Dragons and Wolves

The events following Aegon’s survival passed like a blur in Daenerys eyes. Aegon’s men attacked her small group of Unsullied and Dothraki, for a moment they held their own but being outnumbered they quickly lost their ground.

Some of Aegon’s men threw magical chains over her dragons, securing them to the ground and their mouths were forced shut. Smoke escaped both of their nostrils, their eyes glinting trying to reach their mother to protect her but the magic chains were not to be overcome.

Aegon drew Blackfyre and called for his banner men, all of the houses of the Seven Kingdoms who showed allegiance to the Targaryen line flocked to him, including the strong Martells. Barristan Selmy, Rhaqaro and Jorah quickly flanked her, protecting Daenerys. She clenched Rhaego to her chest so no one could take him from her too.

Aegon attacked with his men, he slew Barristan Selmy, slicing through him as one would slice through warm butter. She was in shock, her reaction time delayed, she tried to shake herself out of it but all she could do was gape at the body of her former guard.

Rhaqaro kicked Aegon away, his Dothraki size coming in handy; he had probably fractured a few of Aegon’s ribs.

Dany, Jorah and Rhaqaro ran. Her legs were too short to keep up with them and eventually Jorah threw her over his shoulder.

Everything she had worked for.
All of the struggles she had overcome.
Gone….
She had had the Seven Kingdoms in her grasp and she had lost them.
Drogo.

If he was here no one would dare challenge her, no one would dare oppose her, her heart panged for her dead husband.

She had thought herself so clever, so smart, so invincible.

She had appeared with dragons and they had all but thrown the crown at her. Now she was coming to realize that having three full size dragons didn’t make one a ruler.

It was bloodshed.

Drogo had tried to teach her, that might was right. But Dany was convinced she could rule with a peaceful hand. She clearly couldn’t.

They had made it a mile or two away before some of Aegon’s men on horses cut them off.
The man approached on a horse, his hand on his ribs and a malevolent glare on his attractive, pale face.

“Aunt Daenerys,” He smiled, “I’d like to offer you the chance to be my bride, in the Targaryen tradition of old, I will be the King and you shall be my wife, and together we can continue the Targaryen line.”

Why hadn’t she seen it before? The lines of his jaw were the exact same ones as her brother Viserys, his brow bones and eye shape the same as Rhaegar’s.

She stared at him in panic, unable to speak, Jorah answered for her, “Never, you have slain her men without proper cause to do so! These are tantamount to war crimes, you will pay for them!”

“Let her answer for herself,” He said, silencing Jorah.

“Never,” She whispered looking at the ground, gritting her teeth, she slowly looked up and met his eyes, they were the exact same shade of violet as hers, “I will never wed you, be your queen or share your bed. Even if I could bear children or submit to a man, it would never be with the likes of you.”

“Then you will die,” He sighed in mock disappointment, he wasn’t the least bit upset, she could practically see the bloodlust pulsating off of him, he wanted to kill her. He was as blood thirsty as a dragon.

“A perfect visage of the Mad King,” Jorah snapped at the man.

Aegon turned his eyes to Jorah, “Jorah Mormont, your uses as Hand will no longer be needed.”

He turned to his men, “Kill Mormont and the Dothraki, leave Queen Daenerys unscathed for me, I want to kill her myself.”

His men attacked, Rhaqaro parried with his arakh and Jorah swung his sword.

A great screech in the sky stopped the fighting, it was Rhaegal. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Bronze and green flames consumed the field, burning a few of Aegon’s men, Rhaegal the slow roaster had arrived.

Jorah squeezed her upper arm, “Escape on Rhaegal, now!”

Dany looked up at him, he had loved her as more than a Queen, but she had looked up to him like a father, “Come with me, you and Rhaqaro.”

Jorah shook his head, “You don’t have a dragon saddle, his scales will cut us but they won’t cut you my dragoness, escape now!”

Rhaqaro turned to her too, “Go!”

Rhaegal didn’t waste any time, he closed one of his great bronze claws around her and pulled her into the sky. Rhaego dug his little claws even further into her shoulder, squeeking in terror, she knew he cried for his mother and father.

She wanted to do the same, squeak in terror as Rhaegal carried her away from the Seven Kingdoms and out towards the sea.

She could only watch as Aegon swung Blackfyre down on Jorah.

--

Months had passed since Jon made it back to the Wall. Arya had beaten him by two weeks, it had taken him a month and week to reach his home, the trek hadn’t been a hard one but walking past Winterfell had been exceedingly hard.

Winterfell had been rebuilt, farmers still lived around it and bannermen still waited for the ruling House to return home but the crypts had been cemented shut and the castle abandoned.

Bran had told Jon about a secret passage into the crypts and Jon had used it, he sat at his father’s statue for what seemed like an eternity. He missed the man terribly.

He had been met with many surprises upon returning home, a lot more of Stannis’ men had returned to take the black. He had also found that the dreaded Hound had also chosen a life on the wall.

Arya remembered the brute from her childhood and had been increasingly hostile to the man but after a few sparring sessions with him they had come to some understanding. Both had taken on training Rickon.

