Hello, everyone! I'm back! I am so, so sorry for how long it has taken me to finish this next chapter, especially after leaving you all hanging with such a nail biting cliffhanger! I never intended for this chapter to take so long to get online and I cannot stress enough just how sorry I am for the long wait you've all been forced to endure. If you've been following the story on Ao3, I'm sure you've seen in the comments section I've been replying to people's inquiries about when I would finally update again, and I finally finished my big digital painting for MerMay month, and the delay for this chapter was due to trying to complete a second digital painting for an illustration contest submission deadline of July 15th. I devoted all my efforts into completing that painting in time, but at this point, it looks like I probably won't be able to finish it by the submission date. Oh well... I still intend to finish it, but I won't be focusing solely on my artwork anymore. I'm now going to devote my time to half writing, half artwork! Once again, I apologize for the long delay in this next chapter!

Also, if you want to view my big digital painting for MerMay, you can find it on DeviantArt! My username on there is Totoro939. I don't have much uploaded in my art account yet, but as soon as I finish my current digital painting, that will uploaded on there, too! Please, feel free to comment on my artwork or to follow me if you like my art style! ;D

However, I also would like to take a moment to give a shout out to the following people online:

Longclaw 1-6 and WrathofAvarice - Thank you both for your help with this chapter! The little bits of writer's block that I endured when writing two scenes in this chapter I would probably STILL be struggling with if you guys hadn't helped me out, so thank you both!

The Twitter users: amorousclarke and joneryswhore - I recently informed by a fan on Ao3 that both of these Twitter accounts are fans of my story and have been advertising my story to their followers! I don't know if they're reading the story here on FF or on Ao3, but if they or any of their followers are reading the story on this site, then allow me to take this time to say welcome to my fanfic and I'm thrilled you all love my story! I read several Twitter conversations about my story on your account threads, and I'm touched and flattered that you all love my story so much! I would have replied to those threads, but my Twitter account is my real life name, and I don't want to give that out, lol! So yeah, I'm thanking you all for your virtual love on this site instead of commenting directly on Twitter! :D

Now, onto the review count! We did it this time, people! We finally beat the review goal for the first time in several chapters! We reached 201 reviews! Thank you, dear reviewers! Thank you all for your wonderful reviews! Now, for this chapter's review goal... how about we try to make it to 225 this time? That's only 24 reviews I'm asking for, and that's not too many! Let's all strive to reach this new review goal of 225 reviews, shall we? I'll keep my fingers crossed!

Okay, I think that's all for now. I've kept you all waiting long enough for this chapter, after all! ;D

Enjoy the chapter, and please leave a nice review when you're done!

Happy Reading!

- Elphaba818

Chapter Twelve: A Wolf's Recovery, A Dragon's Trust

"Goodness, Sam! What seems to be—?"

"Maester Aemon, we have an emergency! We need your help! Now!"

"An emergency? Is someone hur—?"

Jon nearly knocked his friend over in his mad scramble to get into the workroom. Coherent thoughts were beyond his comprehension, and the only thing he could focus on was getting the wheezing little girl in his arms front of Maester Aemon. "Lyaella — found her — she's — she's not—"

A hoarse cough cut him off as Lyaella squirmed in his arms. "W… W-Water…" she moaned. "I… I just n-need wa… water…"

He shifted his grip, struggling to keep a firm grasp on her small form. "It's okay, Lyaella. You're — You're gonna be okay!"

"N-No… I-I-I don't… I don't want…" she coughed again, clapping her hand back over her mouth.

Maester Aemon was suddenly wide awake, and Jon jumped when he appeared in front of him. With furrowed brows, Maester Aemon felt around for Lyaella's head, softly stroking her hair as he bent down to bring his ear close to her face. Lyaella breathlessly gasped at his sudden appearance, and tried her best to hold her breath and stop panting.

"Lyaella?"

"I… I'm j-just a… a little b-breath… breathless. I'm fi… f-fine—" she coughed harder, unable to finish.

He frowned. Straightening up, he quickly turned and shuffled as fast as he could to his medicinal cabinet. "Take her to the bed, Lord Commander. Prop up pillows behind her. Tarly? Add more logs onto the fire. Start boiling water."

They didn't hesitate to comply. Jon didn't care he was technically Lord Commander now and no longer required to carry out steward tasks. For some reason, he felt like he had to be in here right now, helping Sam and Maester Aemon take care of her. Maybe it was out of guilt for snapping at her earlier. Maybe it was because Ghost led him to finding her. Whatever the case, he wasn't leaving. Not unless Maester Aemon ordered him out.

Ignoring how much Lyaella was squirming, he set her down in her small bed before rushing to collect the pillows on Maester Aemon's bed. As he went to prop up them up behind her, she shook her head and tried batting them away. "No. I d-don't… I don't need th—" she cut herself off, doubling over as her hand flew to her mouth. Chunks of gunky phlegm covered her palm when she finally lowered it. "Water… J-Just… Just need water…"

Jon disregarded her. Seizing her wrists, he gently tugged her forward so he could stack up the cushions. "Don't worry, you're gonna be fine. Maester Aemon will get you some medicine and—"

"N-No!" she croaked, jamming her elbow into his side. Startled, he let her go just as Sam spun around in alarm, nearly dropping the extra firewood he'd gathered in his surprise. Maester Aemon even stopped sifting through various herbs for a moment to listen in. Lyaella whimpered guiltily, but she didn't glance up at them. She just kept one hand cupped over her mouth for more coughs and the other pressed firmly against her chest. "No… No medicine! I-I'm fi… I'm fine!"

He didn't know what to think, but when he saw her swing her legs over the edge of the bed and try to stand, he snapped out of it.

"L-Lyaella, no!" Jon tried to gently push her back, but she automatically struggled, and he had no choice but to grasp her shoulders tighter. "You — You need to rest! M-Maester Aemon will—"

"N-No! No… No medicine!"

Pounding footsteps echoed from outside, and then the door flew open. Two blurs of white shot into the workroom, and then a small, hysterical girl dressed in pink appeared in the doorway.

"Lyaella!" screamed Princess Shireen, scrambling inside. She tried shoving past Sam to follow Sōnar and Ghost to Lyaella's bedside, but Stannis and Davos were right behind her and had to physically pull her back out. The princess fought viciously against her father and the old smuggler to get back in. "No, l-let go! I wanna see Lyaella!"

"Shireen, no!"

"You can see her later, princess! The maester must focus on treating her right now!"

Shireen was sobbing and still trying to break free to rush back in, but Jon couldn't focus on them. His attention was on the equally hysterical little girl in his arms who'd tried taking advantage of the distraction to wrestle away from him. She coughed harder, her eyes glistening from the exertion of it all.

"Lyaella—!"

"I… I'm fi… fine! D-Don't need any—!" she suddenly went wide eyed, doubling over again as she expelled more mucus. Sōnar hooted worriedly, nudging her cheek with her snout, and Ghost whined, rubbing up against Jon's legs as he gazed up at the sick girl. Jon didn't know why Ghost had taken such an interest in Lyaella when she hadn't been near his direwolf since she arrived, but it was clear his wolf and her dragon could sense she really wasn't fine.

Gilly then arrived, shuffling past the Baratheon party to join Jon in trying to force her back into bed. "L-Lyaella, it's — it's all right!" the former Wildling cried, soothingly stroking her silver hair. "Yer sick! Maester Aemon will—"

"No t-tonic! No owl's blood!"

A hush fell over the room, but Lyaella was too hysterical to notice. She kept flailing and thrashing desperately to escape, oblivious of how everyone was staring at her.

Jon's mind was blank as he did his best to keep a firm grip on her. Owl's blood? What was she talking about? "Lyaella—?"

She coughed again, still frantically trying to break away. "N-No! No, no, no!" she wailed. "I w-won't — won't drink that tonic! No!"

Gilly blinked, exchanging a perplexed look with Sam. "Tonic? What're you—? Ah!"

"Let go of me!" she screamed, whacking her small fist into Gilly's side. "Let go!"

"Lyaella, stop! Stop that!" Jon demanded, clutching her shoulders tighter. It didn't matter if he had to hold her down so harshly it left her with bruises. He couldn't let her keep hitting Gilly. But for a little girl who was generally as meek and quiet as a mouse, she was certainly strong. It took everything he had to keep her on the bed.

A hoot echoed near his ear, and Jon jumped when a large, scaly white and blue head appeared in the corner of his eye. Sōnar paid no attention to him though, and only crooned worriedly at her silver-haired mistress. Ghost whined, pushing past Jon to get up by Lyaella's face and lick away her tears. Lyaella definitely calmed down a bit by their comfort, but before she could pet them, her eyes shot wide and she slapped her and over her mouth as phlegm escaped her with another strong cough. Her other hand clutched the fabric of her dress over her chest so tightly, her fist turned white as she moaned.

The floorboards creaked, and Jon glanced up as Maester Aemon shuffled slowly across the room, his expression neutral. Lyaella also saw him approach, and quickly started wriggling again. Jon grounded his teeth, patience wearing thin. "Lyaella, stop!"

"I — I j-just need water! Ple… Please! Just water!"

"Yeh need more than water, Lyaella!" Gilly insisted, now trying to pin down Lyaella's frantically kicking legs. She ended up getting a strong blow to her ear before throwing herself over Lyaella's knees. "Yer — Yer not breathin' right! Yeh need medicine!"

With a strangled scream, Lyaella thrashed, and Jon yelped as she managed to wrench her arm free and sock him right in the jaw — not that she even realized she did before clawing frantically at his grasp on her other arm. "No m-medicine! No owl's blood! No, no, n—!" she broke out coughing so fast, she couldn't even cover her mouth this time. Mucus flew past her lips and landed on his chest.

