Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/738049.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major
      Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M, Other, F/F, Multi
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin, Game_of_Thrones_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Tyrion_Lannister/Sansa_Stark, Daenerys_Targaryen/Viserys_Targaryen, Aegon
      VI_Targaryen/Daenerys_Targaryen, Aegon_VI_Targaryen/Daenerys_Targaryen/
      Viserys_Targaryen, Arya_Stark/Gendry_Waters
  Character:
      Tyrion_Lannister, Sansa_Stark, Viserys_Targaryen, Aegon_VI_Targaryen,
      Daenerys_Targaryen, Varys_(Game_of_Thrones), Margaery_Tyrell, Loras
      Tyrell, Joffrey_Baratheon
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Spanking, Beating, Whipping,
      Character_Death, Death, Torture, Psychological_Torture, Face_Slapping,
      Fluff_and_Angst
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-27 Chapters: 2/? Words: 3949
****** The Dragons Have Come ******
by Litheral, Niongi
Summary
     They lived in the Kingswood,
     A Mother Lion and her Cub,
     She loved him very much,
     But there were other things that lived in the woods.
     Evil things: Stags, wolves, you could hear them howling in the night.
     The dragons are dreams of old men, the talk of the small folk, talk
     of fear. The dragons have come.
Notes
     Headcannon I don't explicitly explain. Viserys was thrown out of Vaes
     Dothrak instead of killed. Dany loses everything after Meereen even
     her dragons the leave her. Calling out 'father'.
***** High in the Nest *****
-The Eryie-
Lord Peytr Baelish , King Joffery's Lord Protector of the Vale placed one hand
behind his back and forced his silhouette taunt, the fire cracked and a log
fell into the bed with a soft thud. The dark wood shutters engraved with the
falcon, its wingtips tightly closed covered the window, and they stared down
leering over anyone in the room with their yellow glass eyes. A servant was
expected but dared not come to Little Finger while he saw to his daughter.
“Your father wants you bastard. Ge’move on.” Said a guard. In those moments
Alyane felt her name Stone weigh her down. Her significance relied on Lord
Baelish’s kindness but Sansa floated in the back of her mind indignant. She was
a Stark of Winterfell, no bastard, but a true highborn daughter though it had
been a long time since anyone had called her such. She couldn't let it show. It
was better than the King Joffery the Blackthroat who would make her his whore,
a live doll to fuck and beat.
Bitterness was a new taste in her throat and she had no hideaway to sweeten her
tongue again. No lemon baths now. Porcelain child, Ivory woman, Stark steel to
Stone, Alyane Stone. No one. Nothing. Three years hiding in the Vale and three
years blackening her mother's gift of Tully red hair. Three of learning to play
the game, the game of thrones and still her adoptive father taught her he was
the better player.
Alayne shook the bottom part of the skirt of imaginary dirt, a nervous habit.
Something Sansa would never do. She would wear the blood of Winterfell like a
shroud. She fought to control herself but the memory of his last kiss flickered
in her mind like eels slipping against each other in the marketplace waiting to
be bought, and sold into cooking pots. Alayne steels her resolve but prays when
she shakes her skirts again that her father isn't hungry to educate her.
He isn't facing her when she enters. A calculated effort she understands now to
try and unnerve her, to create an opportunity for his lesson. Alayne doesn't
want a Maester lesson of lips, and her mother’s name on his lips but she
chooses caution over fear.
"Father?" She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from adding more; choosing
to stand opposite from him. He doesn’t turn or look away from the map he has
draped over the table.
She feels the wind push in from the landing cool and dry, if she squints it
might look like snow and trees. It might look like home. When father turns to
look at her now she puts a small smile on her face.
‘Like a mirror I will let him see what he wishes. Where is your caution
Alayne?’ She thinks and dismisses her own thoughts, she feels: ambitious, and
playful with him.
"I have unfortunate tiding, sweetling." He says. Alayne can't tell if he is
gleeful. Her confidence shoots out of her like a crooked arrow, making her
queasy. "I've discovered plans that I'm afraid would upset you." He pauses
coming close and taking her hand. He rubs each digit, looking at her nails. His
closeness pushes her into hyper awareness of his fingertips as he squeezes her
wrist tightly. Tyrion’s broken face flashed in her mind, ‘I vow, I shall not
savage you.’
