"Lies," Cersei spat, pacing through her solar while Jaime stared at the letter.
Setting it on her desk he let out a laugh. "I met the boy. Back when we went to bring the Starks here, I saw him, teased him." Jaime scoffed, shaking his head. "I thought he was just some dull northerner too stupid to realize what he was giving up by going to the Wall."
Cersei turned as Jaime started to laugh, leaning forward so his hand pressed against her desk. "What exactly is so amusing?"
Making himself stop, Jaime took a breath and sighed, looking to her. "Honest fuckin' Ned Stark. He could have raised the boy and taken the throne, been the boy's regent for years, but he let the boy be sneered at by Catelyn Tully and then sent him to live with rapists and thieves all so his fat fool of a friend could keep the throne he won for someone who never cared for him. To think that sanctimonious shit ever looked down on me."
"You can't actually believe this." She walked back to the table. "Don't tell me you believe that nonsense about White Walker and an army of the dead. I bet it's all Sansa. The whore's opened her legs and now she's using her idiot brother to get what she always wanted."
Jaime stood, arching his brow. "What she always wanted?"
"To be queen," Cersei said firmly.
Jaime thought a moment before shaking his head. "Whatever he is, he was still raised by Ned Stark. He's either too honest or too stupid to pull off a lie like this and convince the North to follow him. Hell, I'm surprised they didn't just slit his throat for what the Targaryens did to the Starks, even if his mother did run off to marry Rhaegar."
Cersei's hand balled into a fist as she remembered the silver prince she'd dreamed of marrying. "Fucking Lyanna Stark," she spat the name of the woman who seemed to claim the heart of every man she'd ever wanted. All but Jaime. Turning to him, she declared, "I want you to kill him."
Jaime furrowed his brow. "What?"
"He's a bastard making a false claim," she said with a huff. "Take our men and slit his throat… but bring Sansa back. I'll make that murderous whore suffer for what she did to our son."
"Cersei, is it really worth it?" Jaime's question shocked her. "Winter's here. Let them freeze up north and when summer comes should they try marching south they'll find our army there to stop them."
Her eyes were locked on Jaime, barely containing her anger at his denial of her order. "Fine," she declared, walking to pour herself wine. "They say they can produce proof of his identity and their undead menace and ask us to send trusted men to see. You can go."
Jaime tilted his head. "Me?"
Cersei turned to him, one arm crossed over her stomach while holding her goblet. "You're the only man whose word I trust. If you go north and tell me they actually have some proof then I'll consider waiting for summer."
Jaime knew she was trying to punish him, have him put his life at risk heading into the wolf's den where they may well kill him, likely hoping to force him to kill Jon to survive. He could have put up a fight and tried to talk her down, but instead gave a relenting nod. "I'll set out in the morning."
The constant clangs and dings of the street of steel had been soothing after months of rowing. People barely seemed to remember Robert Baratheon himself, so who would look for his bastard among the ash covered faces along Flea Bottom's smithies.
Most of Gendry's days were spent at the forge, the walls of his shop lined with some of the better steel in Flea Bottom. On the nights his arm grew heavy and his fingers numb from the reverberating hammer, he made his way to local taverns and kept to himself. It was there, tucked away in a corner or sat at a bar, ignored by guards too stupid to realize who he was even if they weren't drunk, that Gendry kept an ear open for the world beyond.
It was how he'd learned Winterfell had been taken by the Boltons, leading to him working through the night until his hands were raw and bled just to avoid thinking of what might have happened if Arya had made it there. It was there he'd heard about Joffrey's death and Sansa's disappearance. It was where he learned Robb Stark had his direwolf's head stitched in place of his own while his mother had her throat slit to the bone.
He'd been separated from the world on that boat and it was there in the shadows of taverns that he learned what he's missed. It felt as though he'd spent so long there he missed his calling. If the Brotherhood hadn't sold him to Stannis and his witch he could have been there to help. He'd been a fool to trust them and the only one who seemed to question it was Arya, who he let down in every possible way. He could have done something.
Instead he now sat in a tavern in a city ruled by the people who killed his father and almost everyone in the family of the man considered his father's greatest friend. The family of the little lady that he knew he wanted to see again as much as he wanted to swing a hammer.
It was there he heard the guards laugh, "Fuckin' Targaryens and their Starks!"
"They took back Winterfell so of course she'd spread her legs for him," said another guard. "Think they'll come for us next?"
"With an army of northern savages?" The first laughed. "I'd like to see their faces when their stone axes bounce of gold plates!"
"What happened in Winterfell?" Gendry barely realized he'd said it out loud until the men looked to him.
The man sneered at Gendry. "What do you want, boy?"
Gendry's eyes widened, quickly pointing to their mugs. "To buy you a drink and hopefully hear what you've heard of Winterfell."
The guards shared a look. "What do you care about some northern shithole?"
Gendry frowned. "I knew a girl from the north."