The Hound had decided that instead of taking the black, he’d liked to be a guardsmen of the future Lord Stark, being the last Clegane he pledged fealty to House Stark.

Sansa had accepted the offer immediately much to Jon and Arya’s surprise. She was the eldest true Stark and was in the eyes of the law, Rickon’s regent until he came of age at sixteen.

Life continued on.

Jon began training his new men, two of the thieves, the rapist, one murderer and one of the boys became rangers. The other boy and thief became stewards. The second murderer had tried to escape and Jon had beheaded him with Longclaw.

It wasn’t long before word reached the Wall that Aegon Targaryen ruled the Seven Kingdoms now.

The black and white dragons were held captive, Jorah Mormont dead and Queen Daenerys and the green dragon missing.

Arya looked to Jon a bit relieved, their intended goal had come to pass, the threat to the North gone in her eyes but Jon felt the opposite of relief.

Upon hearing the news, Jon felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. Rickon had jumped to steady his eldest brother, keeping him from falling over. Jon was shocked at his reaction, he couldn’t even stand on his own, what did it mean? Arya and Rickon had helped him to his office chair, Sansa had run off to get Sam to check on him.

Sam returned with his wilding friend, the outspoken and semi-obnoxious Val, nagging at his heels.

She had become on his good friends when he was pretending to be a deserter, she had been the sister-in-law and trusted advisor of Mance Ryder and had helped the Watch form an alliance with the

Wildlings to fight the white walkers and wights. After the death of her family, she had taken up residence with the remaining Starks and had taken an immense liking to Sansa. Jon was sure that when Rickon was old enough and the true Stark children returned to Winterfell, Val would leave to be with Sansa.

Sam checked his pulse and temperature, the back of his pudgy hand pressing against his forehead and then both his cheeks. He claimed Jon just needed to relax and keep of his feet, he promised to return later to check on him.

Jon had put his head in his hands, “I need some alone time, please.”

His siblings stared at him in shock, “I will see you all at dinner, I just need a bit of silence.”

All but Val left, she never did take orders well, instead the beautiful golden haired woman took the seat in front of his desk, “So I hear you fainted at hearing the Dragon Lady was ousted by her nephew.”

“Val,” He snapped in warning, “Leave it.”

She smiled, “You love her don’t you?”

Love? Jon was aghast at the thought, “No I don’t, we just connected a bit, we talked and I came to find we had a great deal in common. I began to think of her as a friend, nothing more.”

Val nodded in understanding, not believing a word of it.

“There hasn’t been anyone since Ygritte has there?” Val asked. She tended to say what everyone else was thinking but was too polite to say. Sometimes just when he started thinking of her a lady, she did something that was conspicuously Wildling. Her eyes were pale gray and alight with confusion and frustration. She didn’t wait for him to answer.

She furrowed her brow and shook her hand in front of her, “I don’t understand any one this, where
I’m from if you want someone you take them, you grab them by the throat or hair and tell them you want them and don’t give a second thought to what other’s think. We don’t dance around the issue and torture ourselves with longing. You’re a man, you have needs that need to be met, not just physically but emotionally too.”

“I can’t, I have duties, she was a Queen, a highborn lady, a Targaryen, I’m a bloody bastard sworn to a life of celibacy,” He blurted out, no point in arguing with Val. It wasn’t like she’d go around spouting his secrets; she may have been blunt but made up for it in equal parts trustworthiness and loyalty.

“That’s bullshit, one thing I hate about this society of yours is the titles, can’t stand them, we love someone, we take them, we lust someone, we fuck them, it’s simple,” She shook her head, “The wars, the suffering, the hatred of your people stems from denying yourselves.”

It made sense but without their titles how would they remain structured? Before he could answer she continued, “I finally understand the celibacy vow. It’s not meant to keep you from getting distracted, it’s not meant to leave you with violent, pent up sexual energy to release on your enemies in battle, it’s meant to punish those who were sentenced to death and chose the wall, not the willing participants.”

“What are you saying?” The celibacy creed had been in effect forever, since Bran the Builder had created the Wall with ice and magic.

“The celibacy vow is a cruel punishment to the bad men who must serve on the wall, not for those few good ones who choose to serve, being celibate doesn’t make you stronger, it makes you weaker,” She slammed a hand down on the table, “Imagine for a moment Jon, for which would you fight stronger for? A lonely, cold bed made of straw, in a room that you share with five other men or a bed of silks and furs next to a roaring fire with the naked form of a woman who waits for you and loves you with all her heart and aches to welcome you home?”

He knew the answer and she knew it too, for a moment he even entertained the thought of Queen Daenerys in his bed, waiting for him.

“Thanks Val, you’ve given me a lot to think about,” Jon nodded to the wildling woman, “But for now, I’m tired of this talk of dragons and wolves.”

Val rolled her eyes at him, “Saved your sanity more like, little Jon Snow, where would you be if you didn’t have me guiding you?”

She left and Jon sighed in relief, he turned and looked down at Ghost.

“How about a run before dinner?”

