Jon

All Jon felt was sadness and bittersweet relief as he stared up at the reforged throne. The throne looked nothing like it once did, not that Jon knew the appearance of the original. When Jon rode into to the burned capitol ravaged by the wildfire and the winter, he came across Queen Cersei's burnt corpse had been found on the former Iron Throne. Recognizable by some locks of golden hair. Like Winterfell, the city and the keep of King's Landing had to be rebuilt from the ground up. Progress was being made more swiftly as spring returned. Jon and Bran decided to make the throne to look like the Wall that once stood for thousands of years. Dragon glass daggers and swords were stabbed into the 'ice' of the throne as a reminder of the winter and the Others. This is your throne, Daenerys, not mine. Jon could see his reflection in the metal. His scarred, long, unsmiling face. Jon's long face was made longer by gauntness. There was little to smile about with so much to do with so many to grieve for. The dour black of his armour and clothing matched his face. The sigil of a white red eyed wolf and a white-blue ice dragon emblazoned on his chest. Jon's thoughts turned back in time to...

"It looks far better than I had envisioned," mused Bran, breaking Jon's reverie. He turned to see the young man atop Summer. Bran's auburn hair was long. It was darker, almost brown from the lack of sun from the years in the cave beyond the Wall. The lighter shades of dark red had returned from the spring sun. Bran's voice was deeper, more sonorous than Jon remembered. You were a broken boy in your bed the last time we saw each other.

"You did a good job, Bran," complimented Jon as he sat down. It wasn't a comfortable seat. Thrones were never meant to be comfortable, were they? Bran smiled and nodded. "I implore that you join my council, Bran."

"One day I shall return for good, Your Grace," answered Bran vaguely. Jon nodded.

"No one is here Bran, I'm just Jon." Jon knew that Bran was leaving King's Landing to return to oversee the completion of the rebuilding of Winterfell. The living trueborn sons and daughters of Eddard and Catelyn Stark reunited. Sansa would be here with Jon if she could. He remembered the smell of her coppery hair and the sound of her voice as they had embraced, when he had made it to Moat Cailin half alive. Their happy reunion had been short lived for three year old Alayne had grown sick. Alayne Greyjoy was thought to be near death, when Jon had to reluctantly leave for King's Landing. Jon had prayed to the Old Gods in the remaining godswood of the ruined capital to spare Sansa's daughter's life. Too many have died already.

"Jon, you were meant for this." Jon stared at his burned hand.

"I was meant to die as the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch," argued Jon with a glum frown. He had cheated death several times. Jon thought of Old Bear Mormont, Eddard Stark, Uncle Benjen, Halfhand, and Ygritte. Jon had brought the remains of Lord Howland Reed to his daughter and heiress, Lady Meera Reed, Lady of Greywater Watch. The last person who knew of his lady mother, Lyanna Stark. Jon had opened his lady mother's crypt to place the remains of Uncle Benjen to rest with his sister. And the many men, friend or foe who died on the Wall.

Brave men.

"You sound like Robb," chuckled Bran sadly. Jon frowned. How could Robb believe he should have died? Robb who was born to be a lord, a king. A father and a husband. "He's been at war since he was fifteen. Robb cannot rest. He sees the fallen in his dreams and wakes thinking he must go to battle." Peace and the signs of spring had only come to all of Westeros for less than a year.

"Once Winterfell is rebuilt-"

"Like once Sansa is here with you? Once your friend arrives from the Citadel?" Jon looked away from Bran's knowing bright blue eyes.

"Is there anything you can do for Alayne?" he changed the subject, thinking of the black haired girl that shuddered and gasped for breath in Sansa's arms. "Something you know that can relieve Sansa of some of her worries." Bran said nothing and Jon's frowned deepened.

