[Chapter Size: 2700 Words.]
Third Person POV.
King's Landing.
...
...
Sansa had just entered the garden of the Red Keep that morning, at that moment heading directly toward the center of the place.
She kept her cautious gaze ahead, her head slightly lowered, as she passed by the servants who bowed upon seeing her, calling her Lady Stark.
But Sansa did not look at them, she simply moved forward until she found some girls who were talking and enjoying themselves with the sigils of the Reach houses.
When they saw her approaching, one of them quickly stood up and ran to her with a cheerful smile.
"Lady Stark!" said the girl.
Sansa looked at her, immediately noticing the young woman's slight shock upon seeing the bruise on her cheek.
"Lady Tyrell," she said carefully.
This young woman was Margaery Tyrell, who still looked at her full of concern in her eyes. She was the woman who would marry King Joffrey in Sansa's place, since according to Joffrey, Sansa belonged to the family of traitors.
Even so, Sansa believed that this would not happen, even if her family had not gone to war. For she remembered the look of disgust the king had given her even in Winterfell, something that before, the innocent Sansa had not been capable of perceiving.
To be or not to be a Stark might not make a difference — her life alongside Joffrey would be equally cruel.
"You are hurt...." said Margaery, looking at the slightly reddened cheek, even after several creams had failed to erase the mark of the queen's palm.
"I had an accident," Sansa answered carefully, trying to sound truthful, though she stammered. She was not good at lying.
"That is horrible, Lady Sansa. If you need any cream, anything, I can help you. We brought many things from the upper garden," said Margaery in a courteous tone.
"I appreciate your words of concern, Lady Margaery," said Sansa.
"Come, I am sure my grandmother will know what to do about this," said Margaery, pulling Sansa toward one of the gazebos in the royal garden of the Red Keep.
The old Tyrell had already been watching her since she appeared at the entrance of the garden, keeping a sharp gaze. It was not the first time they had spoken. Once, she had asked Sansa her opinion about Joffrey, and the answer had been clear: a monster. Now, she was calling her once again into her presence because her foolish son had gone to a council meeting and returned with troubling words that Tywin had spoken.
"Oh, my girl," said Lady Tyrell as soon as Sansa entered the place, under the watchful eyes of Margaery's handmaidens.
"My lady," said Sansa, lowering her head.
The old woman's gaze moved from side to side until it fixed on the young woman's cheek.
"What is that on your face?"
"It was an accident, grandmother," said Margaery. "We can give her one of those creams, right?"
"Of course," replied the elder. "Just ask a servant to take the cream to her chambers..." she said, then turned back to Sansa. "And what kind of accident was that? Since we are at it, Lady Sansa... You know how we are... we like to know where not to tread." The tone was insinuating.
Sansa did not know what to answer. She just looked at her, almost begging not to be forced to speak.
The old woman understood immediately, turning to the women seated around them, who were watching everything with curiosity.
"You may give us some privacy here. Sometimes, flowers should not hear too much," said the old woman in a tone that made all the girls rise and run off, leaving only Sansa, Olenna, and Margaery.
The latter, however, did not take a step, for she knew very well her position as the future queen and also had to be aware of everything her grandmother discussed.
"Now tell me, little wolf of the North, exactly what happened to you," said Olenna, more directly. "Does Joffrey still strike you?"
Sansa shook her head. "It was not the king... The queen has started to hit me for more than a week now," she answered, unable to meet Olenna's eyes, so great was her sense of fear and shyness.
"The queen... Well, she has not been of very pleasant taste lately. They say she does not even show a smile when she eats, always scowling. It seems that even the beauty known across the Seven Kingdoms has turned into an ugly flower..." said Olenna with a worried smile.
Sansa did not reply, and Olenna decided to continue. "I heard that your brother — or rather, I suppose he is your cousin now, none other than a Targaryen son of Rhaegar — did something to her."
That made Sansa shiver. She had also heard about it; Joffrey himself had already thrown such words in her face. She could understand how the queen had become more frustrated since her father had managed to escape. From that day on, something had changed in her: she was more irritable, bitter, and seemed to worsen with every passing moment. And it was not because her son had taken an arrow and become crippled...
