Chapter Text

Chapter 65 - Mōris

Sesa sat back on the melting snow, the heels of her hands pressed against her eyes, listening to Aemond lose his mind over her sister's dead body. She'd checked the pulse a dozen times. She tried every way she knew how to restart Amyra's heart. Nileya might have been able to do something, but Sesa doubted any magic would remain in Amyra's blood after the treatment of a Fire Priestess pitted against her ice. Would Amyra want to live without her power? There was no use in debating it anyway, because Nileya was dead and gone. She thought about how she might find a necromancer before her body began to rot. 

Bile filled Sesa's throat but she swallowed it down. Cregan, battle-worn, death-hardened Cregan, had already vomited twice. 

Aemond whispered unintelligible Old Valyrian into Amyra's hair, his face buried against her neck. Morrigan lay beside them both, unmoving. Infinitely smaller in death. Sesa reached a trembling hand forward and closed the direwolf's blue, unseeing eyes. 

"What is that?" Cregan gasped out a few feet away, breathing hard as he kneeled over the snow. 

"What?" Sesa replied listlessly, rubbing at the flesh of her shoulder where the arrow had pierced during the battle with Criston Cole and his men. Only a raised scar remained, proof of Amyra's fading power in her last moments. Yet she'd done it anyway. Used her final scraps of magic to heal a wound that would have eventually healed on its own. It was almost like she could feel every unsaid word, buried behind her closed skin. 

I love you. I'm sorry. Take care of Elrie. I wanted more time. I made a stupid choice, but I did what I could to make the best of it. Take care of him for me. I love you. 

"What is that?" Cregan demanded again, slapping a palm against his head as if knocking it the right way would set things to rights, "It's like I can still hear her heart." 

"Her heart. Is not. Beating." Sesa said thickly. She'd already said so a dozen times when Aemond was screaming at her. She would never stop hearing those screams. Help her! Sesa, do something! Please, please, please-don't let her go. Please-

Thump thump, thump thump. 

Sesa whirled to the noise, the barely perceptible-

Thump thump, thump thump.  

Heart in her throat, Sesa scrambled over to Amyra, pressing two fingers below her jaw. Nothing. She fought the urge to scream, but Aemond didn't even notice her.  

Thump thump, thump thump. 

What the fuck? 

"It's that," Cregan said from a few feet away, pointing a shaking finger behind Aemond, his slate-gray eyes locked on something Sesa couldn't see. Slowly, she stood on leaden legs and walked around Aemond and Amyra's entwined bodies, snow crunching beneath her blood-streaked boots. At first, she saw only the crown, its wicked-sharp points angled skyward, glowing dully where Aemond had tossed it. It remained, even though Amyra had left this world. 

Then she saw the box. 

It was made of the same blue ice as the crown, perhaps a little larger than a man's fist. Small enough that she hadn't noticed it when everything... happened. Yet, where the crown glowed with some burning, luminescent energy, this one radiated cold darkness. As if it swallowed the very light of the world. Tremulously, Sesa kneeled and brushed her fingers across the curved top. Thump thump, thump thump. 

"Open it," Cregan whispered, "Unless you want me to-"

"Fuck off," Sesa breathed, and flipped the lid up. Neither spoke for a long time. 

Inside, fitted as if she'd made the box just for this purpose, lay a beating, bloody heart. The edges, where the veins meant to pump a body's blood lay, were severed cleanly. Like she'd taken her time cutting it from his body. His body, because on the inside of the lid, carved in swirling, floruished letters that Sesa would know anywhere, read; Long live the King. 

Thump thump, thump thump. 

Cregan swallowed loudly, "Is that-"

"Yes," Sesa answered without looking at him, unable to turn from this final piece of magic Amyra left behind, "She-she entombed his soul- Aegon's soul- within the heart. Once that is done, she keeps it alive by having it feed off the life magic of the world. Then the soul no longer requires a body. It cannot age. It is permanently sustained. Immortal." 

"Why would she do that?" Cregan whispered, flinching as the heart jerked. Thump thump, thump thump. "After what he did to her, why make him immortal?"

"Can you think of a worse punishment?" Sesa asked, finally turning to him, "To be alive but unable to breathe, or speak, or see? To only be aware? Forever? I mean I-" Sesa shook her head, putting her hands in the snow to remind herself of the ground beneath her, "Such magic is extraordinarily difficult. I thought it impossible. Legend. I never thought..." 

In the silence broken only by the steady thump of Aegon's heart, Sesa realized Aemond had stopped sobbing in Valyrian. He'd lifted his head, but still clutched Amyra against him. He must have closed her eyes, because were it not for the icy blue of her veins, the paleness, she looked as if she might only be sleeping in his arms. 

