Bran would never willingly part with a prophecy until the right time to do so. Gabrielle does not wish to blame him for it, but it still irritates her enormously to not know everything she could. But it is not a fight she will win, and she turns her head then to the others who seem to have settled into silence. And yet, from the corner of her eyes, she sees a twitch of lips, turning them to Oberyn as he smirks at Stannis at the other end of the table.
"Stannis, congratulations on the boy," the Red Viper imparts with a wicked look that Stannis—unsurprisingly—glares at.
And yet, it's still funny to Gabrielle, who finds the interactions between these antonymous men too enjoyable to be real. Calling his attention to her, Gabrielle rebukes, "You're three months tardy, Oberyn."
"I'd actually say twenty years, my Queen," Oberyn responds, the man of his attention standing loudly and proudly as his chair almost falls backwards. His red face and stern mouth glare at Oberyn with anger, a beat of silence passing through them—will they fight?—before Gabrielle breaks the tension and laughs loudly in her light tone.
It is not long before the others follow along, the sound of rapturous laughter echoing throughout the chamber and into the external halls, drawing smiles to the faces of even those not present. How the Red Keep has changed...and though it takes a moment, Gabrielle notices the small smile that casts itself across Stannis's face as he sits and finally relaxes with the notion that none would threaten serious harm. At least not here.
And while the laughter of that moment does not last forever, it becomes a steadfast tradition in the meetings of the Small Council—even in the absence of the lighthearted Queen—as the members of the group forge new relationships in this new era and Kingdom. Times change and people come and go, but there is a promise that is finally kept to do well for the people of Westeros...but not without laughter to lighten their everlasting load.
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Between the color of the sheer curtains and the rising of the sun on this Spring day, hues of stained glass play against the pale, unmarred skin of the moon-old child. Rich oranges and lingering greens play a strict and beautiful contrast to the child's violet eyes and unusually sandy brown hair—at least compared to the other children. Indeed, the infant that lays cradled in Gabrielle's lap is just as unique as its siblings in coloring, the five ranging in colors between the two opposites of Gabrielle and Jon. And yet, all are as beautiful as the previous.
Lyra coos into her blanket, and Gabrielle smirks, already knowing this child of hers will be very vocal in her maturity. Jon's hand reaches up to push away the grey silk blanket clinging to the baby's face, Lyra's hands attempting and succeeding in catching Jon's pointer that dwarfs the size of the child's fists. Shifting, Gabrielle's husband smiles broadly as he plays with his newest daughter in peace, at once grateful that the others are away with their cousins in Winterfell if only for the time it gives himself and Gabrielle to bond with this new child of theirs.
The winds shift again, pushing back the curtains to their balcony as they hear the ruckus of the docks nearby and the gulls from the seas below. Gabrielle shifts, placing the child into Jon's arms as she moves to tie up her long hair from further damage the wind may provoke, wincing only slightly as she heals from the childbirth of thirty days prior and thinking more on the trade deal they are negotiating with Daenerys in the East. It would be a lucrative deal—and while Gabrielle has actually grown to care for the Targaryen she once despised, Daenerys is making these negotiations less than simple—but Gabrielle might just respect her more for it.
But as the Queen thinks to business, Jon stares at the woman beside him with nothing less than utter adoration. A face as young and as beautiful as ten years ago. Indeed, the only thing that has marred her in the decade between then and now was the five childbirths she'd been through, widening her hips and pulling at the skin around her waist. But she is only more beautiful because of it. And Jon again finds himself thanking the Old Gods for the gift of this woman and their children, all so perfect it always leaves him breathless.
Their first was Sansa Stark, the second of her name, now nine name-days old and born with the look of her mother with white blonde hair and blue eyes, though her hair curls like her father's. With the quick wit of the girl and intensity of her eyes, even at less than a decade old, this Sansa—like her namesake—is a true force to be reckoned with.
Their second was Rhaegyn, their first son and now eight name-days. He could be Jon's mirror image at that age, with the brown hair and eyes of his father. But unlike Jon, the young man has the cunning and charm of his mother, and Jon knows the boy will be trouble once he hits puberty.
Oberya was their third, taking after Jon's hair and the Targaryen violet eyes. Only six, she has yet to resemble her namesake—Oberyn—in attitude, and Jon is simply praying she won't. Similarly, Sandyn Stark, the boy of three, seems to be one of the quieter of the lot, with the blond hair of Gabrielle and dark eyes of Jon. And that leaves Lyra, their last, who Jon just innately knows will be trouble once she hits her second year. Looking much like Ned Stark though with brown eyes, Jon can already see that Lyra will be another Arya—and he is grateful.