"Plans father?" She hears her voice and cringes at its hollowed steadiness.
"Yes, I'm afraid young Jon has been given advice. Advice that would send you
into the hands of old captors." He pressed his nail down into her wrist,
leaving half-moons on her veins.
Surely her cousin wouldn't. Sweet Robin was kind, they were betrothed. He’d
marry his cousin to keep her safe.
‘I love you Sansa. You are lovely our babies will be pretty. You can rule the
Vale, I’ll be your Lord and then we’ll marry our babies to people we like.’
Alayne outside of the room, always Sansa as they laid next to each other and
she petted her little cousins shaking, sweating form.
Little Robin's head guard would sell her, the Lord wanted his son the Young
Hawk to rule the Eyrie. Her father's control over the Eyrie has been slipping
since Aunt Lysa went missing. Her voice shrills suddenly in her mind "I saw
what you did. You led him on didn't you? I saw you kiss him!" And the sound of
the air as she fell down and down the moon door.
Petyr grips her chin hard and rubs his knuckle on her jaw. How long had he been
talking? Did he ask her a question? She flicks her eyes up to him, he gives his
side smirk. Grabbing onto her shoulders he pulls her closer chest to chest
crushing her and brushes her hair back he whispers into her ear.
"He would sell you to the Targaryen Queen.” Daenarys Targaryen had come and
taken King’s landing after several months siege, no other word of her victory
but that King Joffery was safe in Casterly Rock with the Queen Dowager. His
breath was hot on her ear, she could feel his manhood on her thigh as he
gripped her shoulders with his sharp fingers, his body was warm but she still
shivered.
"What does the Targaryen Queen want with me father?" It was the wrong thing to
say because Peytr's thumbs dug into her shoulders bruising them as he hissed
into her hair with his breath.
“She doesn’t know you are alive, but if you were given up in the name of the
Vale. She would forgive the Vale and all the lords therein. No executions, no
fire and blood. You’ll find no safety with King Joffery, although marrying you
to young Jon, may be a better choice." He waits watching her. Marry Sansa to
her cousin? Of course, by now little Robin would have given up her secret to
his councilors. They would sell her. Jon was eleven now but with no mother and
her in hiding little Jon was ignorant of the hurt he did. A secret she knows
her father did not approve of her sharing.
Sometimes she sees Petyr Baelish’s stone disapproval shake into irritation
spiced, in lightening anger which makes her mind tumble in panic. She wants so
desperately to see his eyes grey. Grey and with a small smile in them just for
her, but as hard as she tries, Alayne’s father cannot put her at ease the way
Sansa’s father Lord Stark's had.
“My Lord? His Lordship’s councilors ask you to come, milord.” The guard called
in, he didn’t come in so he knows she is in here.
“Of course, at once.” Petyr answers. “You may go.” When he moves away from her
in deliberate slowness as though the pupil has deeply offended the teacher with
their lack self-discipline.
"Obey your father sweetling." He says.
“By your will, father.” An automatic curtsy and a small voice. Just like with
Joffery, King Joffery the Blackthroat. He had barely survived his poisoning, at
his wedding feast, he had been sick for months, gone to Casterly Rock for his
recovery. A full year before he was well now it was whispered he was uglier
than his kinslaying Uncle Tyrion.
"I have a different way. I have found a way to send you home." Lord Baelish
said. She could feel herself brighten but tempered and shook it down to her
belly. He said many things that were true but not the truth she knew now. She
looked into his forehead feeling her courtesy armor clang around like a
squire’s first shield, shaking with effort. "By your will, Lord father."
"I will be taking you to the Highgarden. Dearest, where you will marry Willas.
There we shall reveal your claim and the roses shall take Winterfell in your
name."
Highgarden to marry sweet Willas. With the puppies and horses and all the
flowers. Sweet cousins like Margaery. Her good sister. She need never be alone
with Peytr who sometimes called her Cat, who pushed her Aunt out the moon door,
saved her from her and Blackthroat. Who hid her but wants?