"Aemond?" Sesa whispered, wondering if he'd truly cracked. Amyra might have made him King, but what kind of King would he become without her? 

His one-eyed gaze remained fixed on the brightening horizon, so still he didn't seem to breathe. Sesa and Cregan followed his gaze. 

On the horizon, a great mass of scales. Not nearly as many as the exodus Amyra caused earlier, but Sesa knew the dragon that headed the front. Vhagar bellowed out, fire and teeth and something strangely mournful reaching them from across the distant water. The dragons, some of them at least, were returning. 

They were returning, now that the only force that might stand against them was dead. 

Thump thump, thump thump. 

The afterworld smelled distinctly of ash. Ash and something older. Like an ancient current of magic ran through the air still. Well, not air, since the dead didn't need air. That magic prodded her, tickled her. A curious thing, unused to magic such as hers. 

Amyra swatted at it, blinking in the relative brightness of death. She lay prone on an ashy, gravelly ground, the world veiled in fog. She pushed up to her elbows, spying ancient, broken statues peaking out from the fog. She couldn't find the sun, but...if she squinted...she thought she could make out the steppes of a looming mountain in the distance. 

"It was not always this way." 

Amyra jerked haltingly to her feet and turned toward that smooth, slightly accented voice. She watched as a red-robed, humanoid being strolled unhurriedly out of the fog. Their hair was long and white, their eyes violet, their face classically beautiful in the sharp, strange way of Valyrians. They stood with the bearing of a warrior, yet Amyra could not discern them as a man or a woman. This was a strange face for death to take. 

"Given your appreciation for advancement, magical and otherwise, I imagine you would have appreciated it, as it once was." the being said, looking off through the fog. Like they too, could see the shadow of that mountain. 

Amyra shifted in her simple breeches and tunic. No necklace, no ring. No blade or sapphire. She angled her head, "Valyria?" she asked, and they smiled like she'd passed some test, so she pushed, brow furrowing, "Are you the being that ensnared Aemond? Spoke to him in riddles?" 

They shrugged, "Ensnared is rather strong a word. I called. He answered." 

"You told him to follow his Queen, or risk the loss of magic entirely," Amyra recalled, "Have you come to punish me for destroying that Queen?" 

The being smiled playfully, "You were the only Queen I ever had in mind, Amyra Stark, Dragon-Wielder," they replied with a curve of their lips.

She'd suspected that, somehow. Through all of Justice's whispering, and her own wish to place Aemond on the throne, she suspected she was the "Queen"- if only in name. If only for a few hours. She only said, "Word travels fast, even here." She gestured a hand to wherever "here" was. 

"The dead have little else to do but listen." 

"Well," Amyra tapped her foot, kicking up ash, "I am dead. I am not Queen of anything." 

Now they frowned, looking more intently at Amyra, "You forged a crown for Aemond, and cleared the way to the throne. You are his wife, so you are Queen." 

"Yes, I was his wife and now I am dead. Are you here to discuss the details with me, or can we move on to- whatever is next?" Amyra snapped, and ice crackled along her skin. She swore she heard murmurs beyond the fog, swore she felt the attention of more than just this...whatever they were. 

"Do you hear them?" the being said, as if sensing her thoughts, "They fear you." 

She narrowed her eyes, "Who does?" 

They gestured one long-fingered hand, "You could rule them. Destroy them. You could make yourself Queen among Gods." 

Is this my punishment? To argue until the end of time?

"There are no Gods," she said lowly. 

They nodded, white hair swaying, "And if that is your will, so it shall be." The murmuring rose, mixing with-

Howling? 

Amyra whirled, and out of the fog bounded Morrigan- great tail swaying, her massive paws leaving indents in the ash. She rubbed against Amyra's legs, and she couldn't help but smile, bending to press her massive head into her chest. Morrigan, Morrigan, Morrigan-

"Together, you stand to rival them as none have before." the being said, watching her scratch Morrigan behind the ear. 

Indeed, she felt that great power stir. As if even the death of her human body could not stand to end that great, roiling power. Instead, it slept. A beast ready to awaken. 

She turned again to that red-robed being, "What if I don't want to become Queen among Gods? What if- what if I'm done." 

His frown deepened. Something like disappointment edged there, "You will pass on."

"Yes, but what does that-"

"I cannot tell you," they interrupted, and she huffed. They cocked their head, observing her, "You are weaker than I anticipated." 

She whirled, standing so suddenly that ash exploded into a cloud at her feet, "What did you just say to me?" 

"You wanted to die." 

"That's bullshit." 

"Is it? You killed yourself. That implies you wanted to die." they remained perfectly calm, which became all the more infuriating. 

