Chapter Three: The Gift

A/N: So it's been a while, but here's an update! A bit of Jaime POV, and next chapter we will also have a bit of Robb POV. I know this has been a slow start, but I'm really excited for Shaera's story and I hope you all are too.

Shaera Targaryen

She had never known cold like the North, and she wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that. Shivering, Shaera tugged her furs more tightly around her. She had forsaken the light fabrics she had worn in Dorne for heavier, more insulated clothing. She did not fare well in the chilliness of the North, although she had to admit that it was beautiful. It never snowed in Dorne, and compared to this cold, it felt like it was eternally summer. Winter was coming to Westeros, and the weather in the North proved it.

"Try not to catch a chill," Aegon called as he strode toward her, "Or pass out from the frigidness that is the North."

Shaera scowled and elbowed him in the ribs as he cackled. They were mere days from Winterfell and although the road was long, it had been a marvel to experience parts of Westeros outside of where they had grown up. She knew that she and Aegon had been born in King's Landing in the Crownlands. Their journey had taken them through the lush greenery of the Reach, and past the many lakes and creeks of the Riverlands.

Their entourage was small, as befitted the children of minor lords. The head of their guard was the bastard Daemon Sand, who had once been a lover of their cousin Arianne. He and Aegon had a boisterous and competitive friendship as young men their age tended to, but Daemon had a good heart, even if Shaera suspected he still harboured feelings for Arianne.

It was odd to Shaera that her eldest cousin, at the age of twenty-four, was not married. She supposed that Doran must have his own plans in mind, just as he had for the twins. Perhaps one day when she'd grown comfortable in her role as a future ruler, she might be so bold as to question him about it.

"I'll do my best to save my damsel act for Winterfell," Shaera responded to her brother, tossing back her dark hair.

Doran wanted them to be careful in the North. It was common knowledge that women in Dorne could also be warriors, so fortunately Shaera would not have to forsake her weapons. However she and Aegon had practised calling each other by their false names and encouraging the rest of their entourage to do the same, so once they reached Lord Stark's keep they could truly slip into the roles of Alin and Sierra Dayne.

Shaera was nervous. In Dorne, she and Aegon were openly accepted even under their aliases. In the North, she had heard the people could be very stiff and formal. There would be none of the friendliness and warmth that she was used to, and the idea made her heart ache, though she could not have said why. However these were thoughts she didn't even feel comfortable discussing with her twin.

"I wouldn't fret if I were you." Daemon sauntered over, his fingers looped through his belt. "I'm the one whose last name is 'Sand', so I'm certain I'm the one they'll turn their noses up at."

Shaera could see why Arianne liked him. Daemon was courteous and easygoing. He was quick to smile and laugh. When Shaera was Queen, she wanted a court of amusements, not just the serious and scheming social climbers.

"You forget." Aegon jabbed a finger in his direction, a grin spreading across his own face. "I am also posing as a bastard. Just a legitimised one."

"Yes, my prince, but there's a difference to be seen there." Daemon slung an arm around Aegon's shoulders, something that would have to stop before Winterfell. "You are a Dayne, I am a Sand."

"I hear Lord Stark has a bastard child," Shaera murmured. The boy was of a similar age to his half-brother, Robb. Apparently the honourable Ned had fathered him during Robert's Rebellion, though not even the King himself could have said who the child's mother was.

"Oh yes, Jon Snow." Daemon shook his head slowly. "I bet Lady Stark was thrilled when he brought another woman's baby home from war."

Shaera knew it was all too common for men to be unfaithful to their wives. Their own father, Rhaegar, had run off with Lyanna Stark and dishonoured their mother, Elia. Many spoke of him as a gentle man with a love for music, particularly his silver harp. Neither Shaera nor Aegon had inherited such musical talent. Shaera wondered whether it would have fallen to their sister, Rhaenys. Nonetheless, Shaera could not respect her father, for she loathed what he had done to their mother. He'd started a war, all over a girl.

Was that Shaera's fate as well? To be wed for political gain, to a man who would break her heart and humiliate her? She truly hoped not. It was just as well that venturing North was to gain allies and that a possible betrothal to Robb Stark was a pretence, for she did not much fancy a Northern lord who might tire of a wife with dragon blood. Whilst her father had searched for wildness, Robb might have wanted demureness. She thanked the gods that the Stark heir was not her mission.

Aegon Targaryen

The North was incredibly fucking cold and he was finding it difficult to cope with it. Shaera was making a valiant effort of hiding her discomfort, bundled up in furs, but Aegon could see her teeth chattering at times. He had never craved a warm bed as much, and found himself immensely grateful when the silhouette of Winterfell's keep came into view through the thin blanket of snowfall.

"Thank the gods," he muttered under his breath as they rode through the gates and into the courtyard. There was a small assembly there to greet them, mostly seeming to consist of the Stark family. With the royal family currently in residence at Winterfell, Aegon had not exactly expected a parade in their honour.

