IN THE DRAGONS LAIR
•|°
298 𝐀𝐂,
𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠
SANSA
All her life she'd dreamt of a life bigger than herself; bigger than Winterfell and, perhaps, even bigger than all of Westeros. But dreams end when one awakes to the reality they briefly left behind: the truth of what their life truly was.
Yet no matter how many times she pinched herself, the mist did not fade, the sun did not die, and the dream did not end.
The city of King's Landing was far more grand than the stories depicted it to be—and far more malodorous. She scrunched her nose.
"Lady Sansa," hissed her Septa. "That is unbecoming of a lady of Winterfell."
Like the tender little bird she was, Sansa chirped an apology and quietened.
All around her were sloping houses, some in far better condition than others, but none of them so derelict and abandoned as father described.
"During the reign of Aerys the Mad, the streets ran thick with blood and ash," Old Nan had said in another one of her gruesome tales.
Sansa wished to ask how she knew that but refrained lest she interrupt the storyteller.
The sloping buildings and dung-filled roads soon gave way to gilded homes and glistening structures. It was as bright as a dream, reminding her of all she wished to accomplish with her life.
Would she one day get to live in these gorgeous buildings? Would she hold her own court with her own ladies and dashing knights?
The young lady was pulled from her thoughts when a towering structure caught her attention. It was made of the finest marble and hardest stone, and stood in the center of the small paradise of the city.
Havenfyre.
It was a white castle that, in the day's light, was far more marvellous than the Red Keep. Soon it, too, passed and the home of the King was fast approaching.
•|°
Upon Aegon's High Hill, a small crowd was gathered to witness the arrival of the Starks of Winterfell, a few members of court well hidden amongst them. Lord Eddard, the new Master of Laws, was not as they expected—not at all bearded nor barbaric as they'd heard, but a rather upright man with a face accustomed to the harshness of Winter.
The portcullis stood open for them, the banner of the house of the dragon flying high on either side. Lord Eddard dismounted from his stallion once within the confines of the castle and a servant with a shy face was rushing to greet him.
"Welcome, lord Stark. Prince Viserys has called a meeting of the small council and the honour of your presence was requested."
Ned turned to the Septa and ordered her curtly to get the girls settled in.
"I'll be back in time for supper. Jory, go with them," he said.
"If you'd like to change into something more appropriate..." the servant trailed off, trembling under the cold stare of the Warden of the North as he slipped off his gloves.
Ned was shown to the throne room. He was greeted by the grizzly sight of the Iron Throne, untouched, unmarked, standing as mightily as it had for nearly three hundred years.
"Lord Stark."
He hated that chair. And as for the one who sat upon it...
King Rhaegar approached him.
"Welcome to King's Landing. I trust you had a safe journey."
The young King bore no semblance of his youth any longer. The past years of the burden of the crown were evident in his steely indigo eyes and taut jawline covered slightly with silver hair. As King of Westeros, enemies lurked around every corner and that meant not a moment was wasted without his sword, leaving the Dragon King not as portly as Robert but rather a more hardened and seasoned warrior.
"I'm sorry to hear of your troubles before you arrived," said lord Varys. His hands were hidden within the long sleeves of his garb and his face held an overly sweet smile. "May the Seven bring swift healing to your son."
"Thank you, lord Varys."
Viserys cleared his throat, purple eyes glistening with restrained impatience.
"Shall we begin?"
Eddard was impressed with the sight of the young prince. The last he'd seen of him he was but a skinny lad holding his sister's hand as she learned how to walk. The women's whisperings in Winterfell praised him for his inherited Valyrian beauty, and of this they did not exaggerate.
King Rhaegar nodded and the present members of the Council took their seats. Viserys sat by his brother's side, as did Jon on the other side. Eddard sat by Varys and the chair across from the king was empty.
"The capitals of Meereen, Yunkai, and Astapor are on the cusp of war," began Viserys. "All three requested our aid in hopes of turning the tide of battle in their favour. Per lord Varys's insistence, we are yet to give them an answer. Given their shared history and that of the triarchy, I say we avoid giving them what they want altogether. The Iron Bank is yet to forgive the throne it's past debts and rumours have come from the West of a rising insurgency."