"I-I did not want to die. I wanted to be with Aemond, and my brother, and my sister- and anyway I did what you wanted! How dare you? I used my final hours to ensure he was on the throne-" she raged, nearly screaming at this being that was staring at her with pity. That, more than anything, enraged her. She dragged a hand through her hair, "Why are you even here? Why you? I'm not even Valyrian!" 

"You are the greatest magical being since the Doom. Dragons, as you know, are the source of magic in this world. Thus, you have always been of great interest to me. I knew your fate and the fate of my descendants would be intertwined." they replied evenly. 

Amyra stumbled. If she'd had a living body, she knew her knees might have weakened. She might have fallen to her knees. 

As it was, she could only say, "It was you."

They said nothing. Merely watched. 

She raised an accusing finger, "It was you. All this time, you were her-"

"Her?" 

"Justice," Amyra hissed, spitting the name, "I thought I was going mad, but it was you- pushing me along, whispering in my ear- screaming at me for years," she dug both hands into her hair, nearly screaming at the intolerable being that seemed entirely unmoved by this revelation, "I mean, was any of it even real? Or have I spent my life being ushered toward slaughter by you?"

They looked down their long nose at her, "I took an interest in you. I observed, and your human mind twisted that into something understandable. Whether I was or was not this voice in your head, I couldn't say, but know that every choice you made was entirely your own, Amyra Stark. The dead have no claim on the free will of the living." they enunciated each word carefully, as if that could make her understand. 

She threw her hands out in exasperation, "And suppose you are lying?" 

They continued to look at her like she was a particularly intriguing riddle, violet eyes far too bright for someone who claimed to be dead, "Why do you change the subject at hand? I cannot keep you here forever. If you are not careful, you will pass on before you have a chance to decide." 

"What is there to fucking decide? I am done. I died. Now let me die." Amyra snapped, ice exploding in shards around her feet. 

They did not flinch, though the voices beyond the fog rose, "So you are a coward." 

Amyra's eyes flared white with anger, "What I did was hardly cowardly-"

"You gave up," they interrupted, harsher than anything they'd said yet, "You allowed yourself to be fooled because you were afraid to live."

The ice around her grew, and cracked like a breathing heart, "I wanted to live-" she started, shaking her head, hoarfrost trembling on her hands. Didn't I?

They began walking toward her, red robes billowing through the fog, "You were afraid to live because living meant moving forward, and you could not bring yourself to do that, could you? You grew comfortable in the embrace of your rage, and your pain. It's why you won't erase your scars. It's why you swallowed that vial the moment Aemond was not there to keep you tethered to this world."

Amyra backed up a step, Morrigan whining at her side, "No, no, that is not true." she told them vehemently, though her voice had begun to shake. 

They kept coming forward, and where they stepped her ice melted and vanished into the ash, "We both know that death is easy, Amyra."

She knew, logically, that this body was not real. Her real body was somewhere else. Yet, that didn't stop her heart from beating so fast that she couldn't get down a breath. It didn't stop her from trembling before the Valyrian being. It didn't stop her from falling to her knees and heaving nothing into the ash. Was it truth? She'd told herself the scars remained because the cost of magic was too high to remove them, but was the cost of magic so high because, in her heart, she'd begun to feel like she deserved them? Evidence of every awful thing that happened to her, trophies that validated this- this roiling thing in her chest. Because of those scars, she'd made herself into a weapon of revenge, carved herself up until she was more monstrous than her enemies. She was cunning incarnate, she was the burning rage of winter, and she could no longer remember a time when she'd been anything else. 

So what was left, when revenge was finally hers? What was she when every monster had been slain, and she was left standing? 

Tears, real or not, fell in rivers down her cheeks as Amyra hugged her stomach and gasped down each un-dead breath. She looked up at the red-robed being, like a child kneeling before him, and wept, "I don't think I know how to live. I don't think I-I exist without something to destroy."

They kneeled before her and extended a callused hand to brush away her tears. They felt so real, so warm. Their eyes bright with understanding. Perhaps she was more Valyrian than she thought. Apt to burn, and burn, and keep burning. The being tipped their head to the side, in a way she'd watched Aemond do a dozen times. Amyra felt an ache in her chest so visceral she nearly doubled over. 

"Do you not deserve the chance to try?" 

Amyra lifted her red-rimmed gaze as Morrigan lay her head across her lap, "Is that one of my choices? Pass on, become a God, or return to my body? To-to my world?" 

They lowered their hand to pet Morrigan idly, "You have to want it, Amyra. You have to want to live, or whatever power I have to help you will be naught."

"What is the cost?" 

Their lips curved, "How do you know there is one?" 

"There is always a cost," she murmured, wiping at her tears. 

"So there is," they nodded, "Your human body cannot survive the magic of the vial. Release it into the Weirwood. Return the magic from whence it came." 

Her dark brows dipped, "Will I have any power left?" 

