#but Rhaenys DOES and she has a higher duty (in her mind) to the realm as a whole not to mention the kin aspect

[backjustforberena]

Then we must press what advantage we do have. And what is that? Dragons. 

[wendynerdwrites]

The Lizard King Chapter One: Long Live Queen Arya

For @jonsasnow, who I totally flaked on during the exchange! But here is the first chapter of an AU fic I’m writing for her. As requested, Arranged Marriage and enemies to lovers. It’s an AU in which the North, Vale, and Trident came together as one country during Aegon’s Conquest and have been fighting off the Targaryen Conquest for three centuries. Sansa is the long-suffering princess/chancellor of the Winter Kingdom (or “Dauphin” as the position is called) whose life is turned upside down when her inexperienced brother arranges for her to marry the man responsible for their father’s death: the newly crowned King Jon I Targaryen, King of the Iron Throne.

Sansa used to hide her tears, weep daintily into her pillow to muffle her sobs. She is an Arryn Stark of Winterfell, after all. A Princess of Winter. Later, the Dauphin. She was taught from a young age that it was her duty to show strength, to never elicit sympathy, not to make her sorrows visible to their people. The men and women of the Winter Kingdom are strong and proud. And they have persevered through centuries of war with the dragons because of the example their royalty has always set.

Winter is Coming. Wintermen do not whimper. Wolves only howl.

Don’t get scared, get angry.

And she’s always, always adhered to this. Even when Father fell in battle to one of the Targaryen princes. At his memorial, her usually-fierce and wild sister descended into sobs. But Sansa put on her mask. One not of simple sorrow, but of anger. She kept her head held high and her eyes flashing as her brother loudly swore revenge upon House Targaryen for their latest crime. She played her part of the furious wolf, glaring at the fates themselves and waited until the ceremony was over and she could runs to her room and soak her pillows with her tears.

And when her pillows no longer sufficed, she had Domeric’s warm embrace. She had the sound of him singing and playing his harp.

Now she doesn’t have Domeric’s warm embrace, or his song. She’ll never have that again.

So, for the first time in her life, she doesn’t muffle it. She cries loud and hard, so all of Winterfell might hear.

She’s not whimpering, she’s howling. Wolves howl. They’re known for it. Everyone, everyone shall bear witness to her anger. And Robb… Robb will know. Robb will hear it. And he will know that everyone else does as well. Everyone will hear the anguish that the Young Wolf has caused their Dauphin.

When he, after a year as king, announced his intentions to forge peace with the Dragons and marry their Princess Rhaenys, she begrudgingly supported him. The act confused her, certainly. Robb had hardly been losing the war. Quite the opposite; he won every battle. Even before he took the throne, he was known as a tactical prodigy. ‘The Young Wolf.’ And off the battlefield, things were going as well as they possibly could.

They’d been at war with the Targaryens on and off since the first of those lizards, King Aegon the Monster landed and demanded that all of Westeros kneel to him or burn. Valyrian freaks, cruel, merciless, and ruthless. Cast-offs from a fallen empire built upon conquest, slavery, and flame seeking to rebuild that sick legacy in the West. House Targaryen, immolating countless innocents. Not just monstrous dragon-wise, either. King Aegon and his progeny not only took multiple wives, but they married their sisters. They believed themselves of a higher breed, more than men, practically gods, and The Monster waged a merciless campaign on the kingdoms of Westeros. Argella Durrandon, the rightful Storm Queen, was dragged, naked and bleeding, from her castle and raped by The Monster’s bastard brother. Entire swaths of the Reach went up in flames.

The Ironborn were driven out of the lands surrounding the Trident when the dragons destroyed Iron King Harren the Black’s palace. The Ironborn were invaders like the Targaryens, and pirates who terrorized the Andal population of the Trident, so no one mourned the cruel king, but they did mourn the horrific loss of life that came with it.

