Winterfell

Two big, strong hands covered Queen Sansa's eyes while she was watching and overseeing people training and working in the courtyard. The two big hands were accompanied by a tall, firm body, a source of warmth inside and outside for her.

"You are no knight, I know you. You are Jorah the Fool," recited Sansa, amusement seeping through her voice.

"I am, my lady. As great a fool as ever lived, and as great a knight as well," Jorah continued the play, equally enjoying the moment.

"A fool and a knight? I have never heard of such a thing."

"Sweet lady, all men are fools, and all men are knights, where women are concerned."1

"Dearest, I have seen many fools, but you are not one of them. But I will grant you: you are a great knight, indeed. I watched you train people before. As your queen, I have to praise your dedication, admire your skills, and bow to your experience."

Jorah's hand slipped downwards and enclosed Sansa in a tender embrace, his lips kissing her temple with devotion. "I train people for my queen, and I recite Florian and Jonquil – or any other song or tale, really – for my dear wife and our child."

"And for yourself as well, I imagine! Don't lie to me: you like stories even more than I do!"

"We do need to cultivate a few shared interests in the family, after all."

Sansa exhaled, and said half-jokingly, "Jorah, I already know you will want to train both our girls and boys alike at arms. Then you will have them hold lecture everyone, and you will have them swear – for balance or for sport, I still don't know!"

Jorah picked up on the teasing. "Oh, but you see, tales and songs are the only interest youwould share with us. Although I have to admit I would love to hear you swear. But I would never trust you with a sword: I think our matrimonial felicity would suffer from the combination of you wielding and swinging a sword and the rest of us swearing…"

Sansa turned to slap him on his biceps jokingly. "You are incorrigible."

"And you like me this way."

"As a punishment, you will now follow me in my solar and help me review our ledgers. I have finished the statement about the period up until the Targaryen forces left. Maester Wolkan has already checked my sums, but now I need to discuss the results, and compare them with the plans we had drawn."

"You have been busy, my love!"

"My beloved prince, if I don't check whether the damage repair, the food expenses of the war, and the new deliveries from White Harbor are being sufficiently funded, we will end up like King's Landing during the Baratheon-Lannister rule, and this time I cannot count on manipulating men like Petyr to solve my problems."

Jorah furrowed his brow at that name. "I should hope so!"

"Silly man, getting jealous like a boy when I talk of business."

"Jon has told me Baelish wanted to do more than business with you."

"Many women at court and in Winter Town want to do more than business with you, but you don't hear me complaining!"

"You know I only have eyes for you, my queen of love and beauty!"

Love is made of many different things.

Sansa was elegant, and serene, and powerful on her throne, with her beautiful regal yet simple dresses – well, simple when compared to what Lynesse wore. She combined knowledge, mastery, and power with a down-to-earth kind of connection to her people, lords, ladies, and common folk alike. As a man, as a knight, and as a vassal, Jorah was immensely proud and happy of being by her side, and moved by the mere fact that he was there.

And yet, the less glamorous aspect of Sansa's royalty appealed to him as equally. One of the things Jorah loved most of Sansa was how diligent she had become not only in scheming, occasionally manipulating, and understanding power and responsibility, but also in bookkeeping and in planning.

He was more of a storyteller and insightful comparative or critical voice than anything else. He had always loved reading, observing, and telling stories. He knew the importance of compromise, but his approach to it had always been that of a survivor rather than the one of a ruler. He had admitted to her that being poor for most of his life had never made him into a schemer or an accountant. Hell, his approach to accounting had always been more keeping track of how much he spent, and how much he didn't have, than that of a planner. Rough, simple bookkeeping – and swearing while doing it, and afterwards as well! And the one decision he had taken as a Lord without consulting with anyone had almost destroyed him, and his House as well.

He was also the one with skills in foreign languages and cultures. Living on an island first, marrying a Southron, and then fleeing to Essos later had given him an education many richer men and women could only dream of. Even Cersei Lannister.

Therefore, Jorah and Sansa worked perfectly together.

"I hope we will soon be able to complete the restoration of the winter gardens. The money is here. And I have to thank you for the contact in Pentos, dearest."

"I would have never thought my experience on Essos would be useful once back here."

Sansa laughed. "Jorah, you came with two Essosi armies! I would say that it would have been useful enough already, even if you didn't have to put it to use ever again!"

