A/N- A great many of my reviewers are hoping for a Jon/Myrcella story. While that might certainly happen I recommend you read the author's notes in the very first chapter.

Chapter 7- Divided


"The nights are getting fucking colder," grumbled Ygritte, as she sat by the fire sharpening her arrow heads.

"Aye, but compared to Beyond the Wall, this is a hot summer's day," said Val, grinning up at the younger redheaded woman.

Tormund snorted and brought his horn of goat's milk to his mouth a sculled a large mouthful, half of it dripping down into his thick, red beard. For almost two years the surviving Free Folk had dwelt in the lands the kneelers called The Gift, and in that time they had neither prospered nor suffered. Since Jon Snow's disappearance from Westeros with his cousin, a cold chill of both the literal and figurative sense had fallen over the Free Folk.

Jon Snow and his knight of an uncle were the last hope Tormund's people had of staying South of the Wall, and since neither had been seen or heard of in months, a fear that the Southern kings would force the Free Folk back to the lands now ruled by the dead.

Raids had grown more frequent as well. Men on horses with steel swords and armour would attack in the night, burning any huts the Free Folk had erected and cutting down anyone in their path. Tormund and the other clan elders had wanted to retaliate, yet Mance was hesitant, believing that if the Free Folk took up arms it would give the kneelers an excuse to drive them away.

"Any word from Jon Snow?" asked Ygritte. She asked that every day, and if Tormund didn't know any better he would think that Ygritte had taken a fancy for Lord Snow. The thought brought a smirk to Tormund's face.

"No," answered Dalla, Mance's wife and Val's sister. She adjusted the babe in her arms before speaking again. "Our skinchangers in their capital have not seen him, but we have heard some things."

At this, everyone straightened up. Even Wun Wun, the giant who sat away from the fires and shrouded in shadow, looked interested.

"What is it?" asked Tormund.

"They say he is across the sea to the East, treating with a young queen who can control dragons," said Dalla.

Val snorted. "There have been no dragons for over a century," she scoffed.

"That is not all we have learned," pressed Dalla, ignoring her older sister's remark. "They say that he is actually a prince, and the one true king of Westeros."

Tormund spat his drink out and looked at Dalla incredulously. "Jon Snow? A king?"

"Aye, that is what I have heard," affirmed Dalla, smirking at Tormund smugly.

"I don't believe it," muttered Ygritte, looking as stunned as Tormund felt.

There was silence that enveloped around the fire, other than the sound of the wind whistling gently. Snow flakes began to fall from the sky, little flecks of white that melted into nothingness if they got too close to the fire.

"Well," said Tormund, breaking the silence. "At least we now know why he's so pretty."

The Free Folk gathered round the fire roared with laughter, slapping their knees and wiping tears from their eyes. Even Mance, who had been silent all night as he sat next to his wife, chuckled a little at Tormund's jest.

"It is good. Jon Snow is a friend of the Free Folk. That we can all agree upon. If he were to return to Westeros with an army and dragons, the lions and stags will fall," said the Free Folk King.

"I hope the dragons roast those fuckers," spat Val.

"I wouldn't mind sticking a few arrows in a couple of-" Ygritte's taunt was cut off by the sound of screams and horses whinnying in fright.

Tormund stood up from the log he sat on and drew both of his short swords, and he saw a great fire. Free Folk men and women were running in all directions, screaming and calling for loved ones. Armoured men in horses, Bolton men, Tormund realised, rode on their horses, slashing and hacking with their swords and lances at anyone who got too close to them. He saw Varamyr Sixskins fall from an arrow to the eye, saw old Fingers get trampled by a horse, and countless others Tormund considered a friend.

Mance was shouting orders to anyone who could hear while ushering Dalla and their babe away from the fighting. Tormund spotted a rider coming towards the King Beyond the Wall fast, and he let out a cry to warn Mance, but it was not enough. The rider swung the sword he held through the air, and Tormund watched in horror as Mance's head flew through the air, spinning like a ball while blood spurted out of the severed neck, flowing through the air like a ribbon of red. Mance's head fell to the hard ground at Tormund's feet, and Mance's dark eyes rolled up to the back of its sockets as the life drained out of it.

Tormund let out a great roar in rage and went to charge at the murderous bastards, but he was suddenly knocked to the side when another horse appeared out of nowhere.

Tormund fell to the ground, and he struck the side of his head against a rock hard enough that he saw stars. He could feel blood dripping down his face, and he felt dizzy and tired suddenly.

Tormund vaguely heard a giant roaring in the distance before darkness claimed him.


Jon was soaring through the air, high over Meereen, the moon's light illuminating the dark city below, although Jon's eyes could see in the night. Beside him, Viserion let out a shriek of defiance at the world, while Jon himself let out a fireball that he flew right through. The fire felt pleasant against his skin, like the soft caress of a woman's fingers. Not that he had ever felt that, being raised a bastard and all.

He angled his body towards the Skahazdan River, then landed on his feet, Viserion joining his side. He felt slightly awkward moving on the ground, but his throat was parched and he needed a drink. When he looked down at the water, he saw a green, horned, reptilian head staring back at him.

Jon woke up then, confused at the dream. He had had several similar dreams since he had returned from Old Valyria, where he was inside Rhaegal and either flying high over Meereen or hunting and roasting animals to eat.

He looked out the window of his room, a gentle warm breeze blowing through his bedchambers. The moon was in the exact position it had been in when he had dreamt of being Rhaegal, which only served to confuse Jon more. It was only a dream, wasn't it?

Jon lay back and tried to fall asleep again, but it was useless. He was already up, and it was impossible to fall asleep in the hot Essosi weather. Jon thought he would have acclimatized by now after having spent so long in King's Landing, but apparently he was more Northern than Targaryen.

Groaning, Jon jumped out of bed, grabbed an undershirt, as he had been wearing none before and tied his hair to the back of his head with a leather cord, which was something he had been doing more and more often. Sansa had stated that she liked it when his hair was tied back, as it apparently it brought out his dark grey eyes more, and Missandei had agreed, while Dany preferred it when his dark curls were free, hanging all the way down past his chin.

Jon really did not care, so long as his hair was kept out of the way of the blistering heat. I'm a fucking dragon, and I'm practically boiling in this heat.

Jon buckled Longclaw's belt around his waist, completely ignoring Dawn and crossed his room grumpily and threw open his door. Ser Barristan stood outside, as dutiful a guard as ever, and Jon acknowledged him with a curt nod before walking through the halls. He could sense Ser Barristan following not far behind him as he wandered through the many halls of the great pyramid of Meereen.

