''I dreamed of all the things the two of us could do once, you know?'' Aegon asked, those purple eyes gleaming in the glow of the torch. He sat with his knees to his chest, leaning against the dark wall of his cell. Ser Barristan held the torch, standing by the entrance while Jae sat opposite Aegon. The shadows danced on the walls, the dark eager to reclaim its lost territory, but Aegon's haunted eyes remained as clear as ever. ''Conquer Essos, when I was younger. Bring peace when I got older.''

Does he expect me to show mercy? ''I dreamed the same.''

''I know,'' Aegon took a sip from the skin of wine Jae brought him. ''I rather failed, haven't I?''

Their eyes met and the slaughter of the Battle at Death's Doorstep returned to the forefront. Jae could see the crows circling in the sky. It's only been days. Surely the memory will fade. Aegon buried his face in his hands only to remember his company. He went still and looked up again, jaw clenched.

''Not entirely,'' Jae murmured. ''There will be peace now. You pulled all the traitors down with you.''

''I rather hoped I'd be alive to see it.''

That couldn't happen. Not with Aegon. ''Traitors go to the Wall. Their leaders go to the block.''

''I know,'' he stared at Jae. ''So why are you here?''

''The entire Realm is converging on the capital for the trials, and to beg mercy.'' He paused for a beat. ''The Lords of Dorne are among them.''

''Ah,'' Aegon nodded in understanding. ''You wish for me to confess.''

''You said you wanted peace. Your confession gives me a chance to secure it.'' The cold, black stone pressed against his back as he watched Aegon.

''And ruin the Martells.'' Aegon took another sip from the skin. ''You get to avoid all cries to free Oberyn.''

''The Martells will keep their position. I didn't win one war just to start another in Dorne.''

''And if I don't?''

''I'll instigate the civil war myself. I have no use for a Lord Paramount no one can trust or control.''

''Whereas if I confess, they'll be entirely reliant on you,'' Aegon nodded in appreciation. ''But why should I go along with it? I'm a dead man, and you have nothing to threaten me with.'' He gave him a jaded smile. ''Even you, the great Ice Dragon, could never get men to follow your noble ideals without having something to offer or someone to threaten.''

''You don't have to,'' Jae shrugged, unconcerned. ''You can go to your grave bitter and defiant, trying to cause as much damage as you can. You won't be the first.''

Aegon threw his head back and laughed. ''Ah, so that's what you're going with. A nifty trick, but it won't work on me.''

''You lost the war, Aegon. Now you have to live with the consequences.''

''Easy for you to say.''

''Perhaps,'' Jae allowed. ''Go to your death trying to do as much damage as possible then, but know it won't be much. You didn't bed Myrcella. No son of yours will ever grow up to trouble me. The only ones who'll end up hurt by your action will be the Martells and between my dragons and the resentment of their own lords' bannermen, taking care of that problem shouldn't take very long.''

''Why should I care about the Martells? They're the ones who pulled me into this mess in the first place.'' He hissed, the mask of acceptance he'd adopted slipping to reveal the acid hatred beneath.

''As you will,'' Jae stood from his place. He had nothing more to say, and he refused to beg.

As he moved through the doorway, Aegon said, ''Tywin said we should execute Daenerys and send her your head. He said the rage would've blinded you, and kept your mind away from the politics you love so much.''

Jae turned back to him, fighting back the tide of dread that rose in his chest at the very thought of it. ''Why didn't you?''

''Didn't want to win the war that way.'' He bit back a snarl. ''Though I'd have done it if I knew it was the only way to win the war.''

''You're not the first one to become a monster in the face of defeat, Aegon. You should be grateful I'll make sure not many will get to see you this way.'' Jae told him and walked away without another word. Barristan's torch lit their way through the darkness and up the stairs out of the Black Cells.

The cells on the next floor were far kinder to its prisoners; they sat behind bars rather than in closed cells, and the thin ray of light from above gave them at least some respite from the unending darkness. Some sat inside, fully accepting of their fate. Tyrion Lannister watched Jae pass with quiet eyes, saying nothing. Myrcella Lannister wept quietly while her mother gripped at the bars as she saw him approach.