"Lord Stark." Shaera dismounted her horse, immediately good grace and diplomacy. Although she must have been weary, it did not show as she inclined her head to the middle-aged man who had to be Eddard Stark.

Aegon's eyes raked over the rest of the family. The auburn-haired woman beside him with a grim set to her mouth had to be Catelyn. The boy beside her was of similar age to the twins, with his mother's colouring. This had to be Robb, the heir. There were two girls - one auburn-haired and pretty, the other dark-haired and plainer - and two small boys. Aegon could not recall all of their names, although he was sure Shaera would.

"You must be Sierra Dayne." Lord Stark's grey eyes flicked to Aegon. "And your cousin, Alin Dayne."

Aegon reminded himself that with this facade, he was inferior to Lord Stark, and he bowed stiffly in accordance with those ridiculous social customs. The charade had to continue, even though it meant that Aegon unbent his pride a little.

"May I present my wife Catelyn and my children - Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon."

The auburn-haired girl, the older one, blushed furiously under Aegon's scrutiny. She was a little young for his taste, probably around thirteen or so. He imagined her to be the sort who became besotted with whatever handsome young nobleman looked her way. Not that it mattered - the Starks thought him a bastard, so he was of little consequence to Sansa.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all." Shaera beamed at them all. It amazed Aegon that his sister believed herself shy and not much good at social interaction, when anyone who met her could sense her genuine nature and warmth. "I suppose we must have arrived just after the royal party. I noticed the Baratheon colours as we rode in."

"Mere hours, in fact." Lady Stark's smile was thin. "We are having a feast tonight in the King's honour. You are more than welcome to join."

Aegon suspected that Lady Stark was stressed about the size of the party now taking up residence in Winterfell, for he didn't feel as though she was very welcoming. The North was not known for revelries, unlike the sort of feasts and parties the Martells often hosted in Dorne. He expected the celebrations to be rather stiff and forced, much like Lady Stark's smile.

"That sounds wonderful." Shaera glanced over her shoulder at their entourage. "We will rest and bathe, and then join you for dinner."

Aegon couldn't help but flash a grin. "We very much look forward to it."

Jaime Lannister

When he had been a boy, freshly knighted, he had worshipped Arthur Dayne. When the name 'Dayne' began to circulate Winterfell, Jaime could not help but wonder which of the man's family could have ventured to a place as desolate and hellish as Winterfell - and for what purpose? Certainly, there was nothing of interest here.

He caught sight of the Daynes and their entourage at the feast for the King's arrival. The pair had to be a similar age to Ned Stark's boy, although with very different demeanours.

Alin, Ashara's bastard son, was at ease with the pulse of the music, quick to take up an ale in his hand as he slipped through the party. His hair was pale blonde - no doubt that was inherited from his unknown father - and his eyes were violet like his mother's. A handsome young man, one who already had the women in the hall whispering and giggling amongst themselves. Alin encouraged the attention, tipping winks and stopping to flirt.

It was the girl that truly caught Jaime's attention. Sierra, if he recalled correctly. Azran's daughter. Azran had been young when he had died, and Jaime couldn't remember if he'd married. Most likely if Sierra was not a legitimised bastard like her cousin. She had the typical Dornish dark hair and eyes and a brown complexion.

There was no smile to be found on Sierra's lips. Despite her pretty greetings and polite interactions with those who approached her, when Sierra was on her own, Jaime noted she was serious and watchful. Those dark eyes scanned the feast, flicking to her rambunctious cousin every now and again. She was wary, a little Dayne star in a den of wolves and lions. How out of place this southern girl was, how out of her depth.

Jaime's lip curled as he noted Robert beginning to get increasingly drunk, and Cersei's gaze increasingly cold as it landed upon her husband. Not that Jaime could blame her - Robert was a poor husband at best. Tonight their absence would be noticed, so perhaps another night, Jaime could take her mind off Robert.

The Stark heir and the Greyjoy ward were drinking and laughing together. Jaime followed Robb's gaze and noticed that he was looking at the Dayne girl. Sierra's grim demeanour had vanished and she was once again mingling, all graceful curtsies and warm words. Jaime couldn't blame the boy - she was a lovely girl, though not the match Jaime thought Ned had in mind for his eldest son. Azran hadn't even been a lord, just the younger brother of one.

The daughter of a knight and the bastard son of a lord's sister. What an interesting pair.

"Taking stock, Kingslayer?" A Dornish man that he didn't recognise approached, arching an eyebrow. "Oh, you won't know me. I'm Daemon Sand."

Jaime did know him. Or at least, knew of him. Daemon had squired for Oberyn Martell himself, and was considered one of the finest knights in Dorne. Whilst interesting that he had accompanied the Dayne cousins on their venture North, it was not entirely surprising. Perhaps the girl was even his lover, or even the boy. Rumours circulated about the nature of Daemon's relationship with Oberyn, so nothing would astonish Jaime.

"Your charges are intriguing." Jaime tilted his head to the side. "Tell me, does Sierra truly imagine she is to marry the next Warden of the North? I've seen ambitious social climbers, and she isn't one. What interest does she have in Robb Stark?"