After many long minutes of walking aimlessly, Jon found himself standing outside of Dany's bedchamber doors. He hesitated for a moment. Would his aunt be awake? Or would she be looking over her papers or in a discussion with one of her advisors?

He knocked anyway, and behind the door, he heard a gasp and a cry of surprise. Jon's eyes widened in surprise and he quickly barged into the bedchambers, drawing Longclaw with Ser Barristan at his side. What he saw shocked him completely.

Dany was in her bed, completely naked, with Daario laying next to her. Both their bodies were tangled in the sheets and each other's legs. Dany shrieked and ducked under her blankets, and the movement pushed Daario right off, and he disappeared behind the bed with a loud thunk and a grunt of pain. The smell of sex and sweat polluted the air, making Jon feel extremely uncomfortable.

Jon quickly averted his eyes, feeling his face heat up. Ser Barristan too had looked away to preserve the queen's modesty, but he looked more annoyed than embarrassed.

"What are you doing here?!" shouted Dany.

"I-I..." stuttered Jon, unable to form a coherent sentence.

"Ser Barristan?!" hissed the Mother of Dragons, her violet eyes burning into both of them as she clutched her blanket over her chest. Daario appeared from behind the bed, looking a little dazed from the fall, but he had a smirk on his face that made Jon want to punch him.

"Uh..." Apparently the famed knight was also too stunned to speak.

"I-I heard a gasp from inside your room when I was walking past, and i thought you were being attacked," said Jon quickly when his aunt looked about ready to feed both he and Ser Barristan to the dragons.

"My bedchambers are completely soundproof," snapped Dany.

"I have wolf ears," explained Jon.

"Oh," said Dany, her foul mood fizzling out quickly. "Well, I am fine, thank you very much."

Daario snorted. "I can attest to that," he said wryly.

"Enough," commanded Dany, glaring at the sellsword captain. "Leave, all of you except for Prince Jon."

Ser Barristan bowed and went outside, while Daario scrambled to get his clothes on before rushing out after the old knight. Jon continued to stare at the floor in embarrassment, feeling ashamed at having intruded on his aunt's private moment.

"Are you not going to look at me?" Dany finally asked, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen between the two of them.

"I-I shouldn't," mumbled Jon. "You are immodest."

"Oh please Jon," scoffed Dany, and Jon could hear her moving around her chambers, and the rustling of fabrics. "It's not like you haven't seen a naked woman before." When Jon did not answer, she quirked an eyebrow. "Have you?"

"Once," said Jon, so quietly he wasn't sure if Dany had heard him. "I was convinced to come to one of the brothels in Wintertown with Theon Greyjoy," his hands clenched at his sides at the memory of the man who burned Winterfell, "because apparently I would only become a man if I bedded a woman. I did not stay to bed one of the whores, but long enough that I saw a woman with no clothes."

If it was even possible, Jon felt his face turn even redder. Meanwhile Dany chuckled at her nephew's embarrassment.

"So you are a maid," commented Dany.

"You say that like it is a bad thing," said Jon accusingly.

"I am modest now," said Dany, and when Jon finally looked up, she was wearing something that still showed too much skin. "And I didn't mean it to sound like that."

"I know," grunted Jon. Why are we talking about my virginity again?

"There are plenty of women in Meereen that would be more than willing to help you," suggested Dany, but Jon shook his head.

"They would not be the right one," answered Jon.

"You have a woman back home?" asked Dany, looking genuinely curious.

"No. Yes- I mean, I don't know," said Jon, having thought of Myrcella, but for some reason she was not the one he wanted. In fact, Jon wasn't sure if there was a woman he wanted.

"Maybe the when we find you a woman back in Westeros, you can see if she is the one," mused Dany, giving Jon one of those smiles that could light up an entire room.

"Maybe," repeated Jon. He made eye contact with Dany and bowed. "I apologize for interrupting your... recreational activities, your grace. By your leave, I will return to my own quarters now."

Dany smirked before giving her assent, and Jon walked out of there as fast as he could without trying to be rude. As he made his way back to his chambers, Jon shivered. He did not want to ever have to see something like that ever again.


"Can I ask you something Jon?" said Sansa nervously, clutching her handkerchief tightly in one hand, her needle in the other.

Jon and Sansa had made it a habit since coming to Meereen to take some time off every day to meet in either one's solar, where Sansa would embroider a pattern onto a dress or stitch a new piece of clothing together while Jon would polish Longclaw and Dawn. They would not talk much, merely being content to spend time in each other's company.

Today, however, Dany and Missandei had decided to join them, as Sansa had previously offered the Queen and her handmaiden to teach them how to wield a needle, which the two women happily accepted.

Jon looked up from Dawn to see the same nervousness on her face that was in her voice. Dany and Missandei too had stopped their stitching to watch the exchange curiously.

"Of course," said Jon.

"Well, I was wondering if you could..." Sansa trailed off and ducked her head to hide her reddening cheeks.

"If I could what?" prompted Jon, leaning down so he could look her in the eyes.

"Ifyoucouldteachmehowtofight," she said so quickly Jon wasn't sure he heard her right.

"What?" asked Jon.

Sansa sighed and lifted her head up. "I was wondering if you could teach me how to fight," she said much slower this time, and it surprised him.

"You want to learn how to fight?" said Jon.

"Yes," affirmed Sansa, her voice completely different from the timid voice she had used mere moments before. It was hard as steel, cold as ice.

"W-Why?" stammered Jon, having completely forgotten about the pale sword that lay in his hands.

"Because..." Sansa hesitated, her eyes darting over to Dany and Missandei, who were both pretending to not be paying attention to the conversation between her and Jon. "Because I am tired of feeling helpless," was all she said.

Jon's heart twanged in sympathy. "You are not helpless," he assured Sansa.

"Yes I am," she insisted.

"If it weren't for you, I would have been dead a hundred times over," said Jon, and he ignored the angry look that came over Dany's face and her cursing the Lannisters.

"You don't know that," snapped Sansa.

"Yes, I do," insisted Jon. He reached over and grabbed Sansa's hand, the hard callouses covering her much softer hand. "If you didn't insist on sparing my life all those times Joffrey beat me, if you were not the one who whipped me, I would have been killed just like Lord Eddard."

"Ser Arthur stepped in more than I ever did."

"But Arthur was not the one who stitched my cuts, washed the blood off my skin, or put ice on my bruises."

Sansa's eyes shone and she squeezed Jon's hand, and he returned the gesture. "You are one of the strongest people I have ever known Sansa," he said with as much conviction as he could into his voice.

"Thank you Jon," said Sansa quietly. "But I still want to learn how to fight."