The guards' grinned haughtily. "Ah, I see." The thinner one stroked his scraggly beard and nodded. "Buy us a round and I could speak some."
Gendry set the coin on the bar and took the empty seat beside them, motioning for the barman to get them another round.
"Word is Sansa Stark's marrying someone claiming to be a Targaryen," the man explained with a laugh. "Two of 'em went 'round gathering up all the houses and slaughtered the Boltons. Supposedly they're securing the North, but eventually they'll come here."
Seeing Gendry's shock, the second man snickered, leaning onto the bar top. "Don't worry boy, they won't make it here and if they do it'll be with an army of men with sharp sticks facing down knights and men of the crown."
Seeing the barman refill their mugs, Gendry gave them a nod. "Thank you. Enjoy the drinks."
The guards snickered at Gendry as he got up and left the bar, making his way back to his shop. With a determined stride he grabbed a bag and started packing what he could, pulling a purse of coins he'd hidden away, and grabbed a large cloth and rope. Yanking a few swords from his racks and found his personal war hammer, with a shaft about as long as his arm with a stag engraved black iron head.
Wrapping the hammer and swords in the cloth and tying them, he left his shop behind intending to find a ship that would carry him to White Harbor. He'd row if he had to, but no matter what he was going north.
On the deck of their ship Varys stepped forward with his brow knit in confusion at the sight of Targaryen banners soaring over Claw Isle on their way to Dragonstone.
Tyrion gave an impressed nod while Daenerys laughed. "I guess Illyrio wasn't all lies after all."
Varys turned to her. "Pardon, your grace?"
"He always spoke of the people of Westeros secretly toasting to our return, awaiting the day they can hang our banners and welcome us home," she said with a smirk. "I assume this is the work of you and your birds?"
Varys looked to her for a moment, then shook his head. "No, your grace."
Daenerys' smile faded as Tyrion furrowed his brow and stepped toward Varys. "What? You mean they just happen to be flying our banner?"
Varys shook his head, looking to the banners in the distance. "Something must have happened."
Coming to Dragonstone's shore they were greeted by a small group led by a solemn looking young maester. "Welcome to Dragonstone, Princess," he said with a polite smile and bow. "I am Maester Pylos."
"Thank you for the welcome," said Tyrion, "but she is a queen."
Pylos raised his head. "Oh?" He looked at Daenerys, frowning. "Has the king taken another wife besides Sansa Stark?"
Tyrion's brow furrowed and looked back to the others, who seemed equally confused. "Sansa? She's married Tommen?"
"Tommen?" Pylos blinked, standing straight. "My lord, he killed himself after the Sept of Baelor was destroyed by wildfire."
"What?!" Tyrion's question boomed.
"Queen Cersei rules in his place," Pylos looked to the Targaryen banners flying across the castle with a wry smile, "though clearly Dragonstone has claimed for the King."
"What King?" Daenerys demanded.
"King Aegon," he answered. "Son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, wed in secret after his annulment from Elia Martell. Born in the Tower of Joy in Dorne and kept hidden as the bastard of Winterfell to avoid his siblings' fate."
Daenerys' heart twisted as her eyes widened and she sucked in a breath. She wasn't alone? Rhaegar had another son?
Tyrion's eyes felt like they might fall from his skull. "Jon Snow?!"
Varys' held back a gasp, his brow furrowed as he tried to think of how it was possible he hadn't known. "Where did you hear this?"
"He sent letters to almost every house from Sharp Point through The Whispers. Likely others as well, but I couldn't say for certain, my lord."
Daenerys felt her stomach turn in a mix of emotions as tears stung her eyes, looking almost hopeful as she asked, "Where is he?"
"Likely in Winterfell with his betrothed, your grace. I imagine he's waiting to show whoever rides to him the proof of his parentage and the White Walkers."
Tyrion gaped at the man. "White Walkers?"
Pylos nodded. "He says there is an army of at least one hundred thousand undead men marching toward the Wall. In his letters he spoke of having sent men to retrieve a wight to prove their existence."
Daenerys scoffed. "An undead army?"
Pylos frowned. "I'm afraid so." His eyes shifted toward the sails of their ships. "I beg forgiveness, but when I saw your sail I assumed you were sent by the King. If that's not the case, then…" His eyes widened as he heard the screech of the dragons soaring toward them from the horizon.
"You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Rightful Heir to the Iron Throne, Rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khalessi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains."
Pylos looked to Missandei and nodded. "Hm. Well…" He looked past her to the armed men and ships carrying thousands more. "I suppose Dragonstone is yours."
Daenerys looked to Tyrion, who looked shocked as they followed Pylos to the castle. "What is this?" She asked quietly.
"I don't know, my queen," Tyrion frowned. "I knew Jon Snow, but I suppose I knew only a mask cast upon him."
"I'll need to meet him," she said firmly. "Write to him. If this is a lie he'll regret it, but if it isn't... I need to meet Rhaegar's son."