"I didn't mean it in that way. And, to be honest, I am surprised I survived all that happened from the day we first decided to find a way home from Essos."

Sansa raised an eyebrow. "I plan on having a lot of golden- and ginger-haired children, as Arya and Jon put it, so I hope you are planning on surviving many other winters and trials."

"Dearest, this one" - and he caressed her belly lightly – "isn't born yet, and you are already planning many others?" Amusement mixed with worry in Jorah's tone.

"I plan on surviving many births, and winters, and trials, and I most definitely plan on making the most of my handsome and clever husband."

Jorah could have bookmarked the precise moment in which Sansa's expression transformed from the witty teasing into the voracious appetite of an already passionate wife and lover, heightened by her pregnancy. "I suspect you are using the prospect of seducing me in your solar, on your desk, as your motivation to finish the appointed task more quickly," he said with a lopsided grin that made him endearingly rakish and irresistible.

"What if I do?" she asked while standing up and shifting the ledgers on the surface to make room for her.

With a lowered tone and darkened eyes, Jorah stood up as well and started slowly lifting Sansa's gown up her silky legs. "I am here to serve the realm."

"Here, there are some parchments under the table," Jorah commented, still grinning at his wife, who was sitting on the chair, still disheveled and very amused as well.

"Oh, give me those… oh; it's Jon's most recent raven."

"What does he say? Is he all right? And how is Arya?" he asked while catching his upturned chair to put it back in the proper place and sit on it.

"Well, he cannot say much. You never know who might put his hands on a raven. But he talks of a few sea battles with Euron's Ironborn, and a few skirmishes in the Westerlands and the Riverlands. He cannot tell us about Arya and the others. He does tell me that he misses the North terribly, though."

Jorah saddened together with Sansa. "Poor lad. I can understand him well. I never felt at ease in the South with Lynesse either, and later on Essos, well…"

"But you are happy here with me at Winterfell, aren't you?" Sansa squeezed his hand tenderly, to convey how much she cared for him and how much she appreciated him sharing her concern for Jon.

"Of course I am, very much, but it's easier. Apart from how happy you have made me, Sansa, Winterfell is in the North, and I already had fond memories here. Besides, Bear Island is not so far away. I am sure we will manage to visit Lyanna sometimes."

"Jon is always welcome here as well. He does not even have to ask if he can come and visit. The same goes for Arya and Gendry. This is the Starks' home, and he is a Stark as much as I am, no matter what his name as a king is. "

"Sansa, truth now: will he be free to ride north any time he wants to? That iron chair will be like fetters for him, and you know that. I will be damned if he will manage to come and visit in less than three years."

"Jorah! I don't want my heir's first words to be something like 'damned'!"

Jorah laughed heartily, and kissed her endearingly on her pretty nose.

White Harbor

The sea was a beautiful sight even in winter. How many times had she watched it in Pentos, Qarth, Astapor, Meereen, and on Dragonstone? Yet, she never tired of it, of the sound of the waves, of the perfume that the breeze brought to her – it was worth more than any luxurious perfume to her, Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen.

I should be happy. I am on Westeros, and soon I will just sail again and go home, to my real home, to stay there forever.

Home. Her husband. Probably their child as well. If not immediately, soon. The swell of her belly did not lie, and she smiled thinking of it. Nevertheless, she had too many voices and contrasting feelings battling inside her. Her beautiful armor, crafted by Gendry, remained an expensive present. Her other child, Drogon, had gone with Jon, sensing the need to protect him. Her Jon had ordered her back at Winterfell to stay safe with their soon-to-be-born child at White Harbor, before they even started to pack in order to leave.

"I will not have you risk your life and that of an innocent child for Cersei," he had ordered.

"What of the child's father, then?" Daenerys was fuming at that blatant hypocrisy.

"The child's father is not an untrained wo…"

"Don't say that! Don't you dare, Jon! I will tell Arya, you know! And then you will explain it to her, if she lets you!"

Joh sighed, and corrected himself. "I am a castle-trained swordsman, Dany! Besides… you know we will probably never attack the city, do you?"

After a few instants, it dawned on her. "You are going to have…"

"…Arya, Gendry, Jaime, Brienne, Podrick, and Sandor infiltrate the city."

"So… you are sending an assassin… and as a diversion…"

Jon simply nodded.

Daenerys hadn't thought of it. She knew she could do it. She knew she would want to do it, despite the risks.