Jon snorted as he let go of Sansa's hand and leaned back in his seat, clutching Dawn's hilt tightly before setting it against the wall closest to him. "And people said that Arya was the stubborn one," he jested.

Sansa laughed then at Jon's joke.

"I will teach you, but not today," continued Jon. "I have to go see Rhaegal soon."

"Of course," said Sansa, still smiling, but it appeared a little more forced than before.

"Oh yes, of course!" exclaimed Dany happily. She stood up then, Missandei following her lead. "Lady Sansa, would you care to join us?"

"I am sorry my queen, but I am afraid I have much stitching to do," said Sansa sadly, "Jon keeps ruining his clothes."

The other two women giggled at that, and Jon felt his face flush with embarrassment. Sansa stood up, curtsied to both Dany and Jon (much to his annoyance), and left the room then, looking every bit a Lady of Winterfell, despite the skirts she wore which were designed more for the hot, searing heat of Meereen and not the North.

"Are you coming Jon?" asked Dany when she and Missandei made their way to the solar's door.

"In a minute, I just have to put these away," said Jon, gesturing to both Longclaw and Dawn, neither of which were in their scabbards. Dany nodded and continued on her way, closing the solar door on her way out. Jon sighed and stood up from his chair, grasping the hilt of Dawn as he walked over to the mantlepiece where he usually hung the sword of Starfall.

He grabbed Longclaw and its scabbard, sliding the blade smoothly into it before buckling the weapon around his waist. When he reached up to grab Dawn's sheath, his grip on the sword slipped, and he scrambled to catch the sword before it clattered on the stone floor. He caught it, but his hand grazed along the unnaturally sharp blade, and his palm was sliced open.

A thin trail of blood streaked down the blade and Jon swore, knowing he would have to clean the sword, but to his surprise, the blood vanished, almost as if Dawn had absorbed the fluid into its pale metal. Before Jon could ponder on that though, the sword suddenly glowed a bright light the colour of fire, illuminating the entire expanse of Jon's solar.

"What the-?" said Jon in confusion as Dawn's strange light dimmed until it was no longer glowing strangely, having resumed its original white colouring.

"Interesting," muttered Jon, and he reminded himself to look through the pyramid's library for anything concerning glowing swords. He sheathed Dawn and placed it carefully atop the mantlepiece, giving the sword a peculiar look before he walked out of his solar, out the pyramid and through the streets of the great city towards the old fighting pits.

He heard Dany's dragons before he saw them, much like the first time he remembered meeting them. They were circling high above Daenerys like vultures over a rotting carcass, while the queen's entourage remained a respectable distance from her.

Rhaegal let out a screech and dove down towards Jon, landing just in front of him before chirping excitedly, nudging Jon's hand in an effort to be petted. Jon laughed and obliged the emerald dragon, stroking under Rhaegal's chin as he had discovered was his favourite place to be stroked. Rhaegal's red frills waggled along his neck and spine contentedly as Jon's continued his ministrations, and Jon looked over to see Dany smiling at the two of them.

"He is quite taken with you," she remarked when she came closer, followed closely by Viserion.

"You are not jealous, are you?" teased Jon, smirking slyly.

Dany laughed. "Of course not. My children have a cousin they are happy to play with," she said.

"Well, at least Rhaegal is. Viserion almost completely ignores me and I have yet to meet Drogon," said Jon, turning his attention back to Rhaegal, who was making a very cat-like purr.

Dany's eyes saddened at the mention of her missing black dragon, but she smiled nonetheless. "Drogon was always the most ferocious of my dragons. Rhaegal was close behind him but Viserion has always been the most gentle. Well, gentle for a dragon."

"I have heard that Drogon is Balerion come again," said Jon. "They say that his scales are as black as night and that he is larger than his brothers."

"That was all true, at least the last time I saw him it was true," said Dany.

"I see," said Jon. "May I tell you something?"

At Dany's nod, he continued. "I sometimes dream I am Rhaegal. At first, I thought they were just dreams, but then I would wake up and see that things had happened to the dragons that I would see with my own eyes."

"That sounds..." Dany seemed to struggle for words. "Odd," she settled on.

"It does. But in the North we have stories of men who could change into the skins of other animals. They were considered monsters back home in Winterfell, but they are real Beyond the Wall. I always thought it was a little hypocritical of people to think of skin changers as evil monsters, when their own liege lords have the ability to literally change their skin into a direwolf."

"It seems that Westeros is full of strange people," said Dany.

Jon snorted. "I do not disagree with you on that aunt."

Rhaegal let out a squawk and took off into the air then, leaving Jon and Dany together by themselves. Jon looked over to the small crowd of onlookers and frowned.

"Where is Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan?" he asked. He did not have to ask where Daario was, as the Second Sons had been sent to reclaim Yunkai by Daenerys the day after Jon had caught her and Daario in their compromising situation.

"I gave them the day off," said Dany.

"Is it not a little dangerous to let your best warriors out of your sight? They are your best protection," questioned Jon.

"I have Grey Worm, a dozen Unsullied guards, my dragons and you, the Sword of the Morning," retorted Dany, flashing Jon a smile.

"Of course," said Jon, and he extended his arm out for his aunt to take as they retreated back to Dany's entourage.

They chatted amongst themselves happily on the way back to the great pyramid, stopping occasionally to speak with the smallfolk. Dany explained to him that good rulers must be seen by their people, to help build trust between the two parties, and in turn the people will come to love them. Jon could not fault her logic, as Uncle Ned and Aunt Catelyn were always seen in public, attending to the needs of their people. He often saw Uncle Ned chatting with his men in particular, and he and his wife were the most loved rulers Jon had ever seen. Until he met Dany, that is.

They had just come into the great pyramid when they were met by a grim-faced Ser Barristan, clutching a message with its seal already broken.

The Baratheon seal.


"Is this true?" snapped Dany, her eyes ablaze with a violet fire.

Ser Jorah hesitated, standing at the bottom of the dais with a stricken look on his face.

"It is, Khaleesi," said Ser Jorah sadly.

Dany's eyes flickered to her right side briefly when she heard a deep growl coming from the White Wolf, his red eyes glowing with unconcealed rage. The red wolf on her other side let out a small bark to calm her cousin, but the red wolf's face was pulled into a silent snarl. It made for an intimidating sight really, the petite Dragon Queen flanked on both her sides by two horse-sized wolves, one with white fur and red eyes and the other with red fur and sapphire blue eyes.

"If you would let me explain..." continued Ser Jorah, and he took a step up the dais.