''Traitor! Usurper!'' she screamed, a look of unholy madness on her face. Her once-flowing golden hair had become a matted mess of dirt and grime. ''Lannisters always pay their debts!''

Yes, and you'll pay them in blood. Jae walked on without a word. The last few days had been one never-ending headache. Winning the war is one thing, ending it quite another. He had to be ruthless, but show mercy where there was room for it.

If he didn't have dragons, he'd never consider removing a House as Lords Paramount. It would come with too much strife and struggle, and he'd end up fighting one war after another to pacify different regions. But dragons make my word law. He could appoint a hedge knight the Warden of the West and none would challenge it. Not when the promise of a visit from Vermithor and Meleys hung in the air.

He came out into the open air of the middle bailey and smiled. The Red Keep. He'd never fully acknowledged how much he loved the accursed castle. It had never been his, and he always thought himself little more than a guest. But I'm not anymore. The Red Keep is mine, and I mean to keep it.

Ser Arthur and Ser Loras waited for him by the exit from the Black Cells and together they all set off toward the Small Council chambers. Baratheon and Targaryen men patrolled the castle in strong numbers, little by little displacing the men under the control of the Tyrells.

He caught sight of Daenerys dashing across the outer bailey as they passed under the portcullis. ''Dany!'' he called.

She stopped and turned to him, quickly falling into a curtsy. ''Your Grace,'' she said with a smile.

''I'm just going to meet with the Lady Olenna and Margaery. Care to join me?'' he asked.

Dany had taken the Red Keep in the night with little to no blood, expertly gaining control of the Goldcloaks by assassinating the Lannister-controlled lickspittle that commanded them and replacing him with Ser Jacelyn Bywater, a man far more friendly to Jaehaerys than Aegon. She even brought Velaryon and Rosby on-side, using promises of lands and threats of dragons to great effect.

Jae meant to keep her close in his council, even if she never wanted to marry him.

''Uh, of course, Your Grace.'' She offered a strained smile that had his alarm bells ringing, but he dismissed it. She'd been acting a bit strange since his return to the capital, but he knew it would all come out in due time. It's not as if I have to fear treason from her.

''Having a good day?'' he asked as they walked arm in arm across the bailey.

''Good enough.''

''How's Meleys?''

''Wonderful,'' she exclaimed, giddy as a little child, all tension forgotten. ''She grows bigger by the day. I've ordered all the books on dragonlore to be brought from Dragonstone. I hope you don't mind.''

''Of course not,'' He, too, watched Vermithor closely, taking note of every growth spurt so he might determine how long it would take for him to fly across the sky. Since his return to the Red Keep, the dragons had commandeered the Godswood, hunting squirrels and rats. It meant the nobles and the servants avoided the Godswood, but their comfort meant little to him.

I have to rebuild the Dragon Pit. Not to chain them, but to give them a place to roost, since he hoped that one day they'd be too large to be housed in the Red Keep.

They walked past the pair of guards that stood on each side of the entrance to the Small Council chambers and into the entrance hall, where a surprise waited for them.

''Your Grace,'' Princess Elia stood up from a chair that sat against the wall where nobles often waited to be received by the Small Council. Rhaenys stood right next to her. The two had bounced back remarkably well from the disaster at Death's Doorstep, helped in no small part by Jae's assurances that he had no intention of executing them. Rhaenys shone in her purple silk dress, while Elia found a well of fierceness that more than made up for Oberyn's absence.

''Princess, sister,'' he gave them a nod. ''How may I help you?''

''We were hoping to speak to you about a matter of great import,'' Elia said as Rhaenys wrung her hands. Strange.

''Lord Tyrell awaits inside,'' Ser Arthur whispered to him from behind.

''Ladies, is there any chance this discussion could wait? There are some things I must deal with first.''

