Chapter 130Notes:Yo! So here we are, end of Part 4. Which, I've been writing this fic for a couple too many years at this point and need a break. So it's going on hiatus for a yearish. Idk, we'll see, but best guess. Just want to thank you all for reading, the comments and engagement. I seriously did not expect anyone to care about this wild crossover fic, but you guys did and it means a lot. I've loved working on and creating and am still quite determined to finish it. It is outlined out to the end, and I have about a quarter of part 5 written. So I look forward to seeing you guys again in a year with part 5 and part 6, but for now, thanks so much for everything!
Chapter TextSansa was tired of this discussion, the endless circling now that the Lords knew Jon was a Targaryen. But best to get it out of their systems. She didn't dare leave it to fester. Not when it cost so little to deal with. A few evenings of migraine-inducing arguments she need only ensure did not escalate was hardly a burden to protect her brother and his peace. So here she was, listening to her Lords argue around the agreed terms of the alliance. It was nearly formalized at this point, the concessions agreed upon. Her Lords could complain, but it was done regardless.
What was bothering her this particular evening was that Daisy was there, casually leaning against her throne. Daisy, who Sansa had far more important questions than the most recent copy of terms for the Targaryen alliance. Not to mention time with Daisy was a thing she valued far more preciously. "My Lords, this alliance is happening, we need Daenerys's armies, her dragons, and as you have just reminded this court, Jon's parentage has allowed the Vale to pledge where they wish. The loss of what is in essence a dowery for my brother…cousin is not so steep a cost as to be deserving of this discord."
"Your Grace, servants, men at arms, household minutia. This holds great cost, surely his Highness will not require so large a retinue after his marriage as this?" Lord Cerwyn asked from where he was on the pages involving what was to be expected for Jon's household as King Consort.
Sansa really was grateful for how loyally devoted Cerwyn had become since she'd bound him to her. However, he lacked the ruthless pragmatism under his facade of Northern pride. Rather, what was under his facade was a scared boy trying to prove himself. Which, while workable, could be irritating. "Jon is a naturalized son of two royal Houses, he is my Hand, and this alliance buys us a safe border, trade, and military support. I will not allow the North to be shamed. Stark men do not do well in the south. If we wish for Northern interests to be represented in the Southern court he will need allies, his own household."
"A son by rape." Lord Lake muttered unhappily.
Her eyes narrowed, but Lord Manderly beat her to answer that. "Aye, he was got on Lyanna Stark by rape. It doesn't make him any less her son. Nor any less a man raised by Ned. And her Grace is right, man'll need help in that snakepit of the south."
Daisy spoke up. "He's managing because of the threat of the Dead and me." She shrugged as everyone looked at her. "Jon's not an idiot, but he'll need support or the Tyrells and Martells will twist him all up into their agenda."
"This number for a royal household is quite conservative by southern standards." Lord Baelish spoke, his weasel-like face depressingly necessary. "It may be excessive to practical sensibilities, but for this alliance to be respected, it is necessary, my Lords."
Sansa hated the way she felt when Baelish was near, she hated that she still needed months at least to cut off his web of necessity, that she could feel his eyes on her. She hated that as quickly as she and Arya could locate and secure an avenue of power of his, he'd formed three more. Her eyes flicked up to Daisy, at the feel of a light thrum of vibrations.
Daisy raised a brow, light upward curl to her lips, familiar self-assured, essentially cocky expression, though the concern was easy to read if one knew her. She tipped her head slightly in question.
The warmth that filled Sansa was ridiculous, but she felt it all the same. She gave the faintest of nods, before focusing on the conversation that had continued without noticing the exchange. She remained quiet, allowing Manderly and Baelish to remind the Lords why they'd agreed to the terms as outlined once more.
She was considering finding a new task to assign to Lord Lake to keep him busy when the doors to the hall opened; Fitz bursting in with all the grace of a new colt. Sansa raised a brow, it wasn't like this was a closed session, mostly it was just a couple handfuls of Lords who wanted to feel important but still.
"Daisy!" Fitz's whole body was vibrating with…joy? His eyes were bright, a massive smile on his face. It was odd to see. "I DID IT!"
Daisy paused. "Wait, the portal?"
He nodded, his hands moving with his words. "It's done, we can go home!"
Daisy laughed, and then she was across the room hugging him tightly. "Told you, you'd figure it out!"
Fitz hugged Daisy back with a fierceness that was nearly uncomfortable if it was not returned. If anything could have convinced Sansa they did care for one another it would have been that. It was that. Even as Sansa felt like she'd swallowed a stone, her chest cracking open in a way she could not show.
"Jesus and you said you couldn't do it without better tools." Daisy had a laugh in her voice and excitement on her face. Joy that cut to witness.
He beamed, and without the madness or the bitterness, he was a handsome man. He looked nearly a decade younger like this. And maybe…maybe the ghost of the good man Daisy believed him to be was visible as well. "We can go home!" There were tears in his eyes, clearly tears of joy.
Lord Cerwyn spoke, and it was good he did, for Sansa did not think she was capable of words at this moment. "You're leaving us, Holiness?" He sounded crushed and horrified.
"Obviously." "What, no."
Daisy and Fitz looked at each other in confusion.