But even as that happened, the Dornish managed to stand against the Targaryens. The brave Princess Meria Nymeros Martell of the Dorne, though old and withered, stood against the Targaryens, and her people managed to kill one of The Monster’s sister-wives AND her dragon. It was an inspiration on the other end of the continent. The Riverlanders of the Trident had no interest in trading one set of invaders for another. And her ancestors --- King Torrhen Stark and Queen Sharra Arryn joined together, marrying Sharra’s son Ronnel to Torrhen’s daughter Lyarra, to form the royal House of Arryn Stark and build a new kingdom with the Riverlanders to stand against The Monster and his lizards.

And they did. They repelled the Monster and his lizards. But monsters never know how to quit. So wars of would-be conquest have been starting and stopping constantly over the last three hundred years. So constant was the struggle that even in periods of supposed “peace” (or, as their kingdom call it, ‘waiting’) the ruling king (or, in some cases, queen) would be expected to be on some manner of war campaign. The role of the monarch was to protect their borders. To win battles and kill dragons in war and to prepare for battle by waiting. The consistency was what kept them intact.

Not that other matters of governance went neglected --- not at all. It just isn’t supposed to be the king (or queen’s) business. Matters like trade, infrastructure, diplomacy, law, and citizen’s welfare was the role of the king (or queen’s) eldest sibling, the Dauphin. The king (or queen) was the realm’s head, armor, and sword. The Dauphin it’s brain, heart, and lungs.

And it worked. Granted, there were complications, in occurances of inconvenient deaths, a lack of viable candidates, or when someone decided to upset the balance. For instance, Sansa’s grandfather, King Rickard III, had no siblings, so his cousin and future queen Lyarra was trained to serve as both consort and Dauphin.

Sansa’s own father, Eddard, was the second-eldest, and became Dauphin of Winter upon his mother’s death, intended to continue to serve when his older brother, Brandon, became king.

Then, during a waiting period, King Rickard got the bright idea to try and make for a lasting piece with House Targaryen by making them guests at a grand tourney. Among the competitors was the son and heir of King Aerys ‘The Mad’ (a style Sansa always found amusing, since he was a Targaryen. How could anyone even tell?), Prince Rhaegar and Sansa’s aunt, Princess Lyanna. Rhaegar, who was married, won, and made Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty over his wife, the Dornish Princess Elia. A seemingly grand diplomatic gesture… up until Rhaegar decided to abduct and rape Lyanna.

King Rickard and Crown Prince Brandon, in their capacity as king and king-in-waiting, actually tried to settle things “diplomatically” by appealing to King Aerys instead of shoving a hot poker up his arse like they should have. For their trouble, they were both burned alive. Suddenly, Sansa’s Father was king, and his only sibling left, Uncle Benjen, was only thirteen and completely untrained for the role.

Her father’s killer, Jon Targaryen, was the result of this rape.

That war with the Targaryens has been ongoing ever since. One of the longest official, sustained conflicts in three centuries, all because their grandfather got stupid ideas about rubbing elbows with incestuous freaks.

It was so stupid, too. The Targaryens’ actual dragons, once a collective of mighty beasts, had died out. There was no reason to appease them.

Despite this, this conflict has lasted, in part, because Father, while trained as a warrior ---- all Dauphins are, just in case --- and not a bad one, went so long without a proper Dauphin. It took ten years for Uncle Benjen to really come into the role properly. While normally a long summer would have been a blessing, without that key part of the dynamic, a Dauphin to manage the bounty, it was less so. One of the major advantages Winter had over the lizards was that they simply couldn’t tolerate their chilly climate for too long --- something that was no longer an issue in a summer that had lasted a decade.