''Of course, Your Grace, but if you don't mind we'll wait here until you do.'' Elia insisted. She'd already begged for Oberyn's release and moved up to demanding it when begging proved futile, so he could only wonder what the third approach would be.

''As you will,'' he nodded and walked into the Small Council chambers. Loras held the door open for him and he walked in to find Mace Tyrell slumped in a chair, Lady Olenna tapping her cane on the floor while Margaery sat with her back as straight as a spear, and about as stiff.

''Lord Tyrell,'' he said as they all stood up. ''My ladies.'' He walked to the head of the table and sat down, Daenerys taking the place by his side. ''I trust we all know why we're here?''

''Indeed,'' Olenna bit out. ''Now that we've given you your crown, you've come to cut us loose.''

This time around, Margaery offered no admonishment for her grandmother, only averted her gaze, and wiped away an errant tear that escaped down her cheek. ''I've come to do the exact opposite, my lady.''

''Truly? You've come to tell us Margaery will remain your only wife?'' she leaned forward in her seat, her fingers drumming on her cane.

''You know that's impossible. I need an heir.''

''So keep Margaery as your first wife and marry another.''

''And you would accept such an arrangement?'' Margaery's eyes snapped to his, a glimmer of hope awakening in them. He'd told her he meant to keep her as his wife and he meant it. The Tyrells helped win him his throne, abandoning them now would be a recipe for trouble.

Olenna cocked her head. ''I've been told the High Septon rejected your proposal outright.''

''He is not the King,'' Jae replied in a tone of iron. ''Besides, I'm sure somehow, someway, we might find ourselves a High Septon that's far more... sympathetic to our cause.''

Olenna's eyes lit up in understanding. If they want a Queen, and they don't want a religious war, they might as well do the killing. He suspected the High Septon wouldn't live to see another dawn.

''And to further cement the alliance between the Reach and the Crown, I thought to offer your son Lord Willas the position of Master of Coin.'' He glanced between them. Mace looked pleased as can be, while Olenna most likely needed more time to accept the harsh reality, and remind herself I had no hand in creating it.

Mace nodded before the Queen of Thorns could get a word in and Jae celebrated a moment of victory. The Reach is in the fold, and they don't get an infusion of Royal Blood to annoy my grandchildren with.

''Very well,'' he looked to Margaery. ''I trust you'll accept your quarters in Maegor's Holdfast now?''

''Of course, Your Grace,'' she nodded as she wiped at her eyes. From the corner of his eye, he saw Daenerys staring at Margaery with a pinched look on her face.

''Good,'' he smiled at them all, pleased another problem had been resolved. ''You'll have to excuse me now, I have a few more matters to handle.'' He told them with an expectant look and they stood up as one and waddled out of his Chambers, unhappy but far from angry. Means we reached a compromise.

When Lord Tyrell opened the door, he found Lord Baratheon storming through them. ''Your Grace,'' he called and quickly crossed the room to Jae. ''An urgent dispatch from Lord Stark. The rider claims he is but an hour away.''

''An hour?'' Jae repeated as he snatched the scroll from Orys' hands. ''He wasn't supposed to arrive for another sennight.''

''They must've hurried,'' Orys murmured. Jae's eyes flew over the text, his frown deepening with each word he read.

''Lord Stark asks that he be welcomed before the entire Court,''

''A bit presumptuous of him,''

''Claims it a matter of great urgency.'' He looked up at Orys. ''Uncle Ned isn't interested in a vanity fair. This must be serious.''

Orys straightened his back, his eyes on the wall. Every bit the soldier. ''What are your orders, Your Grace.''

''Summon my Court. I want every noble in King's Landing to wait in the Throne Room by the time my Uncle gets here.'' He said, tapping the scroll against the table. What could it be?

''As you say,'' he bowed and marched out of the room. Jae heard him barking orders.

He got up from his seat and pushed past the pausing Tyrells who'd remained behind to listen. Princess Elia and Rhaenys assaulted him the second he stepped out. ''Your Grace—''

''Not right now, my ladies, I have an urgent matter to deal with.''

