Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire.

Emergence of the Dragon

Chapter 1: The Maiden

"Talking"

"Thinking"

Rhaella

(Location: Red Keep)

The girl was close to tears as Rhaella's son and king lectured her sternly. Elia stood next to him, her normally gentle face morphed into a harsh scowl. Rhaella stood off to the side, listening but not listening to what Rhaegar was saying. She was there because it had been her daughter who was almost harmed only two hours past. And it had been the fault of her granddaughter.

Some might call her a bastard, but Rhaegar had named her his daughter by Lyanna Stark, who he had wedded in front of a heart tree. The Faith had said that such a thing was not a legitimate marriage but he still called her his daughter, giving her the name, Targaryen. For a year she had borne the name of Visenya, until Elia had been granted a miracle and safely birthed a second daughter. One only had to look at the little babe to see that she was the perfect mixture of Valyrian and Rhoynar blood. She was given the name Visenya and the girl who held it went nameless for three years before she called herself Joan.

"Am I understood, girl?" Rhaegar asked as he finished, looking at her.

She nodded, her tears still trying not to fall. "Yes, Father."

"What?" he asked her. Her voice became sterner. He was a king now, not a father.

She cringed and said again, "I-I mean, yes, your Grace." She kept her eyes on him, not on anyone else.

"Good." He left the room with his wife behind him. The door slamming shut was like a sword striking a shield.

There were only two of them in the room. Rhaella watched the girl as she turned to look at her. "Grandmother," she started to say, "I—"

"Be quiet," Rhaella ordered. She had held her anger in while Rhaegar had talked. But now they were alone and this child would receive her anger, as she rightly deserved. "You put my daughter in danger. You put your own blood, your family, in danger." If Ser Gerold hadn't heard Daenerys scream to be let go, she shuddered to think what might've happened.

"I didn't mean to! I—"

"Be quiet!" she snapped, silencing her. "I don't care for your excuses. You tried taking my daughter to a dangerous man. All I want to hear right now is why you decided to do so." The girl didn't say anything. Tears too busy rolling down her face. Rhaella became impatient. "Well?" she demanded.

The tears came faster but she still managed to speak. Her voice was choked with her crying as she said, "H-He just wanted to meet Dany. He promised to be nice to her."

Those words ignited her anger. "Get out! Get out of my sight, you stupid girl!" She ran out of the room, crying hard. Rhaella was left in the room, stewing in her anger.

She didn't know why but when she realized where she was going, she didn't bother to stop herself. She reached the door deep in Maegor's Holdfast. There were no guards before it but that may have to change. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. There were bars and a locked door that greeted her. On the other side was a room with a bed and a table.

She knew the man sitting on the bed. "Is that you, girl?" the man asked in a rasp, standing up. "I was wondering where you had gotten to."

Rhaella stared at him with stony anger. "Think again," she told him.

He came to the bars and stared at her. "Ah, Rhaella, my sister, my wife, my queen," he said to her. He grinned like his words were funny. "You've come to visit me, after so long. I'm touched."

"I would rather never set eyes upon you again, Aerys," she said. She could still remember those nights that he came to her and raped her. When their son took the Iron Throne and threw him into this room, she never thought she would see him again.

He laughed like it was the funniest thing. "Then why are you here?" He suddenly slammed his face into the bars, the sound of flesh hitting metal filling the room. "Are you a liar too, Rhaella? Are you?"

She ignored his question. "I am here to tell you that you will never see your daughter. Daenerys is mine and mine alone. She will never turn her eyes onto you."

Her words had an effect on him she didn't expect. He pulled his face away from the bars, looking sad. "So it will be like that, will it?" he asked, turning away and walking to the table placed opposite of the bed. "A pity, I would've thought she could do it. She had never failed me before."

"Before?" wondered Rhaella. What did he mean by that? "She has given you other things?"

"Yes, some treats. A fresh loaf of bread, a book," he told her with his back turned. "This would've been the first time she would bring a person to me." His hand gripped the chair. "What did you do to that little girl, Rhaella? What did you do to our granddaughter?"

"I didn't do anything. It was the king who chastises and punished her."

"Rhaegar," he snarled, "My traitorous son. How hypocritical of him to punish her when he barely cares for the daughter he abandon. He couldn't even be bothered to name her again when he stole her first name from her." His anger vanished and laughter replaced it. "The irony of it is lost on him."

"What irony?" Rhaella asked.

He turned around and faced her again. "The Dragon has come again, Rhaella. It has come again in her. Not in any of the other children, only her." He became sorrowful. "It's a shame that I will not see it happen."

"You're wrong. Aegon is the future king." He didn't say anything to that. She should have left then but something was keeping her in there. She didn't know what. Perhaps it was the first time she spoke to Aerys since he had been thrown in here. "Why did you give her that name?" she finally asked him.

He didn't look at her. He chose to walk to window and look out it. "What do you mean?"

"Why did you call her Joan? Do you wish to bring back Joanna that much? Was that all you could talk about with her?"

"No. She named herself. She is a sweet girl who wanted a family. None of you gave her it, so she came to me." He turned back to the bars, pressing his face against them. "Could you do something for me, Rhaella? When I die, I want you to send a message to Tywin. Tell him that the loss of our friendship, my rejection of his daughter for Rhaegar, the loss of his precious golden son, and the loss of everything we did, it was his fault."

She should have dismissed his words as madness. But she asked him, "How is it his fault?"

"When Father declared us to be married, I didn't want it any more than you did. So I planned to escape it. Tywin too thought it unjust and helped me plan a means of escape. We decided on having our own sets of weddings: I was to marry Joanna, and you were to marry Tywin."

She was astounded. She could not believe his words. "What?" She had never heard of such a plan when their father declared their betrothal to each other. She had found Tywin to be handsome if not a bit grim and serious. But she had no means or intentions of actually wedding him. But then she reminded herself that this was Aerys's plan. It wouldn't be as if he would ask her if she thought it was a good idea.

But he nodded his head. "Yes, that was the plan. That was why Joanna was sent to King's Landing." His face turned angry. "But before we could escape our father's decree, Tywin fell in love with Joanna and married her first! I begged with him not to do it, not to betray me like that. All the damn fool said that she gave him a reason to smile! All he had to do was swallow his fucking pride! He would've been happy with you too if you had married him! If a Targaryen wasn't good enough for a Lannister, then clearly a Lannister is not good enough for a Targaryen!" He pressed his face into the bars and looked at her. "Tell him that. Tell him that and tell him that he should've listened to me!"

That was when she was able to leave the room and Aerys behind. But as she left, words followed her out. It wasn't the words of how it was Tywin's fault for what happened (which she didn't believe already) but rather it was what he had said about their granddaughter. When Aerys had said that she was the Dragon come again, he didn't sound mad. And that was more terrifying than when he was.

A terrible thought came to her as she walked away from the door. "Is she becoming like Aerys? Is he turning her mad?" The memories came back to her in a tidal wave. All the pain that was inflected on her by Aerys in the troughs of his madness, she would not let it happen again. She would keep an eye on the girl and watch to see if she would go mad.

Barristan

(Location: King's Landing)

As he followed the royal family up the path to the Red Keep, Barristan thought about the previous king. Before he had turned mad, King Aerys had held such promise. But after Duskendale…there were times he had wondered if it had been best to have left Aerys in the dungeon and crowned Rhaegar then instead of the rebellion. But it didn't matter now. The Mad King was dead.

The royal family had been in Dorne, enjoying the hospitality of the queen's brother, when the news finally came. King Rhaegar set sail from Sunspear immediately upon receiving the news. Prince Oberyn and his paramour, along with the eldest two of the Sand Snakes, had joined them in the week-long journey from Sunspear at sea. He watched as Oberyn's daughters stifled their noses at the smell of the city. He couldn't blame them for it.

As they rode into the courtyard of the Red Keep, the servants all hurried out to take care of the horses and the baggage. But none of his fellow brothers were there to greet the king and his family. He found it odd but did not say anything. He followed the royal family into the Great Hall, where the Iron Throne was. It was there he found his two last brothers, Ser Jaime and Ser Oswell. But they were not alone.

"Greetings, Father," Princess Joan said to the king, standing before the Iron Throne. She wore a dress that Barristan had seen Princess Rhaenys wear only a year before, a grey drab thing that looked rather big on her. This was the way with the second princess. People had been unsure of how to approach her situation back when she had been known as Princess Visenya. When the queen gave birth to a second daughter, she was forgotten almost entirely, losing her name too. If she was mentioned at all in the castle, it was only as "the Stark girl." That changed when she declared that her name was Joan but the people of the court still choose to ignore her, not wanting to risk the anger of the queen and heirs choosing to instead focus on the trueborn children of King Rhaegar's marriage to Elia.

Ser Barristan liked to think that he was a friend of hers. He would be glad to protect her, but his duties frequently assigned him to more…influential members of the royal family.

The king looked at her and said, "Joan. What are you doing here?"

"I came to greet you. I was the Targaryen in the Red Keep," she explained to him. The words sounded quite similar to something Ser Barristan had heard from the Starks and their castle. It made him wonder if she wanted to be like them. She looked at them, her eyes observing the familiar faces but frowning at the unfamiliar ones. "Who are they?" she demanded.

Queen Elia frowned. "You mind yourself, girl," she told her sharply. "This is my brother, Oberyn."

"It is alright, Elia," Prince Oberyn told her. He walked past her to the Stark girl, his paramour by his side. Barristan knew what he was about to do. In spite of his infamy, the Red Viper had, by reputation, a soft spot for children. Prince Aegon and his sisters, along with Princess Daenerys, had been nervous before first meeting him but by that night, they acted like they had known him their entire lives. He hoped Princess Joan would be no different.

When they reached her, they both knelt down so they were face to face with her. "Prince Oberyn," she said politely. She tried to curtesy and the attempt made both Queen Elia and Queen Rhaella wince.

He only smiled. "Hello there, Princess. It's nice to finally meet you."

It was clear to Barristan that the princess was unsure of what to say to him. The Kingsguard knew why and his heart hurt for it. This was probably one of the few times she'd been greeted by someone who seemed genuinely pleased to meet her. To have it be a member of Queen Elia's family must seem doubly strange. She turned her head to look at the woman next to him. "Who is she?"

Prince Oberyn's paramour put on a kind smile. "My name is Ellaria Sand, Princess Joan," she said, warmth coating her voice. "You have beautiful eyes."

She blushed at the compliment. "Thank you, my lady," she said. "My grandfather used to say the same thing." She sniffled and to Ser Barristan, it was obvious that she was trying hard not to cry in front of them. He only had to glance at Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys to know they were ready to mock those tears. Princess Visenya looked ready to copy their actions, even if she didn't really know what they meant. She adored her elder siblings that much.

But Prince Oberyn offered her a handkerchief. "Come now, you don't need to cry," he told her gently. She took the offering and wiped her tears away. "You must miss your grandfather very much."

She nodded. "I do. I want him back."

Her words were enough for Queen Elia. "Leave this hall and go to your rooms, girl," she commanded her in a stern voice. She looked at her with shock and surprise. It was clear that she hadn't expected that. But the queen only narrowed her eyes and said, "Go." Ser Lewyn stepped in behind her, adding to her authority.

She left, brushing past the rest of the royal family without another word. Barristan watched her go and he noticed that Prince Oberyn and his paramour watched everything in silence. When the doors closed shut behind her, King Rhaegar finally spoke. "Our attention must turn to my father's funeral. Have the Silent Sisters attended to his body already?"

Both Ser Jaime and Ser Oswell gave each other a look. It was not a look that comforted Barristan. "They have, in a manner of speaking," Oswell finally said.

"What does that mean?" asked little Princess Daenerys. She looked up curiously at him, trying to understand what he was saying.

"They already prepared his body, laid him out for the service, had his ashes properly placed in a jar, and installed it in the crypts below."

"What?" Queen Rhaella said in outrage. "You allowed this all to happen before we arrived?"

Ser Jaime looked uneasy and uncomfortable. "Your Graces, King Aerys…" He flinched at the sight of such stormy looks. No one called Aerys king after his dethronement. "He's been dead for over a month now."

Silence reigned in the throne room. When Barristan dared to look at the royal family, he saw that the adults, along with Prince Viserys, were stunned. "He's been dead?" Queen Rhaella repeated, her voice showing her shock. "And you did not think it fit to inform us?"

"We did try sending a raven," Oswell explained. "But each message was stopped before it had even reached the bird."

"Who stopped them?" Prince Oberyn asked.

Ser Barristan's brothers looked at each other. "Princess Joan," Ser Jaime explained. He looked embarrassed for having missed it. "When we finally found out and confronted her, she told us that if the royal family wished to enjoy their time in Dorne, why should we be bothered to tell them of what happened?"

Queen Elia looked at the king and said, "That girl needs to be reminded of who she is to us." Barristan thought that whatever it was the queen wanted to happen, it was probably going to be too cruel for the princess. But it was not his place to say. He did look to Arthur and Gerold Hightower to see if they would say anything.

But it was Jaime who spoke. "Your Grace, it was the princess who stood the vigil for Aerys. She stood through the night but refused to leave when the morning came and I tried to lead her away. It was her who held the torch that sent her grandfather to the ashes. She did it, with no help from anyone." The queen said nothing to that. Her brother was still watching everything.

For the rest of the day, Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime were set to guard Prince Oberyn and his paramour. Many times through the day they would go and find Princess Joan. The princess was surprised they would come looking for her. She kept telling them that the queen or her siblings were not in the room and either the prince or the lady would tell her that they were there for her.

The two Kingsguard watched as they worked the magic that brought the other children to their good side. They managed to make Princess Joan start to smile with their words and questions. Ser Barristan believed the Viper of Dorne actually wanted to get to know his good-niece. But more often than not, they would be interrupted. Either Queen Elia would walk in, wanting a word. If it was not her, than it would've been Prince Aegon, Princess Rhaenys, Princess Visenya, or some combination of the two. As soon as they had Prince Oberyn's attention, Princess Joan would leave as quietly as she could.

And still, in spite of this, Oberyn and Ellaria would continue to find the princess time after time, coaxing out her hard won smiles. They had even invited her to join them in supper. Ser Barristan stood by the door, keeping watch on them all. "Would you indulge me a question, little wolf?" Prince Oberyn asked, using the endearment they had given her.

She looked up from her food. "Yes?"

"How did you meet your grandfather?"

An uneasy feeling passed through Ser Barristan, realizing now that Prince Oberyn had chosen to ask this question here, at supper, when the rest of the royal family ate together. There would be no interruptions.

Until the incident with Princess Daenerys, no one had known that Princess Joan had been visiting Aerys. It had been a shock to him when he learned of it and he knew that Queen Rhaella kept Joan at a distance since. He watched the little girl go still in her chair, a scared look crossing her eyes. This was probably the first time someone had asked her that.

The Dornish pair saw the look too. "It's alright, little wolf," Ellaria told her with a calm voice. "If you don't wish to tell us, you—"

"I wanted to play with Visenya one day when I was four," she said, the words coming out in a rush. She stopped herself and started again, much slower. "But I couldn't find her. I looked through the Red Keep but no matter where I looked, she wasn't there. I found myself in a part of the castle I didn't know.

"I was scared. There was no one around to help me. I tried going back the way I came but it didn't help. That's when I heard someone speaking through a door. I knocked on the door and stepped through. I saw the bars and thought that that I was in the prison. Grandfather came to the bars, demanding who I was and that I should kneel to the king."

"What did you do then?" Oberyn asked her.

She picked at the food in front of her. "I told him who I was. He stopped being angry and looked at me differently. He said 'So you're my granddaughter. Why did you take this long to meet me?' I didn't know how to answer that but he waved it away, saying it didn't matter. I spent the rest of the day in that room, talking to him. When night came, he told me how to go back. I promised him I would come back again. I did."

"And what was the man like himself?" asked Lady Ellaria.

The more the princess talked, the more she became at ease. "He was kind and good to me. If I didn't say anything that would make him angry, he was able to talk to me. He told me a lot of stories from his youth, the grand plans he had, the friends he shared a close bond with." She paused and thought over her next words. "Although he didn't really like someone named Tywin very much." Both the prince and his lady chuckled at that.

Oberyn waved his hand her. "Go on."

She opened her mouth just as the door to the chambers opened. Queen Elia walked in. "Oberyn, I would like to…" she started to say, only to stop when she saw Princess Joan. "What are you doing here?"

She froze. Her eyes darted between her and her brother. "I… I was invited."

The queen pointed to the door. "Leave, now." Princess Joan got down from her chair and quickly left the room, her eyes facing the ground. Ser Barristan wanted to go after her, to comfort her. But he had his orders to stay and guard Prince Oberyn.

The silence that suddenly fell into the room was a pregnant one, and Barristan felt exceedingly uncomfortable as it wore on, with the queen glaring daggers into her brother. "Ser Barristan," she finally said, "If you would please wait outside. I seem to need to talk with my brother."

He stepped outside and took post by the door. The door closed but not all the way. He didn't know if that was on purpose or not, but he could hear what was being said inside. "How could you, Oberyn?" the queen demanded.

"You know full well that I was having a private dinner with the girl," he replied. "You came in here to drive her away, Elia. How could you?" Even though his voice was calm, Barristan could hear the disappointment in it.

The queen must've heard it too, for her reply was stiff. "I did what needed to be done."

"What needed to be done? You mean ensuring that we never really know the girl? That's what you had your children and yourself do this entire day." The next words he spoke were full of disgust along with the disappointment. "I thought you better than this, Elia. Clearly, you've been far too long from Dorne."

"What do you mean?"

"No matter what side of the sheets they came from, bastard children are still a part of the family, treated with love and kindness. That little girl is terrified of you. She wants to be with her siblings but they pretend that she's not even there. Now that I think about it, you can't even call her a bastard."

He couldn't see it but Barristan knew that the queen was scowling. "That was not a legitimate marriage. The Faith declared it as such."

"The Faith does not command every god in Westeros."

"She spoke with the Mad King on more than one occasion. Who knows what kind of lies he filled her with?"

There was a snap in Oberyn's voice. "She went to him because he was the only one who gave her love. And we both also know that is a weak reason, Elia. Tell me, why is it that you have had the girl kept at arm's length?" Silence reigned through the door. "Well?"