But things were finally getting back on track. Unwilling to let his kingdom suffer this issue all over again, Father had been very careful in how he raised his children. And it worked. Robb was an ideal king-to-be, with all the fire and spirit of a warrior, a mind for tactics, and the sort of prodigious strain of charisma perfect for convincing men to ride screaming towards a fire-breathing monster. Sansa, meanwhile, excelled both socially and academically. She had the sort of prodigious strain of charisma perfect for convincing men to settle furious disputes, concede advantageous trade conditions, and spend hours going over the dullest of bureaucratic activities. She had a blind spot when it came to figures, but grasped business concepts and other logical conundrums well and would have stewards to do the actual counting for her anyways.

So, the future was bright. Sansa ended up assuming Dauphin duties alongside Uncle Benjen at fifteen, while Robb began winning battles for Winter left and right. And while losing Father was devastating, he’d been a great enough king that everyone was confident that, at the very least, things would run smoothly and as they should. King Eddard VII was called ‘The Great’ not for battles won or dragons slain, but for the secure future he’d arranged for the Winter Kingdom amidst chaos.

He’d even defied tradition in his own way to make sure that the next generation of Starks did not end up in the same situation he did. When he discovered Sansa’s sister, Arya, had the disposition of a warrior, he put her into training and moved her up in the line of succession over her younger brothers and, when Arya reached her fourteenth Name Day, he moved her ahead of Sansa as well. A wise choice indeed. Sansa had very little stomach for the martial disciplines or war, and would likely make a lackluster queen. Arya was the opposite, always falling asleep when being taught her heraldry, no patience for things like textile arts, and an outright hatred for foreign tongues, but frightfully clever at logistics. A combination of Queen Sansa and Dauphin Arya (as per tradition in case of Robb’s premature demise) would be a mess. Queen Arya and Dauphin Sansa, though, was a perfect team.

Father was good at little contingencies like that.

Father had left them, but he’d left the Winter Kingdom a treasure of incalculable worth: a secure future. A perfect King and Queen in waiting. An excellent Dauphin (even better: Bran had a great aptitude for stately matters, so a fine Dauphin-in-waiting as well). Perfect. Exemplary.

Sansa’s grown up knowing exactly what her life would be. Guiding her family’s kingdom, keeping bellies full and beds warm as her brother (or, gods forbid, her sister) kept the lizards at bay. She never wanted to be anything but the Dauphin. When Father had considered putting Arya ahead of her, he’d sought permission from Sansa to do so. Sansa didn’t have to think twice. She has no desire to be queen, nor the proper talents for it. She’d rather do some good than possibly bungle things by doing a job she wasn’t suited for.

Not to mention, the Dauphin had more personal freedom. The king (or queen) was tasked with the succession as well as warfare. The Dauphin, less so. They had more freedom in matters like marriage and lifestyle. If (gods forbid) she ever became queen, she couldn’t marry Domeric. Dom was heir to The Dreadfort and had to preserve his family name. As queen, Sansa would have to continue the Arryn Stark line herself, could never be Lady Bolton. The further she was from that sacrifice, the better.

It was a gift, really. Father left them so many gifts.

That’s how it was supposed to be, anyways.

After everything Father did, all the pains he went to, work he did… And this is how Robb chose to honor Father’s memory. By tearing it apart.

At first, Sansa, despite her misgivings, was willing to support Robb when he announced he’d sue for a Waiting period just a year after those bastards murdered Father. She couldn’t understand why, exactly. It’s not as if the Targaryens had let up at all on their brutality, nor were they winning. Robb was a sorcerer with battle plans. He won every battle. But perhaps a short respite for their armies was necessary.

Then she arrived at the front and heard the ‘terms’ of the peace. Indeed, that there were terms negotiated already, which was unheard of. It was the king’s prerogative to declare when conflicts began and ended, yes. But once he did, it was the Dauphin’s role to negotiate said terms. This was a state matter. It was the role. Robb had no business even inking his quill until Sansa had arrived, negotiated, and drafted a treaty. Yet, when she reached the camp to do exactly that, there was already a treaty written, drafted, signed, awaiting only her signature.