Jon openly snarled now and took a step forward, snapping his jaws ferociously in warning at Ser Jorah's boldness. Dany's Unsullied guards brought their spears forward, ready for a fight, while Ser Barristan's hand went to the pommel of Pathfinder. The knight took the hint and stepped back off the dais, his head bowed in shame, and a little hint of fear. Jon let out a derisive snort before stepping back and resting on his haunches, his gaze never once leaving Ser Jorah.

"There will be no need for explaining anything," said Dany once everything had calmed down. Her voice was stern and emotionless, yet it carried through the throne room like a raging thunderstorm. "I will not take your head for betraying the crown, Ser Jorah Mormont, because of your services to me in the past."

Jon grunted and stared at Dany with what she interpreted as the wolf version of an incredulous face. He did not look happy either.

"But if I ever see your face again, I will not hesitate to have my nephew and his cousin the Lady Sansa tear you apart limb from limb," Dany finished, her proclamation echoing through the throne room. Jon snorted derisively, but did nothing, instead keeping his blood eyes on the traitor. Sansa made a small noise that made Dany think that the Stark girl did not agree with her threat.

"Get him out of my sight," ordered Dany, and two Unsullied came over to stand at Ser Jorah's side, ready to escort him away from Meereen and her side forever.

Dany tried to ignore the pain she felt in her heart at losing her oldest friend and most trusted confidant. She tried to ignore the pain of losing the one man who had been at her side since the very beginning of her ascension, she tried to ignore the pitying looks Ser Barristan and Missandei gave her. Her Bear Knight was never working for her, he only served her to spy on her and get back home to Westeros. She wasn't sure what hurt her more, the fact that she exiled him or that she knew that Ser Jorah was actually loyal to her now.

Dany stood up from her throne, and without another word, she walked out of the throne room. Jon and Sansa, still in their wolf forms, flanked either side of her as they had earlier, and Dany noted how the top of her head did not even reach Jon's shoulders. Sansa was still enormous for a wolf, yet Jon was a wolf that was truly monstrous. She had birthed dragons, and yet Dany could still not get over how fascinating the Starks were, with their magic. Viserys had always told her when they were children how the Targaryens had magic in their blood, which was why they were able to bend the dragons to their will, yet the only other magic Dany seemed to possess was the ability to not catch fire.

The Starks, however, were magic incarnate. There simply was no other way to describe it. It seemed that their genes were more powerful as well, for Jon looked nothing like a Targaryen and everything like a Stark. Long, dark curls and eyes so grey they looked almost black. He had the solemn face of a Stark as well, according to both Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan. Jon rarely smiled, and his shoulder were always hunched over as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Not to mention that he could transform into a direwolf. To Dany it seemed as though Jon Targaryen had the most magical blood in the entire known world.

Even in his wolf form, Dany could tell that Jon was angry with her. His hackles were raised and he walked briskly, his red eyes never once looking her way. Sansa gave a small whine, which made Jon finally look at her and Dany, but he let off a small huff and ignored them again. Dany looked up at the much taller Sansa, and the red wolf's blue eyes bored into hers.

Ser Barristan opened the door into Dany's solar, and Jon trotted into it first before he transformed back into a man.

"I would like to speak with the Queen alone," he said lowly.

Sansa bristled at Jon's curtness, but she acquiesced and led everyone out, until it was only Dany and Jon left. Dany studied her nephew carefully. His shoulders were drawn tight, and she could practically see his muscles tensing underneath the leather jerkin he wore. His left hand flexed against the pommel of Longclaw. His long curls had been pulled tightly at the back of his head, so Dany could see the annoyance in his face.

"You should not have let him go," he said, breaking the silence.

"He may have betrayed me, but he has served me well over the years," defended Dany. "It was his reward."

"He should have been executed for treason against you," argued Jon hotly. "My lord uncle wanted his head for selling people into slavery, which I might remind you is something you have fought against for a very long time."

"What would have had me do then? Have one of my men cut his head off?" snapped Dany, her anger growing now.

"I would have had you execute you himself," retorted Jon. "In the North we-"

"We are not in the North Jon!" shouted Dany and she balled her hands into fists at her side. "We are in Meereen, where my word is law!" She marched over to stand directly in front of Jon not two feet from him. She had to crane her neck backwards to glare directly into Jon's eyes, for she was much smaller than he. "I will not have this discussion anymore, Prince Jaeherys," she said vehemently.

Jon took a step back as though he had been slapped, and his face burned in shame. Her lowered his head, then bowed. "Forgive me, your grace. I spoke out of turn," he said. "It is not my place to question your decision. If you will excuse me."

Dany sighed, but let him go. Jon walked out of her solar as fast as he could. Dany then groaned once the door slammed shut and she sank down on one of her couches.

"I fucking hate being queen," she muttered darkly before helping herself to some wine.


"Fucking... stubborn... Targaryens..."

Every word Jon spoke was emphasized by a smack of his practice sword against the wooden dummy as he took his anger out the best way he knew how. Chips of wood flew off the dummy with every strike, and Jon could feel the sweat practically soaking through his shirt. He growled and practically ripped the offending piece of fabric off, leaving his torso and arms exposed to the burning heat of the Meereen sun.

Jon focussed on his technique mostly, but was not afraid to allow himself to get a little clumsy as he swung the sword with as much strength as he could muster. He was so focussed on destroying the dummy that he did not know that he had an audience until he heard somebody giggle.

Jon paused mid-swing and saw several young women staring at him wide-eyed and full of lust. He lifted his head upwards to the sky and groaned. During his time in King's Landing, and even back home in Winterfell he had been forced to endure the lingering gazes and giggles of women who came to ogle at him while he trained. He went to turn away to get back to his swordplay, but paused when he saw a familiar wave of red.

"Sansa?" called out Jon, dropping his sword on the ground and pushing past the crowd of admirers to reach his cousin. Sansa turned around and gave him a brief smile, though he did not miss the way her eyes briefly darted down to his naked chest before quickly coming back up, her cheeks turning slightly red.

Strange, thought Jon, but he chose to ignore it.

"Yes my prince?" said Sansa politely, ever the lady as she curtsied.

"Please don't do that when I am dressed like this," groaned Jon, gesturing to his dirty and sweaty body. Sansa blushed, but nodded her head meekly.

"I saw you hacking away at the dummy, so I came to see how you were doing," said Sansa by way of explanation. "You only ever attack the dummies like that when you're angry."

"Ah," said Jon. "How long have you figured that out?"

Sansa shrugged. "Since we were children. Arya was actually the one who pointed it out to me years ago one day after you had gotten into a fight with Theon. Since then I've always known when you were in a bad mood." Sansa gave Jon an odd look then. "Why are you angry?"

Jon sighed. "Daenerys and I are at odds over her decision to spare Ser Jorah," he said.