A dip of their chin, "Whatever ability you had before you swallowed the vial will remain. That power belongs entirely to you..."

She narrowed her eyes on them, "What else?" 

They met her gaze, violet stare steady, "The cost is simple. A life for a life. A King for a Queen." 

"No." 

They didn't stop, "Kill Aegon Targaryen and live."

"No." 

"What will you become if you cannot let go of this?" they insisted, nearly pleading with her. 

But Amyra's tired eyes had taken on new fire, "How can you ask that of me? Why should I have to let go? Why should I have to forgive and forget what he did to me-"

"I am not asking you to forget. I am not asking you to forgive," they avowed, the fog rustling around them as they leaned closer, "But it is no longer about justice, Amyra. It is about letting him control you, even from that box. Every day that you keep what Aegon did right here," they said into her face, forcing her to look at them as they dipped a finger to her chest, right over her heart, "Is another day he wins. How many days have you given him already? How many years?" 

She wished she hadn't heard the truth in those words. She wished she could scream at this being that they were wrong, that she hadn't been living every day since Aegon happened to her trapped in that attic. When had she stopped trying to escape? When had she stopped fighting against the things that happened to her? 

She tipped her eyes skyward, as if she could see all the way to that Weirwood tree, "I thought destroying him would make it right. I thought it would fix me." she said quietly. 

"I know," the being said gently. 

"He doesn't deserve death," she said with more venom, drawing her eyes back to the Valyrian. 

"Perhaps," they nodded, ancient fire burning in their gaze, "But don't you deserve to live?" 

The dragons swept over the city, returning to their riders. Aemond thought he could just make out a dark mass headed North West- for Dragonstone. Did Caraxes and Syrax already mourn for their lost riders? 

He wondered, idly, if he could run down Rhaenyra's ship on Vhagar so his sister and nephews had to choose between drowning, or burning.

A musical voice whispered to him how wrong that would be. That whether Amyra spent her final hours clearing the path to the throne, or in his arms, the result would have been the same. It whispered to him that it was not Rhaenyra's fault. Or his nephews. That it was not his fault. 

But his own wretched voice was louder. Could he have done something? She'd known for hours. For a whole day, and she'd let him believe she would live. He should have known. He should have seen through her lies. He should have realized that no one could survive magic like that. 

As the sun rose, the snow continued to melt, the temperature rising with every minute that she lay unmoving in his arms. Even her body was warming. Warming because her power was no longer there to keep her so cold. Warming to an ordinary, dead temperature. 

Dead. 

"Aemond,"

Dead. Dead. Dead. 

"Aemond," Sesa said again as he stared blankly at the horizon, his eye aching, his throat raw from screaming, "Aemond, we need to...people are going to start looking for you." 

He listened to the thump thump of his brother's heart, lying in a box beside him, and stared at the sun, willing it to sear him into nothing. 

Warbled words, as if through water, then gentle hands wrapped around Amyra's shoulders-

He jerked, clutching her tighter against his chest, "Don't." he growled at Cregan, who stepped back, hands up, "Don't take her." 

Cregan's eyes guttered, "Alright," he murmured, trying to calm him like a rearing horse. Cregan turned pleading eyes to Sesa, who stood bloody and pale beside him, her muscled shoulders slumped. They stood in a broken, silent circle. Amyra's chosen people. Her family. 

Sesa fingered the hilt of Dark Sister, and only said quietly, "Give him as much time as he needs." 

Aemond shuddered with relief, threading a hand through her hair, drawing her limp form against his chest. He gripped the other hand in a vice. He couldn't bear to let go of her. Not yet. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling lavender. He waited to wake up. To return to the world where Amyra waited, grinning and alive. His entire existence felt off-kilter without hearing her laugh. Her improper tongue. Her words flitted back to him, even now, like a whip crack across his heart. 

“My match. My Prince of Fire. My last, and greatest love in this life."

"Aemond," Sesa said suddenly, so softly that he lifted his head. 

Sesa stared wide-eyed at the ground around where Aemond held Amyra, Cregan paling further beside her, if such a thing was possible. Aemond couldn't comprehend what he was looking at it. Indeed, he began to entertain the idea that well and truly gone mad. 

For Amyra's skin had begun to glow. 

"Nymph?" Aemond whispered, his voice aching as it left him. She made no answer, but they all watched, not daring to speak, as that glow began to bleed out of Amyra, and into the Earth itself. It was like fog, shimmering and vaguely cold as it brushed over Aemond and twined out of her heart, into the snow. It hummed, making the hair on Aemond's neck rise in answer. Yet the only heart left beating was Aegon's. 

"It's just her magic," Sesa breathed, "Leaving her body." Yet her brown eyes were wide.

Something brushed against Aemond's mind, cold and achingly familiar. Something that had him whispering, "Māzigon nyke lenton." 