Fitz's brow was furrowed, confusion everywhere. "I mean, if you need a couple of hours to say goodbyes that's fine?"
"Fitz…what are you talking about?" Daisy's body language had turned still in a way that sent alarm bells ringing. "We can't abandon this world?"
He blinked, and he was still in an alarming way as well then. "This isn't our world."
"They're people." Daisy was looking at him with alarming concern, her voice solid and slow like she was speaking with a halfwit.
Fitz scoffed. "And we have our own 'people' to get back to."
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean we can just leave them to die." And oh, Daisy sounded disgusted at the very thought of it as she took a physical step back.
He made a sound of derision. "You've already gone and gotten them dragons. They'll be fine."
"Fine? What the fuck, Fitz. They have a million, possibly more goddamn zombies heading for them with weird magic I can feel just looming. You said you wanted me to tell you when you were being a dick, you're being a dick." Her arms crossed over her chest, and Daisy's refusal to even consider leaving while the Dead still threatened them, was blatantly ironclad and sure.
////
Fitz's jaw tightened. "Our team, our family needs us."
"So do the people here. We don't leave people who need us to die." Daisy's disgust was poorly hidden as was her derision.
He felt his temper flickering, they should be going home. It'd been over a year, over a fucking bloody year. "Oh is that so? We've left people to die before, or does it only matter when you're fucking one of them?"
There was a sharp sound that echoed in the room. The silence was deafening.
Fitz reached up touching his stinging cheek, his eyes wide. Oh. Daisy had just slapped him. He really noticed her then, and oh. She was angry, really, really angry. Her hair and clothing ruffled in a way that said vibrations were radiating out from her, and the very air had a faint tremble to it.
"Don't you dare," Her voice was cold. "You may be willing to leave people we have spent the last year and a half with to die, but I am not. I said I'd help protect them at the start of this, and I meant it then, and I mean it now. If you think I'm shallow enough to condemn or save millions based on a relationship you're insane."
He wasn't sure exactly what the feeling bubbling in his gut was, but he hated it. "No hard choice for the good of the t-team then? Our world needs us. But you get to just leave as you please, say what's right when you want it to be." His voice was snide as he pointed out the hypocrisy.
"I'm done apologizing because I left after Lincoln." Daisy snapped. "What do you want Fitz, our team is prepared for the worst, the North isn't. And even if the team isn't prepared there are people they can call who are."
His teeth grit. "People die all the time. But what, this time you're going to take the high ground?"
"Are you listening to yourself?" Daisy's hand gestured sharply. "We both chose this, to risk our lives to protect people who can't protect themselves from things they can't fight. That's the job! You might be able to look people in the eye and leave them to die, but I won't do it. And Coulson isn't here to make me. So fine, go take your portal home. But I'm not leaving until this is done. I'm sure you'll manage to justify it to yourself if you try real hard. Or maybe not that hard."
And he, he couldn't. His voice rose to a shout. "THEY COULD BE DEAD!" Fitz licked his lips, his fingers trembling. "They could be dead! We need to get back, now. And if it makes me a terrible person to put our family over worlds then fine, but don't act like you're any better than me. You'd be doing the same thing if it was Coulson who was at risk and not Jemma."
"Coulson's dead because I did choose the billions of people on our world over him, over myself, over everything that mattered to me. I chose the fucking billions over my parents, over my morals, over everything I have ever wanted. So don't you dare, we are not the same. And if we have to hit the ground running to save the team, to save Jemma when we get back, then that's what we fucking do. If we have to break time itself to save them, again, then we do it. But we don't sacrifice millions to do it." There was an outright snarl in her voice.
Fitz knew he was utterly rigid. "Time?"
"Obviously." Daisy glared, holding up a hand and ticking off fingers as she listed options. "They didn't come to get us, after everything. So they either think we're dead, they are dead, there's a time disconnect and time in this universe doesn't match ours meaning we come out too close to when we left for them to have time to get to us, or we break time to get back to the moment we left to prevent the whole them possibly being dead thing."
Fitz's tongue wet his lips. "You-"
"Give a fuck about the people I care about?" Daisy couldn't have sounded colder if she'd tried. "What do you think." It wasn't a question.
There was a gurgling burn in his chest. "If you care so much about this medieval h-hell world, why are you… You have a cult! You think that won't blow up in their faces?"
"No." Daisy just…sounded done. "You don't get to throw it back at me. If you want to leave, go home, and leave these people to die, that's fine. I'll shove you through the portal myself. But you don't get to make me the monster this time. Now, get out."
////
Daenerys could still taste her new husband on her lips, could still feel the heat of his hand in her's where the septon had tied their hands together, the words of their vows still on her tongue, as Drogon bore her aloft. The wind was cold against her, but she was a dragon, and this was not enough to make her blood less hot. She was a dragon, and she finally had prey to burn. Her soul sang with the rightness as she and Drogon glided through the air, Jon on Rhaegal just below and Viserion behind.
This felt right, flying on the air together to set upon their enemies. She and Drogon felt like one as they tipped down, the black waters rushing towards them before banking at the last second, the wind catching his wings as his claws trailed across the salt spray. Her hands held fast to the front of the saddle, and she could see the lights at the stern of the ships standing out against the blackness of the night. As they were almost upon them she gave the only command Drogon needed. "Dracarys!"