She should have been happy to know almost no one would suffer for it.

After that, came the long, slow ride to White Harbor. Jon didn't want to have anyone too tired – and, even though he didn't say it loud, wanted to keep Daenerys and the child safe. The days of the ride were among the happiest of her life. Riding again, with Jon, Grey Worm, and Missandei, made her feel like she was back to her khalasar days. This time, there were fewer worries, almost no unknown details, and her husband by her side. She, Jon, Grey Worm, and Missandei: two happy couples. Her child would be born in a palace, either in White Harbor or in King's Landing, surrounded by maesters and by selected, expert midwives.

At night, the couples watched the stars together, or shared stories about life outdoors – Jon spoke of the Night's Watch and of the Wildlings, Daenerys of the Dothraki, Grey Worm and Missandei of camping while following Daenerys- Then retired to their tents to share intimacies and to sleep in each other's arms.

For the first time, Daenerys thought happiness was hers. She convinced herself that Jorah had been perfectly right when saying she was only a little unsettled by the important and sudden changes in all of their lives upon leaving Winterfell.

Exchanging memories cemented the friendship between the four of them, and gave Daenerys for the first time the idea of having something to share with Jon. However, Jon barely even mentioned Ygritte, trying to avoid reflecting on his choices and the consequences thereof, as well as trying to avoid witnessing his wife's reaction to the mention of another woman. Daenerys, on the other hand, was quite open on the subject of Drogo, and of Jorah. Or, at least, she gave her own version of it, carefully avoiding to mention how she had come to enjoy the most brutal aspects of the Dothraki culture, and cowardly avoiding to think too much about complex bond she had cemented then with Jorah. It all came out as the tale of her adapting to a different culture, and finding a way out of trouble and danger. Which was not a lie, but was not the entire truth either.

Besides, the outdoors really seemed to agree with Jon. One evening, still panting after the amazing performance he had gifted her, she told him: "Is it the dare of the outdoors, the savage charm of a tent, or is it something else that makes you this wild?"

Jon squeezed his eyes trying to push away with that gesture uncalled for images of Wildling camps and caves, and smiled. "I suppose the gallant answer would be that it is you, Dany, that makes me lose my mind."

Daenerys pushed away the uneasiness she still felt at being called Dany, and at the clumsy way of expressing himself, and beamed at the compliment. A pretty compliment for a man who never seemed to have a way with words.

Little did Daenerys foresee that those happy moments and that slow riding would have prepared another moment of tension. And this time she could not even fault Jon for it, for repeating what he had already stated, and for caring about her, their child, and Missandei: her reaction and the subsequent embittering of her spirit were all of her own making. She might have accepted Jon for what he was, and her situation as it came.

Instead, once in White Harbor, Daenerys had thought to have another try and ask Jon to be able to sail at least to Dragonstone, but Jon had made up his mind long before that moment. Drogon could either stay with Daenerys or come with him, but Daenerys and Missandei had to stay back in White Harbor. Tyrion as well: he didn't want to have any of Cersei's men trying to kidnap or kill him.

Then her ships and her armies – no, Jon's armies, now, along with some of Sansa's – had sailed.

She should have been happy Jon and Davos left her and Missandei to rest in White Harbor. The Manderlys were thrilled to have such illustrious guests, and Sansa had been happy to intercede for them. Initially, Davos should have stayed, too, but then the Ironborn threat requested that an experienced sailor go on.

Tyrion… well, Tyrion was physically in White Harbor, but… he was not exactly a companion. Not to her and Missandei, anyway. And who could blame him? The only Northern city with Southron standards had much to offer to him, especially when compared to the company of two saddened women – the one longing for her man, the other longing for a time in which longing tasted differently. Besides, brothels were happy to have business again, to make up for all the losses they sustained due to the long wars. Rumors said Tyrion was a sort of local hero in this regard. A rather alternative take on a hero, granted, but she should have known how much the common people longed for peace, and for money to buy their bread. Hadn't Jorah told her so, long ago, in one of his first lessons to her?

Maybe she should accept the reality. This is what she wanted, wasn't it? The Iron Throne, a home, love. A competent Hand who was free to do whatever he wanted in his spare time. I have it all.

Have I?

She looked again to the sea, and she felt better. There was something relaxing, in taking her daily stroll on the seashore with Missandei, a few Manderly guards several steps behind them, and not a care in the world, apart from reading the ravens that came from Winterfell and from the South.