As much as Jon wanted to wipe off the phlegm on his tunic, he didn't dare. If he loosened his grip at all, she'd easily break free and it would take them ages to get her back on the bed. For a long moment, Jon stared helplessly at Sam and Gilly, unsure what to say or do to get her to cooperate. Sam was frozen in shock over by the fireplace and could only spare him a disbelieving shrug, while Gilly didn't even notice his stare due to how much she was struggling with Lyaella's legs. Jon was at a loss. What was up with this girl? She was sick. She needed treatment, yet she refused to go along with it. But why? They were only trying to help her!

Did she not want their help because she was like other mentally ill Targaryen's? Was… Was she possibly mad?

Maester Aemon then reached them, his unseeing eyes staring blankly ahead at the wall as he felt around for Lyaella's teary cheek. "Tonic? Owl's blood?" he asked.

She whimpered, rasping for breath as she wriggled away from his touch. "W-Won't… drink it! I won't!" she wailed. "I'd… I'd rather stay like this! No tonic! No b-blood and… and wine!"

Jon's eyes boggled, and he had to shift his grip to stop her when she nearly scratched Maester Aemon's hand. This was getting out of hand. She wasn't just getting violent towards him and Gilly now, she was even trying to attack Maester Aemon! Her own Targaryen relative! And what on earth was she talking about? A tonic of blood and wine? What delusion was she experiencing that made her believe they'd ever try to make her drink something like that? And to believe so wholeheartedly that they would force her to take something like that she'd rather keep rasping for breath like she was right now? What insanity was going through her head?

Maester Aemon simply furrowed his brows. Patting her cheek one last time, he turned to face Sam's general direction. "Tarly."

Sam jumped. "M-Maester Aemon?"

"Go to my work table. Find the corked bottle on the left side of the shelf above it. Pour out a spoonful's worth and bring it here."

Sam blinked at the directions, but quickly dumped the logs into the hearth before scrambling to fulfill them. Lyaella however just seemed to become even more hysterical. Gilly had to swallow a whimper as Lyaella's knee knocked into her chin, and Jon grit his teeth and moved his arm away from her mouth when she tried snapping at him. He didn't care what Sam was bringing over. So long as it was medicine and they made Lyaella drank it before she got any worse, that was fine. He just wanted her to take whatever medicine Aemon decided to give her and be done with it already.

Finally, Sam approached them with a spoonful of thick, white liquid. "I-I-I have it hear, Maester Aemon!"

Maester Aemon nodded in approval, then turned back to Lyaella. "I don't want to have to give you this, Lyaella, but you must calm down. I assure you I won't—"

A fitful sob cut him off, and Lyaella shook her head with another cough. "No! N-No medicine! I won't… I won't s-swallow that!"

"Lyaella—"

"No!"

Despite how he couldn't see how she thrashed and fought against Jon and Gilly, the maester sighed before turning to them. "I need both of you to hold her steady, Lord Commander, Gilly. I need her to swallow this if I'm to have any chance at helping her. She must not spit it out."

Jon's stomach twisted uneasily, and judging by how Gilly bit her lip and Sam glanced down nervously at the spoon, they weren't entirely comfortable about this either. But what choice did they have?

Shoving away his misgivings, Jon readjusted his grip on her arms as Gilly grasped her legs more firmly. But Lyaella thrashed, wailing as loud as she could despite her constant coughing. She was fighting with every fiber of her being to get away.

"N-No…! No, medicine!" she wheezed, her tears cascading down her cheeks. "No… No tonic!"

Sam shuddered, the spoon trembling in his grasp. Gulping thickly, he reached out to her with his free hand. "L-Lyaella, please. I… I don't want to force—"

She choked on the air, violently shaking her head across the pillows. "N… No! Don't g-give me tonic! No blood…! N-No wine!"

Jon mutely shook his head, utterly dumbfounded. She was past reasoning, completely hysterical. There were no other options. The only way they could get her to drink that medicine was to force feed it to her.

Sucking in a breath, he glanced up at Sam and firmly nodded. Sam grimaced, but silently leaned over and pinned Lyaella's head down to stop her from moving away. She fruitlessly struggled, pressing her lips together firmly as her chest quivered from the sudden lack of air flowing into her body.

"Lyaella, please!" Jon murmured, giving her a small shake. "Open your mouth!"

Unable to shake her head she simply stayed silent, her face quickly puffing red as she forced herself not to breath. Fresh tears flowed down her face dribbling into her ears, but she still wouldn't budge. She quivered from the lack of oxygen, but it didn't matter. She refused to open her mouth.

Sam froze, unsure whether to try forcing the spoon past her lips or not, but then Sōnar started warbling and nudging her with her snout as Ghost whined, butting his head against her hand. Lyaella did her best to ignore them, but it was too much and soon she was gasping for breath again. Sam didn't hesitate to thrust the spoon in her mouth.

Lyaella squealed and tried spitting it out, but Sam put his hand over her mouth. She moaned, her discomfort obvious, but he didn't dare move his hand away until they saw her throat bob as she reluctantly swallowed the mixture. She rasped desperately and tried to speak, but within seconds her eyes started drooping, and her struggling gradually lessened. Jon blinked, puzzled, but before he could do anything, her strength sapped away and she was out like a light.

Gilly slowly released her and stood up, but Jon only blinked again. "What happened? What did you give her?"

"Relax, Lord Commander. 'Twas only a spoonful of Milk of the Poppy," Maester Aemon assured him. "It's just so she can sleep while I treat her. She was too wound up and scared to listen to us."

Smiling sadly, he ran his fingers through her silver tresses before heading back to his worktable. "Tarly? Has the water finished boiling, yet?"

Sam jumped, almost dropping the spoon. "N-Nearly! It's steaming, now!"

"How much?"

"What?"

"How much is it steaming?"

Sam blinked. "Um, well it's only a few tendrils of steam…"

Maester Aemon reached over to the right side of the shelf, feeling around until his fingers looped around the handle of a heavily dented black kettle. "Pour some of it in here, but leave the rest in that pot. Throw a few more logs in the grate when you're done."

"Maester?"

"That water's warm enough now for the tea I must brew, but the rest of that water must be hotter," he explained, setting the kettle down and now reaching for a particular herb in a glass container on the table. "She needs to inhale lots of steam to help clear out those lungs, and keeping her warm will also help."

"Oh. Right away, Maester Aemon."

As Sam collected the kettle, Jon gently set Lyaella down against the pillows and swiftly bundled her up in the fur blankets. Gilly collected more blankets on the other bed too, so he went over to the log pile to gather the firewood. She was still wheezing despite being out cold, so if wrapping her up in blankets and throwing extra wood on the fire were the only things he could do to help right now, he'd do it. It was his fault she was so sick, after all. If he hadn't had snapped at her earlier, she wouldn't have gone running to the top of the Wall and gotten so cold. Jon didn't have a clue as to what being cold had to do with her barely breathing, but whatever the case, he had to make this right. However he could help, he would.

"Gilly, would you bring me the tin cup on the bedside table?" Maester Aemon requested, now feeling around for another bottle on the shelf. "And I think my mortar and pestle are in my trunk. Could you bring them to me?"

"Oh, uh… just a moment!" she replied. Draping the blankets over Lyaella's small frame, she passed him the cup before scurrying to the small chest in the back-most corner. "Here yeh, go, Maester Aemon."

"Thank you, my dear."

No one said a word as he ground up the herbs. Jon only hoped they could somehow ease Lyaella's wheezing and coughing. Adding them into into the kettle, Maester Aemon mixed the blend together for a short time with a large spoon, then poured some out into the waiting cup.

"What's that?" Jon asked, watching he went back over to Lyaella with the cup. "What're you giving her?"

"Ginger root tea with a dash of mint," he replied, tilting her head back and guiding the rim of the cup to her lips. "It's not much, but it should help break up the mucus in her lungs. Ease her coughing somewhat and lessen the chest pain, if nothing else."

With utmost care, Maester Aemon poured the tea into Lyaella's mouth. Luckily, she swallowed it all, though she remained unconscious. Her pinched expression slowly relaxed the more she gulped down the remedy. By the time it was all gone, she was still breathing somewhat heavier than normal, but she wasn't rasping desperately as she had been before either. It was a definite improvement.

"Will she be all right?" asked Sam.

Maester Aemon nodded, smiling. "She'll need some time to relax and shouldn't go out in the cold air for a few days, but she should be fine. The best thing for her right now is to get plenty of rest, though someone should stay with her for now in case her breathing worsens again."

"I can sit with her," Gilly offered. "I don't mind. Someone… Someone should get her outta that dress anyway. It's filthy. I finished sewin' her a pair of britches and tunic earlier for her sword lessons. I'll put her in that and wash her dress and cloak tomorrow."

"Thank you, Gilly. Also, if it's not too much trouble, you might want to consider knitting her a scarf right now."

"A scarf?"

He nodded, his expression carefully neutral. "I have a theory as to what's wrong with her, but I won't know for sure until she wakes and I can examine her properly. If I'm right, she should be wearing a scarf at all times when out in the cold."

Jon exchanged a quizzical look with Sam, but Gilly only stared at him with equal confusion. Clearing her throat lightly, she slowly nodded, only to stop upon remembering his blindness. "All right, I'll do what I can. Be right back."

Nodding stiffly, she hurried to the door. The moment she opened it, however, various voices and shouts cut through the air as sharp as a knife.

"I wanna see Lyaella! She's sick!"

"They need to tend to her right now, Shireen. You can't go in."

"You're not going in, period!"

"But Mother—!"

"She's a Targaryen bastard girl with a dragon! She's dangerous! And mad!"

"No, she's not! She's my friend!"

"Well you're friendship with her ends now! You're never going to be alone with her or that beast of hers again!"

"Selyse—"

"No, Stannis! I know you are the king, and I honor you as such, but I will not allow our daughter to remain in the company of someone who's both insane and an obvious threat to your claim!"

"I agree with the queen, your grace!"

"Yes, she's right!"

"We all heard her right now! She's a mad dragon and probably planning to burn us all and drink our blood!"