The black water and sky lit up, and the ship ahead of her lit up like a tinderbox. A torrent of yellows, reds, and oranges, screams filled the air. And then she and Drogon were through the flame, his tail cracking through the deck of the ship, flames still spewing out of his maw igniting ship after ship before they banked, pulling up, and up away from the chaos and away from any man who may think to send arrows towards them.
Rhaegal and Jon lit up a different set of ships along the back of the fleet, trapping them between Dragonstone and the flame. Viserion breathed fire, flying in the opposite direction as Jon and Rhaegal, further penning them in.
The wind whistled by her ears, as they turned in the air. She felt a roar in her bones. And with part of the fleet hit up she could see where the rest of the fleet was now. Leaning forward she saw one edge where a ship was trying to turn, desperate to escape the flames. Drogon tipped and they came arching down and then flames as they cut off the last hope for flight.
The air was full of the cracking and roar of flames, breaking of timber, men leaping into the icy waters to escape the flames. A few, measly arrows clattered against Drogon's side, but with them swooping out of the darkness into the light it was a useless effort.
Daenerys and Drogon rose up into the darkness above, before dropping down again, and again to light the ships with unstoppable destruction. And ever Jon and Rhaegal ostentatiously drew attention away from her, splitting the terror and chaos below.
If the Greyjoy fleet had merely sworn to the wrong Queen she would have spared them. Would have only burned two or three ships and taken their surrender. But they had destroyed most of her fleet, and murdered her allies, and their word was worth nothing to her. Even then, she left three ships afloat.
Daenerys sat high in the saddle, watching the destruction below. The fleet burned, and what survivors there were swamping near the vessels she and Jon had left unmolested. The Velaryon ships and those ships of hers remaining in the harbor of Dragonstone would secure her new prisoners and three new ships.
Drogon's wings beat a slow drumbeat against the air as they stayed in the air. She looked to where Jon was flying not far from her. Their eyes met, and she smiled with the rush of victory. And then she and Drogon moved forward, towards Dragonstone.
It was hardly four beats of his wings before they were up and over the wall before landing crashing thud upon the stones. Daenerys looked up, watching as Jon swooped in before landing beside her. She didn't wait for him to dismount and come to assist her, it was sweet, but she did not need help dismounting from her own dragon. As she climbed down from dragon back, her hand staying flat against Drogon's side she felt a thrum. For every man, woman, and child of Dragonstone were cheering.
Daenerys gave a last stroke to Drogon's nose, and then he lifted off in a great gust of air, likely to hunt. It'd been several days since he'd last fed after all. Turning she smiled as Jon stood a half step away from her. So she reached out, catching the side of his face, and kissed with fire and heart and heat.
"Dany." He gasped out, pulling back, his purple eyes dark.
Her fingers tightened the hold they had on his gorget. "Try not to rip my hair out when you help me get out of this thing."
He laughed, and it was warm and deep. "Aye, I'll do my best."
"I miss my silks." She remarked looking him in the eye. Her smile had teeth in it at his confused expression. "They were far easier to get off than this armor will be."
He snorted. "More dignified as well I imagine."
"Well, if you are not up to the task of consummating this marriage, husband?" She caught his hand, the warm thrum of victory still filling her.
////
Daisy shut the door behind her by hand. She leaned against it, taking in where Sansa was standing by the window. For how controlled her wife was, she knew what this mood was. The aching nobility and perfection hid pain, likely shame as well. "You thought I was going to leave, didn't you?"
"I did." Sansa turned, her face as grieved as her voice and posture screamed.
She let out a long breath, the wood hard against her shoulders. "I'm sorry I never meant to make you think I would leave you like that."
"I… it's your world, your family. I could not begrudge you that. And in knowing that I forgot who you are." Sansa shook slightly. "I was being stupid and-"
Daisy pushed off the wall, walking to where Sansa was by the window. "No." Daisy silently begged Sansa to understand. "No, you, here and now are my family. I should have explained better. Hell, Jon and I talked about this ages ago. I'm not going anywhere, not with the Dead coming."
"How can you fail to hold it against me? I've assumed the same of you as Fitz." It was kinda impressive how Sansa managed to hiss his name like a curse.
Daisy gently ran her fingers along the soft woolen fabric Sansa's arms were encased in. It gave her a moment to think because it was… "It's different." she could feel her brow crinkling. "You were scared, so you did what you always do, you prepared for the worst." She caught Sansa's eye daring her to argue that. She loved her wife, but jesus she was low-key prepared for the worst at all times.
"I should have known you would be wonderfully, inspiringly good, and kind, as always." Sansa leaned her forehead against hers. "I'm sorry."
It prickled at her as she shook her head. "I could never have left this world to the Dead. But that's not…" She shook her head, tightening her hold on her wife. "We should have talked about when this…ends more." It hurt just to say that. To remember that it wasn't today, it wasn't now, but it was going to happen.
"You are too kind sometimes." Sansa hugged her, a faint tremble in her fingers as she held onto her. "I love you for it, but I always forget it."
Daisy's eyes squeezed shut as she buried her face in Sansa's shoulder.