"Jon?" called out Daenerys as she entered the new throne room. The relics of her- their Targaryen ancestry had been destroyed in the wildfire. The slender, white blonde haired woman was dressed in a gown of crimson velvet. Her purple eyes were just as weary as his grey ones. Filled more with sorrow as Daenerys had lost her three dragon children in the war, Ser Barristan Selmy and her army killed by winter and disease. In the end she gave up her birthright to Jon in favour of co-ruling. Jon was willing to give it back and ride north with Bran if Dany had a change of mind.

"Princess Daenerys," Bran addressed courteously before he and Summer left the room. "I shall go and oversee the builders." Dany smiled at Bran then turned to Jon seated on the new throne.

"It suits you, Jon." Her voice was pleasant, no sound of jealousy or resentment. She sounded like a proud sister, a proud aunt.

"It should be yours." Daenerys looked around the room before shaking her head.

"I am happy with my new home in Dragonstone. I shall help you rule in anyway I can, you know that." She walked gracefully towards him, up the several stone steps. Her small hand covered his scarred one that rested on the armrest of the throne. "Your Grace,-" Her smile grew broader, "My nephew, you will be a good king." Jon scoffed.

"Queen Daenerys would be a better ruler than I."

"Would I be? I have no more children. I shall never have any at all. We conquered Westeros from winter. All those who have hurt our families has been dealt with. I will always be ready to fight for our people, but Fire and Blood is not what is needed at the moment." Her lilac eyes were sad. Jon leaned forward and cupped her chin.

"You weren't - you aren't your dragons. They are not easy beasts to control, Dany. The destruction of Winterfell is not your fault."

"I walked away as Drogon was dying - then I saw what he had done. I should have prevented him from flying away from me."

"Still not your fault. Your claim is greater than mine. I am a bastard. The lords of the Great Houses do not see me as their king. The Stormlands are without a definite lord. You have a better, a more legitimate claim than I."

"Have you forgotten? King Robb and I legitimized you. You are a dragon and a wolf." Her pale finger traced the figures of his new sigil. "These petty lords will come to King's Landing and see you atop this throne and will know that your bravery kept them from their graves."

"You saved Westeros just as much as I," argued Jon humbly. Dany smiled a sad smile and continued as if Jon had not spoke,

"If they do not, we shall deal with them swiftly. Our peace must be maintained."

"There's been enough death and devastation," agreed Jon. Dany winced in sharp pain and became unsteady on her feet. Jon caught her, his face alarmed with concern.

"Dany!" he cried.

"It's nothing. I just need rest," dismissed Dany as she leaned her weight on Jon.

"You lie. I will call for the maester immediately." Dany shook her head no.

"Jon, it won't do much good. My sweet bear has had me seen by many maesters. We carry the scars, some visible and some not." Dany stared at his burned hand and the slash on his face. Dany sighed, "Fire and blood, Jon. I remembered in the end. We won, defeated the Others. A part of me wishes I died known as the Mother of Dragons, a saviour but it is sweet to know Westeros will be in good hands and to see the land begin to grow once again." Dany sighed wistfully as she rested her head against his chest, "I once wanted to plant trees and see them grow." Jon shook his head vehemently.

"No," he growled in dread. Dany's face, neck, and arms were unmarred. Dany glanced at her lower torso sadly. Her gowns were looser than the gowns worn by Westerosi women. Jon was not a man who paid attention to fashion, therefore he simply assumed it was just a fashion from Essos that Dany liked.

"You understand why you must be king," whispered Dany seriously. Jon felt sorrow for his young aunt who had he grown to admire.

"Why keep this from me? I could have-" Dany had worked tirelessly as he in the aftermath. He had believed her grief was what was taking a toll on her energy. "The infection can be removed-" Sam would know what to do.

"Forgive me, I did not wish to add more worries and burdens upon your shoulders," apologized Dany with tears streaming down her fair face. Jon nodded weakly. Deep sobs echoed in the cavernous room as Dany's face would join those of the dead that haunted him. The dying or dead smallfolk, men, women, children, and small babes. His friends, loved ones, and those he admired. They are my ghosts, thought Jon as he stared at the gaunt Ghost.