A stone fell in Jon's stomach as he listened to all the shouts of agreement. He'd been in such a rush to get Lyaella help, he forgot about the crowd out in the courtyard when he grabbed her and bolted up here. Judging by the sound of things, both the Night's Watch and the Stormlands army seemed to share similar opinions regarding Lyaella's current mental state.

Throwing one last look over his shoulder at Lyaella, Jon fixed his face into a neutral mask and strolled outside. Sure enough, the crowd was in an uproar as people bantered back and forth regarding Lyaella's condition, but the main show was centered around the Baratheon royal family. Shireen was fighting against her father's restraining hands as her mother stooped down to her level to look her right in the eye. Davos and Melisandre stood a few paces behind them, both of them wearing mirrored looks of worry for once as they watched the argument unfold.

He'd just reached the stairs when he caught sight of an unusually ugly scowl on the princess' face. "I only want to see if she's all right, Mother! I've never seen her like that before! She's sick!"

"Sick or not, you're not going in there! You're not to go anywhere near her, that dragon, and whatever other monstrosities are locked up here at Castle Black again!"

Shireen stamped her foot, her cheeks reddening in her rage. "Sōnar's not a monster, and I've never seen that giant wolf before! But even so, they'veshowed more kindness and affection to Lyaella tonight than you've ever shown me in my entire life!"

"Shireen!" Stannis snapped, temper flaring. "Apologize to your mother! Right now!"

Her head whipped up, hot and angry tears shining in her eyes. "Why should I, Father?! It's the truth! Lyaella's a good person! Kind! She's been nicer to me than Mother's ever been!"

Smack!

Jon's steps faltered as he pushed his way through the crowd. It took everything he had to swallow the gasp in his throat, though others had no qualms about staying silent. It was one thing to see Queen Selyse reprimand Princess Shireen with a few cross words in public. It was another to see her slap the little girl's greyscale-scarred cheek for daring to raise her voice.

"Selyse!"

"Don't give me that look, Stannis! I will not stay silent as she acts so sinfully! Have you ever heard our daughter speak this way before?! No! If anything, her behavior proves my point — that bastard child is a terrible influence!"

Stannis' expression hardened. Not daring to break his gaze with his raging wife, he motioned for Davos and Melisandre to pull the whimpering Shireen aside. His hand and adviser didn't dare hesitate to carry out this silent order. Silently, Davos wrapped at arm around the princess' shoulders, and Shireen trembled from head to toe with suppressed sobs Melisandre motioned them to follow her to a cluster of barrels a short ways off.

This was about to turn ugly fast. It was none of Jon's business how the Baratheon monarchs dealt with marital quarrels, but at the very least they shouldn't happen out here, in front of the rest of the Night's Watch. If they chose to fight in front of their own army and daughter, that was their choice, but as the new Lord Commander of the Night's Watch it was his duty to get them to move this fight into the privacy of their own chambers.

Clearing his throat, he stepped past the last handful of people blocking his path and approached. "Your graces, perhaps it would be better if—"

The queen whipped around, Baratheon fury blazing in her eyes. "Lord Commander Snow! I expect now you will finally do what needs to be done with that demon child and that… that beast!" she spat. "You'll finally listen to what I've been saying since the moment she arrived! Kill her and be done with it!"

Jon's eyes narrowed. "I will do no such thing, your grace," he said firmly. "Lyaella is the ward of the Night's Watch. She has done nothing wrong and is also very sick."

"Wrong or not, she's a danger to everyone here with that dragon! And she is sick — sick in the head!" she screamed. "Everyone heard her in there! She thinks she's going to drink blood?! Lunacy, complete lunacy! She's a mad Targaryen bastard, and I will not allow my daughter to be burned alive by that monster for whatever delusions she has!"

To Jon's dismay, people slowly started nodded in the crowd. Only a handful at first, but then a fair majority started voicing their agreement.

"Knew it. Knew it all along."

"Mad, right from the start!"

"Bloodsucker, that girl! Sickening!"

"Worse than the Mad King! She's one step away from that cannibal Wildling tribe!"

"It's clear which side her Targaryen coin flip landed on!"

"She's gonna burn us all! Burn us and suck the blood outta our corpses!"

It was turning into complete pandemonium. Both the Night's Watch and the Baratheon soldiers were in agreement that Lyaella was indeed insane. Insane and dangerous after listening to her screaming a few minutes ago. Jon thickly swallowed, not sure what to do. He knew he had to quell the crowd before they all tried yelling for someone to run upstairs and slit her throat, but he was at a loss on what to say in Lyaella's defense. He couldn't blame everyone for thinking she was mad considering he'd thought the same thing back in the workroom. How was he supposed to fix this?

"That's enough. There will be no talk whatsoever about Targaryen madness in Lyaella Snow. Not while I still live and breathe."

Everyone turned. Descending down the wooden walkway steps was Maester Aemon, being escorted by Sam. He moved slowly due to his blindness and old age, but in the several years that Jon had been acquainted with the former Targaryen prince, he'd never seen such a hardened look on his face. Every muscle in Maester Aemon's face was fixed with surprising fierceness. If he could still see, Jon suspected that he'd be glaring harshly at everyone who'd been declaring Lyaella insane, especially Queen Selyse. Sure enough, Maester Aemon must have told Sam in advance to take him directly to the Baratheon queen, because they strolled unhurriedly through to the crowd and went straight to her.

But Queen Selyse was not so easily intimidated, especially not by old, blind men who needed to be escorted around by others. "I have no quarrel with you, maester. You are bound to the vows of the Watch and have no more claim to my husband's throne than any other man here. You couldn't be less of a threat even if you tried to leave. But that child? She's a bastard with a dragon that refuses to tell anyone where she came from! For all we know, she's lying about actually being a Snow and having a missing brother! She could be lying about having cruel relatives that tried to kill them! She's obviously insane after everything she was screaming about now! I will not allow her to use that dragon to harm my daughter! I will not!"

"I understand you're worried about your daughter's safety, your grace, but I assure you Lyaella Snow is no more mad than she is a liar."

"Are you deaf as well as blind?! She was screaming about drinking owl's blood! That proves that she's—!"

"—proves that she wasn't lying about growing up in a potentially bad home life. That was not madness back there that we all witnessed. That was terror from long term abuse."

Jon jerked, blinking repeatedly. Silence filled the courtyard as everyone stared at Maester Aemon. Stannis' lips parted at the revelation and he chanced a quick glance over his shoulder at Davos and Melisandre before flicking his eyes to his wife.

Selyse was definitely caught off guard by the unexpected response, but she swiftly recovered. "I beg your pardon?"

Immune to all the looks of disbelief and confusion being thrown his way, Maester Aemon continued. "Exactly as I said, your grace. Lyaella might have been uncontrollable back there and beyond reason, but once she mentioned the owl's blood, her behavior was understandable. She's only a child, and considering how sick she was right now, it's natural she'd assume we'd… I'll have to talk to her later, insist she tells me the maester who's been giving her that remedy. The Citadel will have his chain for this!" he murmured to himself, shaking his head in suppressed fury. "She's just a child! She's not Aerys himself!"

The Baratheon Queen looked completely lost now, but Jon's attention was diverted to Sam as he felt his friend's eyes flick over to him. Sharing matched looks of confusion, Jon stepped closer as Sam hesitantly cleared his throat.

"Maester Aemon?"

"What do you mean? You're… You're not making any sense."

Maester Aemon glanced their way. "Apologies, Lord Commander. I suppose it's a good thing I lived to meet this Targaryen child, because I'm the only one here that probably remembers the old, long outdated treatments used by the Citadel."

"Outdated?"

"Yes, that's right. The maesters trained at the Citadel are taught about the basics on such remedies for the general knowledge on them, but they're never supposed to use those treatments on actual patients. They were banned for a reason, be it because it was discovered they might cause other problems for people, certain procedures were far too dangerous for particular conditions, or because better remedies were later developed. Judging by what I saw of her symptoms right now and how she mentioned owl's blood, I suspect Lyaella's an asthmatic."

Curious murmurs spread through the crowd, and even Stannis' party exchanged unreadable looks. Jon merely tilted his head, puzzled. "She has asthma?"

"I will have to talk to her later and discuss her breathing problems in detail to fully confirm, but most likely. It would certainly explain why she's been coughing so much and why she's so easily winded during her swordplay training."

"But what does her condition have to do with outdated remedies?"

Maester Aemon frowned. "Because it's possible she's been subjected to long term medicinal abuse. It's likely she's been treated in the past with a very old, very outdated remedy that mixed owl's blood with watered down wine. It technically does help the lungs, but at the price of sometimes causing extreme nausea and vomiting in patients, more often than not they couldn't keep the medicine down. Not to mention better, healthier treatments were later developed. That tonic has long since been banned by the Citadel, since before King Aerys himself sat on the Iron Throne."

The whistling wind was the only sound to be heard in the lengthy silence. Everyone stared, not even sure what to make of this revelation. There were no whispers between the onlookers, no bewildered murmurs to one another. Just silence.

Jon's mind went blank. He blinked repeatedly, trying to process this information. What Maester Aemon just revealed was just too shocking for him to absorb. Medical abuse? Outlawed remedies? Lyaella might be a Targaryen bastard of unknown origins, but she was just a little girl. Who would do something like that to an innocent child?

A wordless grunt snapped Jon out of his disbelief and he turned. Stannis had recovered faster than him from the revelation and was glancing over at the door to the maester's private solar. "I suppose that means she wasn't lying then, when we all questioned her," he commented.

"Your grace?"

"It explains why we'll never get a straight answer regarding where she came from or who her relatives are, Lord Commander. She must think that if I don't end up killing them for treason for hiding bastard Targaryen children, she'll be sent back to an abusive home."

"Forgive me for disagreeing, your grace, but I don't think that's the case," said Sam. "Lyaella told us before that her family never attempted to harm her or her brother while living with them. Not until the night they had to run for their lives, that is. How she described them… they sounded cruel, but it didn't sound like they were abusive towards her or her brother."