"That cousin of yours seems to be frightening even our old lion. No wonder this morning he called an urgent meeting, declaring that we are all doomed if the North's attack succeeds. That is somewhat frustrating, it makes me wonder where we have gotten ourselves into amidst all this confusion. We should have been more careful," murmured Olenna with irony.
"Grandmother," said Margaery in a cautious tone, "Are you saying that all of this was a mistake?" She seemed a little worried as she said it.
"I fear so, my flower. Do you not hear the stories about this Daemon Targaryen? An eight-year-old boy who disappeared like Jon Snow and returned older than he should be, full of vengeance and determined to take back what was stolen from his family. It would be ironic and even hilarious, if it were not a tale full of magic, destruction, death, monsters... And all based on things people actually witnessed," answered Olenna.
She then turned to Sansa with a curious look. "I once asked your opinion about your cousin and everything you could say about him, but now I want to understand something else. What happened at Winterfell? Why does your cousin harbor so much hatred toward your family, and especially toward your father?"
Sansa shrank back. It was strange to call him cousin — or at least so she thought. Jon had been treated horribly as a child, his mother was dead, and now the one she said could take Winterfell from Robb, her father's bastard, at that very moment held Winterfell under his control. From what she could gather, she had only heard whispers at court the day before.
"Jon... did not have an easy life in Winterfell, he was treated horribly. I did not care much at the time, but now I can see it. My parents truly seemed to resent him. My mother hated him, while my father was negligent. He lived apart from it all," said Sansa, seeming to hold back more words before continuing, cautiously.
"I remember once when my mother gave him food with salt. The boy couldn't eat anything, and when he complained, she said he was making it up. She also said he should eat nothing else but what had been offered. No one could give him anything. He went to bed hungry in his room that night..."
Margaery looked at her in horror, while Olenna had a sharp glimmer in her eyes.
"I see, I see... It seems your family did not have much love for the young Targaryen. And that comes back to bite them in the future. To think that your mother was so cruel... Well, one cannot be surprised at ladies' hatred for their husbands' bastards... when it is the husband who decides to bring them into the castle. Perhaps, if he had been treated better as a child, it would even have been easier to kill the boy while they still could..." said Olenna.
"Grandmother!" Margaery almost shouted, horrified at hearing that.
"Well, I am only being honest," Olenna shrugged. "In any case, one cannot deny that he also interfered in some rather important things. For example, your father should be dead, if not for this Daemon. Despite the hatred you bear him, many things that happened were not through his direct intervention. He may be guilty of much, but there are wars in which your family would have fared even worse if not for him. What an irony of fate, do you not think, little wolf of the North?"
Sansa did not know what to reply.
"In any case, one thing is certain: the old lion is more frightened than we could ever have foreseen. I wonder what will become of us... We have a masochistic lion, a mad lioness," said Olenna, looking at Sansa's face. "And we also have the old lion desperate. I must say we are doomed when we are directly tied to the family this Daemon Targaryen most wishes to kill," she finished at last.
Meanwhile, in Dorne, the doors of the audience chamber of Sunspear swung open with force. None other than Arianne Martell entered, finding her brother and father speaking privately. Upon looking at her brother Trystane there, she felt a pang of frustration.
'He is trying to steal my rightful place as firstborn princess heir of House Martell,' she told herself as she approached.
"My father, I came here at your summons," she said, as the doors closed with the guards, leaving only the three of them in the chamber.
"Arianne, you have arrived," said Doran, seated in his chair, studying his daughter for a moment, while she returned his gaze, almost defiant.
"You know... we were discussing the North," he began, as Arianne raised her eyebrow.
"Let me guess... You hope to marry me to a Stark lord now that he is widowed? You would like to see me go to the North and become Lady of Winterfell?" she said, in a tone mixed with frustration and irony.
Her father was always trying to place her in absurd marriages with old and decaying lords. The only chance she had ever had for a better marriage was with Ser Viserys, who went mad and ended up killed by King Robert Baratheon, executed in King's Landing.
Faced with so many absurd proposals, Arianne no longer cared for her reputation and slept with whomever attracted her. Even her sworn sword was proof of that, warming her bed more than anyone else.
Doran looked at her after her joke, a discreet gleam in his eyes, which made Arianne even more frustrated. She could see that, if given the chance, her father would gladly give her to the old wolf, even though they hated the Starks because of Lyanna Stark.
