In the depths of the Red Keep's dungeons Cersei walked with Qyburn at her side. Behind them Gregor Clegane loomed silently, swiftly opening the door Cersei pointed to once they came to a stop.
Before stepping through the threshold Cersei sighed in disappointment. "Could no one stop her?"
"It's doubtful, your grace," Qyburn said apologetically.
Stepping inside Cersei looked to the corpse of Olenna Tyrell, the bottom half of her face soaked in blood that poured from her mouth, her face blue and bloated from choking on the chunk of her tongue she bit through. Across from her was the puffed and purple Willas Tyrell with blood, bile and tears streaking his face.
Looking back to Olenna, Cersei sneered. "Spiteful old cunt. Did she at least see it?"
Qyburn stepped past Cersei to examine Olenna's corpse briefly, checking her eyes and the rigidity of her skin. He then did the same to Willas. "Difficult to say, your grace. If we assume the poison worked for him as expected, then I'd say she expired shortly after him, or at least near the same moment."
"Good," Cersei nodded. Turning to Gregor she wore a smile. "You did well making her confirm her part in Joffrey's death, Ser Gregor."
The knight remained silent, backing away as they departed the room. Moments later he opened another door where they stepped inside and found Ellaria Sand staring vacantly at the floor, gaunt and sallow. Across from her was the pale corpse of her daughter. Blood soaked her face, having poured from every orifice, her body twisted slightly as she'd surely writhed in pain and fear before finally succumbing to the poison.
Cersei ignored Ellaria, who stayed still as they entered, making her way to the corpse hanging from the chains. "You think she'd be of use?"
Qyburn nodded. "It will be a challenge, but I believe it's possible, your grace. Given the support you've shown, I believe I can."
Stepping back, Cersei motioned to Gregor. "Take her down."
Ellaria finally shifted, looking up to watch them remove the cuffs from her daughter's corpse, her body falling limply into Gregor's arms. A whimper left her, making Cersei turn to her with a delighted smile.
"Where are my manners?" Cersei's eyes bore into Ellaria with glee as she said, "Ser Gregor, let Ellaria kiss her daughter farewell."
Ellaria shot Cersei a glare as Gregor's hand grabbed Tyene's hair, lifting her face and putting it in front of Ellaria.
When Ellaria only glared at Cersei, the queen's smile shifted to a sneer, her eyes darkening. "Kiss her farewell, or watch Ser Gregor rip her apart from the inside out. After he takes her as he pleases."
Ellaria's anger turned to disgust and horror as she looked from Cersei to the helmeted face of Gregor Clegane. Holding her breath he pressed her gagged mouth against her daughter's cheek, feeling the streak of dried blood against her chapped lips. Part of her wished it held the poison, that it would claim her as well.
Cersei waved a hand to Gregor and made her way to the threshold before stopping to look back at Ellaria. "I considered giving you to Qyburn, but I thought better of it. Instead, you'll find the next time I step through this door I do so with a gift."
Ellaria stared in confusion at Cersei's sly grin before the queen left the cell, leaving Ellaria to sob into her gag.
"Gendry?" Davos asked as he made his way through the courtyard and found the smith working over breastplates. When the young man looked up from his work and smiled, Davos laughed. "I thought you might still be rowing. How'd you end up at Winterfell?"
"I heard what was happening and felt I had to come," he explained, stepping away from the other smiths. "I couldn't stay there arming Lannisters. I never knew what I was preparing for but I knew I wasn't meant to make weapons for the family that killed my father. The family that tried to kill me. I didn't know what it would be, but I knew I had another purpose and I'd know it when it came, so I left the moment I could."
"Well I'm glad you're here," Davos began, "but don't let anyone know, aye? Best to keep your father to yourself."
"So I've been told," Gendry said with a nod. Seeing Davos arch his brow, he smirked. "Lady Sansa told me as much when she and Arya welcomed me."
Davos' brow sank. "They know?"
"Arya was with me before the Brotherhood sold me to you and the witch," he nodded. "She figured it out, and when I got here they saw me and Lady Sansa told me it best I keep it quiet. Seems Daenerys hates stags."
"That so?" Davos nodded. "Understandable, I suppose. Best keep it quiet, at least until things have settled."
"I'll keep that in mind, Ser Davos." Gendry smiled. "Thank you."
Davos was walking with Jon when he saw Arya stood with Gendry, who was looking over a dagger she handed him. Spotting them, Arya waved, making Jon turn off course toward them.
