Alright guys so I know this has been a long time coming but, to put it simply, two people that are very close to me passed away literally a week after I posted the last chapter and I almost left school because of it and I lost my job. I'm honestly just writing this in an airport terminal so I can have something out for you guys and because I'm in a layover headed to Dublin. Thank you so much for your comments and private messages – I hope you enjoy this new chapter. And thank you for all the favorites and follows, I hope you all know how much this means to me and that your continued support and honesty is what inspires me to write.

Enjoy the chapter

Chapter 12

Move

"He's more myself then I am. Whatever our souls are made of his and mine are the same."

Daenerys stared after Naharis watching as the door fell closed, the sound a signal that their relationship was truly over.

She turned and slipped into the empty throne room where Tyrion was waiting.

"How did he take it?"

"No tears"

"I know it was hard for you, you turned away a man you truly loved because he could have been a liability," Tyrion took a strong gulp of the wine in his goblet.

"But, he sighed, if it's any consolation self-sacrifice is an important trait in any real ruler."

"It's not," she whispered.

"I suppose not"

They were quiet for a moment.

"I'm terrible at consoling," Tyrion finally said.

"Yes, Daenerys said, words clipped, you really are"

Tyrion glanced at her at the corner of her eyes and saw the anger there.

The anger directed at him.

"Then how about this, you're finally doing it, you have your dragons, your army, your chance to play in the great game – with other families who are ready to play it with, or against, you"

Daenerys turned to him and replied, "Do you know why I'm sad?"

He said nothing.

"It's because I turned away from a man that I thought I cared for only to realize that I was simply impatient to get on with it."

Daenerys stood.

"That's not how she feels about you, you know. Regardless of how much you push her away, she'll always be a step behind you. She loves you a lot Tyrion and if you're not careful you'll lose her."

Tyrion poured another glass, swirling the red liquid.

It made no since to drink it anymore.

Not when his choices from now on would require a clear head.

"Now, since you have utterly failed to consul me, and I am in the business of asking for the impossible, I want something of you – your council."

He stood, dusting his pants.

The future was happening, history in the making.

If he was lucky, he would survive to see himself back in Westeros – Sansa at his side.

"Well, he thought, I've never been one to count on luck"

Tyrion kneeled, his head bowed.

"It's yours, he replied, now and forever!"

"Good – because I've already made something for you"

He stiffened at the familiar, and yet unfamiliar, signal as she clipped it on his jacket.

"Tyrion Lannister, I name you Hand of the Queen"

He remained kneeled, his head lowered.

And the sun finally eclipsed the long hills of the island – it's fingers stretching over the distance of the shore.

Daenerys wiped the tears from her cheeks.

She didn't love Naharis.

Not really.

Not how it counted.

But it had just occurred to her that if she failed, if, somehow, everyone but her died she would be alone again.

And this time - there would be no army, or dragons, to save her.

There was a timid knock to her bedroom door and she brushed new tears away and stood.

"Come in"

Sansa.

The changes in Sansa had been alarming, yet pleasing, over the recent weeks.

Her hair, once always primed and proper, was now wild and free around her shoulders. Her eyes - were stone and fire. Her skin had darkened in the training ground with the mysterious swordsman and her hands had grown course and rough.

"My lady," she whispered, giving a quick curtsy.

Some things never changed.

"I will be coming with you my lady - and I hope I have your support"

Daenerys started and then gave her a small smile, "I would expect nothing less"

Sansa's smile was bright and she gave a small laugh of happiness, "Thank you my lady"

"You may go," Daenerys said, gesturing towards the door.

Sansa nodded, turned, and then stopped.

"My lady, she hesitantly said, are you alright?"

Daenerys nodded, slightly confused, "Of course"

"It's just...you're crying"

"Men are stupid," Daenerys yelled.

They were on her bed now, surrounded by nuts, and fruits, and some kind of yellow paste that smelled strongly of garlic and lemon, that burned their tongue and made Sansa sniffle.

They were both drunk.

"True," Sansa murmured, tossing a grape in her mouth, looking up at the naked men and women on the ceiling of Daenerys bed.

The grape bounced off her cheek and fell to the floor.

She wondered how a woman's breast could be so large and was slightly intimidated.

Daenerys took a fistful of nuts and turned to Sansa, "We should send him a letter"

"Dear Tyrion, you idiot, Lannister"

"W-wait, Sansa groaned, getting up to grab a piece of paper and a quill; before returning to plop on the large bed, y-you have to star-art over!"

"Men are stupid," Daenerys giggled.

Sansa laughed, snorting into her wine goblet, as she wrote.

"True"

They broke off into loud screeching laughter, that bounced off of stone and warmed their bodies.

Their laughter eventually died down and they both fell away - problems solved or at least off of their minds.

Sansa stood on the edge of the balcony that was outside her bedroom window. The ledge was thick and the stone was bleached white from the sun. She loved the smell of Mereen, the fire and spice that flirted through the city - riding on the sea salt wind.

They had given her a simple room draped in silk.