He heard the queen sigh. "You couldn't possibly understand, Oberyn. The girl is not what you think she is. She's a—"

"A what?" her brother asked challengingly, "A bastard? A disgrace?" Silence answered his question. It was a long, interminable silence. "…We will be leaving tomorrow."

"What?" said a surprised Queen Elia. "You've only just arrived."

"'Tis true, it was a short visit." He sighed, in that theatrical, overdramatic fashion of his. "But I can see now that this Red Keep has given you some new perspective. Bastards aren't to be tolerated in my sister's presence. As such I must escort Ellaria and my daughters from you in all haste. They would be too much of a disgrace for you."

"Your children are not a disgrace, Oberyn."

"No," the voice of Lady Ellaria said. It was the first time she spoke through the entire argument. Her voice was courteous but there was an undercurrent of venom to it. "What is a disgrace is the fact that you willingly set sail for Dorne on the little wolf's nameday, leaving her behind."

Barristan felt a horrible feeling crawl down his stomach and rested there. He had not realized the day they sailed for Dorne was the nameday of Princess Joan. She must have woken up that day expecting perhaps some small celebration or gift from her family, only instead to find out they were leaving her alone in the Red Keep. "Forgive me, Princess." But even though he made that prayer, it was too little, too late.

The door opened and the queen left. The Kingsguard did not follow her or seek out the princess to apologize. He stayed to his post and obeyed his orders.

Mya

(Location: the Eyrie)

"Domeric's going back to the North. He's offered to take me with him," Joan said to her.

Mya regarded her friend in the bed they shared. She could barely make out her form in the darkness but she could still see her. The light from the moon helped too. "What of it?" she asked.

She could not look her in the eyes. "Well, I just wondered…if you wanted to come with me." The last couple of words were said in a whisper.

Mya looked at Joan. The girl had come to the Eyrie with the royal family and was left behind when they left. But by then the two of them had already become friends, having literally run into each other that first day. Joan had spent the entire time with her and when the royal family left, she helped Mya with the mules. Strangely enough, Lord Arryn always got that look in his eyes when he saw the two of them together, along with a sad sort of smile. She wondered what it could mean but she did not ask.

But that wasn't the point here. "You've spent a lot of time with this Domeric," she pointed out.

Joan blushed a little bit. If she was a proper lady, it might have been called pretty. "He's from the North," she protested. "He's been telling me all about it."

"Is that all?" Mya knew that she seemed to hang on to every word the northerner had said since he came to Eyrie with House Redfort. He seemed nice, but she had not really talked to him.

"Yes, Mya," Joan told her.

"Then why is it that you've been missing from the bed for several nights? Have you been sleeping in his bed?" She could not look at her in the eyes. It confirmed her suspicions. "Well, at least he's handsome enough." That was always a benefit.

"It's not like that!" she protested. "We just share the bed and he tells me about the North. We haven't done anything."

Mya knew that but she could tell that her friend probably would've done so if she was offered the chance. "Why would you want to go North in any case?" she asked.

She fidgeted in the bed, unable to sit still. "I could meet my family. If I go with Domeric, I could see them." She sounded hesitant as she spoke, as if she wasn't sure it was still a good idea.

"But what does that—?" She was cut off when Joan turned and kissed her. It wasn't a kiss on the cheek but on the lips. It was awkward and a little hesitant but it was passionate. She was being kissed like a lover. When Joan pulled away, all she could say was, "Oh."

Joan was blushing completely now. She opened her mouth but the words that were to follow seemed hard to say. "I…I want you to come with me, Mya. Please. I'm sure that when you meet my uncle, he'll welcome you."

She stared at her friend for the longest time. She was offering something else beside the chance to go North. She was offering her love. But she was also offering something else with that love: a chance to leave what she knew behind for something unknown. And that, along with the love, absolutely scared her. "I can't, Joan," she finally said, watching her friend's heart break. Still, she pressed on. "This is my home, I can't just leave it. Lord Arryn depends on me to take care of the mules."

Joan nodded and said quietly, "I see."

There was a part of Mya that had hoped she would not go through with this fool plan. But in that moment, she knew that she had lost her to it. There was only one thing she could do. She reached out and pulled her into a tight hug. "I will be your friend, Joan. Will you remember that when you leave?"

The other girl didn't shy away from the hug. "I will. Thank you, Mya."

Eddard

(Location: Castle Black)

His horse was all but dead on its feet as he rode it into Castle Black's courtyard. But Eddard Stark had more things to be concerned about. As his guard rode in behind him, he hauled himself off the saddle. Benjen was there, waiting for him. "Where is she?" he asked right away.

"In the library, with Maester Aemon," Benjen told him. "It's the only place she'll be other than with the wilding woman."

After giving quick instructions to Jory to settle the men, they started walking to the library. "Is it really her, Benjen?" he asked. "Is it really Lyanna's daughter?" The last time he had seen was when she but a newborn, underneath the hot sun of Dorne. He had sent many ravens to the king, asking for her to be fostered in Winterfell but he was always refused. When he got the raven from his brother that their niece was under guard at Castle Black, he couldn't have left Winterfell fast enough.

His brother nodded. "It's her, Ned. My party found them coming up to the Wall. When there only her and that spearwife with her, she saw me and threw down her spear, saying that she yielded to her uncle. I looked at her proper and I swear that I was looking at a ghost."

"How did she get on the other side of the Wall in the first place?" Winterfell hadn't known that she had disappeared until a year after the fact. The king didn't even bother to send him a raven about it. He had gotten it from Jon Arryn, who also admitted to having her in the Eyrie for a few short months. It came to Ned as a shock to learn his niece was living with the wildings for three years now.

Benjen turned grim as they approached the library, walking down the steps. "That should be a question you should ask Joan."

"Joan? Is that her name?"

"Aye, she chose it herself when her original name was taken away from her." His voice showed the barely restrained anger that they both had about that subject. They had both heard of how the second daughter of Queen Elia was named Visenya when Lyanna's daughter had already been named such. Ned had been outraged by it and he knew that Benjen was the same.

When they reached the door, Benjen stopped him. "There's one more thing you need to know, Ned," he said quietly. "Don't speak ill of the Mad King in front of Joan. She almost killed one of the rangers because of it."

That was shocking news to him. "Why?"

"Because it seems that he was the only who actually treated her as family." There was an irony to those words that neither of them were comfortable with. He reached out and rapped on the door. "Maester Aemon, it is Benjen. I have Lord Stark with me. May we come in?"

"Of course you may," a soft gentle voice spoke from the other side. "Come in."

He pushed the door open and they went inside. The maester sat at the table by the fire so he could be warmed. But Ned's eyes were on the girl dressed in the black clothes of the Watch. Benjen was right. It was like staring at a ghost long dead. She was Lyanna come again. His voice felt thick in his throat and all he could manage to say was "Joan."

"Lord Stark," she said back. She stayed close to the maester. Her eyes looked at him. They were not full of happiness at seeing him but rather apprehensive fear.

Those eyes looking at him so tore at his heart. She was his niece. She did not need to fear him. His feet carried him across the room and he stood before her. She took a half step back from him, still apprehensive. "You're safe, Joan," he told her. "I would not hurt you." Hesitantly, he held his arms out for a hug.

She came to him slowly. Her eyes looked at him, then at Benjen, and at Maester Aemon. She stepped close to him and he hugged her gently. She hugged him back. "I'm so glad to have finally met you," she said into his shoulder. "I never thought that I would meet my mother's family." When they broke the hug, she looked at him worriedly. "Are you going to send me back south?"

He knew that men said that Eddard Stark had ice in his veins instead of blood. But they were wrong. He had blood and it burned with anger. Not at her and her question, but at the fear that was carried with it. She was actually scared that he would bring back to King's Landing and the Targaryens. "No," he told her. "I will not. You are home now, Joan."

"Let us all sit down and eat something," Maester Aemon said softly. "You will be able to talk to each other about what has happened." They did indeed sit down at the table. Food and drink were brought to them and Joan began to tell her tale.

She spoke of how she went with Lord Bolton's son, Domeric, back to the Dreadfort. He was to bring her to Winterfell and introduce her to Lord Stark and his family. But he had gone to look for his own family first, a bastard brother named Ramsay that he had learned of. The two came back and within a week, Domeric was dead.

She had come to the Dreadfort disguised as a servant and she was forced to stay in that role for some months. It only came to an end when Ramsay Snow laid eyes on her and decided that she was to be his next sport. Ned was appalled to hear that the sport was meant as stripping her naked and making her run through the forest while he chased after her with hunting dogs. It was only by the graces of the old gods that a raiding band of wildings found her. They hadn't kidnapped Joan. She went with them willingly to escape the bastard of Bolton.

As she finished her tale, he knew that Roose Bolton and he would be having a talk. "What will happen to me now?" Joan asked him.

Ned Stark did not pause to consider the question. "You will come back to Winterfell with me."

She smiled brightly. But it only lasted for a moment. "What about Osha?"

"Osha?" he said, not understanding what she meant.

His brother supplied him with the answer. "The wilding woman who surrendered with her," he said. "We've got her locked away for the moment."

"Uncle Benjen, please don't kill her," Joan told him. She sounded on the verge of begging. "She did nothing wrong. When I was amongst the Free Folk, she was one of the few who first welcomed me. She's my friend."

"She's a wilding spearwife, Joan," Benjen replied.

"So was I."

"Perhaps," Maester Aemon said softly, "it would be for the best if we allowed this Osha to go back to the wildings. There she can tell them that Joan is amongst her own people, they will not come looking for her." He looked at Joan and somehow managed to look rueful. "If I heard my niece right, she's quite favored of Mance Ryder."

She nodded. "He sees me as a would-be daughter," she explained to them all.

Ned and Benjen looked at each other in quiet discussion. Neither of them was keen on the idea of sending a wilding back to the rest of them so she could tell them what she saw. But Joan had asked them to spare her life. She had looked at them both with a hope they would be merciful to her friend. "Very well," Benjen finally said. "We'll spare her and send her back." Joan smiled again, this time gratefully.

Catelyn

(Location: Winterfell)

"Joan, you mustn't let Arya do such things," Catelyn heard her daughter say through the door. She was approaching the room where Sansa and her ladies would be embroidering.

"Why's that, Sansa?" asked Princess Joan. She sounded a little amused. "If my cousin wants to learn how to fire a bow properly, how could I refuse her?"

"But it's not ladylike!"

There was a pause that felt too long to Catelyn. "…Are you saying that I'm not a lady, Sansa?" Joan asked her voice holding a strange tone. If Catelyn had to place it… it would be amused, but her years in the south before coming north allowed her to recognize that tone. Guarded, on edge. Her smile and courtesy was a shield.

"No! No!" said Sansa quickly. "I didn't mean it like that, Joan! Of course you are a lady."

A less polite person would wonder if Joan wasn't a lady right to her face. Sansa always gladly looked past the fact that she lived beyond the Wall and focused on how she lived in King's Landing. For Sansa, the fact that Joan had lived with the wildings was always dutifully ignored as much as possible.

Catelyn chose that moment to walk through the door. "Good day," she said to the ladies in the room. Sansa sat with Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel. Joan sat across from the three. Cat was unsure if that was deliberate or not.

Her daughter set aside her work. She was surprised to see her. "Mother, have you come to see our embroidery?" she asked.

She smiled at Sansa. "Indeed I have."

"We were just talking about Arya learning to use a bow, Lady Stark," Jeyne said, and if Catelyn could will the girl to drop the subject she would have.

No doubt Jeyne was seeking an ally in her. The Seven knew taming Arya's desire to be as unladylike as possible was already an uphill fight without the Princess encouraging her by example and practice.

But one did not reprimand a member of the royal family, even if Cat knew that Joan would immediately stop if she or Ned asked.

"I think we all know why Arya want to learn how to shoot a bow," Beth Cassel decided to contribute. "It was that archery contest you had with Theon, Joan."

Catelyn remembered that. Practically everyone had turned out for that when word got around. It was the first time the Greyjoy met his match with a bow.

"I think Arya wanted to learn even before that," Joan replied, unable to look up at her eyes.

"Is that really it?" asked Jeyne Poole. "I thought it was when Lord Robb sparred against Princess Joan."

"Yes," said Beth Cassel with a nod, "My father praised her skill with the spear, said that she was getting better each day."

That was news to Catelyn. It made her look more closely at her niece. "When did this happen?" she asked curiously.

Cat could remember when Joan had first arrived at Winterfell with her husband from the Wall, She'd had made an attempt to pull her away from her spear and bow, worried that the wildling influence would ruin the girl's prospects for future marriage. Cat would have kept trying but she wasn't blind, and she wasn't stupid. As she insisted and tried to curb the girl's desire to fight Joan would obey no longer than strictly necessary, and no doubt only because of Ned; her manner would become more withdrawn and more…depressed.

Ned told her to let it be. While she did not think it proper, she obeyed and allowed the girl to keep to her practices.

Joan kept her eyes down. "Only a few days past, Lady Stark," she told her. She stood up from her chair, set aside the shirt, said, "Your pardon," and quickly left the room.

She watched the princess leave the room. This was not the first time something like this had happened. Whilst Joan loved the Starks, from her firstborn to her youngest along with her husband, she would avoid Catelyn if she could. When she wouldn't, she was polite and always watching her manners. But not once would she dare to look her in the eyes.

Catelyn went over to the chair and picked up the shirt. It was much too small for Joan to wear. But it was the right fit for a small boy. "Is this Rickon's shirt?" she asked Sansa.

Her daughter nodded. "He tore it and Joan promised to fix it for him." Sansa sighed. "Joan knows how to do those repairs so well. She helped mend one of my dresses and I couldn't even tell where it had been torn when she was done. I just don't know why she doesn't do embroidery as well."

Beth Cassel sighed too. "I wish I could play music like she could. Everything I try to play just sounds awful."

Catelyn knew what both girls said was true. Joan could sew clothing tears with a skill that came from living with the wildings, forcing her to make her own clothes and furs. Where she learned music was still something of a mystery Catelyn had not dared to breach yet. While she often designed to play good Northern tunes that could make people dance; she also, on rare occasions played more somber, harmonious things that would be more in tune with the southern court.

She spoke for a little while longer with Sansa and the girls, inspecting their needlework. As usual, Sansa's was near perfect, with her having the beginnings of a gorgeous mosaic of the house sigils of the seven Kingdoms in silver thread on a black cloth. Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel's choices were less ambitious, but still quite skilled as well.

When she left Sansa and her ladies behind, her thoughts came to Joan.

Again, she wasn't blind and she wasn't stupid. All she saw in Joan when she looked her way was a thinly veiled fear, Fear of some reprimand, some word of condemnation, especially when Catelyn caught Joan near her children.

The answer was obvious…

Joan could easily talk about the wildings, of her time beyond the wall, even for all its hardship; but never, would she dare speak about King's Landing.

Sansa would beg her to tell tales of the capital but Joan would fend off the questions or give her short answers. Jeyne would ask about the brave knights of the Kingsguard, and there she would speak a little more, but only of a few. Ser Jaime Lannister, Ser Barristan.

But in her voice, in her eyes there was that same emotion that she reserved for Catelyn and Catelyn alone in Winterfell.

She looked at Catelyn like she looked at her memories of the capital. For the longest time; Catelyn remained quiet on the subject, until one day, her curiosity, as well as…to be perfectly frank, worry at having a member of the royal family look on her like a bad memory drew her to speak to the only person she could have spoken to about this: Ned.

She'd walked into his solar one particular night, months ago seeing him frowning at papers on his desk.

He'd been worried, she could tell. "News from Essos and from King's Landing," he'd told her, gesturing at two letters. "Robert has risen in the ranks of the Golden Company again."

By that name alone, her thoughts on Joan had nearly been banished from her mind. Ned, much to her dismay, still considered Robert Baratheon a friend. And consorting with this particular friend could spell death for her and her entire family.

To her, Robert Baratheon was a tragic fool.

At the Trident, when Rhaegar rode with a peace banner and begged the others to turn to overthrow the Mad King, the Lord of Storm's End was the only one who refused. He fled to Essos and the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms had put him out of their minds, too concerned with Aerys, and stabilizing a Kingdom that still seemed on the brink of open warfare. But Ned would receive notes of what Robert had done in Essos. At first, she didn't know who it was that sent him these notes but when she did ask, he said that it was Varys, the Master of Whispers, and they were sent as a "courtesy."

"He is doing well for himself," she said.

"Aye, he is. It also says that he has a son who he's apprenticed to the Company's blacksmith."

She remembered asking if Robert had married.

He hadn't. The boy was a bastard. If he had an apprenticeship, then he was well taken care of. She couldn't think of a better life for the boy.

Then she drew the conversation away from the dangerous subject of Robert. The second paper on his desk drew her thoughts to slightly less dangerous subjects… and back to Joan. He looked down at the papers.

"News from King's Landing?" she'd asked.

The only time Ned and the King shared correspondence was years ago when Joan had disappeared. She'd heard rumors of course, everything from the King flying into a rage and tearing apart the Vale and the Riverlands in his search, to being quietly uncaring towards the situation. She wasn't sure which was true. And she never dared raise the subject to Ned.

He'd spoken of dragons, long held rumors of the mythical creatures return had been confirmed that night. The King had declared it a day of celebration for all the seven Kingdoms.

Three of them, one for each of the King's...children.

She remembered the fierce scowl on his features as he said the last word. King Rhaegar had married Lyanna Stark before a heart tree. To the Northerners, that meant Joan was a trueborn child.

But the faith thought otherwise.

To have heard the King declare a day of celebration, that they had three dragons for 'His three children' must have made her Ned beyond furious against a man he quietly loathed.

She'd almost lost her courage to speak of Joan just then, fearing to blacken his mood even further. But she'd pressed on. Knowing her husband could be as quiet as his niece when he chose to be. Knowing that she had to strike now while his anger still burned.

So she'd asked him, told him of her suspicions, her belief that something must have happened to the poor girl in King's Landing.

Asked if she'd confided anything in him…if there was something she was doing wrong.

Ned's eyes had darkened then, the lines etching onto his face, turning her husband into a harsh creature of ice for that instant.

"She's begged me to not speak of it to anyone." He shook his head. "I promised, Cat. I won't break her trust." She'd frowned. Her husband's sense of Honor was a famous thing. He would not break his word. Not for anyone.

And as such, the conversation was done. Eddard never spoke another word of it, or King's landing at all.

And Catelyn had let him keep his silence. But still, it was there, gnawing at her, insisting.