It got worse, though. Robb hadn’t just completely upset the order of things and gone over her head. Oh no. He apparently did this on the basis that there’d be lasting peace, not waiting. The same exact mistake their grandfather had made, but worse.

That lasting peace was forged by a marriage. Robb had agreed to marry the Targaryen Princess Rhaenys.

Her brother actually had the nerve to act surprised at her outrage. “I’d think you’d be glad! You wanted me to get married!”

Yes, to secure the succession, but to a woman of Winter. Not lizard spawn.

“Are you mad?!” Sansa had raged. “I wanted you to wed a Dacey Mormont! A Myranda Royce! A strong, intelligent, capable consort! Your children will be the future monarch and Dauphin of the Winter Kingdom! And so you choose the daughter of hideously incestuous, mad rapists to have them with?! You want to leave your children and kingdom with that level of inbreeding?! Seven Hells, Robb, this princess bride of yours is probably just a set of brown teeth that keeps trying to breed with itself! Then there’s their ‘divine blood’ nonsense… Your kingdom deserves leaders that know themselves to be men, not gods! Her father raped our aunt and her brother killed our father! Assuming she’s not too inbred to speak, she’ll probably raise them to think themselves beyond humanity or some stupidity! You’ll leave our country to tyrants and fake gods! I can’t even imagine. How many generations of sibling marriage does this generation even come from, or all they all the same person at this point?!”

“She’s old King Rhaegar’s daughter, so, actually, her mother isn’t her aunt. Her mother is Elia Martell of Dorne.”

That had been slightly better. Sure, her grandparents, great-grandparents and such on one side were all siblings, but there were SOME fresh genes. And the Nymeros Martells boasted a proud legacy, that did not, miraculously enough, include mothers giving birth to their own siblings/nephews/cousins.

“Was she raised in Dorne, at least?”

“No.”

Less reassuring. So Princess Rhaenys would still have been raised amidst all that divine-blood-of-the-dragon nonsense. Sansa would have to keep a close eye on her brother’s family.

“I can have a wedding arranged in three moons. Please tell me you at least got them to agree to have it in our country.”

“We agreed to wait a year, actually. King Rhaegar is dying, apparently.”

This whole thing still sparked outrage, of course. Their vassals practically rioted. There were even some talking about overthrowing Robb and putting Arya in his place. And, of course, Sansa was forced to handle all of it.

She was willing to, of course. That’s what her life was supposed to be, really. She never, ever expected things to be easy. She wasn’t entitled to ease.

She tried to look on the bright side during the worst difficulties. Once Robb married Rhaenys, he’d have a child soon after. Once he did, she and Dom would be free to wed at last. So she kept herself going with that promise ahead of her. She forgave her brother.

But this? No. This she shall never forgive him for.

Just four months away from the wedding, and he jilts her. Robb falls in bed with some random foreigner from the Westerlands, decides he’s fallen in love as well, and weds her, thus destroying the peace treaty HE had run through right under Sansa’s nose. Violating the terms of the peace without warning.

It’s not that Sansa expected the absurd “peace” arrangement to last. Not at all. A couple of years would pass and then the lizards would decide that really, they ought to be ruling Winter after all, that they’d somehow bought the kingdom with their princess or some such nonsense. It’s what they always did. It was practically a past-time with them.

But this time, the treaty wasn’t broken by the lizards. This time, for the first time in three hundred years, it had been them.

They are not duplicitous, dishonorable, cruel Targaryens. They are Arryn Starks. The motto of House Stark is ‘Winter is Coming’. The motto of the Arryns, ‘As High as Honor’. Both of those mottos are sacred. Their reputation for honor has always been sterling. It had been an asset that facilitated many advantageous friendships and arrangements with foreign powers who preferred to do their business in Westeros with the honorable Arryn Starks over the foul Targaryens. The reputation had helped protect them from their enemy.

Now Robb had tarnished that legacy. He couldn’t have dishonored Father’s memory more if he’d spit on his tomb.

And, somehow, now her brother had found a way to make it even worse.