But she loved it.

Because it was hers.

It was her home.

She had heard her own whispers throughout Mereen.

Most referred to her as "The Lady" and it was strange to realize she wasn't really "The Lady" of anything.

She had nothing.

A traitor's daughter.

A traitor's sister.

A traitor's wife.

In that order.

And she was alone.

Da was dead.

Mam was dead.

Robb was dead.

Jon was dead.

Arya was dead.

Bran was dead.

Rickon was dead.

But she, she was alive.

And she had grown stronger.

She was a capable fighter now.

And Tyrion was alive.

It was thanks to him that she had learned so much.

She understood balance now.

She understood fear.

She understood herself.

And for the past few weeks she had seen her life as a before and after Joffrey – but it wasn't, not really.

It was a before and after marrying Tyrion.

A before – when she thought heros were tall, beautiful and gallient. And when she later lost that faith.

And an after – when her knight turned out to be someone cunning, brave and gruff. And warm. And handsome.

Someone who restored her faith in miracles if not in fairytales.

He was going to do so much.

If Tyrion made it past Cersei, when Daenerys took over the throne, her husband could influence the politics of an entire kingdom.

But she worried if she would make it past the journey back to Westeros.

It was hard to think that at one point in her life she had loved her country.

With all of its tales and riddles and history.

Now, she just wanted to live long enough to see Winterfell.

With the wolf on its walls again.

There was a knock at her door and she slipped back into her room.

Quickly catching a glimpse of herself in her mirror.

Sansa was still sweaty, and dark, from her early morning training session. There were new cuts on her arms and knees, and she was pretty sure her Septa was turning over in her grave right now, but she simply called for them to "Come in!"

She wasn't prepared for what came afterwards.

Sansa was as protected as anyone in the castle.

Or so she thought.

There were two of them.

One small and lanky that could have easily slipped in as a servant.

One large and burly that could easily have passed as a member of the visiting guard.

Her first instinct was to run towards the window but there was no way to get off of it without seriously injuring herself and the only escape route was blocked by their bodies.

So, she had to fight.

The large one ran towards her, reaching large meaty arms out as if to grab her.

She slipped to the side and gave him a firm kick to the head that knock him down and yet left her defenseless.

The lanky one slipped close, and pulled on her arm, his bony hand squeezing her wrist.

Sansa gasped in pain, as he pressed his thumb into her wrist bone.

She grasped his wrists, turned her hips and pushed him against the cold stone wall.

"Who are you!?"

He slammed his elbow into her stomach and she fell to the ground.

She'd never been chocked before.

She struggled, but it was excruciating to move her arms.

Something pointy (his knees?) were pressing into her arm pits.

She reached up to up-hand his nose and yet he simply pulled it to the side.

Sansa realized something as she laid there.

His eyes.

There were empty.

An endless void.

And she realized something else.

She was going to die.

So, she panicked.

Ignoring the pain in her arms and legs she began to struggle, to scream.

She bucked up, smacked his face with her hand.

And as he was focused on chocking her and pining her other hand down she drove her finger into his eye.

There was a loud scream.

An "oof!" of pain and then Zander, the clumsy oof, appeared above her.

Hands reached for her and she panicked again, clawing at them in desperation.

She pulled away almost delirious with fear before her head clipped the side of the dresser at the end of the room.

Someone was screaming right next to her head.

"Are you…if Zander…"

There was a slam, a palm against wood.

"Enough…solved…respect…Bryden…you as well Tyrion"

There was a shuffle.

Something was covering her eyes.

She reached up to take it off but was quickly met with resistance.

"N-no, m-my lady," Zander's familiar voice whimpered, "You h-have to stay st-still."

His warm hand tucked the cloth? rag? over her eyes and lightly patted her arm.

"Sansa!"

Tyrion's voice was way too loud and she groaned in frustration.

She felt him physically pull back and his tone lowered.

"Are you alright?" he whispered, his fingers stroking her cheek.

There was more shuffling and there was a thud and then the heavy door to the room fell close.

"I-I don't know," she whispered, tears running out of the corners of her eyes and down her cheek.

"Wh-what happened?"

Tyrion continued to stroke her cheek, trying to comfort her.

"Do you remember the attack?"

Tyrion was pissed.

No, that didn't really cover it.

He was out to destroy.

Her forehead twitched and he was pretty sure she was wincing under the cloth.

"Yes"

"They're both in custody, I'm going to figure out who they are and who told them to do this, Sansa, I promise"

The dungeon was far from Sansa's room.

And he didn't mind the walk.

It lessened the tension and forced him to breathe.

Sansa shivered, when he pulled her into his lap, his arms holding her tight.

She gasped and then pulled herself up, using his shoulders to brace herself, the cloth slipping from her face, her tears staining his jacket as she cried.

He knew he had to remain calm.

He was very aware that torture wasn't the best way to obtain information.

And he wasn't a violent man.

In fact, if golds or words could get him out of a hole he'd use both but now..

Now he suddenly wondered how good it would feel to stab one of those men repeatedly.