"That's for Lord Dayne to answer." Daemon shrugged his shoulders, raising his goblet to his lips and taking a deep sip. "I do as I'm instructed, Ser Jaime. Beyond that, I don't ask questions that are none of my concern."

Raucous laughter erupted across the hall, and both of them turned to see Sierra angrily berating her cousin as she escorted him from the hall. Alin's steps were unsteady, and it was clear he'd had too much to drink. He wondered if Sierra would bother returning, considering she was evidently not enjoying the celebrations.

Despite the apparent innocence of the Dayne cousins, Jaime prickled with unease. They had conveniently arrived at Winterfell, allegedly to see the Starks, at the exact same time as the royal party. Their claim that the girl was a prospective bride for Robb was a weak one - which led to the question, why exactly were the Daynes so far North, when the Dornish had kept to themselves since the end of Robert's Rebellion?

Shaera Targaryen

Shaera was not impressed with Aegon's antics during the arrival feast. She had anticipated that perhaps he would get slightly inebriated, but having to drag him to his bedchamber had not been part of those expectations. She knew he would be spending the following day in his room feeling sorry for himself and nursing his hangover, and she made a point of leaving him to his own devices.

Shaera had noticed Robb observing her, and couldn't say she was too disappointed in the attention. Ned and Catelyn's eldest son was handsome and everything she would have expected a dashing lord's son to be. Although not one to be won by looks alone, in her brief interactions with Robb, he had been kind and courteous. Some part of her wished that they would interact more.

Shaera took a stroll around the grounds, taking in as much of Winterfell as she could whilst she had the time. There was a freshness to the air, especially the way it smelled after a recent bout of rain. The coldness was becoming familiar, to the point where Shaera almost found it tolerable. She closed her eyes and let the tiny snowflakes drifting down from the grey clouds caress her skin and hair.

Footsteps crunching through gravel made her eyes snap open, and she tensed when she recognised the man approaching her. Everything about him was golden - golden hair, golden armour. He looked like one of the knights from the stories that Adem had read to her and Aegon when they'd been children, huddled up and wide-eyed in the same bed.

There was nothing valiant about this man, for she knew this was Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer. Taking care to school her features into a neutral expression. No good could come of losing her temper with Jaime.

"Sierra Dayne, isn't it?" Jaime arched his eyebrows coolly. She tossed back her hair and glowered up at him, eyes narrowed and lips pressed into a thin line.

"Kingslayer." She sneered the word. How she loathed him, the man who had murdered Aerys Targaryen by stabbing him in the back. The son of the cold, cruel Lord Tywin – who had authorised the murders of the royal children. How she wished she could tell him who she truly was, laugh in his face about the fact that she had survived. Here be dragons, Jaime Lannister.

Her fury could pass as one of the Dornish angry at what had happened to Elia, yet she needed to be careful. Her anger could be her downfall if she did not learn to control it. Someone caught her by the elbow, and Shaera didn't think she'd ever been more relieved to see her twin.

"Can we find some food?" There were dark shadows under Aegon's eyes and although he yawned loudly, she suspected there was a reason he had ventured from the comfort of his bed. She thanked the gods for his impeccable timing, and followed him back indoors without another word to Jaime. She noted that Aegon hadn't released her arm, and that his hand was shaking.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"There's something you must see." There was an urgency to his tone that Shaera could not ignore, and she realised this was not her twin simply attempting to gain her attention. She walked with Aegon through the corridors toward his bedchamber, and was astonished to see him bolt the door behind her as they stepped inside.

"For the love of the Seven, will you tell me what the issue is?"

Aegon pointed toward the fire, apparently lost for words. She noticed that there were two oval-shaped objects, neatly wrapped and set a little in front of the hearth. There was a note attached to them. Shaera crossed over cautiously, aware of Aegon pacing back and forth behind her. She knelt down and picked the note up, turning it over in her fingers to see the untidy scrawl etched across it.

Shaera & Aegon. The Spider sends his greetings, and hopes you will accept this gift. Burn this note.

"When were these put here?" Shaera asked, glancing over her shoulder at Aegon. The idea that someone in Winterfell knew the truth of their identities was disturbing. Shaera dreaded unwrapping whatever this 'gift' was. She did as the note instructed and tossed it into the fire, watching the flames eat away at their names with some satisfaction.

"I don't know." Aegon shook his head. "While I was sleeping, I suppose."

It said a lot that even bold Aegon, her twin brother who had fearlessly taken up the sword at a young age, who was insistent upon one day becoming the next Sword of the Morning, had not opened the gift without her present. Realising that he was waiting on her to do the honours, Shaera took the burlap fabric off the 'gift', determined to find out what these two oval-shaped things were.

When she did, she pressed her hands over her mouth to stifle a cry of astonishment. Aegon ceased his pacing and cursed under his breath. Glinting ominously in the firelight, there could be no doubting what these oval objects were.

They were dragon eggs.