Margaery

Margaery stood comfortingly next to Sansa seated by Alayne's bedside. Little Alayne looked so tiny tucked in the child sized cot. Sansa and Margaery had sang to the sick little girl, before she fell asleep. Alayne and the other children had been comforted by song as Sansa and Margaery had sang it as it grew darker and direr.

"Gentle Mother, font of mercy,

Save our sons from war, we pray.

Stay the swords and stay the arrows,

Let them know a better day."

Sansa brushed her daughter's dark hair from her little pale face. Margaery had written letters to the Citadel, requesting a maester desperately. Maester Luwin had perished several moons ago, succumbing to the infection as he tirelessly healed the wounded and sick. Margaery and Sansa had sought out the orders of the blue septas in the Riverlands, until Lord Manderly had sent his maester to Moat Cailin.

"Gentle Mother, strength of women,

Help our daughters through this fray.

Soothe the wrath and tame the fury,

Teach us all a kinder way.

Gentle Mother, font of mercy,

Save our sons from war, we pray.

Stay the swords and stay the arrows,

Let them know a better day."*

"It was just the fever speaking, Sansa," soothed Margaery, giving Sansa a hug. "Alayne will soon be well." Sansa nodded and brushed away a tear.

"For a moment, I thought he was speaking to me." Margaery recalled the last time she had seen Lord Theon Greyjoy, tall, dark, and always smiling.

"Rest, Sansa," urged Margaery. "Osha will keep a vigil over her." Sansa shook her head. The bags under her Tully eyes were pronounced from lack of sleep and worry.

"I can't, Margaery. I keep dreaming of him and Alayne."

"I was in a castle in the water, Mama. A man talked to me. I have to keep watch." Sansa had gone rigid and ghostly pale. Her mouth quivered.

"He's right, little one," whispered Sansa, touching her gold and black necklace with a dainty golden kraken.

"Who is he, Mama? Why is he in the water?"

"Gilly will give you some dreamwine. You will make yourself ill, Sansa. Think of Dagon." Sansa kissed her daughter's forehead and reluctantly went to her chamber, which she shared with Arya. Margaery glanced at her sleeping niece, before following Sansa. Osha dipped her head to Margaery as she went to sit by Alayne's side. Margaery could hear her own two children, Dagon, and Gilly's son Sam in a chamber listening to a story from Old Nan. Margaery went down the stone steps. Arya, now a young woman of fourteen stood with the three Mormont sisters. Dacey was now the Mormont matriarch as their fierce lady mother, Lady Maege had been cut down brutally. Lady Lyra and Lady Lyanna Mormont and Alysane's two children's fates were still unknown. A raven had come from Last Hearth pleading in vain for aid, which Robb could not give in time. Brienne sat staring at her feet, her sapphire blue eyes stopped shining when Jaime Lannister died in the fires.

"Where is Sansa?" questioned Arya, her gray eyes full of concern. "Alayne is not-"

"They are both sleeping, sister." Arya raced up the stone steps to her elder sister. The two Stark sisters who were night and day, had grown close in the years of winter. The two took to sleeping in the same bed as they had done as children. Whatever differences or jealousies that caused friction between them no longer mattered. Margaery had watched Sansa once embrace her shorter, younger sister and made her promise to not get herself killed. One of her two living brothers approached her.

"Margaery, may we speak?" asked her gallant brother. Margaery smiled and took his arm in hers. "I must journey back to the Reach." Margaery smiled sadly.