She'd decided to give Joan a wide berth. Hoping distance and time would cure the girl's fear of her.

It was why she said nothing about Arya when she learned of it weeks ago. It was why she did not balk at the notion that Joan was devoting herself so much to her practices that she was becoming better than Robb with a weapon in her hand.

But still Joan hadn't looked at her, would never seek her out.

And Catelyn realized, just then, that Joan never would.

She was like her Ned. A child of ice that does not melt unless forced to do so, something that will never be warm unless one made themselves warm around it.

And so, it was that night, as she left Sansa, Jeyne and Bethany behind her, that she decided to follow her niece moving through the hallways of Winterfell before knocking quietly at her bedroom door "Lady Stark," Joan said, standing up from her chair and offering a curtsey that was, frankly, cringe worthy by a southern lady's standards. Catelyn made no mention of it, and Joan would again not meet her eyes. "Is there something you need?"

"Yes dear," she answered, trying to sound as gentle as possible. "I wanted to talk to you for a moment."

"About what?" she asked.

She reached out and lifted the girl's face up. She saw grey eyes, Arya's eyes, afraid. "I know that something happened to you in King's Landing, something that's made you afraid of me." The eyes widened in even more fear. "I will not ask what it is that made you afraid. But know this: I am a Tully. Our words are 'Family, Duty, Honor.' You are my family. You will never have cause to fear me."

Joan's eyes turned sad then. She looked at Catelyn with a strange, forlorn longing. Beneath the mix of brashness and politeness, beneath the warmth and coolness that she exhibited, there was a fragile girl who wanted to be loved but was afraid of being scorned for it. To Catelyn's quiet dismay, Joan looked away again. But this time, the eyes did not stay down. They came back up, as if forcing herself to look at Lady Catelyn in the eye. . "I thought you would be like the queen," she said. "You wouldn't want me near your children."

Those words made Catelyn realized what had happened to Joan in the capital. She was treated as an outsider in her own home. She wondered if her brother and sisters had been the same. If the queen scorned her presence, perhaps she made her children act the same. "I am not her, Joan," she reassured the girl.

Joan looked at her for a long time, as if seeing her for the first time.

Catelyn would say no more that day.

It was slow, a quiet sort of change that could be called glacial. But the change did come from her quiet niece. Catelyn doubted she would ever enjoy the relationship Joan shared with her children, or her husband. The scars were too deep for that…too engrained.

But neither would she be an Elia Martell in her memories.

Rhaenys

(Location: Winterfell)

The air felt too cold and sharp. If Rhaenys breathed out, she could see her breath misting in the air. She shivered and bunched closer in her furs. "You had to bring me along on a hunt," she said to Aegon, glaring at him.

He rode beside her. He was clad in as much furs as she was and also carried a hunting spear. They followed Lord Stark, his son and heir, and the hunting party through the Wolfswood. "You're the one who wanted to see the North for what it was, Rhae," he told her. "What better way to do than through a hunt?"

She was thinking more about doing it by visiting the rest of the land, the villages, the castles, even the Wall and the Night's Watch. Not by seeing the wildlife, the plants, or the trees. She didn't want to be on a hunt. "I was thinking something other than this. Gods, I wish I was back at Winterfell."

He rolled his eyes. "You mean back in Winterfell's library with Moonfyre draped across your shoulders. You've done that to every castle we've gone to on this tour."

She glared at him. When the dragons were big enough to fly on their own, their father had sent them on a tour around Westeros. The intention was to show the power of their house to the lords of the Seven Kingdoms. Each land they had gone to, even the Iron Islands (who only admitted it sullenly), were awed and impressed by their dragons. But the North, their last stop, did not seem so surprised, or at least, not as outwardly surprised. She just supposed it came down to the fact that the children of Lord Stark had direwolves, something that none of them had expected.

The last she'd heard of direwolves beyond the Wall was… around the same time dragons had disappeared actually. She had been fascinated by the wolves when she saw them, and had almost immediately asked if she could pet them. Arya Stark had said it was okay, but only if she got to touch Moonfyre as well. To which Rhaenys gladly accepted.

Of course dragons were superior, but wolves, in her mind anyway… were prettier.

She leaned to the side and saw Grey Wind, Robb Stark's direwolf, padding close to his master.

Now that one she could do without. Grey Wind was the only wolf that had been hostile to her, even 'Shaggydog' a fearsome black beast, that could snarl so loudly one could hear through a stone wall, hadn't raised a tooth their way.

Grey Wind however was all bared teeth and tucked ears, trading snarls and hisses with all of the dragon hatchlings as well. Utterly fearless, or stupid. Probably both.

Aegon chuckled at her look. "I swear you live up to Father's name for you."

That made her glare at him. "I am not his little maester!" she snapped, growing all the more irritated when he sniggered. That title had been endearing when she a girl. Now it just felt like an embarrassment.

All because she would rather pick up a book and read than take to the yard. Their little sister had been wise enough to train with Ser Jaime in the yard when the hunting party was being made. She had an excuse when asked.

He looked at the Starks and then leaned in close to her. "I know this isn't exactly your favorite past time, Rhae. But were you really going to leave me alone with Lord Stark and his son?"

No. No, she would not.

Ever since they came to Winterfell with Ser Jaime, Ser Lewyn, and their small retinue, Lord Stark, his wife, and their firstborn son had been polite to them. But it was just politeness and it carried an inflection of no small degree of reticence from Lord Stark himself.

It would seem strange. But she knew the history of their respective houses, and knew well enough that Lord Stark had very little love for their father because of it. When they'd written from the Neck, their father had sent a raven, pleading with them to leave the Starks be. But, as what brought on the war in the first place she felt that he was missing the wider consequences of his actions.

It would have been a grave insult to not visit the Warden of the North on their tour of the North. Not to mention a severe sign of weakness. Their father probably feared for their safety, but Ned Stark's "honor" was famous throughout the Seven Kingdoms. He might not welcome their presence but she doubted they had any real cause to fear he would allow them to come to any harm.

Oddly enough, Lord Stark did not interfere at all in their interactions with his children. They were able to befriend the rest of the Stark brood easily, Rhaenys charming Sansa and telling her all about the capital, Visenya teaching Arya how to use a sword, though the girl seemed to have some training already, truth be told, and Aegon doing the same for Brandon while also being able to play with Rickon.

It was only the heir and Lord Stark himself that gave off an air that said they would much rather see the back of them.

As they rode on, she looked around. The wolfswood was all around her and it almost felt like it engulfed her senses. It was (though she'd never admit it to Aegon) wonderful. But it also made her think of something else, or rather someone. "Do you think that she'd have liked it here?" she asked Aegon in a whisper.

"Who, 'Senya?" he shook his head. "No. Do you remember the hunt in the Riverlands? If our mother heard her she'd—"

"No, I mean Joan." She interrupted. His purple eyes lost the amusement the moment she said that name.

He kicked at his horse and didn't answer. The subject of their lost sister was a… complicated one, for all of them.

When she was a child, she could only remember how quiet Joan had been. Frankly, her memories allowed for little else. Their mother would always either take them away or send her out when she came to them.

Soon, enough the attitude became the norm and they kept doing it to her even when Mother wasn't in the room. They had even figured out that if they did something wrong and blamed it on her, their mother would believe them and not her.

Truly...children could be cruel things.

When they left the Eyrie to return home, it had taken them hours to discover Joan was not with them. Father believed she was riding in the carts, they believed she was riding outside. It was only when they reached the crossroads inn near nightfall, where Ser Jaime was with a few of the other Kingsguard waiting for them that he asked the simple question.

Father had immediately ordered the Kingsguard to return and escort Joan to them.

They didn't return for two days. When they finally did return, it was Ser Jaime again at the head, his face had been ashen and his horse nearly dead.

Joan was nowhere to be found.

Their father had sent men throughout the Riverlands and the Vale to find her. Taking up the search himself with six of the Kingsguard and scattering them through both kingdoms, tearing apart every hovel and overturning every stone.

She, Egg, Visenya and Mother had been sent back to the Red Keep with Ser Lewyn. They didn't see father for nearly four moons. Not until he had to return to the capital without Joan.

She hadn't cared. On the quiet, dark corners of her mind she could admit that it'd been far worse than simply "not caring."

Their mother hated Joan. So when she disappeared, Rhaenys had simply…rejoiced. Her mother didn't have to live with the shame on her and father anymore.

And then she grew up. The years rolled by one after another. She might never have grown to care without staying in Dorne, without Uncle Oberyn and Uncle Doran.

Both had equal cause to hate Joan, as much as Mother did. But they didn't. And every year, on the date of her disappearance, Uncle Doran would light a candle to the Mother, and the Stranger for Joan. He never said anything, never said why. She suspected that sometimes he too hated her, and was trying to atone in his own way.

So she'd grown up, became perhaps a little wiser, and with those eyes that had grown up away from their mother and with Ellaria, a bastard woman who was more noble than half the ladies in the Red Keep, the truth gnawed at her, ate her from the inside whenever the memories bubbled up to the surface.

Strangely, the day it hit her hardest was when the royal family had visited Highgarden.

It had been during one of the evening meals, with Willas, Garlan, Loras, and Margaery. They'd been trading stories with the three Targaryens, and the comment had come from Loras. Re-enacting some childish argument about how Margery had taken Loras' practice sword and broken it. And Margery had screamed back that she hated him. Then she apologized by taking a stick from the woods the next day and trying to carve it into a sword.

They laughed. It was a good memory to them.

And it had hit her in that moment, with all the subtlety of a warhammer to the skull. There was no 'stick' for her to carve. There was no 'good memory' to be reconciled. For all she knew, her sister was long dead. Her memories of Joan were empty things, accented by her occasional cruelty. It had been all she could do to excuse herself politely before she began crying.

It was with tentative voices that Joan was even brought up anymore. She wasn't sure how Egg of Visenya felt, or even how her father felt. Some days it seemed that her whole family had pushed away all memory of her just for the luxury of not needing to examine their actions.

"She's somewhere in Westeros, Rhae," her brother finally said; startling her. He was quiet enough so that Lord Stark and Robb would not overhear. That would certainly not go well. "One day, perhaps we'll find her again."

A part of her hoped he was right. Though it was a fool's hope she knew. Lone women did not survive long in Westeros, and if she had, Joan had no reason to ever return.

They were silent for a time, stopping their horses for a drink of a stream that hadn't iced over. Lord Stark called to them, stating that there were tracks in the snow, fresh ones, and they mounted again.

Once more, Aegon startled her as he spoke. "I wonder what her reaction is going to be like when she finds out I'm married to both you and 'Senya."

In spite of his serious tone, she couldn't help but laugh. It just sounded so ridiculous when he said it like that. The three of them had always been close, since they were children.

When Father declared that Aegon would marry both Rhaenys and Visenya, they didn't object. But what all three of them did object to was the fact that their lives seemed controlled by their father. He told them again and again that they would be the ones who would save Westeros from destruction and that they had to be ready for it. It was why Rhaenys had to learn how to use a sword even though she didn't want to and it was clear she had little talent for it. It was something that they hated about their father, his obsession with prophecy. It was why they chose to rebel in small ways, such as refusing to name their dragons with traditional Valyrian names. Instead Rhaenys name her green dragon Moonfyre, Visenya called her blue dragon Seawing, and Aegon declared his black dragon was Fang.

The party came to a halt suddenly. Both Aegon and Rhaenys rode to the front. "What is it, Lord Stark?" Aegon asked. "Did we find prey?"

"No," Lord Stark said shortly.

Rhaenys looked and saw a dead moose on the ground, close to a tree. She had never seen a moose before. It looked like a deer, but bigger. The antlers were bigger too and looked much more solid. The snout didn't look the same as a deer. This had a more rounded look to it. But none of these held much matter to the fact that there were arrows in it. There was one in the flank and one in the heart. "Is there another hunter out here?" she asked.

"Likely," said Robb Stark shortly. Dropping from his horse and kneeling down, examining the fletching on the arrows. It was just for a moment, and, frankly, she thought she'd imagined it, but years in the courts of the Red Keep had given her an eye for such things.

Robb Stark became tense. He stood up quickly moving back to his horse and trying desperately to seem nonchalant and looking all the more stiff because of it. "We will have to find someplace else to hunt." He sounded in a rush, something that was confusing. It seems Starks were poor liars.

Aegon looked at him curiously. "Why?" The Stark looked at him foully but he was undeterred. "These are your lands Lord Stark. I understand things are different in the north but surely a hunter in the woods is no cause for the Warden of the North to just… leave."

Aegon was right, the notion was absurd.

Lord Stark took his reins in hand. "No, Robb is right," he declared quickly. "Another hunter might confuse us for prey in the snowfall and fire."

Rhaenys raised a slender eyebrow. "We could just wait here. Likely the hunter went to get some equipment to drag the beast to their village. He returns, we tell him we're here and to watch his aim." She shrugged. Really, Ned Stark was cold and aloof but was he a simpleton? She hadn't thought so.

Ned Stark's face looked as though it'd been carved from stone before he spoke. "Your safety is my responsibility, your Highness. As such we will go now—"

A white blur burst out of the bushes. When it stopped before the moose, she saw that it was a direwolf with fur as white as snow. Grey Wind yipped in joy at the sight of the other wolf. It turned to look and she saw that its eyes were blood red.

Then, much to their surprise, the voice of a woman came out of the forest, cursing to all seven hells and back before finally stumbling out of some thickened foliage, dragging a sleigh of some kind behind her.

She looked up at them and froze.

Rhaenys did the same.

She was different, a woman grown now with hair that seemed longer than any of theirs, tied back with a bow on her back and arrows in her quiver, wearing furs and long cloaks instead of silks.

But that face was unmistakable.

It was Joan. She was different. The little girl that lived in her memories died away and was replaced by the woman in front of her. She looked like the Starks. A version Arya Stark could grow into. Lean in body and long in the face. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tail but there was a strand that fell out of place over her left eyebrow. It was a thing that didn't ruin the wild kind of beauty her sister had become but rather added to it somehow.

She looked at the hunting party. "Uncle?" she said in surprise before breaking into a smile. "What are you doing…?" she trailed off when she saw who was beside Lord Stark. Her grey eyes, just moments ago warm with joy and good-natured curiosity, hardened into something entirely different.

Aegon found his voice first. "Joan?" His voice was a hesitant thing, disbelieving of who was standing right in front of him. When he finally seemed to catch up to it he spoke a bit more clearly though still patently off balance at the sudden surprise. "It's…good to see you?"

Joan seemed to straighten where she stood, working her jaw in a manner that looked so much like the taciturn Lord Stark she could have passed for his daughter and it was clear when she spoke that she was trying very hard to keep her voice level. "What are you doing here?" She turned her gaze onto Rhaenys. "What are you doing here?"

She wished she could say she was surprised at the barely held back hostility, but she was not, and it was all she could do not to wince under the gaze of her sister. . When her voice finally seemed to work again, the first words out of her mouth were an incredulous "What am I doing here?" she started, before turning to Lord Stark. "Did you know she was here, all this time?"

The Warden of the North said nothing, his cold eyes staring resolutely ahead at some spot in the woods. He barely managed to keep his upper lip from curling in a complete sneer.

It was answer enough.

It explained so much. She'd believed that Lord Stark's dislike of them was an inheritance due to the actions of their father. But that would be strange because he never stopped them from becoming friends with his other children.

No. He'd been hostile to them because he wanted them gone. He wanted Joan to be allowed to come back to Winterfell. Not stay hiding out here. More than that, Robb Stark and Catelyn Stark's hostility now had a root. They were not Ned Stark. They had not known Lyanna Stark. Only Joan. "Oh seven hells," she thought. "She told them." Of course she did. Why wouldn't she? She had no reason to hide the treatment she'd received with them in the Red keep. Not from her family.

Suddenly the woods felt colder, and Targaryen and Stark banners flapped in the winter wind, reminding Rhaenys of Grey Wind, snarling at the hissing Moonfyre.

Visenya

(Location: Winterfell)

Visenya sat at her place at the high table and watched her half-sister talking animatedly with Arya Stark with a shortening temper. Four days ago, that girl looked at her like she was the best thing in Westeros. Now, the Stark girl couldn't be bothered to look her way. All her attention was on Joan.

Frankly, it made Visenya want to—

"Stop doing that," Rhae whispered from her left, poking at her side.

"Doing what?"

"Looking at Joan like you want to burn her with Seawing," she said.

Not exactly a bad idea… though she doubted their hosts would share her enthusiasm. She diverted her attention, watching the northern lords behave like a bunch of rowdy brigands, trying to put her mind out of it.

She wasn't wholly sure why her sister's presence was irritating her so very much. But it was there. Deciding to poke fun at Rhaenys' concern she whispered back. "Can you cover for me while I go get her?" Her sister smacked on the arm, rather hard really. Visenya grinned even as she rubbed the pain away. "Don't tell me you're not thinking the same thing." She poked, eyeing her eldest sister.

"I'm not." Rhaenys should have looked like she was lying. At best, she should have looked completely apathetic one way or another. But, if anything, she looked…sad.

Visenya didn't know why. Joan was better off gone as far as she was concerned; and her presence did nothing dissuade her of the idea. Ever since Joan rode into Winterfell with the hunting party, she was at best, short, blunt, and sullen, at least as far as anyone in the Targaryen camp was concerned, with the possible exception of Ser Jaime. To others, she was kind, warm, and able to laugh or smile. They rarely saw that side of her, seeing it only when they caught her unawares. If any of them made their presence known, her attitude would freeze faster than ice water.

She didn't want her sister sad. She wanted her angry. She wanted her to feel the same outrage she felt. "So, have you talked to Sansa recently?" she asked, knowing full well that the eldest Stark girl and Rhae were getting on fine.

Rhae paused in sipping from her wine. "I tried. Joan came into the room and said that she needed Sansa for something. They left and didn't come back."

"Really?" asked Aegon from their right. He was the closest to the Starks but the distance between them might as well have been a gorge. "She did the same thing to me when I offered Brandon a chance to spar. She just walked right up to us, asked the boy if he had found any new climbing spots, and they just walked away."

Honestly, it seemed like no matter where Joan was in the castle, her sole objective was to put as much proverbial distance between the Starks them. If she wasn't in the training yard with Robb Stark or Theon Greyjoy, she was either with Sansa knitting (always knitting, never embroidery), or taking lessons with Maester Luwin alongside Arya, Bran, or Rickon.