Maester Aemon nodded. "I agree with Tarly. There's nothing to suggest that her relatives are directly responsible for this. This only proves that she's been enduring long term abuse from a maester, not her relatives. Whether or not her relatives were aware of this abuse is a whole other matter."

Murmurs were exchanged amongst the onlookers, but Jon was spared from having to add his own thoughts into this discussion from Shireen distracting her parents by trying to slip up the walkway steps to visit Lyaella. With the Baratheon royals distracted, Jon seized the opportunity to wrap up this assembly. "Thank you for helping her, Maester Aemon. We'll let you get back to treating her in peace and quiet."

"Of course. I'll be sure to inform you when she awakens, Lord Commander."

Nodding one last time to Jon, Maester Aemon signaled to Sam to help him back upstairs. With the show over, the other brothers of the Night's Watch and soldiers in Stannis' army slowly dispersed, and even Stannis and Selyse dragged Shireen back to their own chambers while Davos and Melisandre slipped away to do the same.

Alone at last, Jon sighed and trudged past fellow brothers to head upstairs. What a mess all this was, but even though it was because of Lyaella, it wasn't her fault. No one can help it if they're sick, especially not when it came to a common condition like asthma. The only thing she did wrong was not telling anyone about her condition, but again, he couldn't really blame her for that if Maester Aemon was right about her being forced to take that disgusting illegal remedy as medicine. Children didn't have the same mindsets as adults. It was stupid of Lyaella to not say something about her condition, but it wasn't her fault either.

If anything, he should have picked up on the fact she was sick. All the times he'd seen her coughing or breathing heavily when she begged him to train her, or even for no reason at all like before she stormed up to the top of the Wall after he'd snapped at her. He grimaced at the memory, guilt clawing at him harder than ever. He'd already been feeling like shit for losing his temper with her, but now he felt even worse. She'd been coughing so hard, but despite his worry, he'd let her go running up to the watch posts and didn't even try to stop her. He'd had a gut feeling something wasn't right, but he'd ignored it out of shame for how he'd treated her.

What a fool he was, never putting two and two together. He'd apologize to her first thing tomorrow, as soon as Maester Aemon gave the all clear for her to have visitors.

"Come on, you can do it, boy. Just try."

Red eyes stared back at him, blinking quietly.

"Don't play stupid with me. I know you can do it. You did it when I was playing on the streets. So, go ahead! Try!"

Silence. Dead silence. Red eyes turned away as the beast yawned, slowly padding its way to the bed. Hopping on top of it, the black direwolf curled up quietly and closed its eyes.

Torrhen huffed, annoyed. "Ugh! Don't be like that! I need you to work with me here, Shadow! You howled in tempo with my songs when I was playing for money, so I know you can — woah!"

He teetered, nearly dropping his lute as the room spun around, and he reached out wildly for the arm of his chair to stay standing. Dazed, he set down his instrument on the nearby table, and forcibly ignored the wave of nausea crashing over him as he rubbed his temples. He still hadn't fully recovered from his concussion with that fight with the Harpy, and sudden fast movements sometimes made his head spin. Moving around at all was indeed a challenge, and it took a lot out of Torrhen just to walk over to this table and chair on the other side of the private solar. He figured he'd be fine if he sat there while playing his lute and trying to get Shadow to howl in time with the music, and indeed he'd been fine for awhile… until now when he stood up too fast, that is.

A lengthy sigh suddenly cut through the silence, making him jump. "Out of bed, again? I'd have thought you would've realized by now that pushing yourself won't help your recovery."

Torrhen turned. Standing in the archway entrance was his new liege as a squire. He promptly straightened to attention and bowed. "Ser Barris— ah!" The whole room tilted sideways, and seconds later he landed on the marble floor with a solid thump.

Ser Barristan lightly shook his head as he strode across the room, helping him back to his feet. "Dizzy as ever, I see."

"It's not that bad. I just have to move carefully, that's all," he shrugged. "I don't wanna be stuck in here anymore."

"Well, we all have to do things we don't want at some point or another. Now, let's get you back in bed."

Torrhen rolled his eyes, but kept quiet as the old knight helped him back to the bed. He was so sick of being injured. First he'd sprained his ankle when landing in the past, and now he had this stupid concussion. The Ghiscari healer his future mother had summoned to check up on him every few days had ordered him on bed rest until he'd completely recovered, which mean he was stuck in this tiny room all day-every day. And he hated it.

"How much longer 'til I'm better?" he asked, massaging his temples to ease the slowly building headache. "Two more days? Three?"

"Hard to say. If you stayed in bed like you were told and didn't push yourself, you'd probably be back to normal by now," Ser Barristan countered.

Torrhen groaned, thoroughly annoyed. He'd lost track of how long he'd been confined in here after four days, but he was sure it'd been over a week by now. All the more reason to be annoyed, really. The healer had assured him he'd be back on his feet after a week of rest, and he still felt like crap. Though to be fair, the healer also told him to stay in bed when resting, stay hydrated, avoided all loud noises, and kept the curtains shut to filter the harsh sunlight. Keeping drapes shut was easy. Essos was too hot and bright for the Northern boy and he was happy to be out of the scorching sun. Even drinking plenty of water wasn't a problem, as his mother's handmaiden Missandei brought him fresh pitchers every few hours to ensure he followed the healers' instruction. But staying in bed resting and avoiding loud noises? Those were harder to deal with considering he was going stir crazy in this bed and his only source of entertainment was his beloved lute.

Sighing heavily, he flopped back onto the fluffy pillows to gaze dully at the ceiling, but yelped as pain shot through his head.

Ser Barristan stepped forward, eyes wide. "Are you all right?"

"Ugh, aye," he said, clutching at his bandages. "Aye, I'm fine. Just moved too fast again…"

Shadow whined. Wiggling closer to his young master, the black direwolf pressed up against the boys' left side and laid his head down on Torrhen's lap before closing his eyes.

Torrhen smiled despite his pain, patting him appreciatively. "Thanks, bud. You always know how to cheer me up."

Ser Barristan chuckled. "Good friend you have there, Torrhen. Very loyal. Never leaves your side, does he?"

"Nope, not really."

"Well, he seems quite worried about you, too. Don't you think you owe it to your wolf to stay here and rest? Rather than trying to leave and wander aimlessly around the halls?"

The boy scowled begrudgingly. His constant attempts to escape this solar hadn't been lost on the queen or her small council. They'd found his antics amusing at first and simply escorted him back to this small room with only a light reprimand. That changed though after he walked down two hallways before being startled by an open window streaming in sunlight. Within seconds he'd gotten a splitting headache and lightheaded, and he fell over and was stuck in that spot until a random soldier found him almost an hour later. He had no choice but to stay there until someone found him. He was too dizzy to even stand, but his many attempts at trying made him nauseous, and it took every bit of clarity he had to crawl unsteadily to an urn and throw up in it. Since then, everyone had been taking the fact he needed bed rest very seriously.

"I'm gonna bust outta here sooner or later," he assured the knight, his words only half-joking. "You know that, right? I'm just taking a break for the night."

Ser Barristan nodded knowingly. "Right," he agreed, a smile tugging on his lips. "Of course you are."

"Hey, don't laugh! I'm serious!"

He sobered. "I apologize, that was unbecoming of me. Still, I think it'd be for the best if you abandoned such notions, Torrhen. The Unsullied are the most disciplined soldiers in the entire world, and her grace stationed them out in the hall to stop you if you act irresponsibly again. They are too vigilant and will not be distracted by simple tricks."

"You think I haven't realized that? I must've spent hours trying to get them to lower their guard. Trying to talk to them? Having Shadow plead with them for attention? Using my training sword to bounce light on the wall out there to make them turn? They never even blinked!" the boy exclaimed. "I almost wish the Second Sons were the ones on guard duty. I don't like them after how they treated me out on the streets, but at least I could've snuck past them were they here now."

The old knight chuckled. "Why do you suppose the queen assigned the Unsullied here instead? She expected you'd try something like that. She even has a few more watching the balcony right below yours, in case you try climbing out the window on a sheet rope."

Torrhen sulked, folding his arms. "Hmph. I'm not always the sharpest sword of the lot, but even I'm not that stupid. I'd have to be suicidal to try that when my head's this bad."

"If you understand, then why keep trying to leave?" Ser Barristan asked, puzzled. "If you simply stayed and waited a few more days, I'm sure you'll feel much better soon."

Torrhen's annoyance faded away, and he gazed up at him earnestly. "Because I'm eager to start squiring for you, ser, and I wish to see and speak to Queen Daenerys again. I've hardly seen her since I arrived."

Thankfully, Ser Barristan didn't chide him this time. To Torrhen, every day he was stuck in this bed was a day wasted. He wanted to begin his squire duties with the loyal knight, to learn how to be a strong swordsman that could go through life sticking to the honorable path. It wasn't easy in this world to make it to a ripe old age always doing the right thing instead of the smart one. Ned Stark made it to adulthood, but that was only because he'd been Warden of the North and the realm had been at peace for so many years. With no reason to focus on the northernmost kingdom, the rest of Westeros had largely ignored Northerners. It was only when he got dragged into the stupid game of thrones that his honor cost him his head. That went for Robb Stark, too. He'd been a good person, if only brainless regarding his choices. He shouldn't have been too quick to lock himself into a marriage agreement with the Frey's, nor spurned that agreement by marrying a political no one. Not to mention he lost a good portion of his army when he executed the Karstark lord for murdering two Lannister prisoners rather than holding him hostage to ensure the Northern House remained loyal. And his future father, Jon Snow? His honor and loyalty towards his selfish siblings was why he'd been forced to kill his future mother when she was driven to Targaryen madness. Honor compelled him to sink his dagger into her heart, and then to hanging at the end of a rope.