"Your grace," Davos said, "this is-"
"Name's Gendry, your grace," he said handing the dagger back to Arya. "I'm Robert Baratheon's son. Bastard son."
Arya and Davos stared at him as Jon quickly looked to each of them.
"Gendry," Arya hissed.
"He was meant to keep that to himself," Davos revealed.
"Our father's trusted each other," he said with a shrug, "why shouldn't we?"
"Your father killed my father," said Jon and Gendry winced, having forgotten since Arya always called Jon brother. He might have been worried if Jon wasn't smirking as he said it. "I saw your father once, when he came here to Winterfell."
"I met your uncle. In my shop."
Jon nodded toward Gendry before glancing to Arya. "You're a lot leaner."
"You're a lot shorter."
They all froze as Jon turned his gaze back to Gendry. For a moment they seemed to fear he would be angry, but he smiled, relieved to meet someone who at least seemed honest. "I grew up on stories about them."
"All I ever knew is that they fought together," said Gendry, "and won."
Jon nodded, his eyes shifting back to Arya where he saw the sleek dagger on her waist. "Where'd you get that?"
"Bran gave it to me," she said handing it to Jon.
"Valyrian steel."
"It's the dagger meant to kill Bran after we left for King's Landing."
Jon looked over the dark rippled blade before handing it back. "How did he get it?"
"Littlefinger," she said quietly. "He gave it to him. Thought it fitting he have it, but Bran said it'd be better with someone who could use it."
"Thank you for your support, Lord Arryn," Jon said with a nod to the boy stood beside his mother.
Robin nodded absentmindedly while looking back and forth from Jon to Ghost laying beside the high table. At his side, Lysa Arryn wore a plastered on smile, her eyes darkening whenever they drifted toward Sansa.
Jon knew it was inevitable, but when the hall emptied and he left intending to meet with Bran in the Godswood a voice called out to him, "Your grace."
He turned to the man approaching with a nod. "Lord Baelish." Deciding to get it over with, he faced him and put on a brief smile. "I must thank you, Lord Baelish."
That seemed to catch him by surprise. "Pardon, your grace, but for what?"
"For your part in secreting my betrothed away from the lion's den."
His eyes glittered as he found the path from Jon's comment to his goal. "I only did what I could to save an innocent from harm, your grace. She is the blood of the woman I love, I could not leave her to suffer the torment of a mad woman."
"Still, I thank you."
"I must admit I was wroth when I heard Lysa's plan to send her to you at the Wall," Petyr said with a dramatic frown. "I feared she wouldn't survive the trip, but I'm glad I was proven wrong. Not only has she survived, but she's persevered. Sansa's managed to get what she always wanted."
Jon waited a moment before asking, "What she wanted?"
Petyr smirked. "Her prince, of course. You've known her far longer than I, you know how badly she'd wanted to wed a prince and become queen. How she dreamed of a love worthy of songs. I've little doubt they'll write songs of the secret prince who went to war for the woman who always dreamed of being queen."
His words tapped at something buried in the back of Jon's mind. "Maybe before, but she's different now."
"And yet here she is," Petyr said proudly, "set to become queen of the seven kingdoms beside a man she thought her bastard half-brother for most of her life. Let no one question your betrothed's ability to get what she wants in the end… no matter what she must endure, it seems there's no doubt she gets what she wants."
Petyr bowed and departed while Jon kept himself from glaring at him, ignoring the thoughts seeping through the cracks in the back of his mind.
After he'd had his fill at supper Jon excused himself to his solar. Removing his cloak he tossed it over one of his chests and rubbed Ghost's head on his way to his desk. After going through the letters he'd missed, he moved on to reports on the people that were coming and going from Winterfell. The merchants setting up shop in the winter town, the ones traveling to other northern houses and towns on their behalf.
It was times like this a part of him wished he could gather all their men and ride south just so he didn't have look at another document about how much grain they have stored or the maintenance of their glass garden.
He felt so sure whenever he had a sword in hand but doubted himself the moment a quill took it's place. He wished he had Sam's mind at moments like these, then perhaps he'd find something interesting about the cost of repairs compared to their income and taxes. Maybe he'd even find some way to make it feel like they weren't barely getting by or pinching pennies hoping they'd split and quadruple.
It wasn't just Winterfell, but every northern house that looked to him now. And if they won this it would be every house in every kingdom. He would be left to guide them back from ruin. Even if the Night King didn't make it past the Wall and Cersei suddenly decided she regretted everything she'd ever done and begged Jon's forgiveness, Westeros was still broken.