Certainly, if they insisted they could…invite themselves as it were. But from there it was terribly awkward to say the very least. It even extended to their retinue, or at least part of it. Before they got to Winterfell, Ser Jaime trained with Visenya nearly every day without prodding. Now, it seemed like he was sparring against Joan more than he did with her.

"Why is she doing this?" Visenya wondered aloud, trying to not sound as angry as she genuinely felt.

"Poetic justice?" suggested Aegon. He had a bitter hint to his tone.

Rhae looked at him pointedly. "There's nothing poetic about it. We know why she's doing this. She doesn't want this family to be too influenced by us."

Visenya didn't know what she was talking about. She chose to keep glaring at her half-sister. She didn't have a lot of memories of Joan when they were kids. She was always on the outskirts of her world until she simply wasn't there anymore. Visenya didn't care. She was more concerned about her big sister and brother.

She didn't have time for Joan or her sullen nature. Egg was being trained to be king and Rhae went through all the books in the Red Keep's library and then any she could get her hands on. Visenya knew there were expectations on her shoulders too; an expectation for her to contribute. And so she'd focused on becoming a warrior. She gave it everything she had and soon people began talking about how she rode a horse, wielded a sword and a lance. They spoke of how she fought just as well as Aegon, if not better.

That was her focus, even then. Not Joan. If her sister and brother had some insight from those early years, it was lost on her. Frankly, as far as she'd ever cared to wonder, Joan was dead. Their father's search had been a fruitless one.

And then Joan rode back into their lives

She had learned from Arya that Joan had not lived in Winterfell for some months now but in a small cottage out in the wolfswood. She lived off the land, hunting her own food, carving out her own life for herself. Visenya could never imagine doing something like that. She couldn't imagine hunting down an animal in order to eat it.

Another thing that made her feel less was just how beautiful her half-sister looked. Now, Visenya knew that she was beautiful herself, with her mother's olive skin and her father's purple eyes. Her hair was truly where they came together. It was blonde as Aegon's hair but fell in careless ringlets like Rhaenys's. But Joan was a wild beauty. Her grey eyes could be alluring when warm and seeing her hair pulled back into that ponytail made Visenya wonder what it would look like out of it. The thing was, she didn't look like she put any effort into making herself beautiful. She didn't even look she cared if she was beautiful or not.

It just made her madder. "I still think that setting Seawing on her would be good." She could have a laugh watching Joan try to put out the fire on her clothes or hair.

Rhaenys smacked her again. "Stop it." Her sister's vice was sharp, clipped. There was a silence between them and the Targaryen sisters did their best to put their minds on other subjects, or at the very least, find some kind of distraction.

Finally it was Aegon who spoke. "I found her with the dragons this morning."

That got their attention. "What? What was she doing there?" Visenya asked, casting a suspicious look at Joan. "Was she trying to steal them?"

Aegon shrugged. "I don't know. When I tried confronting her about, she just walked right past me without a word."

"Lady Visenya!" roared one of the Umbers from where he sat. Many Northern bannermen had come to the feast. They paid only lip service to the Targaryens, choosing to focus on the Starks. This was the first time one of them had actually called out for them. Though Visenya was a little irritated by the phrase. She was a princess, not a lady.

Still, he called for her and she must reply. "Yes, my lord?" she called out to him. He ignored her staring resolutely past her. It was as strange as it was insulting. Anger started to bubble up in her at his disrespect. She opened her mouth to speak, to rain fire from her tongue, but a sharp look from Rhae stopped that. Rhae could always do that to her, ordering her with a single glance. So instead, she asked, "My lord?"

Again, the Umber ignored her. Visenya was about to let her anger have voice, to hell with Rhaenys' look or wishes. "Lord Umber, my name is Joan," spoke her half-sister. "Is there you something wish of me?

Visenya felt herself go cold. She'd known, intellectually that her name had been Joan's name first, until their father's obsession with prophecy had driven him to take Joan's name and give it to her. It was the first time, however, that fact was so open and brazenly thrown in her face. As if reprimanding her for it.

Umber smiled. A nasty, thin thing that Visenya just knew was directed at her even though he never looked her way. "Might we have an indulgence of you to play, my lady?" Lord Umber asked. "It's one of the joys coming to Winterfell!" The hall roused with shouted agreement at the idea. Joan smiled, standing from her place at the chair to the cheers of the Northmen.

"She can play?" The thought made Visenya burn with a quiet envy. She looked to Egg and Rhae. They were surprised too. None of them could play or sing. It was the one thing they didn't get from their father. But it went to Joan?

A northern servant girl scurried out of a hallway, smiling as she handed Joan a stringed instrument, a box-like thing that was curved along the edges and steel wires strung along the top side, place her chin on it, and readied a bow.

Visenya could not take her eyes off her. She played with a lightness that seemed somehow airy yet fast at the same time and for the first time since she rode into Winterfell's gates alongside the sullen Lord Stark, Joan looked like their father rather than some Northern barbarian.

Other instruments joined her, making the music fuller but she was still at the center of it. When she moved from her place, something unexpected, she looked like she danced with a light step. She walked through the hall, playing the instrument with enjoyment. She swayed with the music as she walked. It almost looked like her entire body was playing it. When she turned back to the high table, Visenya saw that her eyes were closed. She played her music with passion and walked without needing to look. It was enrapturing.

Then the music ended and the hall erupted into cheers. It was the Umber and Mormont men that cheered loudest; defiantly chanting "Visenya!" again and again. It made the real Visenya burn with a fury and her hatred of her half-sister grew again. The fury stayed until the feast was beginning to wind down, with the invited lords and their men retiring for the night.

Her temper always burned hot. Her mother said she was like her uncle Oberyn in that. Whether it was Targaryen or Dornish in nature it didn't matter, because as she willed herself to walk the steps to her rooms the fire in her gut made her whirl right around and make her way to Joan's rooms.

She shoved the door to her sister's rooms open. Joan turned from the fire, her fingers halfway through bringing her tunic up over her body, revealing her skin underneath. She saw Visenya and her eyes went wide. "What are you doing here?" she asked, pulling the shirt back down fast. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for something.

She didn't care. "What did you do up here?" she asked. It was a loaded question, completely inadequate to the sheer volume of questions she actually had, but it was the best her anger would let her speak at the moment. "What did you do to make the northerners turn against your own family?"

Those grey eyes stopped moving and came to look at her, gaze hardening into steel. "I didn't do anything. House Targaryen did it themselves." Her lip curled, looking at Visenya with a condemnation few had ever dared. "The North doesn't take kindly to name-stealers."

She didn't expect that to be a reason. It just seemed so…petty. "That's all!?" she demanded. "It's only a name!"

Joan's eyes seemed to burn the firelight. "It made you angry enough."

Visenya felt her lip curl, caught in the proverbial trap.

Joan drew herself up to her full height. Stark genes had blessed her with almost half a head over Visenya, staring down at her younger sister. "It was my name before you were born. Once you came slithering out of your bitch of a mother, it was taken from me and I was left nameless for two years. Two. Years. Until I gave myself one."

"Don't you dare call my mother that," she warned her, stepping closer to her.

"I'll call your mother what I damn well want."

She stepped closer to her, feeling her fist tighten the urge to punch this half a wildling bastard was almost overwhelming. "My mother is not a bitch. She is a kind and loving woman. While you're nothing but a filthy—"

"A filthy what!?" growled Joan, getting right in Visenya's face, snarling like some beast, eyes glinting like flint knives. "Well, go on! Go on and say it!"

There was a sudden knock at the door. A hard, quick thing that seemed to be done more out of politeness than anything else, seeing as how the person didn't wait for an answer before pushing it open, revealing none other than Lady Stark.

The guards at the door may not have stopped her, but they weren't idle either. "Princess Visenya." She curtsied. "I was not expecting you here."

"Of course you weren't," the youngest Targaryen hissed before rounding on her heel and marching out the door. Lady Stark did not follow.

Rounding the corner towards another hallway, she all but ran straight into Egg and Rhaenys. "Senya!" her brother said in surprise.

She wondered what they were doing here when their rooms were on the other side of the castle "Egg, Rhae," she said.

She stopped when she saw Lord Stark standing behind them, still dressed from the feast, features carved out of ice as he stared at the three dragons with all the warmth of the bloody Wall "Your Highnesses," said Lord Stark, making Egg and Rhae turn to look at him. "If you will please follow me," It would sound like a request coming from anyone else. .

"And why should we?" Rhae asked him, it was clear that the tension was beginning to wear on her. She was normally the most diplomatic of the three, but even her patience was wearing thin of Stark's hardly hidden dislike of them.

He was not impressed. "You are guests underneath my roof, Princess Rhaenys. As your host, I am well in my rights to ask you three for a moment to speak about your sister, my niece." He turned and walked down the corridor.

They followed him until they reached his solar. A fire was going in the pit, keeping the room warm. Lord Stark went to his seat but there were no other chairs in the room. They were forced to stand before his desk like disobedient children. Visenya didn't like the blatant attempt at intimidation.

The silence stretched on for a time before Stark spoke, bluntly and without preamble. "I am disappointed in King Rhaegar."

"You speak of the king, Lord Stark," Visenya warned him. "Watch what you say next."

He looked at her hard. "When the king has made my niece feel that she could only find solace and comfort in the Mad King I had tried to overthrow, or that she needed to flee to the North to find her family. I do not have it in me to mince words and courtesies."

"Of course," Egg said, taking the reins of the conversation. "We…understand that our past actions and treatment of Joan was…" He paused, as if trying to find the proper word, before finally giving up. "But… even so Lord Stark, how you and Lord Arryn conspired to spirit her to the north and keep her hidden was—" He stopped. Lord Stark's face made it clear enough. That was the wrong thing to say.

"Do you think that Lord Arryn had simply sent her north, Prince? He didn't. She came to the North with Domeric Bolton, Lord Bolton's son. She fled from you at no one's encouragement but her own. And before he could bring her to Winterfell, he was killed by his bastard brother. That same brother decided to hunt Joan for sport, setting dogs on her."

This…this part of the story they hadn't known about. Visenya had heard stories of 'The Bastard of Bolton' along their tour of the kingdoms. His cruelty had been gaining quite a bit of notoriety before Lord Stark had literally cut his infamy rather short. Guess now they knew why.

"Her life was only saved when a group of wildings found her and chased away the dog that had finally caught her. She still has a scar on her hip from where it tore at her. The wildings took her back over the Wall. She lived there, out in the coldness and away from any of her family for three years. She might have stayed there forever had the raiding party she had joined chose not to try go over the Wall. Her life was only spared because she surrendered to my brother. When she was brought to Winterfell she was a quiet and frightened girl, who stayed away from everyone." He stood, leaning on the desk. "And that is all owed to you."

It was like a curse on his lips. "I don't care to hear your or your father's explanations as to what happened in years past. I don't care to have you all knowing she's alive. You coped well enough when she was dead. Though I know it's too much to hope for that word will not reach King's Landing as soon as you are south of the Neck. What I will request of you, your Highnesses, is that you leave this place soon, and leave her in peace."

It was an absurd demand. Something no house in the Seven Kingdoms' would dare utter to a member of the royal family. But here was Lord Stark, staring at the three of them, and all but demanding they leave his house.

They were Targaryens with dragons once again.

The man must be insane.

"Lord Stark," it was Rhae who spoke. Her earlier irritation gone, replaced by a despondent sort of resignation. "Could we do anything to fix what has happened?"

"I don't believe that there is," Ned Stark said to them. "That is why I ask you to leave. Leave Winterfell and the North," he repeated. "Your tour of Westeros is over. The dragons have been seen by all the Seven Kingdom's. Go back to the south and leave Joan be."

They looked at each other. Visenya knew she was trying to believe that she had misheard the man. But her ears were clear and sound of hearing. He hadn't misled or deceived them. "Lord Stark, we cannot leave without Joan," Egg said in reply. "The king has ordered us to bring her back if we found her."

"He ordered you. I have yet to hear those orders from him. Joan will stay here in the North, where she wants to be. She will not go back with you."

Egg recovered and tried to speak. "Lord Stark—"

He fell silent when Lord Stark stared him down. He wasn't alone in that feeling. Visenya had it too. She took one look at Rhae and saw she had it too. "When my lady wife suggested that Joan could back down to King's Landing to let her family know that she was alive, she panicked and nearly shut herself away from everyone. It took me two days to coax her back, promising her that I would never send her south if she didn't want to go. When you found her in the wolfswood, I knew that my promise would be tested. I don't intend to break it. So I will ask you again: please leave Winterfell in the morning." He straightened, moving from behind his desk, past them and out the door without another word.

They left the room quietly after that. Almost slinking away like cowardly beasts. Lord Stark had all but tacitly declared that he was willing to go to war for Joan to remain in the north if it came down to it. Visenya fell into an uneasy, fitful sleep that night, feeling exposed, surrounded by these northerners who looked at the Targaryen banner like a guest that had worn out their welcome rather than their rulers, all because of the sister that looked at them like trespassers rather than any sort of family.

Robb

(Location: Winterfell)

Usually, seeing his cousin Joan ride through Winterfell's gate was cause to make Robb stop whatever it was he was doing and go get his siblings. Arya never left her side when she was here, and Joan was always willing to go and watch Bran climb. But now, by the look on her face alone he could tell now wouldn't be the best time for it.

She caught sight of him and smiled. It didn't fully reach her eyes. She dismounted and led her horse to the stables. He descended from the walls and approached. Ghost padded close, still as quiet as ever. He reached his hand out, and the snow white beast nuzzled his head into his palm as Grey Wind bounded through the courtyard, excited to see his brother again. "Joan," he called, "Is everything alright?"

"I guess, it would depend," she answered, not looking at him. She was more concerned about getting her horse settled.

That in itself was concerning. While Joan could ride, it was hardly her forte, and caring for the horse she used was a job she was more than willing to delegate to the stable boys. If she was doing this…then she was stalling.

He took note of a sword and a bow slung against the saddle. The hilt of the sword was a remarkable thing of gold with a ruby red jewel in its pommel. Hardly something he expected her to be carrying around. The bow as well looked easily as tall as Joan and was made from weirwood. There was a satchel resting against the saddle as well.

Finally, after nearly five minutes of settling the horse, it seemed his cousin realized she could not put off whatever this was forever. Grabbing bow, blade and bag, she carried all three, and held the satchel like it was the most delicate treasure of them all. "Robb is your father busy?" she asked him, holding the urn close to her chest.

Now he knew she was stalling. "Father will make time for you. He always has."

She'd gone off to the Wall almost a full two months ago. Her visits there weren't exactly unheard of. But he had to wonder what had disturbed her so much this last time.

"Is he in his solar?"

"I believe so. Otherwise we can check the godswood."

"Thanks." She walked into the castle. He followed after her, both curious and slightly concerned about how strange she was acting.

Grey Wind and Ghost remained in the yard. She didn't object to his presence. The castle servants and guards bowed their heads as they went by, fists striking chest plates with small mutterings of 'My Lord' and 'Princess' in equal measure.

They came to Father's solar and Joan knocked on the door. "Come in," said Father. They came in and he looked up from his desk, a rare smile pulling at his lips. "Joan, you're back." He stood, abandoning the papers at his desk. "You were at the Wall a long time."

"Sorry, Uncle," she apologized, meaning it. "It wasn't my intention to make you worry."

"What kept you?"

Robb backed towards the door again. "I'll take my leave, Father."

She turned her head to look at him. "No, Robb. Her voice sounded… hesitant. It had been a while since he'd heard her like that. "Please stay."

He shut the door and marched back in, his curiosity and concern reaching entirely new heights. She looked back at the Warden of the North, seemingly shifting in nervous disquiet. "Maester Aemon is dead."

Ned Stark frowned, "I'd hoped it'd be a passing thing…but I suppose he would know better than any of us."

She nodded. "Thank you, for letting me go so he wouldn't be alone."

Robb's eyes fell to the satchel she held. It was just the right size for an urn…now that he looked at it. "Is that…?" He couldn't even ask the question.

But she knew and nodded. "Yes, his ashes." She gave the satchel a look of love tinged with sadness. Robb wasn't sure how close his cousin and the maester had been. Though he did know that the old maester wrote to her at least twice a month when he could. .

Joan seemed hesitant, biting at her lip. "He…asked me to take his ashes south, back to King's Landing." Robb and his father both seemed to take a deep breath at that.

Wolves never did well in the south, Joan even less so. She'd probably come here to ask for an escort of some kind. Something that could help guarantee that she'd be allowed to return as soon as her duty was done. To avoid her siblings, or her father trying to force her to remain south.

At least that's what Robb thought. It was a thought that was abruptly shattered at Joan's next words. "And…" She paused, almost like she was trying to force the words out. "And he wanted me to try and mend my ties with my…family."

Robb felt like he'd been kicked by a mule. It had been months since the Targaryens had left Winterfell and he felt his anger at the silver haired, purple eyed troupe bubbling back up to the surface.

He didn't know the whole story. He didn't want to know the whole story. What he did know was enough to make his blood boil with quiet resentment to the arrogant flying lizards. And now she was being asked to go back and stay there.

She could have lied. She could simply send a northern troop of soldiers to deliver the ashes and stay in the North where she was safe. But he knew his cousin well enough to know that if she promised someone something…she would do it.

Father was silent, thinking hard. When he spoke, he did not ask why she was here. Instead, he asked her, "Do you want to go back to King's Landing?"

"I don't know," she answered. "That place has horrible memories for me. But I promised Maester Aemon that I would take him back."

Father marched around his desk and walked over to her. He took her cheek in his hand and tilted her face to look at him. "Joan, you will have to go back to King's Landing. But you must never forget what and who you are. You might have the Targaryen name, but you have the blood of the Starks in you too. You were a pup when you left. You will return a wolf. Show them that. They may have fire, but you have winter in your veins."

"You can do it, Joan," Robb agreed. "You've got our stubborn nature. It's what sent Ser Lewyn back south the second time."

If there was one person his cousin hadn't liked just as much as her siblings, it would've been the Martell Kingsguard. The two of them could only glare at the other when the dragons were visiting but they never spoke to one another.

