Nothing has to be true forever.

Baelor and Maekar find the egg in the deeps below Dragonstone, and agree to keep it secret - to keep it away from Grandfather.

But then Grandfather gifts the sword of Kings to proud Daemon, and the gods see fit to spoil the secret.

“Little love? Are you well?”

Betha can see well enough that Rhaella is far from well, but it takes a great deal of coaxing to tease the truth out of her little granddaughter, and gentle coaxing at that. For all that Rhaella is Shaera’s image, she has none of Shaera’s strong will or stubborn pride.

Who is there in all of Westeros who could possibly be gentle enough for Rhaella? She had once worried that there would be no one in all of Westeros who could handle Rhaelle’s light without stifling her, and had been thrilled when Ormund Baratheon had proven himself a better man than any other Betha knew. How is she to find such a match for Rhaella, who flits and folds like a butterfly’s wing, perfectly lovely and terrifyingly breakable?

Darcy Brunhilde Falsworth-Lewis, born the thirteenth of December, nineteen-eighty-eight, has a great life.

If only her born-in-the-First-World-War soulmate wasn’t almost definitely dead, since she can’t seem to find him anywhere.

Bellona de Poitiers begins her time at Hogwarts as an interloper for her French accent, for her Veela’s blood, for the absence of her father.

Hogwarts is not the haven she expected, though, and she quickly discovers that Slytherin is no true home to any interloper. With fewer friends than enemies, she does her best to keep her head down and muddle through safely.

Then, just as she’s about to return for third year, her father escapes from prison, and everything goes to hell.

With neither blade nor shield, Andraste gave herself up To her enemies. And Maferath bound his wife’s hands And delivered her to the Archon to be put to death. -Apotheosis 1:14

Ellana or Andraste - who can tell?

Andraste watches Thedas from beyond the Veil, gathering to her dissonant voices, tending to the fury in her heart while the ages turn. Above her, the Golden City remains in shadow, while before her, the world takes a shape she cannot abide. When the Veil tears, she does as she always has.

She marches.

Rohanne Webber, formerly five other women, decides that it is high time to meet her longest-standing suitor.

Gerold the Golden, when he finally ventures forth from the Rock, is not the man she expected.

Grandfather’s boots are next, soft and worn where Father’s are always polished to gleaming, and then Grandfather’s hands, and then his face. He looks tired, under his beard, under his crown, but he is smiling when he reaches under the bed to her.

“My sister Daella used hide under her bed with her dollies, when we were small,” he says, his voice very quiet and very gentle. “Will you come out, poppet? Your grandmother and I would like to speak with you a little, if we may.”

The sky stops screaming when a bolt of kingfisher-blue wraps around the shadow’s maw, and the winds fade when rosey-gold joins the blue.

“It cannot be,” Freyja breathes, the green cord shining from her palm sparking brighter. “Lady Frigg!”

The dining room in the back of the shop was buzzing by the time Sansa arrived, and she assumed that meant that Arthur had finally arrived.

“High time,” she murmured, slipping into her chair between Shireen and Willas. There weren’t really set seats anymore, aside from Arthur’s at the head of the table, and that was just as well - there were more than a few bastards who were still turning their noses up at Sansa, and she was glad to be able to sit between Shireen and Willas, especially since Melisandre, alias Percival, always sat on Shireen’s far side, and everyone was terrified of her.

“Getting all this, Merlin?” she asked, desperately glad that Daenerys had had the sense to order her shoes with next-to-nonexistent heels as she slid around a corner and came face to face with her first red-clad guards. “Any advice?”

“Kick the shit out of them.”

“Fantastic advice,” she agreed, snapping her umbrella open as the trio ahead of her opened fire, reaching under her left arm for her handgun, “but how do you suggest I get close enough to bring kicking into the equation?”

Tywin dies, Joanna grieves.

Cersei triumphs, Joanna glories.

Edmure is called home to Riverrun, after Jaime knights him, and it is three long years before they are reunited.

That reunion is both surprising, and utterly inevitable.

The city is golden by dawn, the vast yellow sandstone walls of the castle reflecting bright and blooming onto the streets below, and Wanda flies toward the red-bronze sun peeping above the soft horizon with her friends around her, and wonders if ever the sea god and the goddess of the wind look to Storm’s End and crow with joy, to see it held by someone other than Durran Godsgrief’s heirs.

Sansa loves lazy mornings in bed, especially if she gets to share them with Willas.