He’d once again gone behind her back to make a new arrangement to preserve his stupid ‘peace’.

Robb had summoned Sansa to his privy chambers to tell her. To tell her what he’d done.

“An end to bloodshed has to be preserved, Sansa. At any cost.”

But he didn’t pay it. She said so.

“I’m so sorry, Sweet Sister. I know I bungled this. But I promise, I made sure that you will be honored. I made sure of it, I swear! You won’t be just a sacrifice, you’ll be Queen!”

A queen. Those reptilian lechers take multiple wives. They collect them like cattle. And since sisters and wives are practically synonymous in that family, she’ll probably be the only “queen” without any sacred blood. The lowly human wife. Of her father’s killer! She’ll be the one whose brother jilted one of their sacred, semi-divine kin. 

She pointed this out.

“Not to mention how they’re allowed to treat their wives,” she sneered. “They say Aerys The Mad’s wife was constantly covered in scars and burns. One of their kings kept his sister wives prisoner in a vault. THAT is what you’ve sold me to! I am torn from my home by the son of our aunt’s rapist, torn from a life of leadership, service, and honor as Dauphin of our country, with the man I love, to being our enemy’s rape doll. At least Lyanna didn’t have to bear the pain of being sold to her rapist by her own family! At least she wasn’t expected to bed the man that killed her father! We fought a twenty year war for Lyanna! You sell me to them as a consolation prize!”

She spat in his face. “I won’t do it, Robb. I won’t.”

He looked at her with sad eyes. “You will. You know you will. You will do it to save Northern lives.”

“You mean briefly prolong them!” She snapped. “You’re an idiot if you think this will stop those monsters from flying in and slaughtering our people once the mood strikes them.”

Sansa ran. She had help. Domeric helped her sneak out --- escape from her own home and family. They got her to Barrowtown, the domain of Dom’s aunt and guardian, Lady Dustin, by the time Robb’s men found her and dragged her back. They’d been betrayed by Dom’s bastard brother, Ramsay.

It wasn’t enough for Robb, apparently. ���Cooperate, Sansa, and I’ll pardon your lover for abducting you.”

“Abducting me?!” There was no arguing, though. They had Dom in chains. Robb unsheathed Ice.

“Pardon him?!” The Bastard of the Dreadfort howled. “But he-!”

“ENOUGH!” Robb cried out. “Make a decision, Sister. His life is in your hands.”

In tears, Sansa agreed. Her beloved was dragged away. That was the last she saw of him.

Her brother had the nerve to try and condescend to her. “I negotiated with the Targaryens. Their new king is unmarried. He’s our cousin, actually. Lyanna’s son. They say he’s a much gentler sort than his father, grandfather, and uncles. And he has agreed to have you as his only wife. They have sworn that you’ll know no harm or abuse. You’ll be queen above all others, Chief Lady of the Realm.”

“Lovely,” she sneered, “The sole queen of lizards and cattle.”

Just a few short weeks ago, she knew what her life would be. One of purpose, of good works, of celebrating and serving her home and honoring her father’s memory. She’d marry Domeric, raise her family in the proud North. Her son would be Lord of the Dreadfort. She’d do great things with people she cared about and trusted. Good people.

Now she’s locked in her room, waiting to be sent off to be a broodsow for the son of a rapist. By her own brother!

So she howls. She howls so all can hear. So all can know.

She howls when a group of seamstresses come to measure her for a new wardrobe. Sansa’s always loved fashion. Loved sewing. Loved silks. Nothing calmed her like a needle and thread. Some of her happiest childhood moments were when she got a new set of clothes for the year -- new dresses, shoes, stockings, ribbons, cloaks, gloves…

She was fascinated by jewels, too. It was a great triumph on her tenth Name Day when she was deemed old enough to wear some. Domeric was an amateur artisan who made pieces for her.