When Ser Lewyn rode back, explaining that the king had ordered him to guard Joan, she simply mounted her horse and rode off into the wolfswood. The Kingsguard had been sure that she would come back eventually and chose to wait. His waiting lasted a month before he finally rode back south, claiming that his niece had sent him a raven. She and her children needed his protection more than a girl who didn't show herself. Robb might've called him a liar, but there had been a raven that day.

She looked at him with an exasperated look. "It's not my fault that he didn't come with me. I told him that I was going back to my cottage." They both chuckled at that.

Father smiled slightly but became serious again. "I will have some men guard you to the capital," he told Joan.

She shook her head. "There's no need for you to do that, Uncle. I'll go by myself. The Harvest is here, men are needed to work the fields to get ready for winter."

Robb wanted to object to that. He knew full well that Joan would be able to protect herself if she journeyed alone but she was still his cousin, one that would be traveling the length and breadth of the Kingsroad to arrive at King's landing, with the North not even sending a token escort.

But… he also knew that she was right. And more than that, he was well aware that his Father's words to the Targaryen's hadn't been viewed well by any south of the Neck. An armed escort of northerners wouldn't be well received by any hearth for fear of guilt by association.

"Very well," Father acquiesced. "But stay the night so you can probably say your goodbyes."

She nodded. "Of course, Uncle," she smiled, a bittersweet thing that seemed frail as she realized it would be the last time she would see her cousins for many long years.

Daenerys

(Location: Red Keep)

As Dany waited with the court, she kept herself busy admiring the three dragons at the feet of Aegon and his sisters. They were as large as hounds now and looked beautiful. Again, there was a twinge of jealousy in her stomach as she looked at them. It was wrong to have that jealousy. She should be glad that her family had dragons again.

Her brother, Viserys, had been the one who gave them dragons again, her dear brother who so many whispered was mad like their father. He had gone to the Free Cities to find an answer, driven to the very edge of the world for his boyhood dream to bring them back.

He had come back with an answer. But he'd also returned with an illness that was killing him.. He gave up his life by being burned alive with four dragon eggs. Three of them hatched.

The hatched dragons had waddled and stumbled over to Rhaegar's children but the fourth egg didn't have a crack. She couldn't help but be angry at that. She was a dragon herself, Viserys was her brother. Why would the egg not hatch for her?

Mother saw where her gaze went. "They are magnificent creatures," she said simply.

Dany didn't know if she said those words because they were true or to ease the jealousy burning inside her. "They are," she agreed.

Her mother looked at the doors of the throne room. Dany looked to the doors too. Lord Varys had reported that Joan had been sighted from the Dragon Gate. Rhaegar had sent Ser Jaime with a guard detachment to escort her to the Red Keep and had the court had assembled so they could greet her. If Dany were any judge she should be arriving right about—

The herald banged his staff against the floor suddenly, the noise echoing in the hall. Everyone fell silent at the sound. He called out the words in a clear voice "Presenting Princess Joan Targaryen." The hall doors were pushed open by two men in Targaryen colors and shields, twice as big as any man.

Joan walked through the doors, Ser Jaime standing at the hallway behind her. She approached the Iron Throne with the direwolf that Rhaenys said she had. A white beast twice the size of the largest dog Danny had ever seen. Soon enough he'd be the size of a small pony.

The court drew back from her, like waves parting around a rock. She didn't blame them really. Joan did not look like a Targaryen princess. She looked about as at home here as a knife stabbed into a table. The vibrant red and yellow hues of ladies dresses and dark blues and purples of nobleman's formal wear was contrasted sharply by her clothes of black and boiled leather. A black a traveling cloak over her body was the only thing that seemed even remotely fit for the silks of the court. It must have been a gift from Lord Stark. The material looked good enough. She was also holding something, something that was kept close to her side.

Daenerys glanced out the corner of her eye at Aegon and his sisters. He and Rhaenys looked at Joan with a hesitant… wariness, if she had to place it. Visenya seemed more disdainful than hesitant, staring at Joan as one would look at an unwelcome guest.

Joan made her way up the light steps, approaching the Iron Throne. She did not bow her head or bend her knee. She didn't even curtesy. She stood tall with a straight back as she looked at Rhaegar. "Father," she said.

Rhaegar looked down at her. He looked every ounce the king with the golden band that was the crown of Aegon V. But even though his face was stately, Daenerys could see the emotion in his eyes. Her brother was never one for public displays… but the joy was there. "Joan, you've come back to us," he said so all could hear. "Your brother and sisters had said that you would never leave the North."

"I had hoped to keep it so."

Dany could see that same joy, quiet as it had been, die just as quietly, replaced by sadness as the court gasped at her words. "Why have you come back then? Lord Stark's raven did not explain." Rhaegar's voice rolled through the hall, quieting the muttering noblemen.

Her face became mournful and sad. "Maester Aemon's watch has ended."

There was not much of a reaction from the court. Dany herself was only faintly aware of the Targaryen at the Wall. She had never gone to meet him (it was cold up North. Dragons don't do well in the cold, like wolves in the south.). Still, he was family and she felt sadden to know that he had passed.

Joan continued. "He bade me to take his ashes back to King's Landing, to be buried beneath the Great Sept."

"Then we shall prepare a ceremony to have them interned," Rhaegar declared.

Joan reached into a satchel that was hanging from her hip, pulling free a simple, black urn, tied closed with cord and rope.

Ser Barristan stepped forward, bowing politely. "Princess," he said, holding out his hands. Joan passed it to him, her eyes sad as she watched Barristan carry the remains away.

She remained in place, turning back to look at Rhaegar. Her brother looked down from his place on the throne. "Did he bid you to do something else?"

"He did," Joan replied, and this time, she looked uncomfortable. "He…asked me, as one last kindness, to come south and mend my ties with my family."

The hall was so quiet, one could have heard a pin drop, and Dany could almost see the cogs and wheels turning in the minds of all the would-be favored and aspiring meddlers that were trying to organize this new piece of the royal family into the game.

"It's because of that request why I haven't left King's Landing yet," she flatly declared.

Rhaegar looked down at her. "Thank you for the effort, Joan," he said with a kindness in his voice. Dany knew that he meant each word he said. "Welcome home."

She winced at that last word. She must've thought differently. But instead of saying what she thought, she said, "Maester Aemon gave me gifts to bring back south." She pulled out the clothed object and took the cloth off. As it fell to the ground, she held a sword in her hands. The sheathed blade was slender, the handle was golden and a ruby held the centerpiece. Daenerys didn't need to see the blade to know that it was Valyrian steel. She knew what the sword was, having seen its picture before.

She wasn't the only one to recognize it. Mother bit back a surprised sound as she looked at it. "Dark Sister," breathed out Rhaegar as he stared at the sword. The court let out a collective gasp at those words. A sword of House Targaryen had come back to them. "Where has it been?"

"Brynden Rivers took it with him when he journeyed to the Wall. He chose to keep it with him when he heard what happened with the children of Aegon V. 'If his children cannot obey him, why should the lords of Westeros?' he told Maester Aemon. Before he disappeared, he left this with him and he told me where to find it. Now I bring it back."

Danny expected her to stretch it out and hand it to Rhaegar. Instead, with a sharp turn to the right of the throne, she walked to her siblings, Dark Sister held out to them. Her direwolf sat still and quiet, staring at the Targaryen family with blood red eyes that seemed to judge them. Dany watched, wondering if she would give it to Aegon or Visenya. It made the most sense to her mind for the sword to go either to the heir to the Iron Throne or the namesake of its original wielder.

As she approached them, the dragons turned their heads towards her, and for the first time, the direwolf moved beside its master. Seawing approached, hissing quietly in warning. Joan stopped and Dany noted Visenya did nothing to call her dragon off. For now, however, the direwolf was at least twice the dragon's size and settled for staring it down with a disinterested look.

Dany was worried it would come to some form of violence between the two 'companions' when Rhaegar finally decided to intervene. "Visenya," he said once.

With a hissed command, Seawing flapped its wings, getting off the ground and approaching the stands that she and her siblings could use as perches. As it settled, the dragon stopped its hissing and looked at the wolf with what Dany could've sworn was speculative eye. Finally, it turned back to Moonfyre and Fang, squealing and chirping at them. The court seemed like it allowed themselves to release a collective breath and Joan continued.

To Dany's surprise however, she did not go to Aegon or Visenya. She went to Rhaenys. "For the eldest," she declared. "I'm sure that your skill with a sword will enable you to wield it properly."

Dany was stunned by the move. Then she became suspicious. Out of the three of them, Rhaenys had the least amount of skill with a sword, preferring a book and her mind as a weapon. Yet, she was the one being offered Dark Sister. Was it meant as an insult? She could see it being as such.

But Rhaenys did not say anything in return. She simply took the offered sword with a bow. "Thank you, Joan." Words so quiet Dany was sure no one but the family and those nearest too them could have a hope of hearing.

"You said that there were gifts, Joan," Rhaegar said.

"I did. I'm keeping Brynden Rivers' war bow. I'll have better use for it." She stared up at him in silent challenge. He didn't respond to it. She scowled but he still did nothing.

"What is she waiting for?" Daenerys wondered. The direwolf padded to her side, brushing its head against her hand.

Joan stepped back, away from her three siblings before turning and marching, instead, to the left side of the throne, marching straight towards her. When she stopped in front of her, Danny could see that Joan was of a height with Aegon, but maybe a little shorter, standing a full head over her Targaryen aunt.

Dany wondered what she would do next. It was a feeling that made her nervous but also curious. "Daenerys," Joan said, her voice echoing throughout the hall, "I ask for your forgiveness." She said, bowing her head the slightest bit as she reached out and held Danny's hands.

The hold on them was gentle but she thought they were like iron too. She could only look at Joan. "What forgiveness?"

"For what I tried to do to you when we were children," she answered.

Dany was disquieted by the meaning. She remembered that day all too well. Joan had asked if she wanted to see something and she had said yes. It was only when she saw where they were going, up the tower that none of the children were allowed to go up, that she started to have doubts. She tried to stop but Joan insisted that she come. It quickly became a struggle and she screamed, getting the attention of Ser Gerold.

That was the last time she'd ever really seen Joan. A week later Mother had left the Red Keep, and gone to Dragonstone, chased by renewed nightmares. She had been taken to Dragonstone too. By the time she'd returned to the Keep, Joan was gone. It truly was tragic that their last interaction had gone so terribly.

She looked past Joan and saw that the entire court was watching. Were they hoping that she would reject her? She could, but what happened was well over a decade ago. She had long since learned that it had been her father locked up in that tower. "You are forgiven, Joan," she finally said.

Joan sighed in relief, her strong posture sagging for a brief moment. She was actually worried that she would be rejected. "Thank you." She stepped back and looked at Mother. "Queen Rhaella, I heard about my uncle. I am sorry that I never had the chance to meet him." Mother didn't say anything. Staring at Joan with an expression that could have been carved from weirwood and offering only a single nod.

Joan stepped away, back to the foot of the steps that led to the throne, staring at them all like some amassed force she was suddenly arrayed against, or perhaps some wild animal that would eat her alive if she let her guard down.

She did not look at any of them like family.

She looked to Rhaegar, her father. "By your leave?" she asked. But it was in so much as one would ask in a way that indicated just what the answer should be.

The sadness cut through her brother deeply. She could tell. He nodded. "You have my leave."

Joan closed her eyes and breathed out something that could only be called relief. She turned her back on the Iron Throne and walked out of the hall.

Elia

(Location: King's Landing)

It was not that Elia didn't know how she had treated her husband's Stark child. She knew it long before Oberyn declared that he would not come back to King's Landing. In the years since, he had kept his word. Her only connection to Dorne anymore was the monthly letters from Doran, and occasionally, his daughter Arianne.

She'd tried to keep her children away from Lyanna Stark's. Over time it became easier and easier, until one day she simply didn't have to do it ever again. Her children simply didn't associate with their northern half-sister. The courtiers and other sycophants knew well enough her displeasure could pass to them if they associated with Joan openly.

And Joan Targaryen became a ghost in the castle, the little black ghost of the Red Keep.

And when she disappeared…Elia couldn't remember if she felt guilt. Perhaps a part of her had. Perhaps it had been drowned out by the quiet, vindictive relief she felt. She'd thought Joan long dead. Most of the realm thought her dead. The little ghost had vanished so much more quietly than she'd come into the world.

Then they found her in the North. Because of course she would have gone there.

Rhaegar had wanted to search there too, to drag half the realm through the northern countryside to find Joan. It had been Varys who cautioned her husband to it. The North was not their friend. And the loss of the princess compounded by a virtual army moving through Moat Cailin and up the Neck would not sit well with the resentful northern banners.

Her children had returned from Winterfell with their dragons, soldiers, and Kingsguard in tow. It had been her uncle that returned to the North again, wheeling around at Riverrun once her children were safe to look after the fourth. She had Pycelle send a raven for him, asking him to come back. He obeyed, leaving the girl alone in the North where Elia hoped she would be forgotten again.

Elia's luck wouldn't be that kind. Nary six months later they received word from the Starks that Joan Targaryen was returning south, returning to the Red Keep.

In truth, things could be far worse. Joan probably spent more time out of the city than in it, hunting in the Kingswood. At first she hunted alone, isolating herself.

That would change when Princess Arianne, along with three of Oberyn's youngest daughters came to visit the Red Keep for Rhaenys' name day. She had no doubt Oberyn had only allowed his daughters to travel here due to the news of Joan's return.

And then one fine day the Sand Snakes and Shireen Baratheon of all people had disappeared.. The Red Keep was practically torn apart trying to find them. Then Shireen's septa stepped forward and said that Joan had simply walked into the room and told Shireen to come with her. The men of Sunspear reported a similar occurrence with and Oberyn's daughters. A distant, out of favor member of the royal family Joan might be. But she was a member of the royal family regardless.

Shireen and the others had obeyed. A search party was being organized when they rode back into the city through the south gate with a stag. Shireen had all but run to her father to tell him of how they hunted the stag and she fired the killing shot. Whether Stannis liked the idea of his daughter hunting or not, she couldn't say. She doubted it.

Since then, the girl would tell any random number of girls to follow her into the woods to hunt, always girls, never boys. She never picked the same girl twice and they were from all across the Seven Kingdoms. Soon, it became a fight between the girls of the court to try and gain her favor to hunt. The court might have found it odd but Elia would swear the girls became close as sisters when they returned.

But that was not all she did. When she was in the Red Keep, the girl would have nothing to do with the ladies her age, not that her sister Rhaenys's didn't try to get her to join. Every offer to sit and embroidery was rejected, every chance to have lunch was ignored, and even the offer to have a bedmate was scorned. The closest she had gotten to being sociable was walking into an embroidery circle, take whatever she needed, and walk out of the room. Elia would later find out that whatever she had taken was used to sew an article of clothing that had been damaged.

The most surprising thing that came to her attention was how the girl was a hypocrite. She had said she had come back south to mend her ties with her family, but every time Elia had seen her near any of her children, she would leave without a word.

Frankly, she would have left it at that, and never touched the subject. The less time spent with Joan the better in her mind. But to watch Rhaenys and Aegon's notable melancholy at the state of things continue drove her to finally confront the girl on her hypocrisy.

She could either change her attitude, or give up this farce for what it was and skulk back to the frozen North.

She'd tried to summon her at first. But she would either not be found, or that wolf of hers would quietly intercept anyone she sent before the message could be delivered. Grudgingly, she had to admit that beast was far more clever than one would first assume.

This would go on for a solid week until finally, she had enough.

Waiting for the dead of night, at the time Varys said she would usually retire for her rooms, she marched right in without a single word of warning. The door struck the wall and Elia noticed the blood red eyes of the direwolf peering up at her from the floor where the beast was laying across from her, along with a bucket hanging over the fire, water boiling within it. Joan was next to it, a tunic and some thin clothes to cover her modesty.

She saw something red against the skin of her hip before Joan moved lightning fast, grabbing at some bed sheets and pulling it over her shoulders like a robe. "What do you want?" the girl demanded, outrage mixed with fear.

Elia ignored the rudeness, choosing to look at where the redness had been. "What was that I just saw?" she asked. "Show me."

"No," the girl said back. Her hands were clenched tight around her tunic's hem.

"Show me, girl." She didn't say anything but glared at her with eyes full of anger and…nervousness? "Show me, or I will have the Kingsguard make you show me."

The anger overwhelmed the nervousness and she opened up the sheet to reveal a scar on her naked hip. "There, happy?"

Elia did not answer her. She stared at the scar. It was an angry, jagged thing. When she looked closer she realized that it wasn't one scar but several small scars so close together it could fool someone. "What happened?" she demanded.

She pulled the tunic down. "Why do you care?" Her voice was guarded as were her eyes. But beneath that guard was a small seed of fear.

It was a good question. But it wasn't one she cared to answer. "What happened?" she asked again. "What did this to you?"

"A dog," she answered, still holding the tunic tight against her body, "A dog that hunted me through the woods, intent on ripping me to shreds. It got me in the end and started tearing at my side. I would've been dead if the Free Folk hadn't saved me."

Yes, she remembered her children telling her and Rhaegar this story, of how she was hunted by Lord Bolton's bastard. Seeing the remains of that hunt was different from hearing about it. She could almost see the dog's teeth burying itself into the girl's hip. "Did he go away free?" she asked.

Joan looked at her cautiously, like she was expecting to be punished for what she might say. But she still spoke, "Only until Lord Stark rode to the Dreadfort to discuss the matter with Roose Bolton." Joan smiled. It was a twisted, cruel thing. "An hour later, that monster's head was on the block. Uncle let me swing the sword. The last thing he heard were the words I whispered in his ear: 'For Domeric.'"

She didn't show it, but Elia was stunned that a woman, even in the North would be able to do such a thing. Even Dorne, who gave women far more freedom than most, didn't have a female executioner. It was hardly a job women wanted really. She wondered just how horrible this "Bastard of Bolton" must have been like if she took such pleasure in her killing of him.

She drew her eyes to the boiling water. "What are you doing with that?" she asked, looking at the bucket over the fire.

"The steam helps me relax." she replied.

"The steam?" the queen repeated.

Joan shrugged. "It's cold in the north. The steam would keep the cabin Lord Stark gave me warm at night. It's unbearably hot in this gods forsaken place as it is. But I like the sound. It helps me sleep. Are you here for something?" she suddenly asked, bluntly, turning to look at her dead in the eye since Elia walked into the room.