And though this peace—sitting in bed as the winds chime and Gabrielle is plotting her new mission—is something Jon cherishes, his favorite times are not these. No, those times are spent with their five children running around the chambers with quick feet and even quicker tongues, play fighting and chatting thoughtlessly in the dawn and dusk hours like Jon once did in his youth. Jon's face—more easily appeased nowadays—takes on a soft smile as Gabrielle pulls Lyra back into her arms and begins to play with her feet as the girl giggles lightly. And he will cherish this peace at least for now, as if flown back to ten years prior when they had no children. When they could make love without fear of being heard by little ears, a luxury found rarely these days.
"Looking at it now..." Gabrielle breaks their silence as Jon blushes at his own thoughts, zoning back into her presence as he notices her lasting look at his face. She asks, "...do you regret how our lives have turned us from bastards to rulers?"
It's a questions he's often thought about, and while his opinion has changed over the years—he has also become wiser with age. Ten years, five children, seven kingdoms in peace and prosperity, the Starks closer than ever before. And while it has taken all this time, Jon thinks he finally has made up his mind. He breathes softly in response, "I think—maybe—that I've come to peace with it. With the changes we've been able to make for the good of the people and to see their happiness and wellbeing, I suppose it gives me joy to know I helped them."
"But do you wish it were different?" she presses him—brave as ever before—but Gabrielle is indeed very intense this morning from the stiffness of her lips and line of her jaw. "How had you dreamed of living following the fall of the Night King?"
"I suppose all I wished to be was in the North, and I would have been content as Warden of the North should Daenerys have ruled. But knowing how she was, I think that another war would have been inevitable that way," Jon sighs with a sudden weariness, "So, I guess my dream was to live as a Wildling, without the responsibility of leadership."
At the telling of his thoughts, Gabrielle's seriousness seems to flee from its unnatural position upon her face, those lips twisting into a smirk—an expression she may never lose, but Jon loves her deeply for it. Responding, she admits, "I don't think you could've done it. I think the fire and blood would've made you mad with boredom"
"Aye," Jon laughs, a change that has come more often with time and one Gabrielle is so grateful for, "and you would've left me first chance you got."
"Guilty. Politics, despite their danger, give my life purpose," Gabrielle grins, and Jon hums—knowing this is true as he looks to their child. Catching his gaze, she thus questions, "So what is it? Regret or relief?"
Jon stares at their daughter for a moment and then casts it abroad to the balcony before them, letting his breath come naturally at questions that truly force him to reflect. But, was he not doing this just moments ago? Jon thinks again of his family and of the Starks, of his country and the changes they've made to Westeros. And he finally relents, "Relief I suppose. Without this throne, I wouldn't have you or our children...I would've been a lone wolf.'
"The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives," Gabrielle recites the age old adage that is oft heard from the lips of Sansa and Ned—but was made true in their troubles together. And at the reminder of what they went through, Gabrielle leans over to leave a soft kiss on Jon's lips, sighing softly, "I am thankful for all that you have given me by accepting this throne...Long may we reign."
She winks at him, and Jon laughs gaily in response, "Long may we reign."
And so, life went on. Sansa Stark I and Stannis Baratheon had six children in the years around Gabrielle and Jon's own pack: Eddard, Gabrielle, Robb, Emiline, Jon, and Bria. The second sister, Arya, made good on her commitment to travelling, discovering lands east of Essos and west of Westeros. And yet, she did not sacrifice her family for these passions, marrying Gendry Baratheon and carrying three children of their own in between her trips abroad. Bran Stark never married nor sired any children, yet he made incredible advances in the keeping of Westerosi histories, guiding the King and Queen in their decisions as the last Three Eyed Raven. In the east, Robb Stark and Daenerys Targaryen married before having one miracle child in the aftermath of his and her resurrections, made possible by Gabrielle's magic. They ruled the continent of Essos, outlawing slavery across the nations.
Tyrion—though later in life—married a cousin of Margaery Tyrell, a match that never produced children, not that they cared with Tyrion's perpetual business as Hand of the Queen, Gabrielle Stark. Jaime, on the other hand, sired one child—the only living Lannister descendent—with Brienne of Tarth following their marriage, made possible by changes in the law for the Kings Guard and the Night's Watch. Sam and Gilly had three children together and found a permanent home in King's Landing as Jon's closest friends.