Follow me home. 

"Kesīr nyke se māzigon lenton, Amyra." Aemond said, his voice like gravel as he brushed his lips against her ear. 

Hear me and come home, Amyra. 

The magic just kept pouring out of her. Glittery cold disappeared into the ground in heaps- more than Aemond could comprehend her slight body holding. Minutes wore on, and her chest remained unmoving, but Aemond wouldn't stop talking to her, "Ao sytilībagon paktot kesīr.  Ondoso ñuha paktot.  Ȳdra daor dakogon hen ziry.  Māzigon lenton."

You belong right here. By my side. Don't run from it. Come home.

"We're right here, Amyra," Cregan said, taking out Ice and digging its blade into the ground where the magic whirled, like the House Stark heirloom could guide her back. The magic began to slow its exodus from her body. 

Sesa stood so still she looked fit to break apart. Her dark eyes burned like coals as she rasped, "Come back here and face me you fucking coward." 

"That can't be helpful," Cregan muttered, running a hand through his hair. Aemond would have been inclined to agree if he didn't know firsthand the type of sisterhood that ran between Amyra and Sesa. Sesa would never sugarcoat Amyra, not even in death. 

"We both have Valyrain blades now, and mine is a hell of a lot bigger than yours. Without all that power, I could probably beat the shit out of you now." Sesa went on, kneeling to growl into Amyra's other ear, "Come back, and prove me fucking wrong." 

The magic stopped- the final tendrils fading into the snow like frost. The humming ceased, and silence once again reigned in the Weirwood. Cregan hung his head, using Ice to support him. 

The flame of hope in Aemond's chest guttered. 

Just as the limp, icy fingers clenched in his fist...curled. Clenching back. 

Aemond jerked, peeling her off him just far enough to see, to prove to himself that he was fucking mad-

What happened next Aemond could never quite explain. Even years later, he couldn't understand it. She was dead, her heart still, her veins frozen, her skin pale as death. 

And then she was moving. Her body stiffened, her mossy eyes flew open as she flipped the Bloodless Blade out of his sheath and angled it, hefting it up before anyone could so much as gasp. She brought it down hard, slamming the blade into Aegon's still-beating heart with a scream that was pure battle cry. The Weirwood garden exploded into blue light and wind, sending Aemond flying back into Sesa, Cregan catching them both with a grunt. It was as if a star was born in that moment, a supernova exploding into existence with the force of the magic. 

When the light faded, she'd already yanked the blade free, the curve dull and slick with Aegon's blood. She let the blade fall to the snow, swaying where she stood. Aemond was already running, falling with her as he caught her in his arms. He couldn't speak, couldn't think beyond the roaring in his head. By the time he smoothed his shaking hands across her brow, the blue glow of her eyes had faded to human, lively evergreen. 

"Ah," she smiled, that curve of lips a spear to the heart, "Fancy seeing you." 

Her chest rose and fell. Her skin was wan, but rapidly flushing with life. Aemond's shoulders shook as he looked at her, felt the relative warmth of her skin and nearly choked. 

Her eyes softened, "Aemond," she whispered, that one word a promise. This was real. She was real. 

Aemond could only think to dip his head, catching her lips against his to assure himself of this reality. The press of her body against his, the twine of her arms around his neck as she beckoned him closer, straddling his lap. Real. So, fucking, real- 

A low whine zapped them apart, Amyra whirling, "Morrigan!" she screeched, leaping up and crawling through the snow to the beast's side. Morrigan lifted her head, icy blue eyes blinking sleepily as Amyra pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Apparently, whatever she'd done to revive herself from the dead, she hadn't expected Morrigan to return with her. What the hell did she do, Aemond thought as he stood on shaky legs. 

She'd barely started to stand herself, reaching for Aemond's outstretched hand, when a tan fist grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and hauled her to her feet. Sesa gripped her by both shoulders, rage and desperate relief waring on her face, "I-" she sobbed, "You-"

Amyra lifted her hands, holding onto Sesa's forearms, rubbing idle circles into her still-bloody vambraces, "I think you're right," she said with no small amount of apprehension, like she didn't know if Sesa could forgive her for this, like she thought her sister might turn around and walk away, "I think you'd win with Dark Sister. The Bloodless Blade is used up anyway and I...well I feel a tad faint." 

Sesa swore, and hurled Amyra into a bone-crushing embrace, "I imagine dying has that effect." Amyra smiled into her shoulder. 

Over Sesa's shoulder, Cregan stood unsurely, his slate-gray eyes wide with disbelief. Amyra extended a hand to him, as far as she could reach. She wouldn't blame him for never forgiving her either. For going back to Winterfell and washing his hands of ungrateful sisters who didn't bother to live.

I want to now, she willed into her eyes, Don't give up on me yet. 