With a start, the queen realized just then how much the daughter looked like the mother. It was like Lyanna Stark was looking back at her from across grave and time. Her grey eyes were damning, accusing. She almost took a step back at the ghost.

But she was a Martell. She would not bend, bow, or break before the shade of that Northern girl. "You said that you came back to mend your relationship with your family and yet, you've done as little as you can to do that."

"I've been busy."

"Hunting with little girls through the forest," she remarked. It almost sounded like a song or a story.

But she wasn't threatened or angered by the voice. "I'm trying to make sure that the relationships between the noble houses stay good through their daughters. Bonds of sisterhood are just as strong as brotherhood." She fell silent for a moment, her eyes going to the fire. "But you want to know why I'm not trying to be with your children."

"Yes," Elia said. "Why is that?"

"You," she said. Her voice and eyes became accusatory as she spoke. "I've thought of it. I know I'm hardly making good on my promise to Maester Aemon, but every time I think of going to them, to try and be their family, all I can see is you and your glare. You and the punishments you gave me whenever you were angry and I was convenient. Or whenever I was trying to be your daughter," she declared.

Elia didn't say anything back. There was nothing that could be said. The girl was right. She had looked at her like she didn't belong whenever she had come near her children. But that had been a little girl.

Standing before her was a woman who could fight back.

And Elia knew she was at a crossroads. A moment that could forever change what became of her family. That could change what became of her. Was she really so embittered by years and years of resentment and hurt, towards the memory of a long dead woman?

A part of her knew she was. The other part of her could remember Oberyn's retreating back as he left King's Landing, at Ellaria's hurt gaze and quiet condemnation, at her husband's silent despair after Joan's disappearance, at the memory of her children returning to the North. And she realized that this was hurting her family far more than it would ever harm her.

She could bear the weight of her own hate…

They couldn't.

The words escaped the cage of her teeth, and pained her with every uttered syllable. But she said them. "If that is what's keeping you from trying to bond with your siblings, I shall…keep myself from you." She turned and walked for the door.

"Why?" said the girl, making her stop in her tracks. "Why couldn't you have loved me?" There was an unguarded tone to her voice. It made her sound much younger.

"You know why," she thought to herself. It was because she reminded her so much of that girl Rhaegar had met at that damn tourney. Elia knew that she was never a great beauty like Cersei Lannister or her own niece, Arianne. At best, she could be called pretty. She had never thought that she would be married to Rhaegar. But once they were married in the eyes of the Seven, she promised herself that she would make him happy.

Then Harrenhal and Lyanna Stark happened. She had watched her own husband fall for a woman who was barely more than a girl. She wasn't insulted by that. She was just as Dornish as Oberyn. If her husband had taken the girl as a paramour, she wouldn't have objected. She would've been kind to whatever children they had. But no, Rhaegar did not take her as a paramour. He took her before a heart tree and "wedded" her.

To Elia, that screamed Rhaegar didn't think she was good enough, that if he had a choice he would've picked someone else to be his wife. When he came back from Dorne with Ned Stark, the girl's body, and her daughter, she could only see the sad look in his eyes. That tore at her even more.

And since then, every time she had seen Joan come her way as a child, all she could see was Lyanna Stark walking towards her. It made her angry and she lashed out at the girl, all to spite her dead mother.

But she would not tell her that, not now, not ever. "The proper form of address is 'your Grace,'" she told the girl before walking out of the room.

Samwell

(Location: King's Landing)

He sat alone at the table, watching the ball go on in front of him. His lord father had made it clear that he was not to embarrass the Tarly name tonight. That meant he would stay at their table and let his father, Dickon, his mother, and his sisters dance and talk. He would've brought a book but it would have made his lord father look at him ever worse.

He heard the chair next to him being pushed back. When he looked over and saw it was Princess Joan, his heart almost stopped. "Hello, Sam," she said with a smile. "It's good to see you again."

"P-P-Princess," he started, trying to say his courtesies.

But she stopped him before he could even begin. "Please, call me by my name." She kept smiling at him. "We were friends once, weren't we? I had hoped that we still would be."

He had hoped the same. He remembered the first time his father brought him to King's Landing along with the rest of his family for a celebration of King Rhaegar's nameday. He had hidden himself away in the library, where the princess had already been. She welcomed him and asked if he wanted to share the book she was reading. Within minutes they were talking about it and everything else they could think of. By the end of the day, they were friends. When he heard of how she vanished, he had cried.

But now she was back and she wasn't a girl any more. She was a woman with a woman's body. She was beautiful and Sam could not believe that she would want to be near him, let alone call her by her name. It took him a moment to muster the strength to say, "W-We are, J-Joan."

"Good." Her eyes found the dance floor.

He followed her gaze until he saw what she was looking at: Prince Aegon and Princess Visenya dancing together. They were in the center of the floor and all eyes were on them. They danced with the finest grace, almost as if they were from a song. He wondered why she would watch them. "Are you and your siblings on good terms?" he ventured; wondering if her disappearance had somehow changed the situation since his last time here.

She shrugged. "Not sure to be honest," she replied. "When I first saw them again at Winterfell, I didn't want to see them again."

He'd heard about the Targaryens' time in Winterfell. They had all heard about that. But that was also nearly a full year ago. "And now?" he asked.

Her eyes found them again. Sam looked that way too. And for the briefest of moments, the prince and the princess caught their gaze. The eyes Aegon and Visenya had were different. If Sam were any judge, Aegon looked at his sister with something he could almost fathom as a plea for her to come out onto the floor. Princess Visenya turned her eyes away. They looked uncertain.

He looked over at Joan, but she didn't look at him. "I'm trying," she finally said. "Yesterday, I was reading a book in the library. Rhaenys came in to read something else. We sat at the same table, reading. We didn't say anything to each other until I asked what she was reading. She told me and asked the same of me."

"O-oh, that's good?" It was more a question than a statement truth be told. One word of conversation over the titles of a book did not, a mended relationship make. His brother and sister could talk with him for hours on end. He saw his lord father dance with his mother close by. Lord Tarly's eyes found him and he looked away.

Princess Joan saw him do that. "Is everything alright?" she asked Sam. "Does your father still dislike you?"

He was embarrassed that she knew that. But it couldn't be helped. She had found him crying once after his lord father had berated him harshly. "Yes," he said in the end. "Nothing that I do can please him. I'm craven and I'll never be the warrior that he wants me to be." He shrugged, attempting to look nonchalant as he huffed. "I love my books and letters."

He didn't know what she would say to that. The silence between them was practically deafened by the sound of the ball before them. Prince Aegon was now dancing with Princess Rhaenys, and where Visenya looked like a graceful woman. Rhaenys looked as though she was born to dance, resplendent in silks of black and sun gold, the color of both her houses.

"You know," the Princess suddenly said. I think there might be a way to please your father with what you are," she said to him.

Sam looked back at her. "How?" he asked her. He certainly couldn't think of anything.

"When I was with the Free Folk, I lived with Mance Rayder."

He was astounded. He hadn't even known she'd spent time with the wildlings. Oh of course there were rumors but he really hadn't paid them much mind. The court would spin any fanciful tale to suit their interests. The last he'd heard she had a wolf. Laughable that. And, of course there was the one where she, or the "wolf" was some kind of winter spirit that could haunt men's dreams and freeze their blood. "The King-Beyond-The-Wall?" he asked her.

"Aye," she said with a nod. "One of the men that followed him is called Tormund Gaintsbane. He's stronger, tougher, and fiercer than Mance with a voice that could match a thunderstorm. I had wondered why it wasn't him that led the Free Folk since he seemed to be the ideal. He just laughed, agreed with what I said, but told me that Mance had the one thing he didn't have: cunning." She smiled at him encouragingly. "You've got the same cunning, Sam. Use that to prove yourself to your father."

It sounded like a good idea. But he didn't know how he could do something like that. "How?" he asked her, hoping that she would have the answer.

She drank some wine at the table. "There's more to a battle than just the fighting," she finally said, putting the goblet down on the table.

They continued to watch the dance. Everyone looked graceful as they moved with their partner. They almost looked as if they were from a song themselves. Sam felt even worse for not being a part of that. His eyes looked over at the princess next to him. His throat suddenly went dry as an idea came to his mind. "Your Highness," he said to her, trying to use what little courage to say the words, "w-would you like t-to…dance?"

She stared at him and for a moment, he thought himself foolish for asking her. She was a princess and he was clumsy on his feet. He would embarrass her. "That's flattering, Sam," she told him with a small smile. "But I wouldn't do you much good. I can't dance. Sorry."

He felt relieved at the refusal and then ashamed. "It's alright," he told her. "Perhaps we could just talk."

"Aye, that's sounds like a good idea to me."

"Your pardon," said a man as he sat down beside them. "Do you mind if I join you? I'm finding the entire ball rather depressing."

They both looked at him, taking in his thin frame and greyed-hair. "Be welcomed," the princess told him. "I'm Joan, this is Sam."

"Eddison, but most people find it's better to call me Edd," he introduced himself. "So, why are you two not dancing? It seems that you have found a partner in each other."

Joan shrugged her shoulders. "To say that I have two left feet would be a compliment. My septa despaired of me ever learning how to dance properly."

"Well, that can happen when your septa is a bear. I've heard they would rather have the frozen honey and sleep during the winter," he said with a completely straight face but with a droll sense of humor.

Whilst Sam was shocked, Joan laughed. "You recognized me."

"It would be hard not to, Princess. After all, you're the only one at this table with a dragon stitched into her dress."

"I'm the only one wearing a dress."

"There is that too. I wonder if I put myself in a dress, I would be able to have a dance."

Sam couldn't help find the idea funny. "You would certainly stand out," he said.

"True, I would look horrible in a dress." He regarded the entire ball. "But it would certainly make things interesting here. This place is already quite stuffy."

The princess looked at the ball with a speculative look. "Do you have any ideas on how to make more lively?" she asked him. She actually sounded interested. Sam felt afraid but interested at the same time too.

"Other than any plans that involve being an utter fool?" he asked, "Unfortunately not. Would anyone know how to play a humorous version of The Rains of Castamere? That would be interesting to see."

"Oh, I'm sure I could play something like that," she said, considering the idea.

Sam looked at her with complete surprise. He didn't think she would actually agree with his idea. But there was also what she was implying. "You can play music?"

She nodded. "I can play the fiddle and strangle out a tune on a set of uilleann pipes."

Edd looked a little interested. "Shall you play a song for us, my princess?"

"I can't. I left my fiddle in my rooms. Besides," she looked at the dancers once more, "if I played something like that here, they would be shocked by what I could."

"Wasn't that what we were trying to do in the first place?" It made them both laugh and Sam found himself joining in the laughter.

That was how they spent the rest of the ball, talking to one another. He noticed how people would look their way, Joan's family most of all, but they paid no attention to them. They only talked to each other, about the things they found interesting. Sam felt glad for it. It felt like he now had friends who didn't think he was weak and pathetic. They didn't care about that.

When the ball ended and he followed his family back to their chambers, his father said to him, "You were speaking to the princess." They stood in the parlor room that they all shared.

"Yes," Sam replied. He wished that his mother, sisters, or even Dickon were still in the room. Facing his father alone had always scared him.

"Why?"

He winced at the voice, the iron hardness of it. "S-She's my friend." Lord Tarly didn't say anything to that. He turned for the bedroom he shared with Lady Tarly. Sam watched him go and felt his courage slipping away. He took it back. "Father, how did you defeat Robert Baratheon at Ashford?"

Randyll Tarly stopped and looked at him. "What did you say?" he asked his voice suspicious.

It was something that he had figured out while he was talking Joan. Now he had to get it pass his father. He hoped that he could. "How did you defeat him? How did you know that he would be at Ashford? How did you know to position your army?"

"Why are you asking this?"

He couldn't look his father in the eyes. He looked to the stone floor and couldn't look away. But he still was able to talk. "I know I'm not a warrior. But there is more to a battle than just fighting. Perhaps if I was taught the other side, I…I could be a strategist?" He waited in silence and it was almost unbearable. He began to wonder if this was such a good idea. Would his father laugh at him for asking such a thing?

The silence dragged on, save for the crackle in the fireplace. He brought his eyes back up.

But the man was already walking through the door. It shut, and Sam felt his face fall just a bit before he realized, with a start, his father hadn't said "No."

Was this leave to do as he wished? He hoped so. Turning and marching to his chambers Sam hoped he'd be on the way to gaining some modicum of respect from his father. He also hoped that the suggestion he gave to Joan in regards to her siblings would work out too.

Arthur

(Location: King's Landing)

It came as a surprise to all, to the Sword of the Morning the most, when Princess Joan stepped out onto the training yard. This was not entirely new however. The Kingsguard knew she trained with the bow and the spear. But the difference was that she would usually train when the yard was practically empty and whenever she did have a partner to train with, it was usually Ser Jaime, the only of his brothers she seemed to get along with at all.

Seeing her come out, with spear in hand, amongst a crowded yard, where Visenya and Aegon were also training no less, was a complete surprise. It was Ser Barristan who first addressed her. "Your Highness…we were…not expecting you to join us?" he asked her.

She shrugged, looking back at him as she came to a stop. "I'm here to train," she told him. She turned her gaze away from him and settled on her siblings who stood off to the side for their morning rituals. "That is, unless you have a problem with this."

Arthur realized that she was challenging them, trying to see if they would react the way she expected them to. Not for the first time, he questioned his decision to stand by all those years, his…apathy. His oath instructed him to guard and protect the royal family. The oath did not say he should not protest their actions when it was warranted.

Perhaps the years under Aerys had robbed him of more than he'd ever cared to consider.

Now, he could see the results of his inaction: a girl who looked at her family and saw potential enemies. Two of her siblings looked at her with open regret and the other who looked at her with thinly veiled uncertainty.

She kept looking at them, waiting to hear their answer. It was her brother who broke the awkward silence in the air. "No, we don't have a problem," Aegon said. Ser Arthur knew that there was something in how the prince spoke that made people listen. He had a talent for easing conflicts between people without hands going for swords.

"Good," she said back. "Then you want to fight me?" A few broken gasps were heard from some of the less disciplined guard.

No doubt word of even the 'challenge' would spread through the court like wildfire. If Prince Aegon chose to accept—"

"Of course," he told her. "If you'd want to get some padded armor—"

"I'm fine," she said, cutting him off as she knelt down to the ground.

Arthur felt his brow rise just a had enough experience to know that not everyone needed to utilize armor to be effective at combat. The Dothraki, of the Grass Sea, the Water Dancers of Bravos, even Prince Oberyn of Dorne favored speed over defensive power. But it was hardly the norm in Westeros. Under who had she trained in Winterfell? Even by 'lightly armored' swordsmen standards, she was pushing it. A tunic and leggings did not combat equipment make. He watched her grab hold of some dirt and rubbed it hard into her hands.

She stood back up and gripped her spear. "When you're ready," she told her brother, stepping closer towards him.

He drew his sword and the people surrounding them backed off so they could have more room. It was a contest that was severely weighed to one side. The prince wore training armor with a shield in one hand and his sword in the other. The princess only had her spear but she held it properly. They moved toward each other and she made the first move, thrusting below the shield.

Prince Aegon lowered the shield to block the thrust.

That was when she threw the dirt at his eyes.

"Ah!" the prince cried out, shutting his eyes. That's when his sister struck. With three, lightning fast strikes with the counterweight of the spear, attacks that could have easily been fatal, she disarmed him and sent him to the ground.

The entire yard was silent as Princess Joan stared down at her brother. "You need to react quicker," she told him bluntly.

"You cheated!" Princess Visenya said accusingly from where she stood at the sidelines and the whole yard agreed with her.

Ser Arthur nodded in agreement. While he knew many soldiers would fight in such a way, he, frankly, expected better of Ned Stark's upbringing, with how famous the man's sense of honor was.

But she looked at them with a disinterested look and asked, "And?" The entire yard fell into stunned silence. She looked at her sister, then at her brother who was still trying to blink the sand out of his eyes. "Honor has no place in a battlefield or even in a simple fight. The soldier you're about to run through with your sword won't care that he died 'honorably' he'll try to kill you with anything he's got. The sooner you get that through your head, the better your chances in a real fight."

"Been in many real fights have you?" Aegon asked rhetorically.

Joan didn't seem to pick up on it. "I have."

She held her hand to him and he took it. She pulled him up but stepped away once he was back on his feet. "Who taught you how to fight like that?" he asked her.

"The best damn spearwife in all of the Free Folk," she answered with both a grimace and a reminiscent smile, strangely enough to Arthur's eyes. "She was the Mother, the Crone, and the Warrior all melded together with a demon from the seven hells and shoved into an old woman's skin."

That description did not sit well with Arthur. "And she was the one who taught you to fight like that, Princess?" he asked her.

"Aye, she did and I am damn proud to be taught by the Old Mother."

"Old Mother?" questioned Loras Tyrell. He and others started to snigger at the name. It was unbecoming of them as squires and hopeful knights.

The sniggering died away when the princess turned her gaze onto them. She ignored them in favor of her brother. "Again?" she asked him.

He smirked and nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yes, again."

She smiled back, a smaller one than his. "Good to hear it." She struck first again. He blocked it and made sure that she didn't catch him unawares again.

The Sword of the Morning watched the princess as she fought. The way she fought was different from he knew. It seemed…unorthodox. He could see some form of proper fighting, something that she must've picked up at Winterfell. But for the most part, she would cheat and trick her way to victory. There were moments that she used the spear more like a long club than a spear. Being a Dornishman, it was a sight that was just wrong to him. Yet, she was able to match Prince Aegon blow for blow and even get the edge on him more than once.

When she knocked him down a third time, he yielded. "You're a tricky fighter, sister," he told Princess Joan as he got back to his feet. "I think that someone with a better sword arm than me should try to fight you."'

She rested her spear against her shoulder with arrogant air. "And who would that be?"

Visenya came forward with her sword at the ready. "Me," she declared. Ser Arthur checked with Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime. They both nodded and stood at the ready to stop this if it got out of hand. It was no secret that out of the three of them, Princess Visenya was the most slow to openly welcome her half-sister back… to put it lightly.

The fight began and almost right away he could see that it was a much more even fight. He wasn't surprised by the fact that Princess Visenya could hold her own. She was the most suited for the warrior's life than Aegon or Rhaenys. She found the most joy in wielding a sword or finding a way to outthink her opponent.