Tormund became Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and found a nice Northern girl to call his own, welcoming four more children in the union of Wildlings and Westerosi following the Last War. As ever, the man made any trip he could to King's Landing, bringing raucous laughter to the halls in the years following great hardships. Sandor Clegane never married, but he was able to spend his life protecting a woman he would always love and cherish, leaving him content with his life. Davos Seaworth and his wife made a home in King's Landing for ten years before retiring to their home in the Stormlands. Oberyn Martell never married, but fathered six additional children throughout the years, which would rise as the new Sand Snakes and protectors of Dorne. At the retirement of Lord Seaworth, he himself became Hand of the King, a position he would hold for the remainder of his days.
As for the wolves, they stayed loyal to their kin and mother, Gabrielle Stark. Nymeria and Lady later producing twelve pups that bound themselves to the children of Arya, Sansa, and three children of Gabrielle and Jon: Rhaegyn, Sandyn, and Lyra. Rhaegal, in a miracle none understood, laid three eggs: one for the child of Daenerys and Robb while the other two bound themselves to Sansa and Oberya, children of Gabrielle and Jon. Valyrion and Hinder, the two birds that allowed Gabrielle to know Jon, later went on to have a flock of their own chicks which perpetually served the Starks in the millennia to follow.
As for Gabrielle and Jon, both continued in their perch as King and Queen, having a total of five children as the years passed, growing wiser with age, and becoming two of the best rulers Westeros ever had. The nation was rebuilt, children were educated, trade abounded, and the world was at a pervasive peace. As Spring slowly overcame Winter, the world had never experienced a happier time, with the warm winds flowing from the North...except in the instances where Gabrielle let her emotions instigate blizzards.
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Jon curses himself and his shoes as he again trips over their laces in quick pursuit of the four year old Sandyn whose shyness came in strict contrast to how wily he could be. With the way the boy can avoid Jon's grasping hands and quick footsteps, the King knows he ought to begin weapons training with his boy—for surely he'll be a force to be reckoned with. But at the moment, all he can do is avoid cursing this child as Jon's other children as well as his nephews and nieces laugh, following behind the father and son.
Dodging quickly into the throne room, Sandyn lasts no more than three steps before he is swooped up in his father's arms with his laughter echoing loudly throughout the chamber, resonating with Jon's own deep chuckles. Pulling the boy onto his hip as the child settles, Jon lets the other children flock around his heels as they take recognition of Gabrielle speaking nearby. Looking to the front of the room, they see the Queen and Sansa sitting upon the steps leading up to the thrones, a group of children from King's Landing around them as Gabrielle tells them a tale, somewhat of a weekly tradition.
"...The Army of the Dead, you see, were not just made up of White Walkers and human wights. There were also horses, mammoths, bears, and giants. Have you guys ever seen a mammoth or a giant?" Jon listens as he wanders up to the group, and Sansa sends him a smile, quickly reciprocated by him as their kids join the lot on the stairs. But at Gabrielle's question, the other children begin shaking their heads, and the Queen smiles, "That's right, because those creatures are now extinct. But—ten thousand years ago when I was born—mammoths were the fiercest creatures that roamed these lands. Their hair was so thick that should man charge them, they'd end up embedded within the pelt, unable to escape and living off a diet of fleas before they slowly melted into bones and decay. And their tusks—as large as these pillars, but so sharp that they could gorge a man any which way, should the man be unable to dodge their flailing. But as for the giants—their strength was so severe that men's brains would explode from their eyes should they get pinched between their fingers—"
As Jon notices the looks of complete horror on the children's faces and the silent laughter of Sansa, he releases Sandyn from his arms before stepping into the conversation, "Lunch time!"
The avid—yet horrified—children look to the King for a mere moment before standing and sprinting away, leaving the Stark children behind as they move to play with the wolves nearby. Jon's eyes shift back to look at Gabrielle, only then noticing a lingering child in their presence, hair as dark as his own but with uniquely green eyes that shine with curiosity. Gabrielle beckons the child closer to her as Sansa pulls Sandyn into her arms, propping him on her knee as the child picks at the beads on her dress.
"Hello Brielle," the Queen greets the girl named after her, Jon looking at the two with interest as the child almost wrings her hands in a rather mature sign of trepidation.
But as Gabrielle smiles at the small child and grabs her hand, Brielle seems to reacquaint herself with the bravery of her namesake, asking the Queen, "Did you see the Army of the Dead?"