Cregan met her gaze, something like understanding there as he took Aemond by the arm and tugged them all together, wrapping his great arms around all three of them. She knew under any other circumstance, Aemond would have balked, but he let Cregan tug him in. He fell against her, a warm assurance at her back. 

Cregan kissed the top of her head, "You'll have to try harder than that to get rid of me, aye?" 

She laughed, her lips wobbling, and fought to think of something appropriately Amyra to say. Something funny, and entirely inappropriate for the situation, but all she could choke out was, "I am sorry. I am so, so sorry." 

Perhaps, it didn't make her weak to say it. Perhaps it didn't make her weak at all, to let the others hear it. 

Sesa only sighed, a long, slow breath she didn't know how long she'd been holding, "You still have some magic, don't you? I can feel it." 

Cregan let go of them, and they all tried their best to stand on their own legs. Aemond slipped into her side immediately, tucking her against him. She let him, letting herself sink into his warmth. Maybe she wasn't weak for that, either. Morrigan, silent, though a bit unsteady herself, leaned into Amyra's other side. 

She waved a hand, and ice formed and broke across her palm, "I do." 

Sesa nodded, straightening her shoulders, and shaking out her arms, as if to expel the adrenaline that still had her voice tremble at the edges. Despite everything, she reached over and yanked Ice out of the ground, handing it to Cregan with a surprisingly steady arm, "Good. Now make yourself a damn crown, Your Majesty." 

The crowd of soldiers, smallfolk, and servants packed into the edges of the throne room and the halls beyond, trying to catch a glimpse of the ceremony. House Lords, courtiers, high-ranking soldiers, and any Rhaena deemed necessary witnesses stood front and center, unable to claim they were not spectators to the crowning of the new King. Before the steps to the Iron Throne, washed of blood and in his finest black armor and furs, stood Cregan Stark, Warden of the North and Hand of the King. The Stark family sword strapped across his back, the Zālagon Crown in his hands, he looked like a mythic warrior of Old. The crowd began to murmur as the faint glow of the crown grew, bathing the new King's inner circle in pale blue light. 

Princess Rhaena, rumored to soon be named the ruler of House Velaryon, stood with her husband, Prince Daeron, at her side. Both had the appearance of casual excitement, but their keen eyes missed nothing. Lady Baela, despite leaning on one leg, held a hand loosely by her sword, ready to swing should any threat appear. Sesa of Essos stood with Daemon Targaryen's sword before her, Dark Sister's wicked gleam a warning to all. Rumor was, she would be captain of the Queensguard, the first woman to wear the goldcloak. Beside her, stood Princess Helaena, and though deep circles ringed her eyes, they were bright with clarity. They made for an intriguing group, that much was certain. Intriguing, and deadly. 

The room quieted at the low growl that reverberated off the stone wall. 

Everyone turned, watching with mixtures of fear and awe as Aemond Targaryen walked down the aisle toward his throne, Amyra Stark on his arm, stepping in time with him. Some gasped but quickly stifled their surprise, the enormous furred back of a direwolf appearing at the pair's back. Her lips pulled back in a snarl, making her a better deterrent than any guard- nearly the size of a small horse. Indeed, they had not a single guard with them. 

For who would stand in their way now? Who was left, that they could not together defeat?

Aemond's lengthy ivory hair was swept out of his face, an ornately embroidered eye patch cutting across his pale skin. Though he wore only the black armor of a soldier, knives, and a sheathed sword glinting across his chest and at his hip, he carried himself like a King. Shoulders back, chin high, his steps easy. As if he'd been born to walk toward that throne. Here was a warrior king, the likes of which had not been seen since the Conquerer himself. The rider of the Queen of Dragons had come to claim his rightful place. 

Yet, it was the Queen at his side that drew the attention of all. 

She did not walk three steps behind, her head bowed in permanent submission. She did not balk, or tremble. No, she raised her head and smiled at them all, if one could call her sharp-toothed curve of lips a smile. It looked more like the baring of teeth to the courtiers that shrank from her stare. 

The sapphires dripping from her throat and ears would have been gaudy on anyone else, but on her they only accentuated her sharp beauty, softened only slightly by the dark ringlets curling in the wind that followed her. That wind sent the train of her blood-red gown billowing by itself. A Targaryen dress, the glittering red darkening into black at the hem and sleeves. A curving blade hung at her hip, evidence of the warrior behind the gems and finery. The men who'd fought with her dipped their heads, and even the Lords followed suit.

As they reached the foot of the throne, they halted together, and kneeled. 

They were warrior Kings and Queens, and outside lay the dead and dying. They had not the time, nor the need for extravagance. 