"Say goodbye to Father for me," requested Margaery. "Let me compose a letter to Mother, before you depart." Garlan nodded, his light brown eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

"Leonette says our son has Father's appetite and Loras' curls." Garlan had not met his son of near two yet. Margaery and Garlan had not known for certain if their lord father had made it out of King's Landing until confirmation was sent that Mace Tyrell had indeed burned to death in the wildfire. Yet again, Margaery could not grieve at her mother and grandmother's side. "I shall order some of the men to stay to help in the rebuilding of Winterfell and to keep the peace. Willas will send ships with timber and supplies to you. We won't let you starve." Margaery hugged her brother. The Reach was not nearly as ravaged as the realms to the north of it, however, the Reach had not been fortunate to be unaffected by the Others. The Others had made it as far as the Red Mountains and the Martells and the Tyrells had joined forces to hold the Others off until Daenerys came with deliverance.

"Thank you." She had no idea how her husband and she would pay Willas, the new lord of the Reach. The North was still covered in deep snows and the Riverlands was devastated by the War of Five Kings and the winter. A loan from the Iron Bank?

"You married into a hardy family," noted Garlan as he looked at Nymeria knowing on a carcass.

"Thank the Gods," whispered Margaery. Robb and Rickon with their direwolves were away at Winterfell, overseeing rebuilding. Margaery missed Robb, but she was so relieved that he had survived. She wept every time she thought of each time she came so close to losing her Robb.

"The Florents are already claiming the Stormlands with Robert's Florent eared bastard." Garlan regarded Gendry with interest. Margaery turned her head to watch with her brother, black haired and stormy blue eyed Gendry sorting through the hundreds of dragon glass daggers and arrows. Margaery remembered her first husband in name only and his rainbow guard. Garlan was obviously remembering the same, due Gendry's similar looks with Renly Baratheon. Margaery had an inkling her brothers would plot against the Florents by backing Gendry as the true lord of Storm's End, being the eldest of Robert's bastard sons. If the bull of a man was at all amenable. Gendry noticed their stares and bowed. His blue eyes flickered to Margaery with questions, but continued his work. Margaery stared at the obsidian.

"Bless the Gods for sending the prevailing winds, rerouting Stannis Baratheon from King's Landing to Dragonstone."

"Aye, but it does not excuse his murder of Renly or his abandonment of the Seven," added Garlan.

"Aye," agreed Margaery.

"We shall never know if Aegon was a real dragon or not," mused Garlan. Margaery pondered about Jon's rule, if a rebellion would arise. The young man who claimed to be Aegon, the trueborn son of Rhaegar had inspired the small folk of Crownlands and Stormlands to his cause, setting aflame the belief that the Targaryen prince had survived. Time would tell if a Rhaenys or another Aegon would be 'found' to contest Jon's rule.

"I doubt he will be the last to claim to be Prince Aegon." Garlan nodded.

"Are you sure he is not truly Ned Stark's bastard?" asked Garlan skeptically. "He does not have a look of a Targaryen." Margaery trusted the word of Robb and Sansa. Daenerys believed Jon was her nephew.

"Jon Snow rose from his pyre, unburnt. My husband and Sansa witnessed the black brothers set him on fire. You saw him in the flesh. Not every Targaryen has had white-gold hair and purple eyes. Princess Rhaenys was said to have her mother's look. Why is it unconceivable that Jon should have the Stark look?"

"It is not, sister," conceded Garlan. "The rule of a known bastard will not sit well-"

"Robb and Daenerys Targaryen have legitimized him," argued Margaery growing tired of the talk of Jon.

"It will give bastard sons of the nobles the notion that they can rise high," finished Garlan. "They have already begun to call him, King Snow." Margaery cut to the chase.

"Will Willas and you support Jon? Tell me, if we are to be against each other."

"Dorne will likely oppose him," mused Garlan vaguely with a smile. "We all know how Grandmother feels about the Martells."

A/N: Please don't ask me what's going on in Dorne, cause I kind of forgot the Dornish. The sand got frosty and the water gardens froze...that's all I got.

If you aren't satisfied by this, then join the club. I dibs being President.

*owned by GRRM as are all the characters in the story.