"You think that the queen should have executed him," guessed Sansa.

"He betrayed my aunt. You know what your father would have done," said Jon.

"'The man who passes the sentence swings the sword'. My father's exact words," quoted Sansa. "But do you really think that Queen Daenerys can actually lift a sword?"

Jon snorted. "I suppose not," he said.

"Would you have been the one to take Ser Jorah's head off then?" said Sansa in a tone that reminded Jon of Lady Catelyn.

"It would have fallen to me as Dany's heir. Besides, it would not be the first time I decapitated someone," answered Jon.

"That reminds me. When are you going to teach me how to fight?" said Sansa suddenly.

"Ummm..." said Jon, and he glanced over his shoulder, back towards the training yard he was just in. The group of women had long since dispersed, and were nowhere to be seen. "How about now?" he suggested.

"N-now?" stammered Sansa. "But I'm still wearing this." She gestured to the velvet dress she was currently wearing, and Jon sighed.

"Fine. Go back and find something you can move around in quickly and easily in ten minutes," said Jon. "I'll be waiting."

Sansa nodded and transformed, sprinting as fast as she could back into the pyramid. Jon sighed again and went back to the training yard, picking the sword he had dropped earlier back up as he did so. He placed it on the sword rack before going over to a bench, where he had placed Longclaw and its sheath and belt. He buckled his beloved sword around his waist before going over to talk to Ser Barristan while putting his undershirt back on, who had been watching him from the shadows.

"What are you smiling at?" growled Jon when he came closer to see his bodyguard's smirk.

"Nothing of importance, your grace," said Barristan, still smirking. "I was just listening in to your admirers' conversation. Of course, they did not know of my existence."

Jon groaned loudly. "I do not want to hear of it Barristan," he said in annoyance.

"Of course your grace," said Barristan.

Jon then noticed the sword that was in his scabbard.

"You switched swords?" he asked, not recognizing the hilt nor the pommel.

"Ah. No, no I did not. I just had the hilt and crossguard changed to suit my style a little better," said Barristan, and he drew the sword from its sheath.

The blade was definitely Pathfinder's, Jon could tell that much. But the dragon head crossguard had been replaced with two corkscrewed pieces of steel that were bent upward in a slight U shape. The sapphire that used to be encrusted into the pommel was now set in the rain guard, and the pommel was simply a rounded piece of steel, and the grip wrapped tightly in dark brown leather.

"Simple, yet elegant," commented Jon.

Barristan shrugged dismissively before sheathing Pathfinder. "I have never been one for extravagance Jon. As long as it can get the job done, I am content."

Jon was not able to reply because Sansa came back, panting heavily in her wolf form before she transformed, and Jon had to stop his jaw from dropping at the sight. She had changed from her flowing, blue velvet dress into a leather jerkin and pants stylized to fit a woman's body, which Jon had only just noticed was exactly what Sansa had. The top of her breasts showed above the leather jerkin, and her hair had been pulled into one loose braid that flowed down her shoulder. Her arms were had not armour, exposing her pale, thin arms, yet she wore black leather braces around her forearms.

"What?" said Sansa questioningly, and Jon swallowed before ducking his head, sincerely hoping that Sansa had not caught him staring at her cleavage.

"Nothing. I was just wondering where you got that outfit," said Jon thickly.

"It's what I have been working on in our little get togethers," answered Sansa. "Did you not notice?"

"Honestly, I was too busy polishing my swords and talking to you to notice," admitted Jon shamefully.

"You and your swords," said Sansa ruefully. She straightened up then with a serious look on her face. "What are we starting with today?" she asked.

Jon glanced behind his shoulder at Barristan, who was trying to hide a smile and failing miserably. He scowled at his dutiful guard, then looked back at Sansa.

"We are going to be working on your stance, first and foremost," declared Jon, and Sansa's serious look faltered, but only briefly.

"Okay, then when do we work on actually learning how to fight?" she asked then.

"Once we have perfected your stance," said Jon patiently, and this time Sansa really did look disappointed.

"How long will that take?"

"As long as it needs to be."

Sansa rolled her eyes, but did not argue.

Jon walked around Sansa then, looking over her body as a carpenter would a piece of wood that needed carving. He was a little disappointed in how much work he had to do to get Sansa into fighting shape, for while she had curves in all the right places becoming of a woman, she had no real muscle to wield, or even lift a sword properly.

"Change of plan. First off we're going to get your strength and fitness up before we work on your sword work," said Jon.

"What does that mean?" said Sansa, her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

"It means that for the next hour, you are going to be lifting this sword up, holding it in place, then lowering, and repeating it until your arms are too tired. And then we'll keep going."

"What does this have to do with fighting?" snapped Sansa, looking annoyed now.

"You can't swing a sword if you are not strong enough to even lift it Sansa," replied Jon. "Ser Rodrik put Robb and I through the same paces when we were children."

"I am not a child," said Sansa vehemently.

"And yet I could probably beat you in a fight as your are now when I was eight years old," retorted Jon. "At five, I was doing this exercise until I could not even lift my arms for a whole week. At seven, I was deemed strong and fit enough to use a blunted steel sword. At seventeen I could wield a blade as if it was an extension of my own body."

"I have to do this exercise for two years?!" hissed Sansa.

"Probably not," said Jon. "Your muscles are much more mature than mine were at five, so it should be much quicker for you to gain your strength."

Sansa pursed her lips, looking as though she hadn't thought of that. "Oh," was all she said.

Jon chuckled and grabbed one of the blunted swords from the rack. He came back over to Sansa and handed it to her, and she let out a startled grunt when she almost dropped it.

"How can you hold this for so long?" she grunted, hefting the blunt blade up into the air.

"Years of practice," said Jon with a shrug. "Now, you need to stand like this." He used his hands to guide Sansa's body into the right defensive stance, using his fingers to lightly push her arms and legs into position. Jon was careful to not touch her too much or for too long, and he could feel his face burning, but he did not know why. He then instructed her to lift, then lower the sword slowly over and over again until he said to stop before going over to spar with Barristan.

He occasionally shot a look Sansa's way to make sure she was still doing as he instructed correctly, and was proud to see her doing her exercises with the utmost attention. Sweat was beading and rolling down her forehead, her hair had gone darker from becoming soaked in it, and her face was red and her arms were shaking. She looked about ready to collapse from exhaustion by the time Jon said she could stop, and Sansa all but dropped the sword on the ground.

"That wasn't so bad," she said tiredly.

"You will feel it tomorrow," assured Jon, and Sansa's face fell.

"We're not doing this again, are we?" she asked.

Jon shook his head. "You wanted to learn how to fight, this is how you do it."

