#lordofthewatch

Her life had not been her own for nearly three years now. No, she lived only for her beautiful, kissed by fire son. He was perfect. She’d never get over how much she loved him. She didn’t think it was possible for her to love someone as much as she loved her son.

He stood behind her as she stood at the ready, he had a small dagger she had craved from a tooth. Her bow and his dagger would do nothing to the wights or the white walkers but they would not be helpless.

The trek to Castle Black had been...interesting. She had seen Jon Snow at a distance. She had managed to slip right past him. Now they were at the gates of the wall, watching them being raised. She never thought this day would come. A tiny hand grabbed at her fingers. 

“Mama, do ya think the crows will let us see Da?” Eljin asked as brown eyes cut through her like a knife. Eljin may have had Ygritte’s hair color but he had his father’s eyes. She had told Eljin very little about Jon Snow. Only that he had existed and he did what all crows do, fly back to the Castle where they belonged. They didn’t get to be free like them.

Ygritte picked up Eljin and balanced him on her hip as she started walking. “I told ya, your father don’t get to be free. He’s gotta be a crow. Crows can’t stop bein.....”

He was there, guiding people, helping them through the gates. 

She frozen. She didn’t know what to do. She hadn’t though this through. Now he was standing there. 

“Mama....is that ‘im?”

The woman’s brow dipped in worry as she shifted in the windowsill of her chamber, recalling Jon’s confession hours earlier. Now, the business of the North slipping slowly from her grasp seemed futile. There were far more important things on the line: Perhaps it’s destiny for two Targaryens to rule justly together, the woman thought. She could only pray Jon would see it this way and that until the time was right, the truth of Ned Stark’s bastard son would remain safely tucked between them amongst their other secrets.

She couldn’t distinguish the numbness overwhelming her body as a physical symptom or an emotional one. The frigid cold bit exposed skin and her fingers were stiff. Still, the young Stark wielded the Valayrian steel dagger in an iron grip, even as the remains of what once was the Night King and his army laid in the snow at their feet. Arya’s eyes were glued to her younger brother. Her mind hadn’t been on saving the world as she once believed she could as a young, naive child. No, she hadn’t set out on this long night to be a hero.

All she wanted was to protect her pack. She failed to save her father, her mother, and oldest brother. The God of Death could not have anyone else. Arya would sooner die herself than watch idly as Bran faced the Night King alone.

And now it was over.  

Everything they had been fighting for. Every life lost. This was what they won.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her chest was heavy and as the shock wore off, exhaustion tugged at the corners of her mind and pulled her to the ground. Arya dropped to her knees, beginning to be aware of company approaching. Northern men ushering Bran to safety. She swatted them away until a familiar figure ventured close.

“Arry Snow.” Is the name she’d given every man she’d met on the way to the wall. She was to be an orphan boy as Yoren said, but if she was going to be an orphan, she’d be a bastard like her brother, Jon Snow. At first she’d travelled with Gendry, Yoren, Hot Pie, Lommy... Then the groups had split, and she’d lost them all. She even missed Lommy. 

She’d wandered for so long on her own, until she’d come across a group headed for the Wall. “Who are you lad?” They’d asked her, “Arry Snow.” She’d responded. “Bastard son of.. well he’s dead now. Could I come with you? I want to join the Watch.” I want to see Jon. 

She wrote the strange symptoms off as stress. A looming battle against an army of undead, mourning loved ones, and preparing to bring down Cersei Lannister could do that to you. Even the unburnt, Queen of the Andals, and mother of dragons felt stress. In fact, Daenerys Targaryen was willing to bet her entire fleet of Unsullied and her dragon combined that she felt more stress than most.

It wasn’t until the dust had settled that Dany finally had an inkling. Cersei had surrendered, been banished from the seven kingdoms and guarded heavily on a secluded shore just east of Dragon’s Bay. Westeros had found its rightful queen -- with a Targaryen-blooded king by her side. It wasn’t until she settled into her first few weeks as sovereign that Daenerys had noticed her bleeding had not come. Her appetite had returned now in full force, and her breasts were beginning to swell and tender. 

Things had been so different all those years ago with Drogo. Her body had been famished then; and the fatigue she had carrying Rhaego often came in regular pangs of hunger. 

This baby was healthy and strong and growing. This baby was alive.

The silver-haired queen had been thinking of ways to tell Jon Snow -- mulling over just what she should say and when she should say it. Dany had been hoping to break the news over a private dinner when they both had the time but now, as the king lay over her, pressing kisses to her heat and all the way up from her stomach to her tender chest, she lost all patience.

“Wait-” Running fingers through dark curls, Daenerys urged Jon upward. “I want to tell you something.”