"At the Battle of Winterfell," Gabrielle nods as Jon walks up beside the Queen and child, Gabrielle's eyes taking on that storytelling mirth as she reflects, "Wights as far as the eye could see."
The two pause in silence, and Sansa watches the two with that strange feeling of homeliness she gets whenever she is around Gabrielle, something that feels so unnatural and yet the most human feeling ever. The feeling of knowing you are not whole without your other half. It has always been a point of wonder for her, to know someone as well as she knows Gabrielle—to know someone better than you know yourself, while they do the same for you. And while she is tempted to look for answers whether in the known or merely suspected, this is something Sansa chooses just to relish.
But as she looks from the mirthful Queen to the fear in the girl's eyes at the telling of this dark story—something only Gabrielle would tell children—Sansa grabs the girl's other hand and asks her, "And do you know who defeated them?"
"Who?" Brielle looks at the two with wide eyes.
"Queen Gabrielle did," Sansa reveals dramatically as Brielle stares at the Queen who rolls her eyes at Sansa's antics. But the Wardeness continues, "She killed thousands of wights. And she killed the Night King."
The young child stares in shock and awe at the Queen before her, looking no more than human beside the strange pattern that is etched across her chest—a wound from long ago. But to a child's mind, there is a sense of both understanding how strong humanity can be and also idolizing how anyone can be so strong—a balance that often wins out one way with maturity. But not quite there, Brielle asks her namesake, "How did you become so strong?"
"She is the child of the Children of the Forest and the Night King—" Jon responds as he always would, never undermining Gabrielle intentionally—but this is not what a young woman needs to hear.
So, Gabrielle cuts in, knowing she must change perceptions of women if they are ever to be considered equal to men, staring deep in the green eyes of the girl as she shares the wisdom of her years: "I am not strong because of my father. I am not strong because of my mother. I am strong because I chose to be."
Brielle stares at her with hope, Sansa grins knowingly, and Jon nods proudly. Winking at Jon before shooing the child away, Gabrielle grabs Sansa's hand before tugging Sandyn into her arms as the two royals and Wardeness make way for the Council chambers on this busy day. And as they walk, Gabrielle thinks back on the moments that have stayed with her: the hours spent writing and reading letters of Jon, and the endless time spent in conversation with her other half, Sansa. So much laughter in times of chaotic crescendo, and yet those are the times worth remembering. And between the warm smiles spent with Sansa, a child in her arms, and Jon at her side—Gabrielle feels she finally found her home.
She was the provenance of many things. The provenance of wars, of hope, of Winter, and of rejuvenation. She was monster made flesh, a woman shaped by the Gods, a miracle of their making. And yet—in the end—she wasn't much different from the humans she was made to resemble. Like them, she was a flawed creature wrapped in the flesh of humanity where the decisions one made were not predetermined but made on the basis of accepted morals. Looking at Jon to her right and lingeringly to Sansa to her left, Gabrielle recognizes she is just as human as they are. Equally likely to rise from the ashes or fall with the evils of man. Like them, Gabrielle had chosen to live her life on one side of a coin when she could have easily chosen the other. She could have been the provenance of Winter and death, but chose instead to be the fire of virtue. The miracle of Spring. And the provenance of hope.
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And, that's a wrap.
This has been a rollercoaster of a writing project - one that is SO much longer than anything else I have ever done. To those who have been with me from the beginning or even joined just recently, THANK YOU! While I love writing for myself, writing for a receptive audience makes all the hundreds of hours totally worth it <3 I hope I was able to provide a proper ending to Games of Thrones after the debacle of the last few seasons.
Some of you may be angry/curious at my choice to resurrect Daenerys...I really struggled with the decision, but ultimately decided to include it because of the whole madness thing. I think it is really interesting to consider that Jon could have gone mad as King in the North had it not been for losing part of his soul, ie what if Targaryens lost the weakest, maddest part of their soul with resurrection? Hopefully, it leaves you all with something to think about, as I do believe the show did her an injustice by making her go mad and then just die. Daenerys did not deserve that as her end, after all the years of watching her story unfold on television.
For those of you with remaining questions on this story, feel free to comment them and I will respond as soon as I can. And for those who might want to read more of my stories, I have quite a few, though this is the only GOT one. Veal and Venison is, by far, my most popular and the story I wrote prior to this. But if you like the Hobbit/LOTR or Star Wars, I have those as well.
Thank you all again, and hopefully we meet again on my next story!
xo
Patagonian