How good it would feel to watch the light drain from their eyes.

Drogo sat on the edge of the castle walls, his neck arching over the stone.

It was hard to be here when his brother was not.

And he wasn't exactly excited to face his mother either.

But they had no choice in the matter.

She had called them back and there they were.

Awaiting her…requests.

Drogo was a prideful creature, it wasn't in his nature to listen to anyone but he cared too much for the woman, his mother, to turn his back on her.

What she, and those other ones, didn't realize was that he was fully aware from within his stone. He had shuffled through history – passed hand-to-hand as men broke mountains and killed the "last" dragon.

His siblings his only companions as they devolved from beasts of terror and rage and fire, to mystical beasts of the past.

They were alive though and, if his assumptions were correct, that distant land, the one his mother wanted to go to had his brother.

He swooped from the edge of walls, his body hotter then the sun.

Davos stared at Jon.

Okay, so obviously you shouldn't bring people back from the dead.

Dangerous practice.

They come back mad, crazed, insane.

Or maybe he had only just heard Jon Snow tell him he was going to attack Winterfell and rescue his brother.

He nodded to himself.

"The pain of losing Shereen has finally destroyed your mind Davos, time to get old"

"So?"

Jon was staring at him calmly.

How could someone be so calm when requesting help to (without question) die.

There was a huff of smoke from the fireplace and Davos almost fell back again with shock.

The dragon had made itself comfortable in the large room.

Yeah, he was going crazy.

"Let's just say, for imagination's sake, you actually do amass an army to take Winterfell, what then?"

Jon was taken aback by the question and Davos thought he saw common sense start to- nope, it was gone.

"I take Winterfell, I save Rickon, after that well, it's up to him isn't it?"

"So you want Rickon to become a poster child to rebel against Cersei?"

Jon stared at him for a moment.

"No"

"I want him to rebel against the White Walkers"

"We both know they're coming Davos, they're going to breach the wall, they're going to head to Winterfell, and if we don't want all of humanity to die we have to do something about it now."

Davos sighed.

This is what you get when you try to follow kids around.

"Alright, where to?"

"Bear Island, they were always loyal to Stark, and maybe they'll be loyal now."

This one's too trusting.

He'll get us all killed.

"Alright, Davos said, standing up from the wall, when do we leave?"

"Tomorrow...if we're lucky we'll be there in a few weeks," Jon replied, who turned to leave.

"I'm too old for this," Davos said.

He sighed, shook of the chill, and followed after Jon.

Or was it Lord Snow now?

Arya is killing men when she sees the Black raven.

The last man dies, the blood spurting almost eerily smooth from his neck.

It, the bird, stares at her critically from the branch it's perched on.

"It doesn't like her form," she thinks.

She shakes the thought away and turns to wander even further South.

She always just misses them.

But Cersei's still alive.

She'll kill her if she kills no one else ever again.

The bird "squaws!" at her, almost indignant with rage.

"It's just a bird," she whispers.

It squawked at her again, offended, and disappeared.

Myriah Martell watched her second eldest child, Mayne as he trained, his movements flawless in the heat of the sun.

Mors, and Maron, his brothers, stood a good distance away, so focused on training that they hadn't even noticed her.

She patted Sasha, her stallion, and jumped off.

It was getting more and more difficult to sneak up on them like this, but it was a good type of challenge.

Myriah was prepared to jump but there was a snap of a branch near her, a good distance away.

She jumped.

But not at her sons.

Her sword drawn, she landed on a girl, her knees pressing into her back, her knife at her throat.

"Tyene," she laughed, her breath a hiss, drawing the girl's hair back.

"Do you normally interrupt other's training sessions so casually?"

She wasn't prepared for the knife at her throat.

"Let her up, Scorpion," someone hissed behind her.

Myriah laughed, her mouth a twisted smile, "Ah, Dorah, so nice of you to join us"

"Let her up!"

There was another snap of tree but Myriah was pissed.

She couldn't fight all three of them at the same time.

"Hey Mam"

Myriah laughed, pleased, "Hello, darling"

They all pulled back, Myriah slipped quickly out of Dorah's grasp, rolling off of Tyene.

She had seen what that little bitch could do with a knife.

"Get out of here," Micah, her eldest child said, throwing Tyene's knife at her.

The little snake caught it, her eyes narrowed.

"And if we don-"

"Don't even finish that sentence Tyene," Micah warned, the sun on his chest dazzling in the sunlight.

They looked at each other before they eventually backed away, leaving nothing but slight indents in the sand.

"They're getting too close," Micah said, putting his sword back in it's sheath.

"Yeah, well, there's not a lot we can do about it at the moment," Myriah replied, sighing.

"Let's go, we need to check on your brothers and then head back - your father is waiting for us"

Micah nodded and followed after her.

If they had been paying attention they would have noticed the two sets of eyes following them from the trees.

AN:/ I hope this new chapter was interesting...or at the very least something for you guys to read.

Thanks again for reading and I hope ya'll have a great morning

- Reara