The ravens told of a few skirmishes here and there: the Lannister men from the Westerlands and the Ironborn encountered them the Targaryen-Stark forces, and they happily engaged in battle in order to make the planned diversion look like the real thing.

Missandei interrupted her reverie. "Are you cold, my queen?"

Daenerys smiled with a little bitterness at her slip. "You still call me that sometimes, after all we have been through."

"You are a queen, after all," Missandei smiled.

"I am more of a glorified prisoner, to be honest."

"Daenerys, after all those years running, fighting, and worrying, don't you think it's relaxing to be here, safe, among friends?"

Daenerys nodded in silence. She could not say what she wanted to say. She was a prisoner, and she also felt – with shame – like her body and her army had been stolen by Jon. The Manderlys were dear, and kind, and her remaining court tried to be supportive, but she felt oppressed.

The last time she had been pregnant, she still could ride, and do what she wanted, just with a little caution. However, here, people had wanted her to give up riding, and many other things.

She had tried to explain to them that the Dothraki did things differently… but the answer was always the same: "We believe you, Your Grace, but if anything should happen, who would have the courage to face King Jon, or better, Queen Sansa acting on his behalf?"

A few days ago, a maester had told her she was somewhere between her sixth and seventh moon. Daenerys forced a smile remembering that last encounter with the maester, and the other piece of news he brought: Queen Sansa was officially expecting too, and was in her third or fourth moon, most likely. After all, Jorah and Sansa deserved happiness. She wished him to become a happy father. She also wanted to try and keep her promise to Jorah, seeing how he had kept all of his to her. She had promised Jorah she would try… and, despite appearances, she knew deep down that she was failing miserably. In fact, one of the things she remembered more often was Jorah helping her mount and dismount, before and after she got pregnant… and her heart felt a dagger through it every single time. A few times, she even burst in tears at the memory, sobbing and weeping desperately, calling Jorah's name when alone.

The most shameful thing to her, however, was another one. She had always had a healthy sexual appetite from the moment she had discovered how her body worked, but with the pregnancy, she had become even hungrier. She got incredibly aroused. She touched herself at night, as she had often done in the past without shame. But it was seldom Jon who accompanied her in her fantasy. Sometimes, she thought of him, indeed, and how could she not? A few nights she had at least managed to fantasize about having Jon AND Jorah… but her mind and her body called more often for the latter, for the man who had always picked her up from her horse or lifted up on it, for the man who had given her first army to her thanks to his guidance.

Missandei interrupted her monotonous daily reverie. "It's only natural you should miss him."

Daenerys startled like a child discovered while pilfering the kitchen. "How do you know?"

"I miss Grey Worm, too. It's hard to be separated from our beloved husbands."

Oh, she thinks I am sad because I miss Jon. "I hope they will both come back to us safe and sound."

"I know they will. Jon wants his child to have both a father and a mother, and Jon keeps his promises." Daenerys lowered her gaze again, and reprised their walk, and Missandei could not guess she was thinking of another man who had always been true to his word, up to the day when she had made him feel unwanted and discarded.

That night, Daenerys heard someone knock at her door. It was Missandei. "I noticed you are melancholy as well, so I thought we should keep each other company. It's probably even harder for you, with the pregnancy."

It was a good idea. They found the courage to talk of cheerful things about what they wanted to do, about their men, and about many light-hearted things. They also hugged like good friends, and felt less alone. Therefore, they changed their routine and shared the bedroom, often indulging in some exotic tea to calm their nerves and to make those winter nights warmer.

There was only one thing Daenerys had to give up for this, and it was giving herself pleasure. She found a few moments alone during the day, and she also settled for contracting her muscles while sitting. She needed to lie with someone, desperately. Paradoxically, this had made her finally wish for Jon, the only man she knew would come to take her, in every meaning of the term.

She never noticed that other people had progressively noticed her needs. They had correctly interpreted her daydreaming, her longing stares into the void – her eyes probably looking upon something that was only in her head –, her heightened complexion.

The first one to address the matter was Missandei. Daenerys could not tell if it was to be unexpected: it certainly came as a surprise to her. "There is nothing wrong with missing our men. And, as I said before, the pregnancy also doesn't help," Missandei commented while on the bed, lying on her side, looking at her.