The Hand of the King was the first to speak up.
"That is blatant ignorance of the matter entirely. Our trade will weaken and the people will suffer for it. If we intervene, we can handle the matter swiftly and be done with it."
"And what of the other two cities we don't support?" Chimed lord Varys. "How do you suppose, after a swift defeat, they will feel the need to continue trade with those who brought about their downfall."
"We have something they don't," Jon said. "The flames of Old Valyria have been said to melt the hardest metals."
"You speak of winning a war, yet you have won no battles yourself and insist on using my family's dragons," Viserys spat, thinking the man foolhardy. "The dragons bow to no man."
Lord Jon scoffed. "What would you know of the beasts when your family refused you the pleasure of having one?"
Before the argument could escalate any further, confident and light footsteps cut through their heated debate.
"I came here in hopes of finding an amenable solution underway, yet I hear you squabbling like full-grown babes."
Queen Naerys glowered at the men as she walked to her seat, particularly Jon and her brother, her red velvet gown trailing on the ground.
"Perhaps I hoped for too much."
The table was silent but for the screeching of chairs as all the members, excluding the King, bowed to the Queen.
Jon pursed his lips, sensing the subtle shift of power in the air.
"Lord Stark." Naerys turned to her old friend. "What say you? How do you propose we deal with the Essosi?"
Eddard remained silent. A few began to shift uncomfortably, thinking he ignored the Queen, but Naerys waited patiently for his response.
"They came to us seeking a solution," the Lord of Winterfell spoke up. "But war... war has no solutions. Only conclusions. If we are to proceed wisely then let an emissary be sent to Essos and conclude the matter... with minor force, if need be."
Naerys nodded, mulling over the man's words as her dark indigo eyes stared down the other men of the small council. Rhaegar was yet to speak, as was Viserys.
"All in favour?" The Queen inquired when there came no opposition.
Lord Varys, Lord Jon, Petyr Baelish, ser Barristan, Lord Stark, and Prince Viserys voted "aye."
She looked across the table and met the eyes of the King.
"All opposed?"
Rhaegar's jaw ticked.
"That settles it, then," Naerys finalised. "You may all go. Viserys, a word."
Naerys began walking away from the Dmall Council's table, massaging her hands. The flight home had been long and clinging to her saddle as the winds whipped through her hair and against her body was a task even an experienced warrior like herself struggled with.
"Welcome home."
She paused by the foot of the Iron Throne and saw her husband coolly walking to meet her.
"Thank you, Your Grace."
"I trust your journey to Winterfell was enjoyable."
"As much as it could have been," the Queen replied curtly.
Rhaegar stood in front of her now. There was a sorrowful look in his eyes. It was one she hadn't seen for years.
"Ned agreed to come with us, as did his daughters. I'm sure they'll... enjoy their time here at court." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Viserys walking towards the doors. "If you'll excuse me, Your Grace —"
"Naerys."
The King of the Seven Kingdoms does not beg. Alas, in that moment, he looked ready to kneel before his Queen.
"We must speak about what happened," he said softly. "Before..."
"There is nothing left to speak of, my King. Now I must be going."
She left him standing alone at the foot of the Iron Throne and joined her younger brother as they departed from the throne room.
"Are you all right?" Was Viserys's first question as soon as they were far away.
"Perfectly. You need not worry about me, brother."
"I'll always worry about you, sister. You're the Queen of one of the most powerful kingdoms. It is no small burden to bear."
Naerys hummed at his words then sighed.
"Enough of that." She intertwined their arms. "There's nothing to a crown but gold and fairy tales. Tell me how you've been faring."
It is oft said prince Viserys was a man of few words and even fewer emotions. Not many can attest to either of the two.
"As well as one can in a pit of vipers," he responded astutely.
Naerys hummed quietly, looking at him from the corner of her eye.
It was clear from his disposition how tired he was and his shoulders were lower — no doubt due to the weight of being a prince of the Seven Kingdoms as well as a member of the small council.