Sansa pulled back, one hand on Daisy's shoulder. Her expression was serious, her voice thick. "I know you'll do the right thing, the noble thing, it was stupid to think for a second you wouldn't. But you have done more than any could have imagined. You've given us hope, the closest to peace we've known in years, the lives of thousands. Because of you, we have a real chance to survive. If you returned to your world, your family, even now, you would be able to do so having saved us."
"That's-"
"No, I was not lying. I could never begrudge you that, none could. I…"
"Don't you understand? You are my family." Daisy hated the pain in her voice. "You and the others are more than I ever thought I could have. I hate that I can't be the person who stays. If I could have anything, that would be what I'd want. But I can't. I can't because terrible things would happen and it would be my fault."
Sansa's breath was shallow as she looked at her.
Daisy caught Sansa's face between her hands, her thumbs brushing tears away, and kissed her because just fuck it. She needed Sansa to get it, to really get it. "I love you. I'm not going anywhere until you are safe. No matter what."
Chapter 131Notes:Merry Christmas!
I know its been a while, but I wanted to let you guys know this one is still dear to my heart, and like, I have been poking at it a bit. Still just, real burned out on it and happily working on other projects at the moment. But its not going on the ash-heap of abandoned fics. So still on hiatus. But hope you guys like the new chapter! Figured it'd make a nice Christmas gift to you all, and a thank you for all still caring about this story that I have loved writing.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextTyrion couldn't help the way his nose wrinkled as he reached his brother's cage. And it was a cage set in the garden, three guards continuously watching it. "You've looked better."
He winced at the miserable expression on Jamie's face. Tyrion looked at a guard closest to the door to the cage. "There's three of you, six more back there, and men with crossbows up on the walls, and the great Kingslayer is tied to a post. I believe you can safely remove his gag and give us at least the illusion of privacy?"
The guard looked at him, his jaw tight. But he finally gave a stiff nod. Walking stiffly, the guard opened the door to the cage. Leaning in, he grabbed the gag and ripped it out of Jamie's mouth with a roughness that would have cleared up his feelings on the matter if they had not already been apparent. "You take one step out of the cage, and you'll be so full of bolts you could be a hedgehog. Got it?"
"Your meaning is quite clear." Jamie's voice was rough, though his eyes were sharp as he looked at the guard.
The sharpness of Jamie's features faded as the guard walked away.
"You look terrible," Tyrion remarked with as much false cheer as he could. "Though considering the accommodations, I suppose I can make an exception for you."
Jamie was…filthy as he looked at him. "Come to gloat, little brother?" The grime coated him, his hair greasy and unwashed. He looked like he'd spent the last year living in the gutter of King's Landing.
Tyrion pulled off the waterskin from his belt and held it up. "Do you want it? Or shall I assume you'll bite me just to be difficult?"
"I'm not a beast." Jamie grimaced.
Tyrion took that as a 'yes' and stepped forward, placing the skin against his brother's lips and tipping it up.
Jamie drank greedily of it. His eyes closed, as his head leaned back against the post. He licked at his cracked lips. "Couldn't manage wine?"
"I'm afraid my Queen prefers me sober. Terrible, I know, but likely wise of her." Tyrion decided he would not be sitting for any part of this conversation. The ground was mud. The lack of shit was the only sign the Tyrells had done much at all for their Lannister prisoners.
Jamie's green eyes found him. "Must be horrible for you."
"It has been a notable trial." Tyrion felt a pang of horror looking at his brother reduced to this. "I am sorry I could not come to you sooner, but as I'm sure you've noticed, our Tyrell hosts do not care much for lions."
Jamie just looked bitter. "Yes, they must feel fine looking down on us from so high. Not that they were who defeated our army, of course."
"No, Sansa Stark did that." Tyrion tossed the empty waterskin outside of the cage. "I believe we'll all come to regret Cersei and Joffrey's treatment of her more than any other crime in the end."
Jamie stared at him in befuddled confusion. "Sansa Stark? We were defeated by a god?"
"Ah, you haven't been told much of anything then?" Tyrion came up short. The insanity that was their world felt so very soaked in everything he wasn't entirely sure how to explain it.
Jamie's expression was rather deriding. "I've been in a cage for over a month. They haven't exactly been telling me the latest news while shoving gruel down my throat."
"Fair point." Tyrion folded his hands in front of him. "The short version of things is the Dead are coming to kill us all, and the Olds Gods didn't want to die with us and summoned whatever the Goddess who punched you in the face is to save themselves. The slighter longer version, the Old Gods spat her out at Winterfell, and she's fucking Sansa Stark. Sansa's Queen of The North, the Wildlings, the Riverlands, and the Vale now by the way."
"The Wildlings? Wait, Sansa Stark, your former wife is fucking a god?" Jamie couldn't have sounded more confounded if he tried.
Tyrion hummed. "Indeed, have to give it to her, she does have lovely taste. Oh, and Ned Stark lied; he never dishonored his wife, his bastard wasn't his bastard at all, he was Rhaegar and Lyanna's." A small part of him was rewarded by the expression Jamie made at that.
Tyrion shifted on his seat of an overturned bucket. He hated watching his brother drinking the gruel out of a wooden bowl, his hands chained to allow him to do that when the chain wasn't hooked to keep his arms down. He was still quite tightly chained to the post, however. The Tyrells had taken the lesson of Caitlyn Stark releasing Jamie and decided the answer was better chains. "I'd offer to put a word in for the improvement of your condition, but we both know that would do nothing."