Barristan came over then carrying a towel, which Jon took from him and handed it Sansa so she could wipe herself clean. Just then a child came into the training yard.

"Her grace the queen requests your audience," said the child in broken Common Tongue before she ran away.

Jon and Sansa shared a look before they went back inside to the great pyramid. Looking back on it Jon thought that it would have been an odd sight to see himself and his cousin coming into the throne room sweating and stinking. Dany only looked amused at the sight, the corners of her lips quirking upwards, while Missandei ducked her head to hide her smile. Grey Worm looked as stoic as ever.

"You asked for us your grace?" said Sansa, dipping into a curtsey that made just stifle a laugh because it looked ridiculous seeing as she looked about as far from a lady as one could get.

"I did," said Dany, her voice tinged with mirth. "Come up to the dais, as your were when we exiled Ser Jorah. But stay as you are, for there is a man who would wish to speak with you."

Jon and Sansa shared a confused look before obeying Dany's instructions, walking up to the dais to stand on either side of her throne. Barristan took up his position halfway up the dais, opposite Grey Worm and his hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

Dany called in the mysterious guest, and Jon's nostrils were filled with the smell of sweet oils and perfumes that almost made his eyes water. Then he saw him.

Short and thin, wearing the finest clothes money could buy, with his neatly trimmed goatee and salt and his hair that was greying at the temples. He wore that same smirk that made one think that he knew something you didn't, his eye practically sparkling as he sensed an opportunity to grasp for more power.

Petyr Baelish, or as others called him, Littlefinger, strolled into the throne room with all the charisma he had when Jon first met him back at King's Landing.

"Your grace," said Baelish in that same slimy voice that set Jon's skin to crawling. "Lady Sansa," he directed at Jon's cousin. "It does me well to see you alive and well. Though the last time I saw you, you were more fond of skirts and needles than armour and swords."

"Times change, Lord Baelish," said Sansa stiffly, and Jon internally cheered for her. She clearly did not trust him either.

"Indeed they do my lady," said Baelish.

"You forgot to give your courtesies to my nephew the prince," said Dany.

Baelish looked confused for a moment until his eyes fell upon Jon as though he were seeing him for the first time.

"My apologies your grace," said Baelish. "I did not believe the tales back in Westeros, but here it seems you believe them, even the queen."

Jon did not miss the slight, and his hand twitched towards Longclaw. So this was Baelish's plan, to divide the Targaryens against each other until they were tearing at each other's throats.

Dany seemed to pick up on it as well, for she said, "I can assure you Lord Baelish that Prince Jon is a Targaryen through and through, despite his abilities that indicate him as more of a Stark."

"How can you be so sure?" prompted Baelish as he looked at Jon as though somehow he and Sansa had tricked Dany.

"Well for one thing, he does not catch fire, and my dragons have taken to him almost as well as they have with me," said Dany.

"Ser Arthur was also there to witness Prince Jon's birth, and had us deliver Jon's birth certificate, as well as the confirmation of marriage between Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen to Queen Daenerys," added Sansa.

"I see," said Baelish. "Forgive me, my Prince. I spoke out of turn and it shall not happen again."

Jon only nodded his head towards the Vale lord, his grip on Longclaw's hilt only lessening slightly.

"What brings you here to Meereen, Lord Baelish?" asked Dany.

"To offer up my services, as well as that of the Vale's, to House Targaryen," answered Baelish.

"Last I heard, the Arryns, not the Baelishs, were the Lords Paramount of the Vale," said Dany.

"Robert Arryn is still Lord of the Vale, I can assure you your grace. But Lord Robert has sent me to represent his interests in this matter," said Baelish smoothly.

Dany shared a look with Jon before turning back to Baelish. "And what do you offer?"

"The full might of the Vale," declared Baelish.

Jon leant down so that Dany could whisper in his ear. "How powerful is the Vale armies?"

"They are one of the best in the Seven Kingdoms," answered Jon. "They have several notable commanders in their ranks including Bronze Yohn Royce and Lyn Corbray."

Dnay nodded her head and Jon straightened up. "There is no doubt a catch to all that you offer Lord Baelish?" observed Dany.

Baelish smirked, and Jon saw his eyes flicker in Sansa's direction. "Of course. But I can assure you, it is not so much of a sacrifice," he said.

"What is it you want from us?" said Dany.

Baelish's smirk grew wider. "We simply ask that Lady Sansa accompany me back to the Eyrie, where she will be fostered for a time, and hopefully we can come to an agreement of a betrothal between herself and the Lord Arryn."

Jon's whole body tensed up as Baelish's words came to meaning. He wanted to take Sansa away from Meereen, away from him, to act as a pawn in whatever it was Baelish was planning.

"No, absolutely not," growled Jon, his face contorted in fury.

"Your grace, I can assure you that Lady Sansa will be taken care of to the best of my abilities. Lord Arryn is also very much excited to meet his cousin," said Baelish.

"Jon-" said Dany.

"Lord Arryn can wait until Lady Sansa comes home, with the full might of the Targaryen army behind her. Until then Lady Sansa will stay here with me. I may be a prince, but I am still Lady Sansa's sworn shield. Where she goes, I go," said Jon angrily. He could not be separated from Sansa after having endured so much together. It just was not conceivable.

"Your grace, I ask that you reconsider," said Baelish carefully. "A marriage between the Starks and the Arryns is most advantageous. With our combined forces, we could take Westeros from the Lannisters and Baratheons, and restore the North to its former glory, in the hands of the Starks instead of the Boltons."

"The Vale should have come to Robb Stark's aid as was their duty. Lysa Arryn is a Tully by birth, and her older sister Catelyn was the mother of the Stark children," snapped Jon. "Where was the Vale when Robb Stark called for aid? Where was the Vale when the King in the North, his wife, his mother and bannermen were all slaughtered by the Freys and Boltons?!"

"Jon," said Dany placatingly, resting a hand gently on his forearm.

"Many of the Vale lords wished to help your cousin in the fight against the Lannisters, but Lysa Arryn was adamant that the Vale remain neutral to keep our lands safe," explained Baelish carefully, and Jon could smell the apprehension replace the confidence he once had.

"And where was Lord Arryn during all of this? Surely he possesses more power than his own mother," said Dany.

"Lysa Arryn coddles her only son. He is a sickly child, and still feeds at her breast at ten and two years of age," said Baelish.

Jon could hear Barristan stifle a snort, and even Grey Worm looked at Littlefinger oddly. Dany raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing.

"So who holds command over the Vale?" said Jon.