Naerys knew her brother well. He was no longer a boy chasing dreams of flying on dragonback and saving others with a sword. He was a man hungry for purpose; now that he had it, his hunger was unsatiable....
Perhaps because purpose without reason is empty.
"I see," the Queen replied. "You are a vigilant man. You need not hide from me." She gave him a small smile, and the second silver prince's shield crumbled beneath it.
The Dragon Queen and her brother came to the flourishing Royal Gardens, in its centre a weirwood tree, a face of a man long forgotten and long dead carved in its middle. It was there the prince indulged his sister, eschewing to her every grievance and malcontent he had endured in her time away.
Naerys listened intently, not saying a word until she was sure he was finished. When courtiers passed, she'd greet them amicably before returning her attention to her little brother.
"And Jon..." Viserys grumbled, hand clenched into a fist at his side. He desperately wanted to hit something — more specifically, someone, "The bastard."
Naerys chuckled. "Now, Vis, what did we say about giving the Hand of the King cruel nicknames?"
"Only give them if they're good and unique."
"Exactly."
Out of the corner of her eye, Naerys spotted a familiar head of silky red hair somnambulantly strolling through the gardens with a blob of white by her side — a girl by the looks of it. The eldest Stark girl and her Septa, from the look of her blue attire and pink skin.
"The Starks are with us at court now," Naerys said. "I recall after our first visit to Winterfell you said you didn't find them as terrible as you thought. Mayhap their presence will make matters more... amenable."
Viserys had not a clue what his sister meant.
How would the arrival of the Starks of Winterfell change anything?
WAYNE:
He jolted awake when the donkey-drawn cart went over a muddy mound and a heavy sack fell upon his head. He hissed in pain, shifting around so he could toss the White bag off of him onto the others.
Have I arrived?
Wayne lifted the threadbare fabric covering him and peeked out from beneath it to the outside world.
Oh, how he'd missed looking at the sky. By his count, this should be the third day of his travel. King's Landing ought not to be so far now.
Then again, the sallow man who'd given him directions might have led him astray.
"How will I know when I've arrived?" Asked the heir to Raven Claw, standing before a man sitting on a wine barrel. He was bald, of a niggardly disposition, with a permanent sneer.
" 'ow couldn't you?" He scoffed. " 'eres the place that smells like rat's piss and dragon s***. Reminds me of me old 'ag, she bathed in the bloody stench; said it gives one silver hair and fat teats." He cackled. "Fat lot of good that did 'er."
When Wayne asked for more, the man held out his hand. After dropping in two silver coins, he continued.
"When yoo 'ear the dragons roar, yoo know yor near their bed."
That was as much as he gave. Anymore, he said, would come for a heftier price.
And he did not mean money or goods.
Wayne had no choice but to leave, relying on the words of a beggar, and continued his journey towards knighthood and freedom.
He craned his neck slightly and glanced at the blue sky above him. There wasn't a cloud to be seen nor a dragon to be heard. It was barren. Wayne sighed and retracted into his hiding place.
Had he done the right thing after all? For all he knew he was on his way to a fishing village or burrow town.
Was his ambition too great? His dream now leading him into an unforeseen nightmare?
This was not the first time he had been on his own. He handled many matters back home on behalf of his mother and father and dealt with difficult men before. That was home, however. A place he had known all his life surrounded by people who paid him obeisance because he was born into his privelege.
This... Here...
He was no one. Like a thief stealing into the night, he fled — forsook all that was given to him... in exchange for an elusive dream.
Could one call such spontaneity bravery or foolishness?
Alas, it was too late to turn back now. He had come this far, and however much farther he had to go, he would surely find his way into the capital city and the White Tower.
Wayne bristled when he heard the unmistakable sound of great big wings beating the air. Quickly he pulled back the blanket and turned skyward in hopes that his ears had not deceived him —
He frowned.
There was no dragon. Only a murder of ravens.
Wayne plopped back under and ran a hand over his face. He was tired and hungry and thirsty.