"Indeed." Jamie looked at him. "Tell me why you're really here, you didn't sell whatever it cost to see me just to tell me about the state of things and how truly fucked we all are."
He sighed, guilt prickling at him; he should have expected his brother to both love and mostly hate him after he'd killed their father, joined a Targaryen, and brought war to their family. Yet he couldn't regret it. Even if it stung mightily. "You're going North, to the Wall."
Jamie lacked the smugness he so often had held. Instead, he just appeared…tired. Tired and angry. "So you send your brother to die, a noble death to be sure, but I'll be dead all the same."
"It's a chance at life. Better this than dragonfire." Tyrion said even if it sounded weak to his own ears.
Jamie looked at the dirt he was sitting upon. "Mother, father, and now me. I wonder, how many of us you will have killed before your end?"
////
Lord Monford Velaryon had wanted to stay out of the endless wars and death that had gripped the continent for so long now. He was too close to King's Landing to do much of anything against whomsoever ruled there, no matter where his sympathies lay. It was certain death, and thus he had bent to the Lannister bitch.
When Daenerys Stormborn had first landed at Dragonstone, he'd been eager for the inevitable burning of King's Landing and freedom. The Targaryens were kin, the heights of his house had been with a Targaryen on the throne, and a Velaryon leading the navy and trade, bringing in untold wealth into the kingdoms. But then it had not happened. Until now.
His beard had the sea salt spray of the bay in it, the cold sea wind had left salt drying on his face as he walked into the great King's hall of Dragonstone, where Aegon the Conqueror had held court before conquering the realm. Striding in, he walked forward before stopping at the foot of the dais and dropped to one knee. "Your Grace."
"Rise, Lord Velaryon." Daenerys' voice was clear and warm, "There is no need to kneel."
He made his way to his feet. And well, so far, the Targaryen was an improvement on Cersei, even if she seemed as mad as her ancestors. Getting married in his sept? Not invading King's Landing immediately? Well, the world was mad as well. Thinking on that, his eyes found their new royal consort, Ned Stark had lied. How in all of this was that the maddest thing? If he hadn't seen the man dismount a fucking dragon, he wouldn't have believed it.
"Thank you, your Grace. We have captured what survivors there are of the Greyjoy fleet, as instructed." And gods, wasn't the bay more graveyard than waterway? Still, his eyes caught on a figure he hadn't noticed upon first entering. But it was… bizarre?
Sitting there to one side of the mighty, climbing dais was a woman, her hair unfashionably short just past her shoulders, features of YiTi of all places, wearing fine men's clothing, and reading a book while lounging on the steps like this was utterly normal. It was…perhaps the strangest thing he'd seen, and he was a sailor.
Daenerys gave a flick of her hand in acknowledgment. "I thank you for your no doubt excellent work." She clearly noticed the woman who had caught his attention. "Ah, allow me to introduce you, this is her Holiness, Quake, Destroyer of Worlds, Goddess of Ruin, Daisy Johnson. Daisy, may I present Lord Monford Velaryon, Lord of the Tides, and Master of Driftmark."
The Goddess? looked up from her book, blinking at the Queen. "You shortened the list of titles? Cool." She raised a hand and waved at him. "Nice to meet you." And then went back to her book.
Monford's mouth opened and closed. He'd heard the rumors, everyone had. But…her? That was…and nobody was debating the Queen. Rather, everyone just seemed as confused as he was.
Daenerys spoke. "Yes, well, you have complained about your list of titles becoming ridiculously unwieldy." And if it had been in private, he was nearly certain she would have rolled her eyes. She looked at him. "I'd apologize for her not knowing our customs, but she's being difficult on purpose due to recent events occurring without her."
The apparent Goddess? turned a pointed page in her book. The King Consort looked like he was biting his lip to keep from laughing. Everyone else looked…mildly anxious and as left-footed as Monford was feeling.
"Ah?" He tried desperately to think of something to say to that, but nothing came to mind. He knew how to handle a royal court, not…this. So he moved the conversation on. "If the Northern ships continue in aiding our efforts, we may begin to clear away what wreckage can be cleared on the morrow, your Grace."
King Jon spoke. "Any prisoners of note, Lord Velaryon?"
He shifted his position, waving at his man near the door. "Indeed, your Grace, one I think your Graces will find of particular importance."
The doors opened to allow two of his men to enter, dragging between them a miserable-looking man. The man's feet dragged on the ground, half his face near burned off, the burns going down his arm, and down part of his back, dripping seawater, the soot from the burned ships in the water clinging to every inch of him. But still, recognizable for who he was.
"Euron Greyjoy, your Graces." Monford stood tall, his lack of immediate support would certainly be forgiven for finding and securing this prisoner. If they hadn't of found the man, he'd have been half tempted to try and pass another man off as the fucker. Fortunately, he had not been forced to. The misfortune of meeting the sack of shite as a boy meant he'd known the arrogant bastard's face.
Jon stepped immediately a step closer to the throne and his wife, clearly fully willing and able to throw himself between her and any attack. Even as he moved, the Queen's face certainly gave way to a sharp interest, a dragon indeed. "Well found, my Lord."