"But we must be careful Alyane. The horses are already waiting to take us
tonight. They will take us to a ship which will sail to Highgarden. As soon as
it is dark we shall away to make you a rose bride." He held his hand out and
she took it, leaned up and kissed his cheek because a grateful daughter would.
Baelish smirked and put her lips to his. His lips were dry and thin, no eels,
no wine and his fingertips she was sure would leave bruises on her bottom. This
is what he wants she thought.
She hoped he would be brief but when his tongue touches her open mouth she
could feel that bitterness pinch her throat and flood her stomach with bile.
Sansa moved her palms up on his chest and gently pushed him back from her.
"Father we should take care.” Willas is waiting for me she added silently.
Willas, Highgarden and Winterfell.
“Come.”
----
The guards all leaned over at their posts when they dropped to the great
baskets out of nest. Poisoned she thought. But a loud snore from one who always
gave her sweet smiles, assures her, drugged.
She would probably never see her cousin again As the Lady of Highgarden she'd
write him he was some of the last of her kin. The wind pulled her darkened hair
around her in a tangle, the smell of the stone and damp.
She hardly felt the horse ride, or the hours, the days to the ship but the
closer the smell of the ocean came upon them the more she worried for the
length of the trip.
Lord Baelish was insistent, but a few hours of sleep and full light came upon
them and Baelish was on deck speaking to a man he seemed to know. She would
make plans with the roses and pull the mockingbird out of garden.
She stayed in cabin looking out the small window letting the saltwater drain
some of the poison out and dreaming again at last. She imagined her beautiful
children who would all be named for the family she'd lost. Thinking of their
young children and only the tales she could tell them stabbed her into her last
flesh part of her heart. Stabbed until that too was ice and stone. She'd warn
them of winter and they would withstand them all.
***** Little Men, Big Problems *****
-The Red Keep-
The white gauze curtains blew gently into the room with the scent of the sea
curling into them. The red stone was cast the color of blood as it was being
lit by so few candles. A servant boy dozed in the corner, not realizing that
many could see him there.
"Light some candles boy!" barked Jon Connington. The boy jerked awake and gave
a wild bow to no one's direction in particular rubbing his eyes with the back
of his hand. "We can barely see our faces. Their graces words may have blood in
it but we want some fire!"
"Must you shout so late? Child, fetch the candles." Lord Varys patted the boy
on the shoulder and urged him out of the room with a bare brush of a sleeve. A
tiny bird indeed. "My dear Lord Hand, you no longer dwell among the Dothraki
horde, therefore do please find some manners that are appropriate for your
recent appointment."
"Gods be good Varys giving a tongue lashing at this late hour?" Sniped Tyrion
as he plopped into a chair pouring a glass of wine. "Why under the Cunt of the
moon are we up so late?" The table could barely be seen with the stacks of
scrolls and parchments scattered about. Marriage offers for the Prince Viserys,
for the Prince Rhaegar. Questions: Will the His Grace, King Aegon take another
wife? Will the Queen Daenarys receive court? And then many more notes and
ravens messages from various Lords sending their fealty through paper instead
of a bended knee in front of the Iron Throne.
"Please tell me this isn't some late night convening for tiny Lords and their
tiny problems. Surely His Grace doesn't want these matters seen to at this time
of night?" Tyrion took a deep draught of his wine and looked over at the other
councilors with a smirk. "For I do know where our King is, he is where he
always is when the moon is full and the air is hot well into the night. He's
with Their Graces drinking, fucking and eating the night away solely in their
arms. I do of course mean only Her Graces arms. I'm sure His grace, Prince
Viserys watches and slumbers peacefully, alone."
Varys rolled his eyes with a huff, while Jon grinned like a hungry wildcat. The
Maester was not present. The Targaryens with their dragons had been in the
capital for some three months, and still not all was settled.
"I have a decision from His Grace of, as you say, the tiny Lords and their tiny
problems. No noble, prince, or lord of the realm may swear their fealty threw
pen or raven. They must come themselves, kneel in front of the Iron Throne with
their colors and sigil on their back and swear their houses, words, and honor
to House Targaryen." said Varys watching the servant boy light candles on the
table, and on all the shelves. The room brightened considerable and the boy
looked at Varys for a moment, and then rushed to pin the curtains down and away
from the flame.