"You… miss him too, don't you?"

"I do."

"Well, our sleeping arrangement might have helped relieve our loneliness, but I fear it might have prevented us from… indulging in other solutions for other parts of the problem."

"It doesn't have to. There is nothing to be ashamed about."

Daenerys's eyes went wide. "Do… do you think we can try to… ignore each other?"

"Ignore each other? Quite on the contrary, Daenerys. Help each other."

After a few seconds, it dawned on her. She remembered Doreah and her teachings. "Oh," she simply said.

Missandei smiled, and slid her hand under Daenerys's skirt, then took one of Daenerys's hands and put it on her leg. Daenerys smiled back.

With very few reciprocate hints, they both learned each other's body quickly. Despite the apparent innocence of those simple touches and strokes with their hands, Daenerys felt immensely satisfied, and at peace.

However, after a few amazing nights, Daenerys had to admit to herself that she longed for a cock and that her hands itched to feel manly muscles. There were moments in which all she could think about was lying back on a table, and have a man lick her nub and folds, and then enter her forcefully. On the positive side, at least in this new phase she did not fantasize about Jorah instead of Jon; on the negative side, she simply wanted to have a man now: any man would do. Which was probably even worse a betrayal towards Jon. She knew she would never indulge in her desire: she could not bear to cheat on Jon while carrying his child. Nevertheless, she still felt guilty.

She consoled herself thinking that the child would come soon, and so would Jon as well. Who would come first? Only time could tell.

The Red Keep, King's Landing.

Cersei looked up and saw Qyburn, and wondered where the Mountain was instead. He had been away for a while now, and he knew he should not stay away from her that long. However, the reports about the skirmishes and about the dragon interested her more. The dragon bitch was still in White Harbor with a swollen belly given to her by her nephew-husband, the child due soon. Sansa did not want to be less than her cousins were, and conceived a child with the man who had once withstood Jaime at the tourney of Lannisport, a beggar of an exile lord, only recently come back with the army of the dragon bitch. And the last remaining dragon seemed to follow the Targaryen and Stark army from afar. Nevertheless, so far he hadn't attacked.

"The ballistae are enough to protect the city from the dragon, aren't they?"

Qyburn simply nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. What do the reports say?" He came nearer and bent over the table, to have a look at the parchments spread in front of her.

Cersei only managed to open her mouth before she felt the cold of the blade in her throat.

As her blood poured on the table, she heard "Cersei of the House Lannister. For conspiring against the Hand of the King and lawful Regent Eddard Stark, and against the rightful heir to the Iron Throne Stannis Baratheon, and for several other crimes against House Stark and against the population of Westeros, I, Princess Arya Stark of Winterfell, in the name of Sansa Stark, Queen in the North, and of Jon Aegon Targaryen, the one true King of the Six Kingdoms, sentence you to die."

She managed to see Qyburn shift into the shape of a young woman who looked familiar, and then her world went black.

Arya went to open the door. She was relieved to see Gendry and Podrick enter as planned, disguised as Gold Cloaks. It was only a matter of time until people started to notice the trail of assassinated gold cloaks and Lannister men crossing the city and the keep. If the Mountain and Sandor fighting could have been seen as a personal revenge, disconnected from the Targaryen-Stark threat, the rest – including city gates opened to let some men enter – was a different matter entirely.

"Is the corpse hanging from the walls rotting Varys's?" asked Gendry.

"Hard to tell, but from what I gathered from Qyburn, it should be. Euron's work, anyway. I am so sorry: Varys really helped us very much."

"Do you think Brienne and Jaime will make it to the Red Keep?" asked Podrick.

"I hope so."

The growl of Drogon announced Jon's arrival, and the trio prepared for the final surprise.

Jon walked into the throne room, and saw the throne for the first time. It was a horrible, twisted thing, in an oversized hall with windows they had to replace.

It was a strange feeling. He had never cared for the throne, and yet here he was, to claim it for his wife. The source of his happiness was this, only this: that soon he would be seeing her again, and their child would be born. His child, a legitimate child, born out of love. For it, he would take ten ugly thrones, if necessary.

On the other hand, the feeling of hate and disgust for the city took him almost as soon as he stepped down Drogon. It simply didn't feel like home. He still didn't feel the Targaryen banners and flags belonged to him. And as beautiful as the sea was, the stench of the city threatened to choke him.