Now, a most extravagant wardrobe is being ordered for her. Clothing and jewelry. Silks, velvets, gold, diamonds beyond anything she ever dreamt of. It seems even more like an insult. Robb, thinking he can make up for destroying her life with trinkets.

So she takes some small, petty revenge here and there. “I want all of mother’s jewelry,” she told Maester Luwin when they went over her dowry arrangements.

It hurts to mention Mother, who died a few months after Father. But at least she didn’t live to see what her son had become.

“...All, My Lady?”

“Ever. Single. Bauble.”

“Most can be arranged, but… You see, King Robb made a gift of Queen Catelyn’s sapphire suite to Queen Jeyne for---”

“No. He did not,” Sansa replies, “I’m still technically Dauphin, correct?”

“Er, yes, in a fashion.”

“And I was Dauphin when Robb supposedly made this ‘gift’? Acting, in fact?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Luwin, you know the law. That’s impossible. Because all of the crown’s property and treasury is---”

“---The domain of the Dauphin, yes.”

“The king is not allowed under law to gift a family heirloom to anyone without the Dauphin’s authorization, is he?” That had been in the charter for years. On mostly everything, the monarch had the final authority. Robb was in his rights to sue for peace, make treaties, even marry her off. But there was one balancing contingency. The royal treasury. The royal purse and property was strictly the domain of the Dauphin. No major expenditure or gift was technically valid without her approval. This was rarely enforced. But then, the king’s right to sell his sister like chattel was rarely enforced, either.

“Er, no, Your Excellency.”

“Right, so at best, my brother lent his queen the sapphires. Which, as of now, I declare my property. In fact, Luwin, I think you’ve technically been shirking your duties as steward by not showing me the accounts. I have no idea of just how much is being spent right now, or how resources are being allocated. As Dauphin, I am obligated by honor and law to attend to and guide the finances of our nation until I take my leave of office. I do not do that until I am wed.”

Luwin’s lip curls. “Now that you mention it, Your Excellency, that’s right. Forgive me. It is of tantamount importance that you do your duty.”

Sansa was brought the accounts. She promptly slashed her brother’s privy purse by two thirds, ordered the seizure of all family jewelry, silver, and valuable artwork from his apartments, and legally granted them to other parties. Robb returned to his rooms that evening with his queen to find the furs stripped from his bed, his silver candlesticks replaced with pewter, and his own guards gently issuing a demand that he and Jeyne surrender all the jewelry they were wearing and informing him that instead of the kingly silver he was used to, he would now be eating his meals with wooden plates and spoons, and that his dinner would be, in fact, left over mutton stew and steamed turnips.

In the Kingdom of Winter, even Kings were bound by law. Kings also weren’t allowed to formally remove their Dauphin from office. Robb had no choice. He even had to hand over Ice, which Sansa officially declared to be Arya’s property. The only thing she couldn’t seize was the actual crown. But she did get to take his favorite horse.

Most likely, the moment she was wed and Bran officially became the new Dauphin, everything would be handed back to her brother save for whatever Sansa took with her. But it was worth it to put her brother in second-hand wools and tallow candles for a few months at least.

Her kingly brother charged into her chambers, furious, clearly ready to say something. But when he saw the look on her face (and the expressions of the guards and servants in the room), he thought better of it, turned on his heel, and left.

Sansa wasn’t going to bankrupt the crown, obviously. No, that would cause the kingdom to suffer, and the kingdom deserved better. But slashing the monarch’s privy purse hurt no one. The funds to make sure Robb’s rooms were lit with beeswax instead of cheap tallow were allocated to sewer maintenance instead. She gave the laundresses, kitchen staff, household guard, and stablehands all raises as well. That would be a lot harder for Robb to undo. He’d find difficulty to get his orders followed when said orders would reduce the salaries of his own staff.

She spent a small fortune on two chests of silks, jewels, sewing supplies, and coins to the Dreadfort. One for Dom. The other to be given to whatever woman was lucky enough to become his wife, along with a letter begging him to find someone wonderful, and love her as he’d loved Sansa.