Yes, Torrhen wanted to learn everything he could from Barristan Selmy about how to live in this world as an honorable person, so he was quite eager to get better and start serving the great knight. In truth though, that was only the secondary reason as to why he wanted to be back on his feet again. The primary reason was so he could spend more time with Queen Daenerys.

While he didn't blame his future mother regarding the long delay it took him to finally meet her, Torrhen was baffled as to why she was seemingly disinterested in his presence. Since the day he met her with the rest of her small council, he'd only seen her once — when she personally escorted the Ghiscari healer to his chambers and introduced them to each other. She'd been overly formal and distant throughout the introduction and only made eye contact with him when absolutely necessary. Her behavior puzzled him, but he'd assumed she was trying to maintain her queenly image in front of the healer. He figured the next time she came to visit him, she'd be more relaxed and willing to talk to him. Sadly, that never happened, as she never came to see him again. This truly confounded Torrhen, as he'd been certain that Daenerys would've wanted to spend every spare moment she had getting to know him once he revealed his Targaryen lineage. He was disappointed she didn't believe him right away when they met, but he'd hoped she would want to be as close to him as possible to determine if he was lying about his heritage. But alas, his hopes were all but crushed into smaller and smaller pieces with each day that passed without her making an appearance.

Ser Barristan was silent for a short time, carefully considering him before finally nodding. "I understand," he said, crossing the room to collect the chair Torrhen had been using before and dragging it to the bedside. "You must be very excited about being here."

Torrhen nodded. "Me and Lyaella have been waiting our whole lives to meet our — our fellow Targaryen relative," he said carefully. "To be honest, Lya's always been more excited about the queen than me, so it kills me that she's not here, too. But I'm thrilled Queen Daenerys is letting me stay for now, and I never thought a great knight like you would want me as your squire, ser. I'm honored you'd consider me."

"The honor is mine, Torrhen."

"I wanna start training under you, and I have so much I wanna talk to the queen about! Why hasn't she come to see me?"

The knight sighed. "It's a shame her grace hasn't spoken to you one-on-one yet, but rest assured it's nothing personal, Torrhen. Our queen hasn't had a chance to rest since that earthquake happened. Between struggling to get the city back on its feet and dealing with the Harpy attacks, she's exhausting herself every day. Hopefully when you're better, things will be stable enough for her to stop and rest every now and then."

"Oh. Okay, then. Lady Missandei told me the same. I thought maybe she lied just to cheer me up based on the stuff I heard around the city. But if that's really the case, then I get it."

"What do you mean?" Ser Barristan asked, furrowing his brows. "What 'stuff' have you heard?"

Torrhen forced a chuckle and shook his head, waving his hands to hopefully hide his cringe. "Just stuff from the citizens about how she's been ruling Meereen. I'll talk to her about it later." No reason why he should reveal it was the former masters he'd been listening to, nor that he partially agreed with them that his mother was acting partially like a tyrant regarding how she was ignoring the Meereenese people's history and customs. Not to mention how she mercilessly crucified all those noblemen when she liberated the city. There was no telling how the knight would react to those statements, and Torrhen couldn't risk Ser Barristan telling Daenerys about this chat in advance before he could see her again. He needed to talk to the queen about this himself to judge her honest reaction.

Ser Barristan gave him a quizzical look, but otherwise dropped it. "Hmm, all right. As far as squiring goes, you might be excited about the opportunity, but I fear you're already off to a poor start."

"What? What d'you mean?"

He chortled, amused. "You're already failing the first task I gave you as a squire, to stay in bed and rest, remember?"

There was a long pause, then Torrhen huffed and let his gaze wander, idly running his fingers through Shadows' fur.

The silence continued on for a few moments before the knight realized he had no intention of answering him. "It's rude to simply ignore a question, Torrhen. Do you remember that I told you that before or not?"

Torrhen sighed. "Aye, I remember. Sorry for not listening, it's just... ugh, I'm bored to death in here!"

"Bored?"

"Aye, bored! I sit here all day with nothing to do, no one to talk to!"

Shadow's head snapped up, and he growled lightly at his young master.

"Well, except you, of course, Shadow. I'd never forget you... I just meant I wanted to have an actual conversation with someone."

The direwolf narrowed its eyes, then promptly hopped off the bed and trotted to the corner Missandei had been kind enough to set up as a little area for Shadow to rest in. With soft blankets, fluffy pillows, and two little dishes on the floor for food and water, it was a major upgrade for the wolf from being locked up in the Winterfell kennels and then living on the streets with his boy.

Rolling his eyes at the wolf as he nestled in the cushions, Torrhen's gaze shifted to the sheer curtains covering the archway leading to the balcony. He couldn't really see how the rest of Meereen looked from his spot in bed, but he could still see the sky. Most of the stars were obscured thanks to the curtains, but at least the moon was still visible, a waning crescent moon peeking out like a smile. Like Lyaella's smile when she was at ease and not feeling shy or self-conscious around others...

His heart ached at the thought. Clenching his jaw, he snatched up his pillow and hugged it tightly, burying his face in it to avoid the knight's gaze. "I... I miss Lyaella..." he mumbled. "She's... She's my sister. My twin sister. It's always been me and her against the world. We've never... We've never been away from each other for even a day, let alone months!"

Ser Barristan's eyes softened. "You must be very worried."

He nodded, still not glancing out from his pillow. "Worrying about her is my job, and she's always on the back of my mind. Is she okay? Is Sōnar okay? Where are they now? Tonight? Are they safe, at least? Other than when—" he stopped, gulping thickly when he nearly mentioned his visions during his fire flickers. "—when we got separated, I don't know where she is except maybe still in the North."

The knight smiled kindly. "I'm sure she's all right, Torrhen. If there's one thing I know after spending the past few years with the queen's dragons, it's that dragons are incredibly protective of whichever human bonds with them. Similar to how your direwolf is protective of you. If you're telling the truth about you and your sister having a dragon, I'm certain it will protect her."

"I am telling the truth. I swear it by the old gods, new gods, fire gods, whichever gods you want me to swear it on. Sōnar's real, and she's Lya's dragon."

"Then she should be fine. Regardless of your last name, if you're both indeed descended from House Targaryen, then she has the blood of the dragon within her. If she's anything like you, she won't be the first one to give up on both of you finding each other again."

Torrhen snorted. "Lyaella's nothing like me. I'm loud and brash, she's quiet and shy. I swear at least ten times a day, she never curses at all. I'm rude when I'm annoyed and lose my temper at the stupidest things, she's overly polite to even those who treat us like shit and it's incredibly rare for her to get angry. I don't believe for a second she'd ever give up on us finding each other again, though. She's nothing like our cruel backstabbing relatives. I just know that were it not for the fact that I'm here in Meereen where Daenerys Targaryen is, I would've hopped on the first boat sailing to Westeros ages ago to search for her."

Ser Barristan blinked. "Beg your pardon? What was that about your relatives?"

He waved away the inquiry. "Long story. One I don't wanna get into right now." Torrhen respected Ser Barristan and was grateful to him for being the one to finally help him meet Daenerys Targaryen, but he still didn't know whether or not it was a good idea to trust him with more specific details about where he and Lyaella came from. Aside from Ser Jorah, Ser Barristan was the only person he'd met in Meereen who had helped him out of the goodness of his heart. If he were to trust anyone in his mother's inner circle about him and Lyaella being time travelers from the future, it would be the two knights who'd both lived and died with honor while serving her. If Ser Jorah were here right now, he'd tell the man immediately considering he was so loyal to the queen he died protecting them in the original timeline. Ser Barristan died in a Harpy riot here in Meereen, one which Torrhen now suspected he'd unknowingly changed the outcome of by jumping into that fray. The Lord Commander of the Queensguard was undoubtedly honorable and loyal, so Torrhen wasn't worried about the knight selling the truth of his identity to his future mother's enemies... but what did worry him was whether Ser Barristan was so honorable and loyal he'd immediately tell Daenerys about him being her future son. The details were rather vague in The Song of Ice and Fire history book, but from the little he and Lyaella were able to understand, Ser Barristan was the one who had persuaded the queen that Ser Jorah was untrustworthy, which led to his banishment. Torrhen didn't know what all that had been about, but he could tell Ser Barristan wasn't the type to spread lies like that in order to cause chaos in his mother's court or to gain her favor. No, it was more likely Ser Barristan honestly believed he was doing the right thing at the time, and he went ahead and told her about it before Ser Jorah could've had the chance to prove his loyalty to his mother.

Ser Barristan was a good, honorable man and loyal to his future mother, but was he smart enough to play the game of thrones while still upholding that honor? Until Torrhen knew for certain, he couldn't risk telling the knight the truth on who he was.

"We're twins, but she's the younger one between us. I'm the big brother, she's my little sister. Our relatives have always hated us, so it's just her and me, really. It's my job to protect her, comfort her when she's upset. And it's up to me to remind her to believe in herself."

Ser Barristan blinked, puzzled. "Believe in herself? What do you mean?"

Torrhen didn't answer. He just kept his gaze locked on one of the rare stars bright enough to shine through the sheer curtains.

"I can tell you want to talk about this, or else you wouldn't have brought it up. I won't judge you or your sister for whatever you tell me. You have my word."

He bit his lip as he considered, then sighed. "You're a good man, Ser Barristan. Probably one of the rare few in this world who cares about honor and loyalty. Me and Lyaella's father cared about honor and loyalty, too. He… He was forced to throw away those values when our damn relatives betrayed him and our mother, because they left him with no other choice. He did what he had to thinking they'd help him, but they didn't. They abandoned him, so he died. Died for nothing. And people didn't care we were babies when all that shit happened. They didn't care things weren't our fault. They wanted people to hate solely to keep on hating. Almost everyone we've known has been cruel to us in one way or another. That eats away at Lya's confidence, so she doesn't have much self esteem. She… doesn't even think she's a strong person. She thinks strength only comes from rigorous training to become a great fighter, arguing with people to the point you scream your head off at them, or even fighting back if people try smacking you around." He paused, then reluctantly met Ser Barristan's eyes with a halfhearted shrug. "It's what I do, anyway."