They'd been through years of shifting wars where kings rose and fell with every new moon. People had their homes burned, saw their husbands murdered, their wives raped, their children taken captive. Their lives has been ruined by people who didn't care for them, and if he succeeded they would all ask him to carry them to a better life. And he could barely figure out how to make sure they repaired Winterfell and didn't go hungry.
When Sansa entered the room she found him slumped back in his chair rubbing his brow while Ghost sat in the corner staring at him. She'd hope he would have a few days back before finding him like this again, but she wasn't surprised.
She moved to his side as she always did, kissing the crown of his head. Letting his hand sink to the arm of his chair he turned to look up at her.
"Already?" She asked brushing a hand through his hair. He answered with a regretful smile, so she leaned down and kissed him. "Do you want help?"
"You can look it over but it's barely any of this."
"What is it then?" She asked, watching him get to his feet as she backed away.
"I feel so…" He sighed, walking over to the window, struggling to find the word.
"So what? Overwhelmed?"
"No." He turned to her shaking his head. "I mean yes, but not just that. I just…" He looked at her for a moment before frowning. "Do they even care, or is it just because I'm the best they have?"
Sansa's brow furrowed. "No, they would have chosen you anyway, Jon. They wanted you as their king, even before they knew of your claim."
"It's easy to say that when all they've done is suffer for years now, but what if they decide I'm not good enough."
Sansa laughed, shaking her head. "That won't happen. All the lords trust you, even the free folk adore you. Even if the southron lords think different you'll always have the North's support. Though I doubt they'll do anything but cheer once you take the Iron Throne from Cersei."
She was disappointed to see Jon's frown didn't disappear but sink slightly before he took a breath and turned to sit in his usual chair by the hearth. "How did your match with Arya go?"
"Same as always," she said sitting beside him. "It lasted longer though."
"You'll get her eventually," he said with a smile. The evenness from his voice a moment ago gone, easing her concern. "Would you like me to give you some lessons? I could have Gendry make you your own sword."
"Let me think on it," she said before smirking. "You know I've noticed things."
"Things?" His hand slid to hers, brushing her palm before entwining their fingers.
"He's always around to watch us spar."
"Who?" He asked quietly, looking at their hands.
"Gendry," she said with a laugh. "I swear he and Arya are always glancing at each other. She's almost always with him if she's not with Rickon or Brienne and Podrick."
"You think she loves him?"
"Maybe. She's at least interested in him, right?"
Jon nodded. "He seems good."
"He does." Sansa turned to him with a teasing smirk. "You don't intend to play the protective older brother? Go tell him to keep his hands to himself?"
"And lose my hand when Arya finds out?"
"You know she won't-"
Without warning he pulled her into a kiss. He'd been trying to hold off, she'd noticed that much. He wanted to let her finish talking, but it seemed he couldn't wait any longer. It seemed almost as desperate as it was passionate, Jon nearly pulling her out of the chair to bring her to him. Once they broke he stood, keeping her hand in his to pull her up into another kiss.
She moaned into his lips when she felt his hand slip to her rear, knowing a moment later he'd lift her and bring her to his bed. Sansa barely sank into the mattress before Jon was gathering her skirt around her thigh and sinking to his knees.
"Jon," she said watching him. "What are you-" She gasped as he moved under her skirt, making her press her hands into the mattress behind her and lean her head back, her eyes soon rolling as she moaned.
Long after she'd caught her breath and the flush faded from her body, Sansa stood at the door to Jon's room, her hand stroking his jaw as she kissed him. She looked content as Jon brushed his fingers through her hair.
"You sure you don't want me to do anything?" She asked glancing down.
"No, I wanted to do that," he said smiling. "I've been thinking about it since I left."
"Tomorrow," she assured. "I don't care if it's a command, I'll disobey."
"How am I supposed to punish you though? Take your hands or your lips?"
"Only one?" she asked with a laugh, kissing his cheek. "Sleep well, Jon."
"You too," he said holding the door she opened, watching her go to her room. She cast a small wave his way before closing her door and he stepped back to close his.
He'd enjoyed their time together. Enjoyed making her peak again and again until she couldn't stand it anymore. He enjoyed her exhaustion, the way she smiled and clung to him.
He knew she would have done as much for him, but he'd wanted this time to be about her. He enjoyed her pleasure as much as his own at times so he didn't mind it. He liked how her voice got lower, deeper the quieter she got, every time he saw her tongue brush her lips as she spoke making him want to devour them. He enjoyed every moment he spent with her.
Then why did he feel so bitter?