Euron was tossed onto the ground, unable to catch himself, he hit the stones with a splatting thud. He didn't make a sound of pain, though his breathing was audibly shallow.
The hall was silent as the man moved, slowly shoving himself up to his knees. He was half slumped, staring up at the throne, blood trickling down his face, the damp, soot-stained water also stained with blood. Euron was breathing through his mouth. He finally spoke, his voice edged with pain but still as arrogant as Monford remembered. "Well, I'd rise, but don't think I can. You'll have to forgive me, your Grace."
"It's such a coincidence to finally meet you, we seem to keep missing one another." Daenerys's voice was dry.
He grinned, showing his teeth, eyes lighting up. "Well, if I'd known you were as pretty as a peach and wanted to see me, I'd have made an effort." The way his eyes traveled over the Queen was positively disgusting in its lechery.
"A disappointing effort, no doubt." Daenerys' eyes flicked to the proclaimed god. "Tell me Holiness, what would your paramour do with an enemy King?"
Monford Velaryon watched in confusion as the god? looked up from her book. Surely it was just rumored the Northern Queen had taken a dark god to bed? And that this…woman was divine was…surely there was some jest he was not understanding.
"She'd chop his head off, have it mounted on a pike." Daisy frowned slightly, a faint look of..something flickering across her face. "Probably take the heads of every Greyjoy man captured, likely those of the dead as well, mount them on the prow of a ship, and send it back to King's Landing. Some of the entrails too."
King Jon grimaced. "She would, as a reminder of King Theon Stark and his war against the Andals." He looked to Daenerys. "After the Karstarks, and more strongly after the Whitehills, she's been quite clear what will happen to the next House to consider treason against her."
Monford barely held in the words of alarm. That was horrific, but then…these were horrific times.
"And you, Euron Greyjoy, what would you do if you captured an enemy monarch?" There was a bemused, almost cruelty to the question.
Euron spat a mouthful of blood upon the floor. A mad open-mouthed smile on his lips. "I'd fuck you, and if you pleased me, pass you on to my men like the whore you are, your Grace."
"You are exactly as I was told you were, an insipid monster." Daenerys looked to Monford. "I thank you for bringing me this hostage, but I find he is of no use to me, and not worth dragonfire. Toss him from the window."
Monford swallowed, "Your Grace, he's an anointed King?" A foul, loathsome man, but royalty, even nobility, there was a way of doing things. His hands were shaking faintly.
"And I said, throw him out the window, my Lord." Her gaze felt like a physical weight.
Monford looked at his two men, and he couldn't deny the order. "Do as her Grace commands."
The men were pale, but they grabbed Euron by the arms and began to drag him towards the window.
The humor vanished from Euron Greyjoy's face, he began to struggle, trying to dig his feet into the smooth stone flooring. "What! I AM A KING! WHAT ARE YOU DOING WHORE! How DARE YOU! You can't do THIS! YOUR COCKLESS BASTARD HUSBAND NOT EVEN ABLE TO SWING THE SWORD!?"
Monford didn't breathe as the Queen utterly ignored the screaming, scrabbling form of an enemy King, dragged to the window, and chucked out. His screams faded as he vanished.
Daenerys spared a look for one of her Unsullied guards. "Go, ensure he's dead. If not, slit his throat and be done with it."
The man gave a sign of reverence and left to do as instructed.
"Now that that unpleasantness is behind us, shall we settle the matter of the blockade of King's Landing from the sea before my husband and I depart to reunite with my army, my Lords?" The Queen asked the hall of what few Lords were in the room.
The God? looked up at the Queen. "You know, was kinda expecting you to feed him to your dragon, not defenestrate him."
"Defenestrate?" King Jon asked, as baffled likely all of them.
The God shrugged. "Chucked him out a window, 10/10 hilarious way to kill someone."
"Well, since you're amused, Holiness, perhaps you'll feel inclined to assist with clearing the harbor?" Daenerys stated dryly.
////
Fitz stared at his workshop. It was empty, exactly how he'd left it the night before. His jaw ached with how hard he was clenching it. He hadn't been able to face it last night. Instead, he'd paced in his room. It'd left him exhausted. Why?! Why couldn't Daisy just fucking listen? Why couldn't she be loyal to the team first, just this once?!
He picked up his inkwell, fingers so tight the material cracked. Fitz chucked it at the wall, the well exploded, ink splattering across the wall. He wanted to scream, to rage, to make Daisy understand she was making them abandon their team! Jemma!
There was a sound of scuffling from the door.
He snarled, turning on his heel. "Finally here to admit you're…" Fitz blinked. "Rickon?"
"Is it true?" Rickon's usually eager and curious face was guarded. Guarded in a way Fitz hadn't seen before.
Fitz's hands fell on his hips as he frowned slightly. He didn't have time for this, or no, apparently, he did have time for it. "Is what true?"
"You want to leave us to die?" The boy tipped his chin up ever so slightly.
His head fell back as he groaned, staring at the ceiling, hell. Fitz looked back at the boy. "It's a bit more complicated than that."
"Doesn't seem complicated," Rickon replied.
"Everything is complicated, life is complicated. It's what makes it all so…messy." Fitz's jaw tightened. "Look, I'm not up for lessons for you today."
Rickon's brow furrowed. "That's not complicated. Algebra is complicated, people are complicated, abandoning your friends isn't."