The last of his food had fallen somewhere on the road long long ago and his skin of water was empty. He had no choice now but to find solace in slumber.
•|°
SANSA:
"Is it not odd they have winter roses here?" The young Stark girl peered at the white flowers curiously. "Is it not strange?"
Her Septa regarded her as one might a dove learning to fly.
"Her Grace's gardens are said to be the most wondrous in all the realm," Septa Mordane replied. "Now, remember you oughtn't to dally at such nonsensical things, Sansa. Come, let us move this way."
The red-haired girl could do little but nod as her Septa veered her from the path guarded by blooming bushes on either side towards a more clear space where there sat a flowing stone fountain and clipped tapestries depicting dragons.
Here her eyes widened slightly as she marveled at the sight of other members of court. They all wore such finery and elaborate jewels the likes of which gleamed under the rays of the summer sun. Her eyes followed a group of young women, close to her age, giggling and chatting merrily like fairies by the fountain.
Their faces... their clothes, their hair, their smiles – everything about them was strikingly beautiful, she realized, for here they were comfortable. Here they were at home.
Sansa's cheeks tinted a rosy pink and she looked away from them towards the looming castle.
A dream come true, at last. Every thing she wanted and more now danced on the pads of her fingers. It was all right there –
So then why did she feel as if it wasn't? Why, then, did she feel like a winter rose wilting within the hearth of the dragon's lair?
"Don't frown, my dear," the Septa lightly scolded her. "Look lively. All is well."
Or, rather, all had to look well. Surrounded by predators who pounced at the smallest whiff of blood, all had to be.
"May we go to the fountain?" Sansa asked sweetly. Septa Mordane nodded and the two made their way there. As they did, the young Stark girl caught a patch of silver in the corner of her eye –
Only, it vanished as her vision spun suddenly and the world tilted around her as her body careened, tilted, and smacked the shallow blue waters with a gentle splash.
"Lady Sansa!" Septa Mordane cried, rushing to the her pupil's aid, but another reached before her.
"Are you all right, my lady?"
Sansa's face was flushed in shame, sputtering as she lifted herself from the chilling waters of the fountain.
Her dress was ruined and so was her hair. People were looking at her now, she could feel their eyes drilling into her, their hushed whispers as they looked and snickered at her –
"My lady?"
Her eyes darted to the voice calling out to her and her face reddened in utter embarassment when she saw, finally, just who it was.
"You shouldn't stay there for long," Prince Viserys said, holding out his hand to the young Stark girl. "It would not do for you to fall ill because of these shallow waters. Can you stand?"
The prince!
"Y-Yes, your highness," she stammered. Bashfully, she accepted his hand and was aided gracefully with his help onto the dry ground.
"Here." Viserys unbuttoned his doublet and carefully wrapped it around her shoulders, leaving him in a plain white tunic that dared to expose his chest and collarbone. He smiled amicably down at her. "I do not think a wolf will catch much cold in the summer, but it would not do if the Queen discovered one of her guests caught a fever on the first day under her care."
"A-Aye..." Sansa agreed quietly, her face flushed from his kind gestures. Then, remembering herself, she fell into a deep curtsy. "Thank you, Your highness."
"You're welcome, lady Sansa," said Viserys. He returned her curtsy with a bow. "I'm sorry to have met you under such unfavourable circumstances of which I myself am at fault, but it is a pleasure to personally welcome you to King's Landing."
"Your highness is too kind... I-I merely forgot to look where I was going... m-my Septa and I, we were..." Sansa looked around for said woman, and found her standing to the side, watching the interaction with quiet intrigue. She seemed to be trying to say something with her eyes.
"...lost..."
"Then you must allow me to accompany you and show you the Red Keep," Viserys said. He held out his arm, a small smile dancing on his lips. "I like to think I know it quite well. I pray I do a decent enough job that you may be able to avoid stray bodies of water in the near future."
•|°
To be honest, I don't know what I was thinking with this chapter but I have so much more respect for GRRM because writing from multiple POVs is like trying to drive multiple trucks on three different highways heading in the same direction.
But thanks and see you guys soon!
~ladyj