--

King’s Landing had changed, the alchemists and maester’s all but banned from the Red Keep. The remaining two dragons were captive and forever trying to escape.

Bran rarely left the Alchemist’s Guildhall out of fear. Rumor was that Aegon was just as mad as his grandfather and namesake, intent on bringing all of the Seven Kingdoms into submission. At first, he though the last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself, he didn’t want to be like Arya and
Sansa, a pawn in a game of thrones, a pawn in a deadly chess game.

But the more he thought about it, the more he changed his mind. His legs might not work but he had his own defenses.

At night he ran with Summer, Shaggydog and Ghost through the dense woods and snow, the frigid air cleared his lungs and the muscles in his legs strained as he ran. Sometimes, he took the form of a bird and let the wind run through his feathers like a lover’s fingers. He flew through wispy clouds and climbed so high he could no longer breathe. He studied the constellations that were so clear in the Northern sky as well as greens and blues of the Northern Lights.

During the days though, he stayed in his little cell, all apprentices had a small cell to stay in, filled with books, papers and equipment to make wildfire. Wildfire was the guild’s specialty but with the return of the dragons there was magic in the world again and the alchemists were rediscovering powers long thought lost, like the ability to transmute metal and stone.

Over the months since the rise of Aegon, he became very adept and combined with his…other talents he was beginning to think himself strong. When Theon had sacked Winterfell and he had split from Rickon, Bran had travelled with Hodor, Meera and Jojen. He had learned he was not only a warg but a greenseer as well, capable of seeing prophetic dreams. Over the years in the wilderness, training with the remaining Children of the Forest and the Three Eyed Crow, he had fortified his skills. Unlike his siblings, he was a much stronger warg and had used far more than his own direwolf to warg into, he had used birds, wolves, and shadowcats.

When they were most desperate on their way North, Bran had even warged into Hodor to fight enemies as well as the faces of weirwood trees to spy on their enemies.

Bran thought of these abilities often, reminding himself that even though he was crippled he wasn’t powerless. He knew it was only a matter of time before Aegon started a war with the North and Aegon would find him in his little cell in the Guildhall.

He liked to daydream about what he would do while he worked, could he warg into one of the captive dragon’s bodies and escape? Or could he warg into Aegon (breaking all of the rules the Three Eyed Crow taught him) and rule the Seven Kingdoms?

He shook the thought away, thinking back to a conversation he had with Melisandre, the sorceress.

Hodor carried Bran out of Castle Black so he could breathe the fresh air. It was horribly cold but after years of being in a snowy wilderness, it was nothing to Bran or Hodor.

Bran sighed in relief, he hated his duties as acting Lord Stark, his family liked to pretend he could still be Lord and Protector of Winterfell and talked of returning home. They were sure to wed him to a woman, one Bran figured would be beautiful but being crippled he would never be able to make love to her or father Stark heirs.

He sighed in frustration.

“Hodor?” Hodor whispered, worried about Bran.

“Poor little greenseer, a dangerous monster hiding in human’s skin,” Bran turned his head to look at the sorceress Melisandre approaching, she was barefoot and the snow beneath her feet melted away.

“Excuse me?” Bran acted as if he didn’t hear her but he was unsettled by what she had said.

A knowing smile stretched on her tanned face, “Your eyes grow greener by the day, you can’t deny your heritage Bran Stark, you have the greensight. You play at human and call yourself Lord Stark but I know what you’ve done, you’ve run in the body of your wolf and consumed human flesh in his body, you’ve bent the will of other animals too, shadowcats and birds alike and spied on the innocent through weirwoods. You’ve even commited the most heinous of acts, stealing a human’s form, taken the body of this simpleton and one other man—the man Meera Reed had taken a liking too, what was his name?”

Bran was truly unsettled, he wondered if she truly had visions after all, but covered his shocked expression with a cough, he refused to answer her question, “And you’re just a demon of shadow and fire masking as a woman.”

“I was just a human girl once, a slave named Melony, better known as Lot 7 at the auctions,” Melisandre’s lips pursed, “Now I’m powerful.”

She paused before continuing.

“Brandon Stark in all your trainings have you learned about the four elements? Fire, water, earth and air?” She gave him a sinister smile, “Each of these elements has their own strengths and weaknesses and it just so happens your element—earth, is weak to mine—fire. Fire burns the earth.”

Bran laughed at her, “Melisandre, you seem to be confused about the elements. Fire doesn’t burn without the presence of Air and Earth mixed together. And what happens when you heat earth? It becomes molten and exceedingly dangerous, melting through everything. It is your element that is weak and it would do you great good to remember that.”

“War changes people, I used to be a disobedient boy who liked to climb and was bad at archery,” Bran sighed. “I know what you’re planning sorceress, you claim to have visions but I really do and I will stop you, even if I have to warg into your body to do so.”

There was no subtlety in his threat, there was no point in it.

Melisandre stared at him in shock as Hodor carried him away.


Bran shook his head, the memory drifting away. Melisandre was dead, killed by fire, the one thing she thought she was in complete control of. He still felt the same though, to protect the North and his family he’d do anything.

If Aegon wanted to hold him hostage, then let the man try.