But he knew it would feel like home soon. He had done what a dutiful husband and father should do: secure a home and a future for his family, and as soon as said family would be here, he would be happy again.

He tried to shove away his negative thoughts about his marriage, thoughts he had mistakenly hoped to set aside for once and for all. Apart from the quarrel upon leaving Winterfell and from the one before leaving White Harbor, their time together on the road had been the kind of love one hears of in songs and tales, to the point that he was sure that all difficulties were over. However, since then, she had written him only twice, and they had only been a few lines reassuring him about her health and their child's. Nothing particularly elaborate or intimate.

Maybe it was her pregnancy this time. It was understood that pregnant women underwent several changes that affected their mood and behavior too. Anyway, he would see her soon and see for himself, and his heart warmed. He hoped the child would be born here, so that he could hold it in his arms immediately. Or should the baby be born in that North he still considered his true home?

Ironically, he had exchanged more ravens with Sansa and Jorah. Since meeting her again at Castle Black after his resurrection, Sansa and he had built their relationship anew: up until the moment he had first impulsively married his lover, she had been everything he had, and he had been the same for her. It had been just the two of them alone in the world, and against the whole world. And it had been so heart-warming: the girl who had barely talked to him, except for the occasional song, or tale, or game of princesses and knights, had become the most important person in the world for him. It had been a beautiful discovery to see that the sweet girl he knew she had been before still lurked under the wise, hardened and battered lady that had run to him to take back Winterfell. Then he had left, Arya and Bran had returned, and he had embarked on his new adventure with Daenerys. Everything had changed.

Jorah had been a pleasant addiction to the family, and he had been a much needed support, as only a male veteran of war, politics, and matrimony could have been for him in his delicate situation. Ironically, he had repeatedly and in very few words told him not to worry about Dany's pregnancy, since Daenerys had survived the birth of Rhaego in dire conditions and the crossing of the Red Waste immediately thereafter. Whereas, in talking of Sansa, he had bared his soul and shared his worries that she might be like his first wife, in a very eloquent manner. It was surprising to see that the gruff Northerner was such a sensitive soul, not to mention so deeply in love with his new wife. This had led to a flood of ravens exchanged between both him and Jorah, and him and Sansa, and him and Sam, all focused on identifying all possible reasons for being optimistic and all signs of tragedy, and on supervising Sam's research on womanly ailments and medicine. Of course, Jon had also the excuse that any discovery by Sam would keep Daenerys safe as well. However, the core of the matter was that Daenerys had proved so far that she was extremely strong, whereas no one knew if Sansa's strength extended to surviving childbearing.

Damn Jorah. He could only mention that, as Catelyn Stark's daughter, and the one to resemble her the most besides, she had probably inherited her fecundity and strength as well. And he reminded Jorah of Maege's Mormont equally fecund and healthy motherhood experience. Not even this could calm Jorah: in fact, this reminded Jon that Rhaella Targaryen and Lyanna Stark Targaryen had both died in childbirth, a thing he put down in ink and shared with the already nervous Jorah immediately.

Sansa had thus put an end to the chain of terror and catastrophic scenarios exchanged via raven by severely scolding Jorah in person and Jon per raven.

For an instant, Jon smiled. Then trouble came again, in the form of Brienne of Tarth and Jaime Lannister.

"Your Grace, do you think you will need me…" an elbow hit Jaime in the side, "…us for your Kingsguard?"

"Would you prefer to continue serving Sansa?"

Jaime and Brienne exchanged a stare, and then continued. "Not necessarily. In fact, we would prefer staying south of the Neck. And we agree we would be honored to serve in your guard. But we would like to know how you'd feel about, well, family plans for the Kingsguard."

"Family plans?" he repeated, trying to understand what they meant.

It took him a few instants, but then it dawned on him.

"Is there someone who is not having a baby in this realm and in the northern one?" It was a rather endearing thing, but it was also funny. Sam and Gilly, Jorah and Sansa, he and Daenerys…

"Your Grace, life goes on. And many want to make up for the many lives that were lost."

Jon smiled, and thought of the future. "You are right. Send Davos to me immediately, then: we have to start preparing the world that will welcome our children."

1 The puppeteers play at the Tourney of Ashford, in "A knight of the Seven Kingdoms"/"The hedge knight" (the first tale of Dunk and Egg). Editet with Jorah's name instead of Florian's.