"At this time, I do," answered Littlefinger. "I have recently become betrothed to Lysa, and Lord Robert himself has asked that I be in charge of the Vale's affairs."

Before Jon could retort, Dany's hand on his arm squeezed tightly, and she gave him a warning look. "You have given us much to think on, Lord Baelish," she said. "I ask that you give us time to consider your proposal."

"Do not tarry too long, my Queen," said Baelish as he backed away from the dais. "My liege lord is not a patient person."

You mean you are not a patient person, thought Jon angrily.


"It is a sensible proposal," said Missandei quietly, and Jon lifted his head up to glare at the young woman, his dark curls framing his face like a shadow.

"Littlefinger cannot be trusted," said Jon vehemently. "He was in King's Landing around the same time we were, but he left prior to us. Every time I met him the wolf in me was screaming at me to kill him. I know that Lord Stark felt the same way before his death."

"Lady Stark, what of your own instincts?" asked Barristan.

Sansa looked up from the map table in surprise.

"Unfortunately I am not in touch with my wolf side as much as my cousin or siblings, Ser Barristan," confessed Sansa. "But even my instincts are telling me that he is a dangerous man."

"What do we know of Lord Baelish?" asked Dany.

Jon sighed. "Not much admittedly. But what little I do know of, he is not a good man, but very cunning," he said. "He was Master of Coin under Robert Baratheon, and my lord uncle told me that many of the capital's gold had mysteriously vanished over the eighteen years of his rule."

"Most of it was lost to Robert's whoremongering and pointless tourneys and feasts," said Barristan.

"It did. But even more was lost under Littlefinger's care," replied Jon. "He is also known to own several brothels across King's Landing, and makes a fair bit of coin from it as well."

Dany looked disgusted at that bit of news. "And we are even considering the possibility of an alliance with this sort of man?" she said disgustedly.

"He is a very cunning man, your grace. Even I must admit, that he is one of the greatest players of the Game," said Barristan somberly.

"We do not need the Vale," said Jon.

"You said yourself that the Vale has one of the finest armies in the Seven Kingdoms," said Dany.

"They are. But so are the Dornish and Lannister armies," retorted Jon. "And I can think of only one of those three armies I would be willing to treat with at this time."

"Dorne," said Barristan thoughtfully.

"They hold a serious grudge against the Lannisters for what they did to Elia Martell and her children," said Dany.

"They are also the only country that did not bend the knee during Aegon's Conquest," added Sansa.

"So Dorne then," said Dany. "And what of Lord Baelish?"

"Perhaps we should consider his proposal," said Sansa. "If we have the Vale on our side, it would be one less army we would have to face when we return to Westeros."

"What?!" ground out Jon.

"Think about it Jon. If we secure an alliance with the Vale, it would increase our chances of winning, and it would add to our number for when we fight against the dead," implored Sansa.

"You are not a Targaryen. An alliance between the North and the Vale would mean nothing in swearing fealty to the dragons," challenged Jon. "The North has no real allegiance to the Targaryens."

"Your mother married Rhaegar Targaryen."

"Nobody knows that! Everyone believes that my father kidnapped and raped her, and that brought the whole realm into chaos!"

"We'll give you two some privacy," said Daenerys, and she ushered everyone out of her solar, leaving Jon and Sansa alone to continue their argument.

"Why are you so adamant in not accepting this proposal?" hissed Sansa.

"Because Littlefinger cannot be trusted!" snapped Jon. "He wants something, Sansa. And I think it is you!"

"Me? Why would he want anything to do with me?" said Sansa incredulously.

"Because he was infatuated with your mother when they were children. You know the story of how Littlefinger challenged my fath- Brandon Stark to a duel for your mother's hand, and he nearly died doing so!"

"What has that got to do with me?" asked Sansa, her face red with anger.

"Because you are apparently the spitting image of your mother at ten and seven years old! Men will often settle for second best if they can't get what they want."

"And you know this how?"

"Because I was raised a bastard, remember? Bastards grow up faster than other children. I have seen the way the man looks at you, even when we were hostages in King's Landing."

Sansa scoffed. "Oh, I'm sure that you know so much about how the world works," she said mockingly.

Jon growled like a wolf. "What does your wolf say?"

"What do you mean?" said Sansa.

"You can smell the lies practically rolling off of him!" he said, feeling even more frustrated as he ran his hands through his hair that Sansa refused to listen.

"You think I don't know that?" snapped Sansa.

"Given that you refused to see Joffrey for what he was when the rest of our family could, I would think not!" yelled Jon.

Sansa growled before pouncing on Jon, transforming into the red wolf and tackling him to the ground. Jon transformed underneath Sansa and kicked her off then snarled at her as he stood up. The two wolves circled around one another slowly, their huge forms pushing furniture away. They snapped their jaws at each other, both fueled by the rage through their mental link.

Sansa moved first, catching Jon by surprise as her body slammed into him. Jon was knocked off his feet and the two crushed the couch as the fell on top of it. Sansa went straight for Jon's jugular, and if he hadn't swatted her head away with his paw her fangs would have torn his throat out. Jon was much larger than Sansa and stronger, but she was faster and more agile.

He kicked Sansa off him again before ramming her through a paper wall, then pinned her down by the neck with his front paws. But Sansa kicked at his chest with her back legs, forcing him off before she spun around and bit him on his right flank. Jon howled in anger before he twisted his body and clamped his jaws around the back of her neck, then threw her off of him. Sansa crashed into the table where Dany's council often had their meetings, and the table splintered under the red wolf's weight.

Jon's ears turned backwards when the solar door opened, and the scents of Dany, Missandei, Ser Barristan and Grey Worm filled his nostrils.

"Jon!" screamed Dany.

"Your grace!" bellowed Ser Barristan, and Jon turned his head around to see the Kingsguard push Dany and Missandei behind he and Grey Worm while drawing Pathfinder, holding it our towards Jon.

Jon turned back around just to see Sansa pounce at him again, but he sidestepped out of the way just in time, and Sansa crashed at Ser Barristan's feet. Sansa shook herself off and growled at the intruders, and then began to stalk towards them.

Sansa no! bellowed Jon mentally, having lost the bloodlust that had consumed him just prior.

Unfortunately Sansa was so caught up in herself that she completely ignored him and bared her fangs at Dany's guards. Jon snarled and jumped at Sansa, tackling her to the ground. Sansa howled and struggled to push Jon off her but Jon used all his strength to push her down to the ground. He pinned her down by her chest, and Sansa was forced to look up at Jon's blood-red eyes.

Enough Sansa! You are not in control of yourself! pleaded Jon angrily.