"Do you, Aemond Targaryen, swear to uphold the will, and honor, of your Kingdom from now until your death?" Cregan Stark asked, the Warden's eyes surprisingly soft on the Targaryen Prince. Some claimed to hear them call each other "brother"- a mark of the closest the North had ever been with their Targaryen rulers. 

Aemond's reply was deceptively soft, but unwavering, "I do." 

"Then, as the last heir of King Viserys I willing to bear the Throne..." Cregan declared, lowering the Zālagon Crown of ice across his brow, "I proclaim you King Aemond Targaryen, First of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and protector of the realm." 

"Long Live the King!"  the crowd replied, some muttering it, others yelling it out with a Northern soldier's passion. 

Yet Aemond did not rise. He remained on his knees and nodded to Cregan. The crowd began to murmur as the warden turned then to the woman kneeling at his side. 

"Amyra Stark, daughter of House Stark, and wife to Aemond Targaryen, do you swear to uphold the will, and honor, of your Kingdom, from now until your death?" Cregan repeated, his voice growing a bit thick as he looked at his sister. The question was nearly identical- a message just like everything else they'd done. 

The murmuring of the crowd only widened her grin, "I do." she swore, her voice a musical caress. 

"Then I name you Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms." Cregan finished, subtly wiping his eyes as he stepped to the side. 

Together, they stood, and as they did so, a shimmering crown of gauzy ice appeared in the Queen's hair. Her eyes flared blue as she turned to the crowd.

"Long live the King and Queen!" A northern soldier cried out, albeit slightly slurred. The Northerners kneeled first, and soon everyone kneeled, chanting as they lowered themselves, "Long live the King and Queen!" Cheers went up from the Northerners, which only grew as Aemond took his first step up the Iron Throne steps, and turned back, extending a hand to his wife, and Queen. 

She took it with a smirk and followed him up the corrugated metal of those long since conquered. The direwolf sat regally before the steps, looking out at the crowd with too-bright eyes that seemed to beckon, Try me. 

Aemond Targaryen lowered himself onto the Iron Throne, resting one arm across the armrest, wrapping the other around Amyra Stark's waist, as she perched on his knee. The cheering rose, reaching a crescendo as Amyra magically heightened her voice, and yelled out, "Rise and be merry! Rise and celebrate peace in our Kingdom! Rise raise an ale to your Northern brothers and sisters!"

The King laughed, tightening his grip on her as someone started up a fiddle, and Rhaena dutifully fell into dance with Daeron. As they'd hoped, several others joined in, and soon a dozen couples danced through the center aisle. 

"Is that for your first command as Queen?" Aemond smiled up at her. 

"It was less a command than a humble request," Amyra replied seriously, "My first command is for you to kiss me." 

"Oh?" Aemond's smirk widened into a grin, but he angled his jaw arrogantly, "I believe I outrank you." 

"You're insufferable," she huffed, flicking him across the nose, but he caught her hand and pressed a kiss there, right over an ostentatiously large opal ring.

"Consider it a gift, then," he purred, and claimed her mouth with his. 

One Week Later

The roof of The Cake lay dusted in a fine sheen of snow, shimmering beneath the half-moon. The first genuine snow of the winter. Amyra leaned back on her hands and stuck out her tongue, catching plump flurries. 

"You know, I do have water," Aemond drawled, nodding to a canteen by his outstretched legs. He lay sprawled out on the roof, his white hair braided back into the hood of his black fur cloak. 

Amyra swallowed her snow and grinned, "I can't help my feral proclivities can I?" 

The day prior a House Lord had said as much to describe her during a council meeting, one of the never-ending ones that they'd been in since their crowning. Amyra had laughed in his face- until Aemond drew his sword and threatened to let her split the Lord's head from his body, "Just as my wife split Ormund Hightower."

Yes, they'd needed to get out of the castle, at least for an hour. 

Aemond cracked a smile, which Amyra found a good sign. He was less likely to actually behead the Lord, then. 

He sighed, popping a bit of their meat pie into his mouth, "That fool should have one of these. His mood would no doubt lighten." 

She laid down beside him, resting her head against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. Letting his warmth bleed into her. She gazed at the stars, which occasionally flickered as a dragon passed silently overhead, so high that only a leathery flap of wings reached them. 

"We should go back soon. Before they get worried." he hummed into the top of her head. 

"Hm," she replied, thump thump, "You mean before they realize we're not fucking and we duped them?"

"Well, it wasn't entirely a lie." he purred, wrapping an arm around her. She hummed again, nuzzling into him, so he asked, "What's bothering you?" 

He knew her too well. She angled her head to look at him, "You need to choose an heir. Name Daeron, at least for now. Until..." 

"Until we have our own?" She nodded, but he frowned, "I don't want you to feel rushed." 

"I-" her breathing turned a little uneven, but Aemond remained steady. Patient.