He walked on, but then Rhaenys blurted out, ''It's Arianne. She's pregnant.''

He stopped in his stride and turned to her. She took a wary step back. ''With whose child?''

''Yours.''

''But I never—'' he went quiet. The night before Aegon's coronation. I couldn't have been that drunk, could I? Daenerys stood beside him, stone-faced.

He turned and walked off without another word. This can wait, he told himself. I need to find out what Uncle Ned is going on about first.

He passed by the Tower of the Hand and the Library and crossed the dry moat into Maegor's Holdfast. ''Are you all right, Your Grace?'' Ser Loras asked as he struggled to keep up in his heavy armor.

'''M fine,'' he murmured. ''Have someone bring me a bite to eat and a cup of wine.''

''Of course, Your Grace,'' he peeled off to go chase after some maid, leaving him alone with Ser Arthur.

''Well done, Your Grace.'' Arthur chuckled.

Jae smiled in spite of himself. ''You're dornish, Arthur. What will this mean for the Lords and the people?''

''It'll much improve your standing in Dorne.'' He said as they turned a corner and ascended up a wide staircase toward Jae's chambers. ''The child, boy or girl, will be the ruler of Sunspear after Arianne. I'm no politician, Your Grace, but this might be an opportunity for you.'' Jae nodded in understanding. ''Though...''

''What?'' he barked as they reached his door.

''It won't do much good if you kill Oberyn.'' Of course, my child will look like the progeny of a foreign invader, he pushed open the door when the most horrifying implication hit him. If I don't have another child, Arianne's baby will be the Heir to the Throne. Oh, he could already see the Lords of Westeros throwing a fit.

Ser Loras returned with his maids who came in carrying a platter of fruits and sausages, a pitcher of wine, while a servant girl scurried around his chambers to lay out the clothes Daenerys chose for his Court appearances. His Aunt had decided to garb him in shining reds and with only a tinge of black to 'offset your somewhat cold reputation'. He hadn't figured out what she meant just yet.

He popped a grape in his mouth as they put on his red wool trousers and his red doublet with black lining, embroidered with small heads of dragons in a darker shade of red. A fool in his motley. ''Give me that wine,'' he commanded and downed it in on gulp. This has the potential for another war. The Tyrells will never accept that they got a Queen and the dornish got an Heir.

I need to marry Daenerys, and soon. If only he knew how to broach the subject. He'd never been a romantic, never needed to seduce anyone. Women seduced me. And far more successfully than he thought. Seven Hells.

Ser Arthur handed over Blackfyre and Jae clasped the sword-belt around his waist. He laid his crown over his brow; he had to have another one made since Aegon's usurping ways sullied the masterpiece he gifted him. ''Let us go, then,'' he said and walked out of his chambers. The rest of his Kingsguard waited outside, as they always do before a session of Court and they fell into step behind him, hands on the pommels of their swords.

His mind churned over the implications of Rhaenys' revelation through the entire trek to the Throne Room, to the point he nearly forgot about Uncle Ned's urgent dispatch. The door opened to reveal the assembled Court. Daynes, Yronwoods, and Dalts from Dorne; Baratheons, Footes, and Caferes from the Stormlands; Brackens, Motoons, and Freys of the Riverlands; every Reacher House in existence. They all came.

Jae strode past them with a determined gait, sparing a glance for no one until he reached the Iron Throne. Daenerys stood to its left in a golden dress, Orys to its right, clad in his black armor. The two of them decided they'd never let anyone forget their martial prowess.

He climbed the stairs, conscious not to touch the blades for balance. When he reached the top, he turned around and sat down. The cavernous hall stretched out before him and sitting on high, the people looked small.

''Lord Hand, has Lord Stark arrived?'' he asked in a solemn voice.

''He has, Your Grace. He should present himself momentarily.''

Jae nodded and settled into his seat, saying nothing. Gentle whispers ran around the Throne Room, various Lords and knights speculating about the reason behind the urgent meeting of the Court. He heard the word 'Martell' once or twice, following by a glance his way. They already know.