"I see," said the knight, his expression contemplative. "And what do you think?"

"What?"

"Do you believe strength only comes from acting in such a manner? Is that why you behave that way to others?"

Torrhen gaped. "Of course not! You insult me by asking, ser!"

"I apologize, but if you don't believe that, then why—?"

"Because one of us had to become tough and mean. Every god out there knows Lyaella could never hurt a fly, let alone anyone else, even in self-defense. I'm the stupid one between us and she's the genius, but even I knew that."

The silence in the room was unsettling. Torrhen knew the queensguard was staring at him incredulously for his answer, but he couldn't bring himself to meet his eyes. He just stared sullenly at his lap, reluctantly hoping Ser Barristan would simply drop the matter now.

Sadly, that was just wishful thinking on his end. "Explain, please."

He sighed, slumping his shoulders. "Well, let's just say there was a certain day back when me and Lya were little that… we realized just how cruel and selfish our relatives truly are, and that they never really loved us or our father." His eyes snapped back to the knight. "Don't ask for details on this, because I won't give any. Be satisfied with that."

"…All right, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Everything," Torrhen exclaimed, his voice slowly becoming more and more bitter. "If you think I don't know that my attitude and temper doesn't win me any favors, then you're wrong. I'm the dumb one between me and my sister, but I know that. I'd have to be stupider than stupid to not know that considering how often people ridicule or smack me for sassing them. But… I can't help it. I've been this way for so long because it was necessary for me and Lya. If I hadn't, she would've broken under all the criticism and abuse years ago!"

"What do you mean? People… people didn't hit you or your sister, did they?"

He nonchalantly shrugged. "Our relatives? No. They were cruel, greedy fucks and they've all got blood on their hands, but they preferred emotional abuse with us. Everyone else? We were fair game to them, be it with words or an occasional smack. Especially the maester. He's so cruel to us, I think he enjoys it. Between you and me, Ser Barristan, I privately believe he's the reason why Lyaella's weak lungs are as bad as they are. That so-called medicine he always gives her only makes her nauseous and vomit. If he's not secretly poisoning her, I'd be amazed."

"What—? What did you—?"

"Whole other issue, ser, and one I'd prefer to explain only once since it's rather long. Ask me next time we're both with the queen. We're getting off track, though. Point is, my sister's always been quiet and shy, but before we realized just how cruel our relatives are, she used to be… um…" he paused, thinking hard. "What's the right word…? Open…? Aye, open. She wasn't so on edge around others. She was still easily saddened if people were cruel to us, but she wasn't so invested in worrying about what others thought of us either. And it was after that day she started stuttering."

"She stutters?"

"Aye, she stutters all the time, around everyone. Well, everyone except me, Shadow, and Sōnar, of course. Still, her shyness made her the easier target between her and me for everyone to torment."

"Hm, I see..."

"Tch, no offense, Ser Barristan, but unless you've been in that situation, you can't see. Lyaella doesn't know that I know just how often people smacked her around in the earliest days of the abuse, but I do. I might be stupid, but I had eyes and ears. I could put two and two together when I saw how many bruises she had. And it's not like our relatives cared."

"Come now, I'm sure they—"

"No, they really didn't!" Torrhen snapped, annoyed that he wasn't getting his point across. "The Bitch of the North did nothing to those responsible. If we ever showed up in front of her with bruises or scratches, she'd just purse her lips and order us to get cleaned up. She never asked us who hurt us, never confronted them. She turned a blind eye to our mistreatment, just so she could keep clinging to power. And then our uncle…" he clenched his fists, temper steadily rising. "Let's just say he's… special."

"Special?"

"Aye, special. He knows things that've happened before, happening now. Even know about the future. He could've told people he knew we were the scapegoats for everyone to dump on, or even stopped our parents from dying in the first place. but he did nothing. He let it all happen."

"Why?"

"Hell if I know. He's like a creepy doll, face always blank aside from the occasional smirk or frown. He scares the shit out of us. And our other aunt? She doesn't give a damn whether or not we suffer," he scoffed, turning to look up at Ser Barristan. It unnerved Torrhen seeing the bewildered look on the knight's face, but he ignored it. It was vital for Ser Barristan to understand that he was dead serious about this. "She'd rather be alone than part of a family."

Ser Barristan frowned. "What… What makes you so sure that's true?"

"Because she doesn't want to be with us like family should be together. She's always off on some great expedition or other, exploring the world. She only visits once in a blue moon with her fake smiles and fake pretense of caring about me and Lyaella during the short time she's there before trekking off on some other grand adventure. If she honestly did care about us, she wouldn't leave. She'd stay and be with us, or… or at least take us with her to get away from that hellhole! But she doesn't! She leaves us with the fucking Bitch of the North and isn't even sorry about it!"

The knight blinked repeatedly at everything he'd revealed about his and Lyaella's life with the selfish Starks. Torrhen glared at the curtains, not wanting to see the obvious shock and pity on his face. If he'd stunned Ser Barristan just with these minimal details about how the Starks had treated them on a daily basis, he couldn't imagine how he'd react if he told him the full extent of their cruelty towards them and their parents. As one of the rare few in the world who lived by the code of honor, if Ser Barristan was appalled, then he and Lyaella were right to be angry about their mistreatment. They weren't insane or descending into Targaryen madness just because they were angry. They couldn't be if even the honorable Barristan Selmy believed that their aunts and uncle were terrible people.

"Do you get it now, ser? Our relatives never cared about us. We couldn't rely on them, so it was up to me to protect us both. Anyone insulted Lyaella or made her cry, I'd yell at them 'til I went hoarse. Someone tried hitting her or smacking her, I'd start fist fights so they'd never try again. I didn't know what else to do to make them leave her alone. I didn't care if I got hurt in her place. I couldn't just stand by and let them break my sister down little by little. I mean, what would you've done if you were me and people treated your sister like that?"

Ser Barristan pressed his lips together and looked away, pondering quietly. It was a long time before he finally answered. "I don't know. I can see why you must've thought that was necessary back then, what with no one around you both could turn to as a support system. Or was there someone you knew like that?"

"There's a few adults we ultimately trust," Torrhen shrugged. "But none of them live near us. The one woman we trust wholeheartedly we haven't since we were five considering how badly our relatives insulted her. We only get ravens from her now. Then one man we somewhat trust lives all the way in King's Landing, but even if he didn't, we don't know how much we should trust him. Then the other man? He was the best, but… but we found out recently he died, so that's no help."

"Hmm… I see. I can understand that logic, then. Still, it's one thing to be that way when defending your sister as a child. It's another to act that way all the time even now when you're older."

"I know," he sighed. "I know it's wrong. But I can't help it! It just… comes naturally to me now. It's a habit."

"Well, you'll have to learn to break that habit, Torrhen. As a squire, you are training to eventually become a knight. An honorable knight is always respectful to others, regardless of how others treat them."

"But that's just it — I am trying to stop acting like that! I may not remember every time I lose my temper, but sometimes I do tell myself to not get angry. I try to not lose my cool, I really do! But… But it's no good. I always end up screaming my head off in the end, even over stupid things."

"Then from now on, you'll have an incentive to try harder at keeping your anger in check. As you'll be squiring for me, I'll be tough on you whenever you lose your cool. Fair enough?"

"Aye, fair enough."

"Then I'll leave you to rest for now. I have matters I must discuss with the queen, anyway. Good night, Torrhen."

"'Night, Ser Barristan."

Waving politely to the old knight as he left, Torrhen waited until his footsteps trailed off down the hall before turning to whistle at Shadow. With a flick of his ears, the black wolf's eyes opened and focused upon him.

Torrhen smiled. "Hey, sorry to ask you this, bud, but could you bring me my lute? I'd get it myself, but I just promised Ser Barristan I'd make more of an attempt to stay in bed."

His wolf sat up, red orbs narrowing considerably.

"Come on, Shadow! Please?"

Shadow considered him for a moment, then quietly stood up, stretched, and padded his way over to the small table.

"Thanks, boy! I owe you one!"

Collecting the neck of the lute between his teeth, Shadow trotted over, Depositing the instrument in his master's lap. He sprang up beside him on the bed, nuzzling up against Torrhen's side. Chuckling at his direwolf brother's bid for attention, Torrhen scratched Shadow behind the ears before adjusting his lute on his lap with his other hand. He knew he should really get some rest like Ser Barristan wanted him to, but now that Lyaella was on his mind, he needed his lute. Music was the only way he could still feel close to his sister despite this awful separation.

Idly plucking a lone string, Torrhen couldn't help but sigh. "Lyaella... Where are you, sister?"

It didn't matter that he was finally safe and off the streets in their future mother's court. If Lyaella wasn't here with him, he couldn't truly relax. They were twins, bound together before they were even born. She needed him like he needed her. They shared a bond no one else could ever understand. A bond that ran deeper than any other, the only exceptions being their bonds with their dearest companions. Lyaella was the only one who could ever calm him down whenever he gave into his anger, and he alone could convince her to not give into her sorrow. Not to mention he was the only one she trusted to keep quiet about her occasional minor lung flare-ups when they happened. That she had to live every day of her life constantly monitoring her own breathing astounded him. Torrhen didn't know how she endured it, but she returned his protectiveness by being the only one who believed him about his 'fire flicker' episodes. If she were here now, he wouldn't hesitate to tell her about the strange visions he'd been getting with them lately. And he knew she'd never question the absurdity of it when he did. She'd believe him without a second thought.

Screw everyone out there who's ever been cruel to his sister. Lyaella was strong, in her own special way. Ways in which he could never be. He only hoped that she found a way to meet their future father the same way he'd met their future mother, or at the very least she was hiding somewhere safe and with trustworthy people until he could get back to Westeros and search for her. He couldn't leave Daenerys, but there wasn't a day that went by where he didn't think about his sister and worry if she was okay.