And as everyone watched, Arthur noticed that it was an even match. Visenya was able to match Joan in every strike and stab she gave. It was an interesting spectacle to watch, the crudeness of the wildings against the refined technique he and his Kingsguard brother had taught. But he also noticed something else. Princess Joan was becoming unguarded as the fight continued. Oh, she kept her focus, but she was also smiling, a honest smile. She was enjoying the spar. No, it wasn't that. She was enjoying the time with her family. And when he looked at Princess Visenya, he saw the same smile on her lips too.

They would never know the outcome of the spar. A servant raced out into the yard, pushing his way past everyone there. "Your Highnesses!" he cried in a winded voice. The fight stopped. Aegon went over to him. "Your father wants you to come to his side immediately."

Ser Barristan stepped forward. "What's happened?" he asked. Visenya and Aegon stepped forward, leaving Joan alone.

Arthur already knew just by looking at the man's face that it was bad. He looked at Princess Joan. She looked at the servant with a worried curiosity but stayed still. When her siblings followed the man back into the castle, she followed at a distance. He and the Kingsguard followed too.

Aegon

(Location: Storm's End)

Robert Baratheon had come back to Westeros. It was news that spread fear throughout the Seven Kingdoms.. He was the only rebel who refused to join forces with Aegon's father at the Trident. He fled to Essos with loyal followers while the rest marched on King's Landing to remove the Mad King. There, everyone had hoped that he would stay.

But now, he was in the Stormlands with the Golden Company as the Captain-General. No one had thought him insane enough to return. Even with the element of surprise that allowed him to run rampant through the countryside, capture the Stormlands and part of the Reach, now the full might of the Kingdoms was marshalling against him, though some were dragging their feet, admittedly. If Aegon didn't know any better, he would've thought that some lords supported the rebel stag.

The king had ordered Westeros to action and Westeros answered. While Dorne and the Reach needled and harried Robert's forces from the south and west, the royal host bore down from the north. It had taken them three months of constant fighting but they had been able to push Robert back to Storm's End, his birthplace.

That was where they stood when the king called a meeting the night before what was to come. Stannis Baratheon looked furious. "If Renly is still alive after all this, I swear I am going to beat brains into him," he all but snarled as he stared down at the map. Aegon, his father, and his sisters stood around the map alongside all the lords who marched with them. It was a good thing that the tent was big enough to hold them all. Even still, it felt rather warm.

"The Golden Company might've come after Robert did, milord," Ser Davos Seaworth said to him. He was Stannis's man and stood the closest to him. Aegon had noticed how the other stormlords looks disapprovingly at the former smuggler. Clearly, they thought he didn't belong there.

"He shouldn't have let Robert into Storm's End to begin with, Ser Davos."

"He had never met his brother before," said Father. All eyes fell onto him. "He would have been interested to meet him, especially if he came in supposed good terms." His voice was quiet but it was heard throughout the tent. He still commanded presence and respect, but Aegon felt like this was the last place his father should be. The rains that had plagued their army throughout the months had left him with a cough that weakened him. He should be abed, resting.

"What Robert said to his brother doesn't matter," Jon Connington, the Hand of the King, declared. "What matters is what we will do to crush the rebel lord."

"We have dragons," Bryce Caron declared. "We should tell Robert to surrender unless he wishes to make Storm's End the next Harrenhal."

Lord Stanns fixed him with a glare. "That is my castle, Lord Caron, with my people and my brother inside. Would you have the same fate fall upon Nightsong?" He fell silent, proving that he didn't want it to be so. "And do not forget who Robert has taken into Storm's End with him."

A hush fell over them. They all knew what he had meant. Only two days ago they had fought Robert's forces. It was a victory when they sent them running. But that victory came at the cost of a defeat. Before he ordered the retreat, Robert himself led the charge into the left wing. He smashed it opened and killed Ser Lewyn with barely two swings of his war hammer, shattering the Kingsguard's spear and armor. Then…he took Rhae captive. He ordered the retreat and laughed mockingly as he left. They had pursued him in order to rescue the princess, but to no avail. Robert knew these stormlands better than most ever would. . Now they were preparing for a siege outside of Storm's End.

"The dragons won't matter," said Randyll Tarly. "Even if they were large enough, Robert has taken precautions against them."

All eyes fell to him. "What do you mean, my lord?" 'Senya asked him. She stood beside Aegon, dressed in armor, same as him. Women shouldn't be at war councils but they were dragon riders. They had a voice in this fight. Then again, the other woman in the tent wasn't a dragon rider. His eyes fell onto Joan, who stood in the back. She watched and listened, never offering her own opinion.

The man looked at his son. It was not Dickon but his eldest, Samwell. He had come at Joan's insistence even when his father did not want him to come. He had come to every war council, looked at the map, and wrote down notes. The more councils they had, the more notes he wrote. It was 'Senya who discovered that he was noting all the strategies that were made and incorporating into his own strategies. She brought it to Father's attention and he had the boy offer one of his ideas. It was that idea that saved them at Bronzegate.

Since then Lord Tarly had started bringing Samwell more often than Dickon to the council. The fat boy looked at everyone looking at him. He gulped audibly but said, "I-I took the chance to look at Storm's End with a far-eye, your Grace. The wall and tower are lined with scorpions. If you tried to attack with your dragons, they'll be shot out of the sky."

Aegon shared a look with Visenya. Their dragons were not big enough to ride. One scorpion bolt could their lives easily. "Damn," his sister said, frowning.

The threat of the dragons was the only hope that the battle would not happen. "Then we must prepare for a siege," said Lord Connington. "We will starve that bastard out."

As the others began to murmur how a sound idea it was, Aegon heard his father speak. "No, my Hand," he said, silencing the tent again. "Robert would die before surrendering to a siege. Not to speak of what he would do to Rhaenys…he will kill her."

There was silence through the tent each lord either weighing their options, or trying to come up with a solution. Then, Rhaegar spoke again, taking the decision out of their hands. "I see only one way out of this without senseless bloodshed."

'Senya looked concerned about what he said. "What do you mean, Father?"

He looked at her with sad eyes. Those same eyes fell on everyone in the tent. "Get some sleep, everyone," he told them. He had to stop and cough, worrying them all. "Tomorrow, this will end. Robert has returned for one reason: to kill me. I will oblige him." Voices rose from all the lords in protest but he wave them away. "I will not send men to die, nor risk Rhaenys' life; not unless I must. If bloodshed can be avoided, I will take the chance."

"My king," began Lord Connington, wanting to object.

But Father was resolute even as he coughed some more. "I have spoken, my lord. It will end tomorrow." With that said, the war council was over.

Aegon didn't know what to think of the plan his father made. They all knew the king was sick and was in no position to accept a duel from Robert Baratheon. Everyone was leaving the tent yet he felt strangely rooted to the spot, looking at the map of Storm's End and the surrounding land. He felt worried. What would happen if his father lost the fight? Would they lay siege to Storm's End? Would he avenge his father's death against Robert Baratheon?

When he realized that he was the only one left in the tent, he left. He walked through the camp, watching and not watching the men go about their business. There were many fires lighting the darkness around them, many of them filled with talk and laughter. He didn't know if the laughter was genuine or fueled by drink. He thought it was a bit ridiculous to drink the night before a battle but he would sound like a fool if he said those words aloud.

"Has truly been only three months since the fighting started?" he asked himself. It felt so much longer now. He had ridden at his father's side out of King's Landing, eager for war and the glory that came with it. Now he just wanted to go home and escape the horrors around him. He hadn't been alone. Rhae and 'Senya had been the same. They had thought themselves ready, ready to wage war with their dragons in defense of their house. The night after their first battle, Aegon found Rhae. They clung to each other and cried, hoping that together they would be able to banish the nightmares.

Strangely enough, his feet did not take him to his father's tent or the one he shared with Rhae and 'Senya. They took him to the edge of camp, where Joan had pitched her own camp. "If it could be called that," he thought to himself. Her camp consisted of a cloth that propped up by a set of sticks and a fire. She sat at the fire so she could look out at Storm's End, sharpening her spear. Her direwolf sat beside her, a silent sentinel.

She glanced his way briefly before looking back at the castle. "You need something, Aegon?" she asked shortly.

"No, not really," he answered. There was an awkward silence between the two of them. "May I sit?"

"There's plenty of room."

He took that to be an invitation and saw down close to her. Together, they looked at Storm's End. They didn't say anything for the longest time, choosing to stare at the imposing castle and the thunderclouds bulging over the bay behind it. "What do you think of Father's plan?" he finally asked. She had been in the council too but had said nothing. "Do you think that it will work?

"Father's spent these years ruling," she replied, not taking her eyes off the castle. "Robert Baratheon's spent them fighting." It didn't sound like she was confident about what came next. She didn't mention his cough.

It made him nervous. Suddenly, the truth came out of his mouth before he could stop it. "I'm scared, Joan. I'm scared of tomorrow." He couldn't pin point the primary reason for his fear. But it was there. Perhaps there were simply too many to count. The fact that Fang wouldn't be with him, the fact that his father might die on the morrow, or that if he did Rhaenys would likely die with him. Or even the simple fact that he might be shouldered with a responsibility he simply wasn't ready for.

She turned her head to look at him. Her grey eyes weren't full of scorn like he thought they would be. Rather, they seemed… understanding. "I'd more worried if you weren't. You're a good person, Aegon. I don't want to see you become a monster."

Oddly enough her words brought him back to the start. Out of the four of them, she was the only one who did not boast or brag about what she could do. She kept silent as her direwolf. When battle joined, she was the one who fought savagely, never stopping to consider what she had just done to a life. "Why didn't you warn us about what was going to happen?" he asked.

She put her spear down. "Would you have listened if I did?"

He frowned. There she was, bringing back their childhood again. It was beginning to feel like no matter how many times he apologized, she would always hold it against him, Rhae, and 'Senya. "We might have."

"Still, telling you is one thing. Experiencing it for yourself is another. It's how I learned." She picked up her spear again and started sharpening it again.

He couldn't help staring at her as she kept on sharpening her spear. It was the same face he had seen at Winterfell. She wore her hair back in a braid but there were strands that fell out of place down her forehead. They were distracting as hell in the way that could make a man burn with desire.

Aegon felt odd when he looked at her. Despite being married to both Rhae and 'Senya, he also yearned for Joan. He looked at her serious face and his hands ached to push those strands away. He wanted to kiss her until she smiled and then kiss her some more. Looking at her, he almost felt like he didn't care that she was his sister or that he was married (to their sisters, but that was beside the point).

She looked at him again and quickly looked away. He realized that he didn't hide his desire. "Go to Visenya, Aegon," she told him. "She's probably just as scared as you."

"Then why isn't she here?" he asked her. Probably one of the strangest things about this war was the relationship between Joan and 'Senya: it brought them closer. That same night he had clung to Rhae, he later learned that Joan comforted 'Senya, who'd cried the whole night..

In battle, they fought side by side, protecting each other. When 'Senya started learning strategy alongside Sam Tarly Joan didn't try to keep them apart like she would've done in Winterfell. They spoke more often these days whatever it was they were talking about, he didn't know. What he did know was that it was having a change on 'Senya. She didn't look at Joan with uncertain hostility anymore. Now, her eyes were more embarrassed.

She kept her eyes on the spear. She sharpened it like her life depended on it. "It's one thing for a sister to reassure a sister. A brother is another thing," she said. Good night, Aegon." It was an invitation for him to leave and they both knew it. If they had been children still, he would've stayed to spite her. But they weren't children anymore and she was right. He left her camp but he did look back her way. She did not.

The next morning, as they were all preparing for what was coming next, a horn suddenly blew. Everyone flew into a panic and questions flew fast. The biggest question was if Robert Baratheon had attacked before they were ready. Aegon had his armor on when the horn sounded. He mounted his horse and rode for the front. 'Senya joined him. They didn't say anything to each other. They didn't need to.

The center van was beginning to form when they reached their father's side. But any thoughts of battle fled Aegon's mind when he looked at Storm's End. Before its gates, Robert Baratheon was fighting someone in single combat. The horn they had heard had come from the castle, signaling that the rebel lord was riding out. The horses close to the battle didn't look to be harmed or tired, so the combat must've started on foot. Robert's opponent wore plate…no…that was his father's plate armor!

Lord Connington was shouting orders, cursing Rhaegar to the seven hells as the soldiers assembled themselves into hasty battle lines, just in case it was needed. While single combat had its rules, Aegon knew Connington well enough to know that, should it be necessary, he himself would charge head long into the teeth of the rebel forces to rescue his father.

Aegon and 'Senya rushed their horses forward, moving forward to… what? Get a better look? Rescue their father if it was needed? He wasn't sure.

Oddly, Aegon noticed that there were no Kingsguard with their father. There should have been at least four present. That's when he saw what his 'father' was wielding: a spear. The realization sent him reeling. He pulled on the reins of his horse hard enough to have the beast rear up on its hind legs. "That's Joan!"

Both Lord Connington and Lord Stannis looked at him when he uttered those words, "What?!" shouted the Hand of the King.

He pointed to his sister as she dodged Robert's hammer, barely. "I know that spear. She was sharpening it last night."

"What's that fool girl doing?"

He turned, looking to Senya, wondering if she'd had any inkling of this beforehand. But she didn't. 'Senya held her reins tight, her face was the picture of a clear and sudden fear, mingled with surprise. "We have to go help her!" she said.

She started to urge her horse forward but Stannis's voice stopped her. "You can't." All looked to the loyal Baratheon. "It is single combat. Any interference will be seen as a provocation and cause a battle to begin."

Joan stepped away from the hammer, avoiding it by an inch. She tried to stab but the rebel stag blocked it with his shield. She was slow. Her movements weighed down and sluggish. The speed that let her best him handily and match Visenya was nowhere to be seen.

She'd never worn heavy plate armor!

"She needs us!" Senya hissed, urging her horse forward again. This time, it was Aegon that stopped her, grabbing onto the reins and yanking them back. The horse bucked and nearly threw her off. "Let go, Aegon."

"Not until you promise to stay right there," he told her. He looked up at the battlements of Storm's End. There was a single woman there, surrounded by guards in gold and black. It was Rhae. She was being made to watch this fight.

A roar came from Robert Baratheon as he swung the hammer down again. Joan raised her shield to block. It was a mistake.

That wasn't a sword, it wasn't a spear. The full force of Robert Baratheon's hammer blow probably went through that shield and the vambrace beneath like it wasn't even there. Joan stumbled, nearly fell flat onto her back, barely keeping herself standing with the heavy plate as it was, he noticed her arm was all but hanging limply.

If it was broken…this fight was over.

Robert didn't let up. He came after her, swinging his hammer with a great roar each time.

He wondered just how strong the Baratheon was. Father never talked about the failed Rebellion but he had heard the court talk about it. Many wondered what would've happened had Rhaegar and Robert met at the Trident. All he knew now was that every time Robert came close to harming Joan, his hands clenched his reins.

He soon saw that it was uneven match. Robert was faster, stronger. It almost seemed like the grace of the gods that Joan had lasted this long. It looked like it was all she could do to avoid the swings of the hammer. Her wearing plate hampered her more than it would've him or Father. The armor itself was battered and there was no doubt in his mind that she must have been wounded beneath it. Likely it was adrenaline keeping her standing at all. Her spear could not find a weak spot in his armor.

Robert swung, a massive blow that would catch her full in the ribs, if not kill her outright. He was near certain he was about to watch his half-sister die when she brought up that near lifeless arm in a reflexive block.

The blow hit, and this time the shield itself broke with a sound of rent metal and splintering wood. This time, if that arm wasn't broken before, it certainly was now. He heard Joan scream in pain. Robert roared in triumph before barreling into her, knocking her to the ground with a full shoulder tackle. "Fuck this!" 'Senya declared, yanking her reins free.

"Visenya!" called out Stannis but she was already rushing down the slope. Aegon rode after her, without a second thought. From behind came, Lord Connington, and Lord Stannis too. His hand reached for his sword certain a battle was about to begin.

Then, out of nowhere, Joan's direwolf appeared in front of Visenya's horse, and the animal screeched as it reeled back from the massive predator. Ghost's hackles were raised, its body coiled like a taut bowstring, growling low in its chest, frightening the horses into stillness.

Aegon turned his eyes back to the fight and watched Joan rush back to her feet, kicking Robert away. Robert faced her but saw them. He turned his head to look at them pointing his hammer. "Is this your craven father's doing?" he roared across the field. "Sending some fool, worthless boy to fight me because he's just too much of a fucking craven to fight me himself?" He pointed his hammer with one hand at him. Gods be good, how could he do something like that? "When I'm done with this charlatan, I'll come for you next. I'll make Rhaegar watch as I kill all of his bloody children."

But while his attention was elsewhere, Joan struggled back up to her feet. "Do that after you've killed me," she said raggedly, her hand reaching for her helmet's strap.

"What's she doing?" Aegon wondered.

Robert turned back to face her as her helmet came off. His hammer went slack in his hands. He reached up and lifted his visor. Aegon saw his eyes wide with shock, surprise, and hope. "Lyanna?" he asked. "Lyanna, is that—?"

She moved and shoved her spear into his mouth. He struggled and gagged as his blood ran down the length of her spear and stained his surcoat. She held her spear in place and watched as the man died. "My name," she told him just before the light from his eyes faded, "is Joan." He went limp and she pulled out her spear. Robert Baratheon fell dead to the ground. She knelt down beside him and pulled her dagger. With a few quick strokes, she cut off a long ragged piece of his surcoat and tied it around her spear's shaft.

Joan looked at the body for what seemed like an interminable moment, the royal bannermen and the rebels staring at the corpse of Robert Baratheon in stunned silence. Then she stumbled, leaning on her spear before her strength seemed to give out and she fell onto her side.

Visenya and Aegon kicked at their horses, rushing the animals past the now calm Ghost towards their sister. Visenya reached her first, all but jumping off her mare to kneel besides Joan. Her voice was angry as she shouted. "What the hell were you thinking?" Joan didn't seem to be in any condition to answer. Her eyes were foggy with pain. Her injuries were rapidly catching up to her as the adrenaline began to bleed away.

Aegon knelt down beside them. "Watch the arm! Watch the arm!" he demanded, corralling Senya away from what was clearly the most immediately apparent and grievous injury. Whirling back to the approaching Connington, he shouted at the Hand of the King. "Get a bloody maester."