Fitz let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping. He ran a hand through his hair. "Look, we've helped you out, yeah? The alcohol, better medical information, iodine, and all the stuff Daisy's been doing to get you dragons and allies." He waved his hand. "But this isn't our world. We don't belong here. In our world, there are people's lives depending on us."
"Are they? Cause didn't sound like Daisy thought that." Rickon's voice had a bite to it.
He scoffed. "Daisy is willing to bet on a probability with the lives of our universe."
"How sure of a bet?" Rickon didn't soften in the slightest. "Cause I could bet Umber'll get punched 'afore the year is out or I could bet he'll take up poetry and tha's really different things."
Fitz waved a hand. "I don't want you to die, but you've got hope, you're a prince, and you've got the best chance of anyone to make it out of this. But I can't stand here, doing nothing, while there's any chance Jemma is in danger. If that makes me a bad person, it makes me a bad person. But we all choose who we love first."
Rickon's eyes looked at Fitz through his ridiculously shaggy curls. "I didn't get it, why Daisy didn't like you, but I think I understand now."
"What?" Fitz huffed. "We're comrades, friends, family. Just because she's being self-righteous," kind of a bitch honestly, "and we're arguing that doesn't change that."
Rickon's head tilted to the side slightly. "You haven't noticed? How…"
"Noticed what?" Fitz asked in sheer frustration.
The boy was not kind. "She never turns her back on you. Ever. An' she made sure Sansa knew to order the guards to never leave me alone with you. She always tracks you when you're in the same room, an' she touches everyone, all the time. I can't get her to stop messing my hair up. But she doesn't touch you almost ever. I didn't get it, but I do now. You don't care about anyone."
"So what, I'm the bad guy?" Fitz didn't have time for a twelve-year-old to lecture him about morality. Even if he felt a sharp stab at the words, the kid wasn't right….right? Daisy and him would be fine. They'd leave, and everything would go back to how it should be.
Rickon's lips pulled up slightly, a hint of teeth showing. "We're just things to you. After everything you'd leave us to die for…an increase in a favorable probability. I understand that now. Thank you for the lesson." His tone was poison as his eyes flashed with anger, and then he turned on his heel, leaving the workshop, the sound of his guard's footsteps joining him.
Fitz grabbed the nearest object from a table and threw it against the wall as hard as he could.
////
Arya stared at her sister dubiously. "I don't understand you."
"You don't need to. If you could keep an eye on Bran." Sansa was neatly trimming her quill. She paused, frowning. "I'm going to have to speak with Glover, Liddle, and Cerwyn later."
She arched a brow. "Why?"
"Because I want more good loyal Northern men where the Lannister prisoners are being shipped. Not a lot, but enough to ensure there is no issue with moving the Lannister men-at-arms between six or seven of the castles along the Wall."
That was…something. "You want to discuss the logistics of preparing for our allies' armies?"
"Well, it has to be prepared for now, or it won't be done by the time they arrive here by boat. It's a bit faster than by foot." Sansa's tone was bitingly sarcastic.
Arya's lips twitched upwards a bit, gods her sister was such a bitch, it was kinda amazing. "I knew that, shockingly."
"Well in that case, why are you surprised I would be concerned about the matter?" Sansa set her quill and the sharp knife for the shaping of it down.
She tilted her head. "But everything last night and you're just…good?"
Sansa hesitated, something considering in her gaze. "Last night was good for morale, for order, we'll need to ensure someone does not attempt to kill Fitz, though no doubt Daisy will have seen to that herself already."
"I could kill him?" Arya offered, it wouldn't be difficult, more difficult than most would think, but not for her.
Her sister laid her hand flat against the top of her desk. "You will not." Sansa's sharp blue eyes held hers.
"Why not?" Arya's voice was cold and she knew it. "You have given food, protection, and support, I saw the cost of what you have provided him. And this is how he has repaid us?"
Sansa didn't look away, her tone deadly serious. "I do not care how Fitz has repaid us. It does not matter, it has never mattered. He could have taken the gold I've spent on him and spent every coin in the whore houses. And you underestimate the value of what he's done. Alone the ability to cut a child from its mother's womb without killing the mother is worth more than what the cost has been."
"And the cost in what he does to Daisy?" Arya asked because she knew they both were more than aware of how deeply the argument the night before had hurt Daisy.
Sansa certainly knew that far better than her. "Who do you think gave her the scar on the side of her neck?" And Sansa's voice was sharp with something incredibly dangerous. "Nothing is to happen to him, do you understand me?"
Arya's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"
"Do you think I would be capable of killing Bran? No matter what he's become, what he's capable of, what he might do?" Sansa was looking at her, really looking at her. "And do you think I could ever forgive someone who harmed him? Would be grateful? Could be such a thing for his death?"
Arya shoved the sick uneasiness away. "Fine, I take the point."
"Promise me." Sansa insisted.
Arya twitched but gave a sharp nod. "I promise, for now."
Sansa huffed but softened, clearly accepting it. "Now, may we speak of military logistics, or do you have something more pressing?"
"Murdering Baelish, the fact you're planning to send me to the Riverlands to secure them for us, perhaps the fact Lord Manderly is up to something?" Arya offered, she really would rather leave military logistics to others, creating a spy network was an exhausting amount of work.