"You don't need to think about it right now." 

"I do. We do, but I just worry that I won't do it right," she forced out, and Aemond's brow curved, and Amyra explained, "I never had a mother. I was raised, some might say, by wolves. If I do it wrong, then not only will our child suffer, but the Kingdom. Our child will be a future monarch- fucking up is not an option." 

He brushed a hand through her hair, "Is that really what worries you?" 

She blushed, "I am trying this new thing called honesty, where I tell you exactly what I'm thinking." 

"I appreciate that," he smiled a little, "You think I don't worry about that? My father didn't even speak to me. My mother..." his eye darkened, and he shook off the thoughts of his mother, who still hadn't deigned to speak to him, "I don't know what kind of father I will be, but I know you will be a mother any child would be lucky to have. I- I dream of it sometimes. You teaching her knife work. You speaking to her in Valyrian-"

"You dream about me giving our child a knife?" Amyra asked drily, and Aemond waved a dismissive hand at her, "And "her"? You don't know it will be a girl."

"I do."

"You don't."

"Would you like to bet on it?" 

She laughed brightly, slapping him on the chest, "Funny. Well, I know exactly what kind of father you will be."

"Enlighten me,"

"You'll let her get away with everything. Anything she asks for you'll give her without question, and I'll have to be the mean parent that she hates and rebels against." Amyra sighed dramatically, twirling a curl around her finger in mock sorrow. 

Aemond balked, "That-that is not true-"

"It most certainly is. That's exactly how you are with Morrigan. She is going to get fat if you don't stop giving her your steak fat." 

"Morrigan is a wolf," Aemond said pointedly, "Not a human child. Besides...it makes her so happy." 

Now it was Amyra's turn to wave a hand dismissively, and Aemond nipped at her ear. She shrieked, and he tugged her up onto his chest, shushing her. She splayed her hands there, running her fingers over his armor-clad chest. They stayed there for a moment, merely breathing each other in. 

"What would you name her?" Aemond asked quietly, his voice achingly soft. Amyra shivered, and not from the cold. 

"Esmerelda," she said without hesitation. 

Neither did Aemond hesitate, "That's awful," he laughed, and when she opened her mouth to retort he waved a finger in her face, "Honesty is good, remember?" 

She sighed, "Fine, what would you name her?" 

"Hm," Aemoned hummed and took a moment to mull it over. He'd thought about it for a while, actually. The dragonpit dome loomed over them, rumbling gently, shaking the roof beneath them. Unless he looked closely at the occasional scorch mark along the street or the red stain of some of the streets, he wouldn't know a battle waged here only a week ago. Despite the loss, evident by pyres still smoking beyond the walls, the city continued on. Lights twinkled over the landscape, and people came and went on the street below, laughing and ranting and living. Aemond breathed deep, feeling the cold, snow-ridden air fill his lungs. He felt the buzz of Amyra's magic against his skin. Alive. He'd never been so happy to be alive. 

"Daenerys," he finally said, meeting Amyra's soft gaze, "I would name her Daenerys." 

"Daenerys," Amyra repeated, as if testing the feel of the name. A careful, hopeful smile split her thoughtful face, "We could call her Danny." 

"You, Baela, and Daeron can call her Danny," Aemond replied, "Those of us that are civilized will call her by her name." 

She laughed again, the sound so easy. Given months, years, would they start to take those laughs for granted? Would the novelty of these moments where they only thought of the future, and the warmth of each other, fade? 

Somehow, Aemond didn't think so. 

"Well," Amyra breathed, hiking up her dress to straddle him, "There is the small matter of making a child-" she dipped her head to his neck, no doubt intending to make him come undone. 

Aemond gripped her beneath the chin, "I am not fucking you on this roof." 

She pouted, "But you'll fuck me on the Red Keep roof?" Her hands traced up and down his waist, and as she tugged her bottom lip between her teeth Aemond suddenly found himself reconsidering. 

"That's different-"

"Amyra Stark!" came a shrill yell from below, "Amyra Stark if I climb onto that roof you better have a Queen-napper holding you hostage and not be ravishing a white-haired fool because you couldn't possibly be that irresponsible-" 

They burst out laughing at Sesa's exclamations, rolling off each other and into the snow. Aemond managed to suck a breath down long enough to ask, "Does that make me a Queen-napper?" 

Amyra stood, wiping the snow from her azure dress, "My Queensgaurd captain is rather vicious. Now's your chance to run." 

"I heard that!" 

Extending a hand tipped in icey nails, Amyra offered him her signature smirk, "Want to take your chances?" 

Aemond laced his fingers with hers, standing in one smooth motion, "Always." 

Amyra Stark pulled up her hood and smiled into the snowy, star-flecked night, her head full of love, and life. She had not heard Justice's screaming, in a long, long while.