He glanced back at the curtains covering the window to gaze at the moon. Could Lyaella see the moon tonight? Were they both looking up at the moon together right now? "I… I dunno if you can see the moon wherever you are, sis, but… but if you can, then don't worry! I know you're far, but I'll find you if it's the last thing I do! I'm sure you're feeling lost and scared without me and Shadow there, but… but stay strong, you hear? We might not see each other again tomorrow, or the day after, or even in the next few weeks, but we will see other again, I promise!"

The smiling moon glowed brightly through the sheer curtains, and Torrhen couldn't stop himself from smiling back as he plucked another string on his lute. The boy didn't know if there were any religions out there that considered the moon as some sort of godly figure, but if there were, he hoped that moon god was listening to him now and could somehow send his words to Lyaella. His visions had told him that she was at least alive and safe wherever she was, but she probably didn't have any idea on how he was doing. Not unless she dreamed about him, that is. If only there was some way he could connect with her across the sea so they could talk. Not for long, just for a few minutes. Just long enough for them both to know the other was doing okay, maybe even play one song together to find the strength to endure this separation.

Wait, a song… A song about them being apart, yet doing everything they could to find each other…

Torrhen sat up straight in bed, making Shadow yip at him irritably. Torrhen didn't even hear him, the beginnings of a beautiful melody flowing through his mind. The music… it was like the personification of just how much he missed and was worried about his sister. And the few words he'd been telling the moon a moment ago? They were rough around the edges, but maybe he could tweak them into lyrics for the first verse. Carving out the rest of the words was going to be hard since Lyaella was the lyricist between them while he generally wrote the music, but this sudden inspiration was too powerful to ignore. The song inside him was just bursting to be played!

Sending a silent apology to Ser Barristan for having to go back on his promise, Torrhen set aside his lute and shakily climbed out of bed. He wasn't going far. Just to the small writing desk on the other side of the room and back again. He just needed to collect that ink pot, quill, and some blank sheets of parchment paper to start scribbling down his latest musical masterpiece.

The next morning, Jon emerged from his private quarters right as the Watchers on night duty were wrapping up their shifts. The other men were so tired they barely acknowledged him, but Jon wasn't even aware of them as he marched across the walkways to Maester Aemon's workroom. He'd been tossing and turning all night, stressed and guilty about Lyaella's condition. Were it not for the fact that he knew Maester Aemon, Sam, and Gilly would never hurt her, he probably wouldn't have slept at all. Plus, her dragon was in there, and so was Ghost as far as he knew. Sōnar made it clear when they first found Lyaella that they'd have kill her first before daring to harm her mistress, and while he was clueless as to how exactly Lyaella had met his direwolf, knowing Ghost was with her all night quelled some of his worries. Ghost was an excellent judge of character and very protective of those he was fond of.

As he approached the door however, he was surprised to see Shireen Baratheon already leaning against the wall right next to it, looking extremely bored. She wasn't alone, either. Two of her father's soldiers were lingering close by, as was Melisandre and Davos.

"My lady, I know that her grace is rather suspicious of Lyaella Snow's intentions, but I assure you that the princess is well protected right now. If you wish to sleep longer, I'd be more than happy to escort the princess in myself to see Lyaella when she can finally have visitors."

"I am fine, Ser Davos. The early hour doesn't bother me."

"You're certain?"

"Yes, don't worry. And even if it did, I know Princess Shireen is in no danger around Lyaella Snow. The Lord has assured me of this."

"How do you know?"

"Because I've seen them together in the fire, wearing hooded cloaks as they hurried through the Winterfell courtyard."

"But… But she rejected the king's offer."

"I know, that is why I must stay here and speak to her when she's ready to receive guests. I'll admit I do not know why my vision from R'hollor showed me about her and brother talking about a wisp of blood frightened her so much, but it's clear she has a role to play in his grace's destiny. Her admitting that she's met another red priestess that spoke of the ancient prophecy to her and her missing twin is no coincidence. The Lord sent her here to meet the Prince that was Promised, to help our king unite the realm for when the Long Night begins."

Davos frowned, clearly skeptical, and privately Jon agreed. He didn't know much about the prophecy of Azor Ahai, but even if it was real, there was no point in obsessing over it. Let the rest of Westeros squabble amongst themselves over that stupid chair in King's Landing. The men of the Night's Watch had to prepare for when the only war that mattered finally began. When the dead finally marched South, the Wall was the first line of defense for the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. Should it fall though, it didn't matter if the Baratheon king was the Prince that was Promised or not. The dead wouldn't care. They can't be negotiated with, can't be convinced to switch sides. They'd kill everyone and everything that stood in their way. All any of them could do was try to save as many people as possible from succumbing to that terrible fate, to warn everyone in the South to put aside their differences and band together for the sake of human survival…

Wait a minute, that wasn't a bad idea. Jeor Mormont had tried pleading with King's Landing prior to the Great Ranging to send more men and supplies after what happened with that one wight in his private quarters, and later Maester Aemon had Sam write to all the lords and ladies of Westeros begging for help against Mance Rayder and the army of the dead. King's Landing had ultimately ignored his predecessors' plea, and aside from Stannis, no one had come to their aid when the Free Folk launched their attack. Jon honestly didn't know what it would take to convince people that the threat was real, but the one thing he could do now as the new Lord Commander was try to save as many lives as possible. Granted, the rest of the Watch would definitely not approve of this idea, but there were still more Free Folk at risk out there. They didn't deserve to be mindless shells for the rest of their life, that was a fate worse than death. It was something he should think about later, at the very least…

"Pardon me, my lord, but may I have a word?"

Jon jumped and spun around. Princess Shireen was to his right, a distinct frown on her face as she gazed up at him. He blinked repeatedly, surprised that she managed to sneak up on him. Clearing his throat, he bowed his head politely. "Princess Shireen."

"Never mind formalities. I have something I must ask you, Lord Snow," she declared. "If it's not too much trouble, I would request a moment of your time."

"Oh, um, that's fine. Go right ahead, princess."

"Thank you. I would like to know why my friend Lyaella was so upset she spent all evening yesterday on top of the Wall. If not for that, she wouldn't have gotten as sick as she was."

Jon tensed, a lump forming in his throat. "I… I lost my patience yesterday and snapped at her.

"Why? Did she do something wrong?"

"No, it wasn't her fault. I shouldn't have yelled at her like that…"

Shireen was silent for several moments, studying him coolly. "Hmph, I should say not. Snapping at someone who has done absolutely nothing wrong is beyond cruel. Take it from someone who knows, my lord."

He cocked his head, confused. "I… what?" Even Davos and the Red Woman ceased their discussion and turned in puzzlement. "I don't know what you mean."

She nearly huffed, but seemed to think better of it at the last second and stopped herself. Instead, she pointedly swept the strands of hair covering her greyscale scars behind her ear as she turned to gaze out at the empty, snow-covered courtyard. "I might be a Baratheon and am technically considered an enemy to House Targaryen, but I still became friends with Lyaella. Do you know why it was so easy for me to befriend her?"

Jon blinked, not sure if he was supposed to answer or let her continue.

"Because we're quite similar," she stated. "I always try being kind and friendly to others so they can try to see past my greyscale. Lyaella's shy and stutters a lot, but she's been nothing but kind since I met her, and it's plain to see that she hates being judged for her silver hair and Sōnar. I'm only ten, but I know how she feels. It truly hurts when people hate and reject you just because you're different when you can't help that you are."

His throat bobbed, guilt eating away at him. What was he supposed to say that? "I… I hear what you're saying…"

"Do you, now?" she asked, still rather unimpressed. "I'm not certain you do."

"What?"

"Well, as I understand it, you and Lyaella are both Snows, meaning you're both illegitimate. I mean no disrespect when I say this, my lord. I'm simply stating facts. You grew up a bastard, just like her."

Jon pressed his lips together, not sure where she was going with this. "Aye, I did."

She studied him for a moment, eyes sweeping him from head to toe before settling back on his face. "I'm trueborn, and my father's only heir. I can't imagine what it must be like being a bastard, but Lyaella does. She lives with that burden on top of being a Targaryen every day. My mother told me yesterday I don't know what people will do to others, and after hearing what Maester Aemon said about her being abused for a long time by another maester, I see that she was right, but at least now I have a better idea on what to expect from the world. Still, I can't relate because I'm not a bastard…" she trailed off, scuffing the toe of her boot repeatedly into the snowy walkway. "But you are, Lord Snow. I don't know why you took your problems out on Lyaella yesterday, but she didn't deserve that. If anything, you probably hurt her more than you realize. One doesn't have to be smart to understand she seeks you out because you've been kind and happen to be a fellow Northern bastard just like her."

Her father's advisers and soldiers exchanged silent glances, impressed by the little doe's speech, but Jon could only stare at Shireen with wide eyes. His mind was racing. What was wrong with him? How could he be so stupid to not realize that himself? When Lyaella realized who he was after he calmed her down during their first meeting, she deliberately said they were alike before introducing herself as a fellow Snow before fainting. He hadn't really thought twice about that exchange until now, as he'd been trying to avoid the Targaryen child and her dragon despite how she constantly sought him out. Her attachment to him was rather odd, but he hadn't wanted to find out why she followed him around. It made sense though, what Shireen pointed out. He did the same thing sometimes when he was a child. Before his younger siblings had been born and if his father wasn't busy or Robb was free to play, he'd spend as much time with them as possible. No one would sneer at him for his name while he was with them, because to insult him was to insult the honorable Warden of the North, and as heir to Winterfell, Robb never let anyone call him less than his brother. Not his bastard brother or his half-brother. His brother, just as much as Bran and Rickon were their brothers as Sansa and Arya were their sisters. The only one who continued belittling him was Lady Stark. He understood why she treated him the way she did, but it'd be a lie to say that her spiteful words and cold glares didn't hurt.