Her sister shot her a glance at the mention of Baelish. "Unfortunately, we need Lord Baelish still. And of course, Manderly is up to something. They're all up to something, he's just smarter about it."
"Riverlands then?" Arya asked, she really was hoping to avoid yet more supply train logistics. The stabbing bit was what she was good at, not all of this…math. Also, since when did Sansa stop loathing sums? She'd been good at everything but the sums. Oh gods, Sansa actually looked interested by the word 'Riverlands'.
////
Edd Tollett wrapped his second cloak over the top of his first before buckling it all into place. Course it wouldn't be enough to stop the fucking cold. A thing that left him faintly miserable as he trudged out into the cold of Castle Black. He grunted as he saw Commander Cotter waiting for him. "Commander Cotter."
"Lord Commander," Cotter's deep voice had that faintest hint of disbelief at the title.
Edd grimaced, he shouldn't be Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. That should have been Jon, not him, anyone but him. But that was life wasn't it? Crap people got crap jobs shoved at them with no 'by your leave'. "Snow's let up."
"Oh, aye, let up for now. Still, me and the men'll leave for Mole's town before nightfall, give the boys a nice night before we trek back to Eastwatch." Cotter's voice had a deep humor in it, after all, they both knew what 'comfort' the men would take in Mole's town.
Edd shook his head. "Lucky bastards, deserve it though, getting the last of that dragonglass to us."
Cotter chuckled as they walked out into the cold, shoving his hands under his armpits under his own doubled cloaks. "I'll give Jon that, he fucked off alright, but he went and keeps getting the scariest women living to send us help."
"Maybe dying made him like scarier women than he liked alive?" Edd offered as explanation. "It was all spear-wives and Wildlings. Then he goes and dies and now it's that fucking sister of his and the Mother of fucking Dragons."
Cotter snorted. "He's marrying that last one. Think she'll feed his balls to her dragons, or think his sister has 'em?"
Edd grinned despite himself as they made their way to the lift that went to the top of the wall. "Might hand 'em over at the wedding."
"Think he'll get cloaked like a girl?" Cotter's voice was as much of a sneer as any of them could feel about the man giving them a fucking chance to live. Which wasn't much. More baffled distaste at worst.
Edd cast an unfortunately experienced eye over the bustling work of Castle Black. And wasn't that something new, bustling. They had men, food, and things to do. Wonder how long it'd been since that'd been true? "You know, dragonglass is good and all, can't say it's what's best to have."
"You like something more than a thing that'll kill the Dead?" Cotter stared at him in some disbelief as they climbed into the lift cage, and the horrible cranking of it slowly rising up began.
He hunched his shoulders together to keep the cold out. "Dreadfort's cook, the food doesn't taste like shite anymore."
"You kept the cook all for yourself then." Cotter's eyes narrowed.
Edd stared at the older, more experienced, better fighter, and frankly tougher bastard next to him. "Aye, and I'd do it again just for a hot pie that tastes nice."
Cotter snorted. "What was the cook thinking to come here? Coulda gone to Winterfell and been nice and warm."
"He's a piece of shite who liked the fucking Boltons." Edd didn't understand that. Had a whole lot of the mean bastards, had had to spread the shites out to different castles, and had to hang a couple. But they had men now. So that was nice. And a very good cook. Almost made the Watch bearable. Almost.
They were quiet as they rose above the white world, the men below turning to look more and more like nothing but black ants. The horrible grating creak and rattle of the thing were distinctly unsettling. But about what anyone would expect of a miserable place like the Wall.
Reaching the top, Edd opened up the door, letting them out, the black brother Tobbin? he thought, standing ready. "Lord Commander?"
"Just seeing what hell is waiting for us on the other side." Ned grimaced. "Not sure if it's worse to know or not know."
Cotter grunted. "Gods you're a bleak man. Come on then."
The Wall was thick, but at the top it was far narrower than the bottom, which meant it was only some yards to the fire brazer and the edge. Above them the sky was a sharp, clear blue with dark clouds gathering. It'd storm again soon. But there, out below them was an endless white, no trees, no rocks, no anything white. A horrible white mist of freezing air. Sometimes they fancied they could see blues and sharp lights, but that wasn't the worst, the worst was the shadows. Edd was glad to be too far above to see the shadows in the mist, for what dead creatures they were none of them knew, nor had survived trying to learn.
They both were horribly quiet, just the sharp wind, and the great, terrifying, and creeping death spread out below them.
Finally, Cotter spoke. "I'll hold Eastwatch as long as man can."
"What do you think they're waiting for? They could 'ave swamped us months ago." Edd said slowly.
"I don't know, but I reckon we're gonna find out, and when we do we won't live long after." Cotter replied.
The wind howled, cutting through cloth and fur alike. Edd looked at the man. "Way I figure it, the fools who died are the lucky ones. With our luck, we'll be the last two bastards alive."
Cotter's rough laugh answered him. "Us? Naw, we'll be the first to go when the world ends."
Notes:Can I just say the changes done to the tv show version of Euron Greyjoy are so frustrating. Because I'd get it if they chose to change him. They clearly wanted to mostly avoid entire chunks of his plots. So changing him totally fair game. But god the character they changed him into was cringy.
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