"No, Arianne. I am not speaking of that. You have not yet heard? But Daemon Targaryen has reappeared... and from a place no one expected: beyond the Wall. He emerged with an army of one hundred and eighty thousand wildlings, defeated the Wall after eight thousand years, subdued the Night's Watch, and marched with his army," announced Doran.
Arianne raised her eyebrow, overcome with surprise. "When did this happen? How did I not hear of this?" she said, her tone laden with anger.
Daemon Targaryen was a sensitive matter for the Martells. Son of the she-wolf of the North, whom they hated, and yet they were always informed of his movements. The self-proclaimed heir to the Iron Throne already stirred fear. Many Martells did not want to believe in his deeds, but they knew the impact he had. His sorceries and conquests kept everyone on edge.
Arianne had also heard rumors that he possessed a dragon. They said he had destroyed two fortresses known to the Martells. The vengeance against Gregor Clegane had also reached their ears: tortured alive as if he were nothing before that monster. Both the Clegane and the Lorch holdings had been laid to waste, their families wiped from the map. The only survivor of the Lorch was the murderer of Rhaenys, and of the Cleganes, it was Sandor, whose whereabouts were uncertain.
"We do not know many details. The North is very far from Dorne, Arianne. That is why I wanted more information and to speak with you," said Doran.
"But it seems you were already sharing everything with my brother, were you not, dear father?" Arianne mocked, while Trystane, at her side, appeared cautious at the accusation.
"Let us stop fighting and talk. In any case, it has been confirmed: Daemon Targaryen has a dragon. An ice dragon that breathes white flames. It was with it that he managed to bring the Wall to its knees... and also destroy the Dreadfort, according to the latest news we have received," concluded Doran.
Arianne was shocked.
"We have much to discuss. We are behind on some matters, and it is very likely that he has already taken control of almost all the North. Despite some resistance, the latest reports say he has begun marching through Bolton territory, defeating anyone who dared to challenge him. His targets were the Ironborn and the Boltons. Winterfell is probably already under his command at this moment," said Doran, pausing before continuing.
"But before we discuss this, I want to tell you that your uncle Oberyn sent word about our contact in Essos. He has already reached out to them and is in the chain of command offering the support of the Martells and Dorne."
"Truly? Is it really true?" asked Arianne, her eyes shining as she heard this, forgetting for an instant the Northern Targaryen and his dragon.
"See for yourself," said Doran, handing a scroll to Trystane to deliver to his sister. Arianne received it cautiously, still troubled by her father's look of displeasure. Upon opening and reading the scroll, her eyes widened at her uncle Oberyn's message.
Meanwhile, in Essos, during the night near the hour of the wolf, Oberyn was in a command tent along with some men since he had offered the Dornish support for the Iron Throne.
"So, is it long until we reach the coast? Are the ships prepared?" asked a young and authoritative voice among them.
"They are, Your Majesty. According to the reports, everything is ready at the port. The ships will even carry the elephants," replied a man in the tent, while the young one observed.
"That is good. Any setbacks, Jon?" the young man turned to another man with red hair.
"No, Your Majesty. Everything is ready as we planned."
"Excellent. Well, I just want to rest now. Let us tend to our men and continue the journey tomorrow. This meeting is adjourned," said the young man.
Everyone withdrew. Oberyn also left, heading toward the tent where his lover and daughters were. If they were there at all — for they might be sleeping with any man of their choosing in the camp, anyone they deemed interesting enough. He did not fear for their safety, since they were more dangerous than most of the soldiers.
As he walked, he could not help but hear a roar that made him turn his head. He turned and saw the three creatures that would soon be taken to Westeros. His eyes gleamed with pure malice.
They were the three dragons.
Creatures capable of making any kingdom surrender. Capable of turning the great mages, who spent their lives performing tricks here and there, into mere charlatans before such a presence. Here was supreme power. And with them, the one who claimed to be the son of Elia Martell would have his inheritance in Westeros made incontestable.
Author's Note:
We have three little dragons that will face the dragon-slaying specialist. I think no crossover fanfic between Skyrim and Game of Thrones had truly shown a fight between the Dragonborn and one of the dragons of Westeros. In my opinion, that was missing.
That's why I set up this scenario: one of the dragons will die, at least Jon will keep his ice dragon, another will be for Daenerys, and the third perhaps for their firstborn.
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