The herald banged his staff against the ground. ''Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North!'' The door opened and his Uncle strode through. Robb walked by his side, an assortment of armed men and other Lords behind him.

They've aged. Ned had the first streaks of silver hair, while Robb no longer walked with the careless swagger of the arrogant youth. The rest of the men fared no better, though Jae couldn't judge. He'd always been told Northmen are a grim sort.

What's that? he wondered when he saw two men carrying a box twice the size of coffin between them.

They all went down on one knee before him. ''Your Grace,'' Uncle Ned bowed his head. ''The news of your victories have come as a great relief to the people of the North.''

''Rise, Lord Stark, and welcome to the capital.'' He gave a restrained smile; Kings have to keep their emotions in check. ''I thank you for your kind words.'' Jae smoothed down his doublet, and continued, ''I would offer you the hospitality of the Red Keep to rest after such a long journey, but your messenger claimed you come with urgent news.''

''I do,'' He gave a nod. ''As you know, Your Grace, for the past moons the Lords of the North have battled the Wildlings at the Wall.''

''Have there been complications? I was under the impression the Wildlings were defeated.''

''Not so much defeated as... pacified, Your Grace. In my capacity as Warden of the North, I negotiated peace with the King-Beyond-the-Wall, Mance Rayder, and allowed his people to cross the Wall.''

Whispers spread across the Throne Room. The Northmen must've heard some of them because they threw angry looks at the crowd surrounding them. Jae raised a hand and the courtiers fell silent. ''I presume you have a good explanation?''

''Yes, Your Grace. The Wildlings pushed south because they were fleeing for their lived, chased by an ancient enemy.'' He paused and swallowed heavily. ''The Others.''

The Lords and the Ladies did not bother to cover their derisive snorts this time, openly laughing at the superstitious heathens. I have to tread carefully. ''The Others?'' he repeated.

''Yes, Your Grace.''

''You have proof of this?'' Please, please, Uncle Ned, tell me you brought proof.

''I do, Your Grace.'' The smiles died down, and the eyes of the court turned to the wooden box. Uncle Ned approached it as the Northmen backtracked to a safe distance.

''I will ask you not to come closer than ten feet,'' he warned and tipped the box over. Nothing happened at first, then a thing out of his nightmares crawled out, looked about with its ice-blue eyes, and sprinted straight for Jaehaerys. Rotted skin peeled off its bones and tendons, the frayed remains of what had once been furs hanging off its frame. It shrieked and hissed at them, reaching forth with its bony fingers. A horrified groan went through the Throne Room, a number of Ladies fainting at the sight of a legend.

Uncle Ned jerked on the chain and sent the monstrous remains of a human flying back across the floor. The Kingsguard unsheathed its sword and advanced to put an end to it. ''Stop!'' Jae thundered. Everyone froze.

He stood up and descended the steps of the Iron Throne. He approached the creatures that kept trying to lounge for him. ''If I may, Your Grace?'' Robb approached from the side, his sword drawn.

Jae gave him a nod. ''Ordinary steel does not work on them.'' He slashed the monster in half. It fell to the floor and began crawling towards them with its hands. Lord Tyrell puked.

''What does?'' Seven Hells, tell me you know.

''Valyrian steel,'' Robb told him. ''Fire. And the Wildlings told us dragon glass will kill them as well.'' Robb's eyes found him, grim and foreboding. ''Winter has come.''

Need to send the troops to the Wall. Farm every patch of land. Mine the dragon glass on Dragonstone. Empty Casterly Rock of all its gold and send it to Essos. Going to need more food. A thousand thoughts went through his mind, a problem for every solution, and with it the terrible premonition that the horrors he'd witnessed had been but the beginning of something far worse.

''My Lord Hand,'' he called without taking his eyes off the creature.

''Your Grace,'' Lord Orys approached, a tremor in his voice.

''Call the banners.''

THE END