Sansa snarled in defiance, but Jon was forced to grab her by the throat with his teeth and lightly bite down. Sansa whimpered, and Jon could feel her body shake beneath him, and through their link he recognized that Sansa was submitting to him, albeit reluctantly. He could feel the cloud of rage dissipate in her mind, and confusion bled through their connection.

Jon? she said worriedly. What is going on?

You lost control, answered Jon. Do you remember what happened?

I remember you slighting me about Joffrey, but after that everything is a haze, said Sansa.

Just like when I first transformed, said Jon. He felt ashamed then. I should not have said those things about you.

You were right though, said Sansa as she stood up on all fours when Jon moved off of her. He could feel the hurt she was feeling, and it shamed him even more so.


He turned his head around to see Dany looking at him worriedly. "Is everything okay?"

Jon nodded his shaggy white head, then gestured towards Sansa while shaking his head. Dany seemed to understand because she nodded her head, then ordered her men to step aside.

Jon nudged Sansa's flank with his muzzle, then whined as he pushed her towards the door. Jon gave his aunt and advisors a look before following Sansa out, having to duck his head to get through the door.

He followed Sansa out into one of the many courtyards, which had a tall oak tree in the middle which provided ample shade for both wolves.

Sansa I- began Jon.

Save it Jon, said Sansa curtly.

I did not mean to say those things about you.

You may not have meant them, but that doesn't make them any less true.

Jon had nothing to say to that, and he remained silent as Sansa went to lay at the base of the tree. He watched as the light that filtered through the leaves in pockets danced along Sansa's red fur, looking like little torches on a red forest. Jon walked slowly over to Sansa and lowered his head near her's, letting out a low whine as he asked for permission to lay next to her in the shade. She let out a small growl, but eventually acquiesced and lay her head down on the ground to the side and closed her eyes. Jon walked around her to lay behind her, then rested his white head along her body, as he had seen Winterfell's hounds do.

I truly am sorry Sansa, said Jon, breaking the silence.

Sansa's blue eyes opened and she lifted her head to look at him.

I know you are Jon, and I forgive you. But it just hurt to be reminded of my stupidity, she said sadly.

You are not stupid Sansa, chided Jon. It is not stupidity simply because you wish to see the best in everyone.

It is when people die for it.

Uncle Ned died because Joffrey broke his promise to you Sansa, when you pleaded with him to spare your father's life. There is no changing a monster.

Sansa whined, and Jon felt her shift closer to him.

What are we going to do about Littlefinger? she asked.

I do not want to think about that right now, said Jon, and he opened his mouth to yawn, exposing his wicked long fangs and long, pink tongue. He felt himself grow tired, and he rested his head again on top of Sansa's furry shoulder, before sleep claimed him.

Such was how Daenerys and Ser Barristan found the two wolves, asleep under the oak tree cuddled together.


"Do not do this aunt, I beg you!" pleaded Jon.

"I cannot put the lives of my people at risk because my dragons cannot be controlled," said Dany, undeterred in her decision.

"Drogon cannot be controlled, Rhaegal and Viserion listen to their mother," corrected Jon.

"Rhaegal listens to you more than he does me," said Dany. "But that does not give you authority over my children. My decision is final."

"So you are going to lock away Rhaegal and Viserion because Drogon is out who knows where terrorizing farmers," challenged Jon.

Daenerys gave Jon a hard look and crossed over till she was standing directly in front of him. "Last I remember, you rejected being the King, solidifying my claim to the Iron Throne," she said in a deadly calm voice.

"And I stand by that Daenerys. But a mother should never lock her children away," said Jon solemnly. "We both know what it is like to live without a mother. Do you really want that for Rhaegal and Viserion?"

Dany sighed, and Jon's eyes followed her as she turned away to stand outside on the balcony of her solar. His eyes glanced around the solar, looking at the still-destroyed furniture after his and Sansa's skirmish before he followed his aunt outside to stand beside her.

"No, I do not want that for my children," admitted Dany. "But what choice do I have? They are a threat to my people, no matter how well-behaved Rhaegal and Viserion are."

"Dragons, like wolves, do not belong in cages," insisted Jon. "Did your brother ever tell you about what happened to the Targaryen's dragons? Why they died out?"

"Viserys said that they all died during the Dance of Dragons," said Dany.

"Aye, the big ones did anyway," said Jon with a nod of his head. The rest died because they were treated as pets and kept within the walls of the Red Keep and the Dragon Pit, and their growth was stunted to the point where they did not grow any larger than a house cat.

"The dragons died out because they were prisoners."

"Their imprisonment will not be permanent Jon," said Dany.

"Then how long?" asked Jon. "A week? A month? A year? They might not grow to be large enough to make much of a difference when we take back Westeros."

Dany sighed. "My decision is final. You may come with me to take Rhaegal and Viserion to the catacombs under the great pyramid and say your goodbyes to them there," she said, and Jon could hear the sadness in her voice.

"As you command, your grace," said Jon, bowing low before he left the solar to find Rhaegal.

He was accompanied by Ser Barristan, Sansa and a score of Unsullied guards to the fighting pit, and Rhaegal flew down from his perch, screeching in welcome to Jon. Jon smiled sadly at the green dragon and quietly asked that he be given a moment alone with the dragon named after his true father.

He scratched under Rhaegal's chin and down his neck for several minutes. "I'm going to miss you boy," whispered Jon as one would to his loyal dog. Rhaegal seemed to sense something was amiss, because he nudged Jon's hand questioningly. "It's alright Rhaegal. Your mother is only doing this because she loves you."

The words tasted as bitter as they sounded.

Dany eventually came, and she and Jon together led the two dragons through the city and into the catacombs, where the dragons flew over to some lamb carcasses, where they roasted the meat and began to devour it. Jon saw the huge chains next to the carcasses, and his ire grew towards his aunt. He remained behind at the entrance while Dany descended the steps, for he wanted no part in imprisoning the dragons. He thought it was Dany's burden to bear.

Every scrape of metal against the stone as Dany bound the dragons to the chains made Jon's skin crawl, and it reminded him of his imprisonment by the Lannisters. Every beating, whipping and insult came to the forefront of his mind, and he closed his eyes to fight off the memories.

He opened them again when Dany came back, her eyes filled with tears, and both of the Targaryens looked back as Rhaegal and Viserion started to screech and pull at their chains to reach their mother.

The cries of the dragons continued to echo in Jon's ears as the Unsullied warriors pushed the tombstone over the hole.

A/N- How fucking good has season 7 been so far?!

Next Chapter, the Sons of the Harpy, and Jon confronts Littlefinger. Also Ser Barristan's sword now closely resembles Boromir's sword in the Lord of the Rings, though the blade is much longer and thinner.