"Lord Stannis is already searching." Connington answered as he dismounted, marching up to the three of them. His face was grim. "You disobeyed the King's command, Joan," he said, clear disappointment coating his voice.

Joan swallowed thickly, and Aegon noticed the tint of red at her teeth. "Sick," She rasped. "Not fit to fight him. Gotten killed." She seemed to laugh, a sound at the edge of delirium. He'd learned enough from Maester Pycelle to recognize the beginnings of what the maester called 'shock.' "Doesn't matter…if I lost…less bastard daughter in the world." She said it so gleefully her voice tinged with illogical hysteria, that all Aegon could feel was a sickening horror.

The hoofbeats of horses alerted him to Stannis' approach, the maester right on his heels. The lord of Storms end wasted no time in barking out a curt order to the man. "Treat her quickly!"

Joan seemed to recognize his voice. "St-stannis," she gasped, even as her eyes threatened to roll into the back of her head. "Have to say… have to say sorry to Lord Stannis."

"There is nothing to forgive," the man said bluntly from where he sat on his horse "My brother was a traitor and he is dead."

Joan shook her head, giggling. "No. Not for that. I had to say a few unsavory things in order to get Robert to leave the castle. I'm sure that your mother was a sweet and kind lady and not a pox-riddled whore."

Once again, Aegon found himself stunned.

Then he was fighting back the creeping amusement that threatened to overtake him. "Do not laugh," he told himself even as the urge started to bubble up, "Don't even snigger." What she said wasn't funny in any shape or form. And yet, she sounded so very sincere and serious, it, made him want to laugh. He looked at his sister and saw that she too was having the same trouble. Despite the urge to let loose, he kept his laughter bottled inside and hoped to the gods it didn't show on his face.

"I see," Stannis said in reply. "I accept your apology and have no need to hear the rest of what you said." He looked Connington. "With your permission, Lord Hand, I will go into Storm's End, find Renly, and put things to right."

"Go, Lord Stannis," answered Connington. "I will join you shortly. Make certain no further harm comes to the Princess Rhaenys."

Stannis nodded, and kicked at his horse, The maester asked the siblings to help move Joan, Aegon did so, leaning down and grabbing Joan by her good arm as Visenya grabbed her by the head and torso.

Dragging her, and laying her on the stretcher that had been tied to the maester's horse, the Targaryen siblings began to make their way back to the camp.

Joan

(Location: King's Landing)

As Joan watched the raven fly towards Winterfell, her heart was worried. What would her uncle say when he received the news? Would he hate her? Robert's landing and assault on the Stormlands was no secret. Still, there was a time when he called Eddard Stark brother. "I hope he can forgive me.," she thought to herself.

She descended from the rookery, finding Ser Jaime waiting for her outside the door. "Your Highness, the king and queen wish to see you," he said. The sun was setting just outside the window, burning orange in the darkening sky.

A quiet sense of trepidation passed through her. She refused to let it show on her face. "What is they want now?" she asked.

"I don't know, your Highness," he answered, an apology on his features. "They wish to see you in the throne room."

Those words didn't comfort her. She squared her shoulders feeling a phantom pain in her still healing arm. "Take me to them." Jamie nodded, turning sharply and walking with her through the Red Keep.

She wondered what exactly it could be that they were calling her for. Was it she brought Robert's son to the Red Keep so he could become a blacksmith? Was it to chastise her for refusing to have a victory march through King's Landing? She hadn't thought it was needed. She didn't want that kind of attention drawn on herself. The sycophants and court hangers on were a poison she would happily shy away from. .

As they walked, a question came to her. "How is your brother, ser?" she asked him. "Is he well?"

He smiled a little. "Tyrion is well. He sent a raven inquiring about you."

She was happy for it. The one time Tyrion Lannister came to King's Landing, he managed to find and befriend her, a rare thing before she was left at the Eyrie. Perhaps it was because he was a dwarf, but she'd felt as though she had a kindred spirit with the youngest Lannister. He didn't sneer at her or look down at her because of who she was (he couldn't look down at her at all, considering his height).

Ser Jaime came to the throne room doors and stopped, taking a place beside it. It was clear that she was to go in alone.

She stood at the door, wondering what would be on the other side. "I wish Ghost was here." Her direwolf had rushed out to the godswood earlier.. He would be a comforting presence by her side.

But he wasn't here. She breathed in deep and went through the doors. The throne was empty save for the rest of her family. They all stood around a large brazier that burned brightly with serious expressions. Blackfyre was strapped to Aegon's belt, the same way Dark Sister was strapped to Rhaenys's belt. "What's going on?" she asked them.

"What were you doing in the rookery?" Rhaella asked her. She knew that this woman was her grandmother but it was hard to think of her as such since the incident with Dany.

Joan stood unapologetic. "I was sending a raven for Lord Stark, asking for his forgiveness."

"Why?"

"I killed his best friend."

"Robert Baratheon was a traitor to the realm," Elia declared sternly.

She looked her stepmother in the eyes. "That might be so, but there was a time when he and Lord Stark were brothers in all but blood." She looked at her siblings. Once again, she was struck by how beautiful the three of them were. Really, no human should be able to look that beautiful. They were Targaryens, through and through. It made her feel inadequate, like she could never have what they had.

"What's going on?" She asked.

It was Rhaegar who answered, staring into the flames. "We're doing something that we should've done when you first came back to us, Joan." She felt her eyebrow raise, equal parts curious and more than a little confused.

He stepped back from the brazier and motioned for her to come forward. She walked to the brazier. There was something inside. She looked and saw a dragon egg nestled within the flames. "Viserys came back to us with four dragon eggs," Father said behind her. "When he died, we set the eggs on his pyre. From that fire, three hatched and became the dragons your brother and sisters ride. But one did not hatch. We wondered why it was so. Now we know. It was because you were not with us."

"…That's it?" All of this, them being alone in the throne room, with the brazier, it was to give her a dragon? Other people might've been overjoyed to be offered such a thing. She didn't feel these things.

All she really felt was anger. She didn't need a dragon. They did. This was for them…their benefit. Not hers.

She was tempted to turn her back on them all and walk out. But Daenerys reached out and took her by the hand. "Come, Joan," she said, a joyful smile on her face. She was pulled to the brazier.

Rhaella held a dagger out for her, the three-headed dragon crest shining clearly on the hilt. "Blood must be freely offered," she told Joan.

She took the knife and looked at the brazier. She could feel their eyes on her, waiting for her to do what they wanted. As much as she wanted to leave, they wanted to see this come true.

She held her hand out over the fire, the heat curling around her skin. She pressed the dagger against her palm and cut it open. She hissed with the pain but turned her hand around still and plunged it into the fire. It was warm in there, even warmer still when she grasped the egg and pulled it free. There was no blood in her hand as she lifted out of the brazier. It all vanished. It was heavier than she expected, forcing her to hold it in both hands. She held it in the air and saw how the grey scales glinted like smoke in the fire's light.

It started to shake in her hands. She heard everyone hold their breath with anticipation. There was a feeling in her mind as she looked at the shaking egg, something that was not her own. It was looking for something inside her. She realized what it was. The dragon inside the egg was reaching out to her, trying to connect with her, form a bond.

She reacted instantly, reaching out for Ghost. Their minds connected. And they denied it.

The feeling vanished from her mind and the egg stopped shaking. Silence reigned supreme over the throne room, broken only by the fire in the brazier. "What happened?" asked Visenya. "Why did the egg stop shaking?"

The egg was plucked from Joan's hands. "How is this possible?" Daenerys asked, looking at the egg, turning it around in her hands, trying to see if there was some kind of physical defect. "We did everything right. Blood was offered and was taken." She looked at the rest of the family. "Did something go wrong?"

"Something did," Joan thought to herself. And it was something that she did. But she wouldn't let them know that. "It's no great loss," she declared.

She turned from the brazier and found all their eyes looking incredulously at her. "No great loss?" Rhaella repeated. "Do you know of what you speak of, girl?"

Of course she did know. She looked her grandmother in the eyes. "It's a fire-breathing lizard that flies. There are already three of them in the world." She started for the door.

"Joan," called her Father. "You will not walk away from this. You have no idea what you are giving up."

She stopped in her tracks. Anger at his words grew in her blood. "I'd be giving up an egg that wouldn't hatch."

"You're giving up more than that, Joan," Rhaella said to her.

"I don't think I am. If there's nothing else, I'll see myself out." She went for the door again.

"Don't turn your back on this, girl!" Rhaegar ordered, using that voice that could make grown men kneel. "This is your legacy, your birthright! It is all you could have wanted!"

Hearing those words, the absolute surety of his voice, her temper snapped. She whirled around back to face them, the words spilling out of her mouth and filling the air. "I wanted a father!" They fell silent as she shouted at them, their eyes widening with surprise. But she wasn't done. Everything came out. "I wanted a mother! I wanted a brother and sisters! I wanted a family that loved me! But what did I get? A man who took my name as easily as pulling meat from a barrel, a hypocrite that loathed the very sight of me, and people who would shift the blame onto me whenever they did something wrong so they could avoid the punishment!

Her glare felt like it could have cut through stone. Damning them with nothing but her gaze."The one thing I wanted from you all, the one thing that should be given freely, But instead I have to hatch another dragon? Fuck you and fuck the dragon egg!"

Her raging voice turned into a ragged laugh. "You're all so concerned about the prophecy, never once have you thought that it was already fulfilled!" She threw her arms wide and mocking. "Behold, Father! I am the fourth head, the silent dragon, the one who people remember for something entirely! Orys Baratheon stands before you!" The hall rang with her shouts as she fell silent to catch her breath. No one dared to say a word. She looked at them all with eyes full of pain and anger. "I never should've left the North," she declared, leaving the throne room for good.

"Joan!" she heard Aegon call out from behind her. She didn't stop. She kept walking until she felt his hand on her arm. "Joan, wait a moment."

She whirled around and stared him down. "What, Aegon?" she all but growled at him.

He flinched a little at the venom in her voice. "You have to know, the egg wasn't my idea."

Was that supposed to comfort her? "You didn't stop it from happening."

"Do you honestly think that I could've? Once Father is onto something, it's impossible to make him stop."

"Really?" she asked, full of derision. "He wouldn't do something for his precious heir and prince that was promised?"

"I can't control what he thinks." Aegon protested. She turned around again but he stopped her again. "Is this about our childhood?"

"And what if it is?"

He frowned, taking a breath. "Joan, I'm sorry."

He sounded like he meant those words. But she was still so angry at everything. "No, you're not." She broke free of his grip and kept on walking.

She reached her door and found Rhaenys there. She didn't know how she got there before her, but seeing her standing, she looked like her mother writ young. "What do you want?" she demanded.

"Are you alright?" Rhaenys asked, actually sounding concerned for her.

It angered her more. She glared at her eldest sibling. An urge to yell at her, perhaps even strike her, burned through her body. "Go away," she snarled, pushing past her and going into her room.

She paced around the room. There too much energy was burning through her and she didn't know what to do with it. She grabbed a sack and started opening draws. She took clothes out but didn't toss them into the sack. In the end, she just put them back in the drawers. By the time she finally stopped, she had walked around the room five times with nothing to show for it. Disgusted, she threw the sack to the ground.

If she was truthful, she was conflicted. She wanted to go back north, to that little cottage in the wolfswood. But Maester Aemon…he asked her to try on his deathbed.

She had tried but it was just harder than it should've been. She slumped against a chair and glared at the fire burning in front of her.

She heard the door open but didn't realize who it was until she heard her name. "Joan," said Visenya. She walked into the room, closing the door behind her and standing by the fire.

She came to her feet, her anger ready to burn again. "Oh great, you," she said with a bite. "What? Are you going to try talking to me now?"

Her little sister opened her mouth but closed it again when she saw the sack on the ground. "Are you leaving?" she asked.

"I'm considering it." She bent down to pick up the sack again. "Frankly, I don't feel like being used rather than valued..."

"That's not true, Joan."

She laughed with a bitterness that came from the long years of resentment, now finally bubbling up to the surface. Too intense to be suppressed and held back any longer. She looked at Visenya, disdain her voice. "Go back to your family, 'Senya."

"I'm sure Father had a reason—" she ventured.

"There shouldn't be a reason for me to have family care for you!"

Anger burned in Visenya's eyes, just as hot as Joan's did. "We do care!" she said back, her voice rising.

She snorted derisively. "You needed me, Visenya. That's all that's ever gotten any of you to look at me with anything more than the way you'd look at a street rat." It was Visenya who took the longest to warm up to her and it took a war to actually finish it!

Her little sister looked like she wanted to shout, to yell. Her hands trembled from the anger coursing through her. But she didn't do what Joan had expected. She closed her eyes and breathed in deep. "Just what do I have to prove that I care?"

"Why don't you strip and crawl on all fours to me?" Joan said carelessly, turning her back. Her voice was careless, throwing out words she didn't think about. Then she heard the sound of clothes sliding down skin. She looked back and was stunned by what she was seeing. "What are you doing?!"

Visenya had pulled off her tunic and was now pulling down her hose. "What you told me to do," she said, still pulling them down.

She felt her cheeks blush and she quickly turned away. "I was japing!" she said. She didn't expect her to go that far!

But the sounds didn't stop. They kept going until they didn't any more. She knew what it meant. She kept her back turned, until she heard Visenya speak. "Joan, look at me."

Her feet moved on their own, turning her around. As soon as she caught view of Visenya, Joan's breath stopped and felt her throat dry. Visenya stood before the fire, completely naked. She could see everything. That was probably the point. It worked. Out of the three of her siblings, she had always considered Visenya to be the most beautiful of them. It was like she was the best parts of Aegon and Rhaenys mixed into one. Her being shorter didn't diminish the beauty but rather enhanced it. Her Dornish skin suited her purple eyes perfectly. Her hair was the Valyrian silver-gold color but had the Martell curls to it, making it look exotic. The fire played with the light in the room, making the shadows dance across her body like a moving tapestry.

She was beautiful, almost like a goddess. And then she started to go down on all fours. "Stop, stop!" cried Joan. "I get it!"

She stopped and looked at her. "Do you know that I care now?"

She looked away, unable to look her in the eyes. She felt ashamed. "I do. Put your clothes back on, okay?"

Visenya didn't do as she was asked. Instead, she walked up to her sister, getting close. She reached out and made Joan look at her. "Joan, I know what we did was…wrong," she said. She sounded almost like she had to force that last word out.

Joan was angered by it. That was all she could say about what they did? "Wrong?" she repeated. "You three left me alone whenever I dared to play with you. I was punished for what you did wrong. If you had the chance to defend me, you would've rather fled. You yourself didn't like me. When we were in Winterfell, you wanted to call me a—"

"I know!" Visenya snapped, her temper rising up. But she stopped herself and said again, "I know. We took after our mother and didn't realize what it meant until you were gone. I'm sorry for how we treated you. But things are different now. We can be different. We can change. But it can't happen without you." She looked up at Joan, her heart and hope in her eyes. "Don't go. Stay here, Joan, please."

She looked at her little sister. Her words said one thing but she felt that they meant another. Her eyes were so full of emotions that she never would've thought to see in them. "Why?" she asked them. "Why do you want this?"

Visenya didn't tell her. She stepped in close, pushed a strand of her hair back, and kissed her on the lips. Her lips tasted like spice. She was engulfed by the sense of the kiss, like fire washing down over her. She couldn't do anything to stop it all. She didn't want to. She started kissing Visenya back.

She didn't know how but she was pushed back to the bed without breaking the kiss. Visenya removed her tunic. Her breasts felt the open and puckered. Her little sister started kissing them and more, making her shudder and gasp at the feeling of her tongue. When Visenya finally pulled away from them to kiss her on the lips, her hands reached up and undid her hair from its tail. Once it was done, she pushed Joan to the bed and descended upon her. Pleasure rode through her from both parts of her body and all she could do was moan with need.

Throughout the entire time, with each motion and action, Visenya breathed a prayer to her. "Don't go." She said it again and again, filling her ears with it. "Don't go." The words were full of her love and need for her. It seemed like this was the final act she could do to convince her to stay. "Don't go."

Joan heard it again and again. Not only did she hear Visenya say the words, she heard Aegon and Rhaenys too. That was they came after her. They wanted what Visenya wanted. They wanted her to stay. "Alright," she finally said, on her bed clad only in her pants. "Alright, you win. I won't go."

Visenya paused in her kissing. "You'll stay?" she asked her, glowing in the light of the fire.

"Yes."

She smiled brightly. "Thank you," she said. Once the words were said, she collapsed to the bed, falling down to her side. With no hesitation, she snuggled into her side.

Joan looked down at her sister, already sleeping soundly against her side. She wondered what the outcome of this would be. But she also wondered if Aegon and Rhaenys felt the same. They did come after her. That had to mean something, right? She hoped it did. But for now, she was going to sleep alongside Visenya.

End

Author's note: Thank you for all the reviews you've sent me.

This is a story that was inspired by TheEagleGirl's Visenya series on AO3. That is one hell of a series to read. If you got time to read it and any of the other works, I urge to do so. They are very good. I'm still waiting for those pictures he said he was drawing on the series.

If I have surprised people with my portrayal of Elia in this story in contrast to my other one, than I have succeeded in my attempt. Let me know what you think.

If anyone has a hard time picturing Visenya, think Tori Kelly with a slighter darker skin tone. And Joan's hair is basically Belle's from Beauty and the Beast (the animated version, not live-action), albeit just a little bit longer.

The song that Joan played during the feast is called The Blood of Cu Chulainn. Try listening to it while you read that part of the story. I found that it helped.

Some people might have a hard believing that Joan could've possibly won the fight against Robert Baratheon. I don't blame them. In a straight up, honorable, fight, Joan would've lost and died. That's why she pulled that move with the helmet. One look at her and Robert was frozen solid, giving her that golden opportunity.

Personally, I believe that the dragon doesn't have three but four heads. I believe that Orys was Aegon's bastard brother and he's never mentioned in the prophecy because it would ruin the imagery of three Targaryens saving Westeros, at least according to Rhaegar. So far the only other story that's shares this belief of mine is No Featherbed for Me by lit_chicko8. Read that and you'll see what I'm getting at.

I would like to thank the Fanfiction author Carstein for helping me out with the rewrite of this chapter. He pointed out a few downsides to the original story and offered some suggestions. He even helped rewrite it. So if you think it's different, that would be his influence.

I'll see you all next chapter!