The servant boy paused, Lantean, if he remembered the boys name, looking up
briefly at Varys went red in the face bowed and scampered into the darkened
hall of the servants quarters.
"Their graces don't ask for much. All of them Lordies did it before, and with
the dragons well they better run in front of the King to dodge the fire." said
Jon chuckling into his cup. He had of course not expected to be summoned so he
was a bit into his cups and not all together helpful, one of the rare occasions
that the mighty Lord Connington gave himself to drink. He plucked a handful of
pitted cherries and dropped them in the little plate in front of him watching
them roll around.
"But to the point-"
"Oh yes lets hear it!" Tyrion interrupted. Varys narrowed his eyes and took a
sip of water.
"As to the reason I've convened us, it is a great matter to the King. Joffery
is in Castely Rock, and still proclaims himself King. While here in
Kingslanding we have famine, rebellion, and broken walls. We have no Master of
the Coin. With Jon Connington as Hand, I still a spider, and you dear Tyrion as
Lord Steward, and Master of the Red Keep our hands are quite full. So His Grace
has asked me who was the Master of the Coin before-"
"Don't say that rats name, Varys don't." Tyrion spat, "Is that little conniving
piece of shit coin jinglier still alive? Please tell me he is in a black cell
and maimed."
"Precisely the problem. Petyr Baelish still lives, outside of our custody, and
as far as I know un-maimed. Also, His Grace wants a new Master of the Coin,
preferably one who has had the appointment before and not a Lannister. If we
his fine councilors can manage such a small task." A snort drew their eyes to
Loras who until that moment had been sulkily nibbling on strawberries. It was
whispered that he was the latest conquest of His Grace, and as soon as a land
was conquered, it was forgotten. "Something to add Ser Loras?"
"I am the Lord Commander, yet I'm not included in this conversation?" said
Loras.
"No indeed. Ser Loras you are managing the guard, but with no ill intent good
Ser, you are not the Lord Commander His Grace never appointed you as such."
Tyrion said.
Perhaps it could have been said less harshly if a silent exchange of eyes from
Tyrion to Jon, and both of them back to Varys once again.
"Ser Barrister is His Graces personal guard so he cannot resume that post of
Lord Commander. And my dear, Ser Loras Unless His Grace appoints you in
ceremony, and speaks to this council we cannot consider you as such. You are
young Ser. Too young to be master of King's Guard, and white cloak, though not
incapable in my opinion."
"So we need a Lord Commander, Master of Coin, and anything else?" Said Tyrion.
Tyrion watched Varys with a tired eyes endless days of appointments, executions
and purging of the enemies of House Targaryen, and himself. Cersei a prisoner,
and any other Lannister until he could verify who they were. Cunt Cersei a war
spoil for His Grace, but Jaime was with King Joffery in Casterly Rock. Tommen
safe but a prisoner safely locked away in a Prince's rooms with the Red Guard.
"We also need a new Master of Laws, and A Master of Ships. His Grace is not in
favor of the current appointments. Lord Mace Tyrell may be able to stay on as
Master of Ships, but he finds Randyll Tarly to be too surly and despicable in
his relationship with his first son, who is now sworn to the black, Samwell
Tarly." Said Varys. He watched the candlelight for a moment, and was deeply
comforted in the knowledge that all the Targaryens slept in the Red Keep safe,
whole, and sound. The Crown Prince Rhaegar cuddling with his dolls made by his
Dothraki slaves, Little Horses and Dragons that surrounded him in his sleep. He
blinked and looked up at Tyrion, nodding slightly.
"His Grace is meaningful in his appointments, but is this just a lure to get
Baelish here? Or is it going to be a pardon—Glad you could join us Mormont, too
busy to be bothered?" Said Tyrion exasperated.
"This bear was licking honey off your nieces nether parts." he grinned and sat
next to Tyrion patting him on the shoulder. Ah yes and his niece was delivered
from Dorne to Queen a Daenerys as a gift, in turn she gave her to Jorah Mormont
once again master and Lord of the Bear Isles.
"And the question of Dorne is also on the table." Said Loras. "They want the
promise kept between Prince Viserys and Arianne Martell, but as the King is the
son of a Martell it makes little sense in the alliance for the crown."