And yes, she spent plenty to engorge her dowry and trousseau. In the finest silken thread, she embroidered “Fuck Robb, the Slaver King’ and ‘All Hail Queen Arya’ along the hemlines of her new gown. She even used gold and crystal beads for a few.

It gave her moments of vindictive glee. But they didn’t last. She’d shared a bed with her lover since she was sixteen, but now sleeps alone. And every day is a day closer to leaving everything she’s ever known and loved for the Dragon’s Den.

Spite and Disdain are the only ways she can bear to think of her betrothed. Lyanna might have been his mother, but she died in childbirth. King Jon was raised by the lizards, as a lizard. Raised among incestuous harems, corruption, decadence, under a doctrine of divine right. She’s surprised he’s named something as simple as ‘Jon’ and not ‘Glorarys Flaegar’ or whatever the fuck these people call themselves. He probably has several children who are also his nephews. And his brothers. Even the girls.

Well, at the very least, given the privy that is his gene pool, maybe he’ll inherit the wits of his grandfather Prince Aemon, who had the brilliant idea that drinking wildfire would turn him into an actual dragon. Maybe he’d do it soon after the wedding, before he had a chance to impregnate her with his lizard spawn. It probably wouldn’t be hard to convince him to do something that would only ever kill a mere mortal, but never one of THE BLOOD OF OLD VALYRIA!

As the days draw nearer, she dreams of a dragon at the foot of her bed, waiting to devour her. With every passing night, she finds that her bed has grown shorter and shorter, the dragon ever closer until her feet are an inch from its mouth.

It gets harder to find ease through insults. She does finds one thing to laugh about on the days she leaves. The whole court gathers to see her off. Everyone, even Arya, is in velvet. Even the servants, thanks to her new budget, have rich, shining livery of the Arryn Stark silver, aqua, and white. The king is in homespun.

She stiffens when Robb pulls her into an embrace. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Not sorry enough. I hope this was worth no longer being my brother.”

Arya weeps. Sansa hasn’t seen her like this since Father’s funeral. When they hug, Sansa whispers, “Long live Your Grace.”

“Long live Your Excellency.”

Bran and Rickon are in tears as well. Rickon tries to hide it, Bran does not. Sansa kisses his forehead. “Just… Take care of this place for me, alright? You’ll make a wonderful Dauphin.”

“I shouldn’t have to. Long live Queen Arya.”

Rickon whispers something similar. It makes Sansa’s heart stop. Even after the tearful goodbyes are made, she keeps hearing this whispered as she says goodbye to Luwin, Mikken, Gytha the Cook, Jory, Ser Rodrick.

As she rides south, she hears the words in her heard, in time with her heartbeat. Long live Queen Arya. Long live Queen Arya.

[jessmalia]

#this political discussion and these POVs could have been so interesting if you'd given them room to BREATHE and not dumbed them down#or made it simply due to genders or depicting the weaknesses of Rhaenyra's position#because they BOTH have points irrespective of gender and action or inaction is not reliant upon gender#other factors feed into views about dragon warfare#rhaenys and alfred have OODLES of differences that could have given a really meaty dynamic if it had been allowed to flourish#and the council existed beyond exposition and being “for” or “against” rhaenyra's efforts#alfred comes to this with no lands title troops or kin#rhaenys has all of that AND she knows what it is to fly a dragon and some inkling of what such a war will actually look like#alfred has everything to gain by such an offensive because all he cares about is punishing the greens and using violence to subdue#he has nothing to lose by letting dragons out#but Rhaenys DOES and she has a higher duty (in her mind) to the realm as a whole not to mention the kin aspect#AND THE FACT IT'S HER BLOODY DRAGON#anyway a+ death glare - rhaenys you were too respectful for your own good i am glad you told them off like CHILDREN (op's tags)

Then we must press what advantage we do have. And what is that? Dragons.