Chapter 48 — Departure
"Why did you kill Joffrey?"
Sansa still couldn't understand Petyr Baelish's motives.
"For you, of course."
Petyr's gaze burned with intensity.
Sansa felt uneasy under that heat and instinctively stepped back.
"Where are we going now?" she asked.
"To the Eyrie — your aunt's home in the Vale."
Seeing her recoil, Petyr didn't press closer. When it came to women, he had endless patience.
"Why not Riverlands?" Sansa asked, surprised. "My mother and brother are there."
After finally escaping King's Landing, she had imagined returning to her mother's side. Instead, Petyr meant to take her to a place she barely remembered — she'd only met her aunt once, long ago.
Riverrun might not be her home, but it still held her family.
"Riverrun is already under siege by Tywin and the Freys," Petyr said.
"Not even a bird could fly in or out — how could we hope to enter?"
Sansa fell silent.
She understood: for now, she and Petyr were in the same boat. Cooperation would keep her afloat — resistance would only drown her sooner.
And the Eyrie was still better than King's Landing — a place where she wouldn't have to watch every step, every word, every breath. A place where she could wait, hope to reunite with her family… or one day find her way home to Winterfell.
She remembered everything King's Landing had done to her:
— forced to stare at her father's head on a pike
— nearly stripped naked on Joffrey's order before the entire court
— almost assaulted by a mob of drunken men
— married off to Tyrion without her consent
Once, she was a girl who dreamed of white steeds and golden crowns.
Now, she wanted nothing more than home — warmth, safety, family.
Leaving that hellscape behind, she felt a crushing weight lift from her chest.
Even if others now believed she had helped kill Joffrey, she would never return to the city that had given her so many nightmares.
Only one worry tugged at her heart: Tyrion.
Her lawful husband had protected her when he could, and never forced himself on her. Would he survive?
He was still a Lannister. Sansa doubted Cersei would truly dare execute her own brother… yet as she watched King's Landing shrink behind them, she couldn't help wondering what would become of him.
---
Dragonstone
Staring at the two massive sacks of food, Shireen practically forgot her disappointment from waking to find Drogon gone.
"Where did you get all of this? You must be so strong!"
She loosened the ties eagerly — and her eyes widened.
Inside were pastries and fruits she had never even seen before, more delicious-looking than anything ever served in the Baratheon kitchens.
Shireen locked the door, sat cross-legged on her bed, and shared food with Drogon between cheerful chatter.
When she was finally full, Drogon pulled out paper and ink once more, writing a few lines for Shireen to pass on:
At dawn, before first light, Ser Davos is to bring her to the designated shore.
A ship will be waiting.
Shireen read every character twice, then folded the note carefully against her chest, nodding with solemn resolve.
Shireen knew that after just one more night she would leave Dragonstone — the island where she had grown up.
Her mood sank at the thought. She chatted with Drogon a little while longer, then went to find Ser Davos.
The day slipped away in a blur…
---
Before dawn
A soft knock sounded at her door.
Ser Davos had come just as promised.
Her belongings — a few clothes and her favorite books — were already packed.
Shireen took a lingering look around her tiny room, then glanced under the bed where Drogon hid in the shadows.
With a tight grip on her bag and an even tighter one on her heart, she followed Davos out.
The moment they left, Drogon crawled from beneath the bed, nudged open the window, and slipped into the cold morning air, flying ahead toward their agreed meeting place.
Davos guided Shireen along the quiet corridors, avoiding the patrolling guards.
They crossed to the far side of Dragonstone — a rocky shoreline too shallow for large ships.
When they reached the water, a small boat was already approaching.
The oarsman's broad frame and weathered, dark skin marked him as a man who lived his life at sea.
He nodded at Davos.
Davos steadied Shireen as she stepped aboard.
The boat glided westward into the mist.
Shireen's face remained rigid with restraint, yet her eyes lingered on Dragonstone's silhouette as she waved one last time.
As the island receded, she lifted her gaze to the pale sky.
A tiny black speck trailed quietly behind the boat.
At least Drogon is with me, she whispered in her heart, drawing strength from the thought.
She thanked the boatman politely, asked where he came from, and—seeing that he was not much for conversation—fell silent and opened a book instead.
---
Three hours later, an island rose on the horizon — three times the size of Dragonstone.
Tidehead Isle.
Their destination.
Instead of the main docks, the boat veered toward a lonely stretch of shore — jagged stones, pale sand, and nothing else.
The boatman hauled her luggage ashore, glancing around with visible confusion.
Why leave a young girl in such a desolate place — and order him to leave at once?
But orders were orders.
Even if he didn't like it, he had no choice.
As he pushed off again, Shireen thanked him once more and looked to the sky with quiet expectation.
The boatman paused.
Shireen didn't seem frightened at all — on the contrary, she looked… reassured.
Following her gaze, he noticed a lone seabird circling above — it had shadowed them for the entire journey.
He frowned, curiosity gnawing at him, but said nothing and rowed toward the far side of the island.
---
The boat dwindled into the distance.
Drogon landed on the beach.
"How long until the big ship arrives? This place is really… empty."
Shireen's voice quivered despite her best effort to sound composed.
Being left here alone would have scared her — if not for Drogon's presence.
Drogon didn't answer.
Instead, he flapped a wing at her.
"You want me to… step back?"
Shireen had grown used to reading Drogon's gestures.
This wasn't a farewell.
She took a few small steps back.
Another flap.
She retreated farther.
Once she was at a safe distance, Drogon summoned a sliver of magic and triggered his transformation.
---
WHOOSH!
Shireen blinked — and nearly fell over.
Where the small dragon had stood, a massive creature now towered, as large as the very boat that had brought her here.
Glowing ember-red eyes locked onto her — enormous, ancient, alive.
"Dro… Drogon? Is that really you?"
Her voice trembled between awe and disbelief.
Drogon dipped his head.
"I've never read about a dragon that could change size! How did you—?"
Her questions tumbled over each other.
For years she had worried Drogon grew too slowly — that he was sick.
Books spoke of runt dragons whose skulls were barely the size of an apple.
But now?
Now she saw what he truly was — and her heart soared.
---
Drogon lowered himself, wings stretched wide to form a natural stair.
"You mean… I can ride you?"
Her breath caught in her throat.
She loved every tale of Aegon the Conqueror — of dragons and riders sweeping across the sky.
She had dreamed of riding a dragon herself… but never imagined that dream would come within reach.
Clutching her small bag, she climbed carefully up the crimson membrane of Drogon's wing — unsteady, breathless — until she reached the hardened scales along his back.
She placed her hand over the dark, gleaming plates, unsure where exactly a rider was meant to sit.
She swallowed.
Her chest fluttered with excitement.
Her new life had just begun.