"Are you acting as a councilor or do you wish your dear Margery to marry
again?" said Tyrion. He watched Loras face as it relaxed into a smirk. The
danger was that only Connington knew the infatuation or could it be called love
that the King had for his Queen Aunt and Uncle.
"Councilor, even a blind man could see that a match between Targaryen and
Martell is pointless. She should be married perhaps to yourself Tyrion, you are
a man are you not?"
Fucking Loras him and his sister just wanted to shove a barrel of strawberries
down his throat for all his picking at them. He watched Loras unsmiling, and
unsettling the young Knight. He was the son of the old Lion indeed, and
Lannisters don't act like fools. Especially to the one fucking the king. Would
the King choose his lovers over the will of the council? Of himself?
"Indeed but His Grace will decide whom I wed, as I did forswore my marriage to
his crown. Just as Mormont did, so I will." said Tyrion.
"Their Graces will have their way in this. I wouldn't argue over it, or mention
that Martells for now. The appointments must be seen to, as well as the Wardens
of the Realm." Said Jorah calling over his shoulder in Dothraki, "Tkalounah
Khal Keshkashar? Khalessei? Keshkashar-to?"
"Khal, Khalessi, and little brother of Khal are all sleeping, Bear." The little
mother called back. She came into the room and was in contrast to the silk and
painted walls as she was still in her Dothraki leathers and furs. Dark olive
skin, even darker eyes and hair, she was the King's Little Mother, his Dothraki
mother. She understood Westeros because of Tyrion and was one ally he could
count on. Even if the King's had a thousand lovers, he always considered the
little mother's words before theirs.
The frightening part was that Little Mother looked calm and sweet, and her man
was even stiller and quiet. She had single handedly slaughtered all of Aegon's
bastards all fifty-one of them including her own daughter's son freshly born.
"A King of Westeros does not need horses babies, whores babies, you are this
King first, Khal after. You are not weak my Khal, this pain take it with you
like a stone. A whet stone. Dragons do not fuck horses, they do not lounge in
the grass. They do not take cities for the Khalessar, they go home. They find
the other Dragons."Aegon clutching the body of his daughter looked up at his
little mother sobbing, and reaching out to all of his children's bloodied
bodies in front of him.
'Keshkashar, even my daughter your Dothraki wife does not weep as you do. She
watches and knows you will be a King of the Iron Throne. She does not cry. You
are a dragon. You were supposed to eat your women's babies when they are born.'
Tyrion shuddered in his tent and did not dare come out to see Aegon's pain. If
His Grace ever knew, that he had told the Little mother that very yesterday.
"Gods be good fifty children-" Tyrion covered his mouth looking at the eldest
child already seven years old. He must have fathered that child at twelve or
thirteen.
"Soon fifty-one, my daughter will have a baby for him soon." said little mother
smiling.
"You shouldn't smile, every one of these sons could kill their father's chances
of ever returning home. These make him weak, the gods be good-What to do with
all of these children. They are all bastards, he didn't marry those women in
the eyes of Westeros they are all Horse-brides, little mother. Women of spoils,
conquest. Except for your daughter, she's the only one he—gods something must
be done with all of children. The little mother frowned and looked over the
babies tent.
Tyrion sometimes woke in a cold sweat hearing the women sob as the Khal was
away and the Little Mother and her man beat, strangled and cut the throat of
every child in the Khals—the King's tent.
"All the Targaryens sleep, as their councilors ramble. Varys you’re the master
of whispers you find little finger." said Tyrion rising from the table. "I'm
going to bed." He left the council hall, and shivered as he passed a Targaryen
banner, they could never know.
Tyrion flopped into his bed with a groan rubbing his hands against the cool
sheets. The wife that never wanted him, was she somewhere in the dungeons? They
were combing through every inch, but the dungeons were vast and King
Blackthroat Joffery had put many people in there. Gods be good he hoped not. He
imagined her under a lemon tree sewing quietly and occasionally looking up at
the birds that bathed in the waterbath. As Tyrion fell asleep he could've sworn
he smelled lemon, sunshine and her hair even in the dead of night.
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