Come to think of it, the way Lyaella described her relatives yesterday in the library sounded a lot like how Lady Stark treated him as a boy. Especially her eldest aunt that she and her brother lived with. Jon thought he'd had it rough as a child being the one stain of dishonor in his father's past, but he could see now he'd had it lucky. Lyaella and her missing brother had had it a thousand times worse than he ever did. From now on, he was going to do his best to be nicer to her. He'd never forgive himself if he made a fellow bastard child feel as hurt and lonely as he did as a boy.

Footsteps from within the workroom brought him back to the present, and moments later the door swung open to reveal his best friend. Sam jumped upon seeing him and Shireen right there. "Oh, Jon! Princess Shireen!"

"Morning, Sam."

"Yes, good morning, Lord Sam. How do you fare?"

Sam sheepishly smiled as Gilly appeared over his shoulder. "Okay, I guess, but I've been better." He scrubbed his eyes wearily, beyond exhausted. "Really tired…"

"Mmm," murmured Gilly, dead on her feet. Dark bags hung under her eyes, and were it not for how she was rocking her sleeping son to her chest, Jon was certain she would have fallen asleep right there. "Been up all night… helpin' Maester Aemon with—" she stopped, yawning loudly "—with Lyaella."

"How is Lyaella? Is she doing any better?"

It took Gilly several seconds to nod. "She… She had a flare up a few hours ago… but she's doin' fine now. Woke up right as I… I finished sewin' her those fightin' clothes…"

Shireen beamed. "Thank goodness, I was so worried! I'll keep her company for you both if you need to get some sleep."

Curtsying politely, she tried to slip past Sam and Gilly and go in, but Davos caught her shoulder with a hearty chuckle. "Whoa there, princess. Give them a moment to step aside first, all right? Lyaella might not be ready to have visitors yet."

"Right, of course. Thank you for reminding me, Onion Knight."

"Um, about that…" said Sam, his tone rather quiet. "Lyaella… she's…"

Jon's breath stilled. "What is it? Gilly said she was doing better."

"Oh, she is. Much better. Maester Aemon wants her to stay on bed rest for today and recommends she takes it easy for the next week to be on the safe side, but she's definitely breathing easier. Her cough's still there, though."

The tension left his shoulders. He sighed, relieved. "That's good. It's a start, if nothing else."

"Yes, you're right, Lord Snow," said Shireen. 'I hope she'll be back to normal soon. 'Til then, I suppose we'll have to move our reading lessons from the library to Lyaella's bedside, Gilly. It wouldn't be right to keep doing them there when she can't join us. But we can do them later. I can tell you're exhausted, so I'll tell Lyaella you'll be by later, 'kay?"

"About that… Lyaella's not… not takin' visitors, now…"

Jon blinked. Davos, Melisandre, and the Stormlands soldiers all exchanged puzzled looks. Shireen stopped bouncing in place and tilted her head, puzzled.

"She can't have visitors? Why?"

"I'd like to know that as well. Is there something else going on that we don't know about?" asked Melisandre, stepping forward. "It's important that I speak to her on behalf of the Lord's will. How soon can she receive guests?"

Sam bit his lip as Gilly shuffled in place. They glanced at one another for a time, then awkwardly turned back to the others.

"It's not that she can't have visitors right now. She doesn't want any."

Shireen blinked. "What?"

Gilly sighed. "She heard yeh all out here, now. Asked us to 'nicely' ask yeh to please leave her be. Dunno why… Did the same with me and Sam when she first woke. Asked us to 'please go away.'"

Jon could only stare in bewilderment. Lyaella didn't want to see anyone? Sure, she was a shy girl, but she'd been coming out of her shell little by little around everyone. Aside from following him around Castle Black begging him to train her, she and Shireen had been completely inseparable down in the library, reading all about dragons and the history of House Targaryen. Why would she want to be alone?

Shireen gawked back and forth between them and her father's advisers. They too were stunned. "N-No…" She sputtered, shaking her head lightly. "I… I-I-I don't believe you… Why… would s-she say that?"

"I don't know…"

"Yer guess is as good as ours, Princess Shireen."

There was a long pause, then Shireen shot forward and craned her head around the two to peer into the workroom. "Lyaella! Lyaella, what's wrong?! It's me! Why don't you — ah!"

Davos needed help from the soldiers to drag her back. "Now, now, princess. I'm… I'm sure there's an explanation. She had a long night, she must be exhausted. I'm sure she'll be open to having you visit later."

"But… But why would she—?"

"How 'bout you show me some of those books in the library, hm? Now that I can read, I outta try doing it sometimes, yes?"

Smiling kindly to Shireen, Davos discreetly motioned Melisandre and the guards to follow as he steered her away. The guards didn't hesitate, but the priestess lingered for a moment to stare at the doorway before reluctantly leaving, too. Jon made sure to shoot Davos an appreciative nod as they left. Whatever was going on with Lyaella, it wouldn't be good to have a big crowd right outside her room wanting to talk to her. He felt bad for Shireen, but maybe if they gave Lyaella some space she'd be open to seeing people later.

He waited until they were gone before turning back to Gilly and Sam. "She really wants to be alone?" They nodded. "Why? I know what you said in front of Shireen, but — but was that just something you said for her benefit, or…?"

Gilly shook her head. "She… She was really quiet, but she made her point clear. She's only lettin' Maester Aemon stay in there 'cause it's his room."

"Well, him, her dragon, and Ghost," added Sam. "I get why she wants her dragon with her, but I don't know when she met Ghost."

"I see… well, what about Maester Aemon's theory about her being an asthmatic? Was he right?"

Sam nodded. "He asked her some questions and with my help he was able to do a more thorough exam, and he's completely certain now."

"I… spent all of last night finishin' sewin' those… sword trainin' clothes," said Gilly, yawning again. "But he told me to focus on makin' her a scarf before washin' her dress and cloak. Said it's vital she starts wearin' a scarf all the time when out in the cold air."

Jon didn't really understand how that would help, but he nodded anyway as his eyes swept past them to the open doorway. He caught a glimpse of Maester Aemon shuffling to the hearth to set a kettle over the fire, but he couldn't really make out Lyaella all that well thanks to Sōnar. The dragon was sitting next to her little mistress directly in front of the doorway, crooning softly as she nudged her with her snout. Jon could only see Lyaella's hands reaching out to pet and scratch Ghost who sat on the floor at the edge of her bed, tongue lolling out as he lavished in the attention. His direwolf seemed to sense that he was outside though, because his eyes suddenly opened and he turned his head to look over at him.

"G-Gho… Ghost? What is it?" He heard her murmur, her voice much quieter than usual. "S-Something wrong…?"

The direwolf merely turned to blink at her before focusing on him again. There was a momentary pause, then Jon heard the telltale sound of the old coils in the thin bed springing as she slowly rose and peered around Sōnar to take a look. Upon seeing him standing there, Lyaella froze, her eyes bulging.

Jon was relieved to see her awake and looking much better, but before he could nod in greeting, Lyaella squealed and leapt back into hiding behind her dragon on the bed.

Gilly and Sam also heard her and quickly turned, as did Maester Aemon. Despite being blind, the old Targaryen prince seemed to accurately guess what had startled her, and chuckled as he hobbled across the floor.

"I will talk to her later about possibly seeing visitors," he told them. "For now, I think it's best to let her rest."

Jon frowned, but nodded. "I understand. Thank you, Maester Aemon."

Smiling in Jon's direction, he shut the door and they heard the light creaking of the old floorboards as he marched back to keep caring for Lyaella.

Jon sighed and looked back to Sam and Gilly. "Thank you both again for helping watch over her. Go get some rest. You both need it."

They nodded appreciatively and headed off. Left alone, Jon reluctantly walked away, too. It was a shame he couldn't visit Lyaella right now and apologize for yesterday, but he'd try again later this evening. Surely she'd be feeling better by then and be grateful for some company.

Entering his private quarters, he let the door swing shut behind him and flopped down into his desk chair. The past twenty-four hours had been a whirlwind. Between him and Lyaella turning down Stannis' offers, him yelling at her, and then finding her last night all breathless and wheezy. For a little girl who was so quiet and shy, she sure had a way of causing drama. Granted, her newly discovered asthma problems were not her fault. As terrified as he'd been while rushing her to Maester Aemon, he was still glad this was what happened rather than what he'd initially thought when he first found her. Asthma attacks could be serious if left untreated, but at least no one hurt her. He hated thinking about it, but he couldn't forget how he'd immediately assumed that possibly one of his less honorable brothers here at the Wall had tried to hurt her…

He grimaced, disgusted. It was a miracle no one in the Night's Watch tried anything towards her yet, nor anyone in Stannis' army. But it could still happen at any time, especially now that everyone knew she had breathing condition that left her defenseless and weak. She got lucky this time. We're it not for Ghost dashing into the Main Lodge when he did, who knows how long she would've been stuck out there gasping for air. And more importantly, it was a good thing he'd been the one to find her. With the exception of Princess Shireen and to some extent Davos since they were part of the Baratheon party, Jon could count on one hand the number of people he trusted in Castle Black when it came to Lyaella. Everyone else? He was all but certain that she'd be dead or worse if left alone without her dragon.

Which meant it was imperative that Lyaella left the Wall as soon as possible.

Jon didn't know why his stomach seemed to drop at that thought, but he ignored the sensation and swallowed. It didn't matter that he'd snapped at her yesterday or that she needed time to recover from that asthma attack last night. She had to leave the Night's Watch. It was just too dangerous for her to stay here any longer. If Lyaella stayed, she would die, end of story. If not by the hands one of his fellow murderous or molester brothers, then probably by an anti-Targaryen watchman who'd either slit her throat himself, or would write to either the Bolton's or the Lannister's explaining her existence. Armies would come to Castle Black demanding that they handed her over to them to be killed. But then again, she could also have another bad attack soon. Maester Aemon had been able to get her asthma under control this time, but he was old and growing weaker with each passing day. He could pass away at any time. If he did and Lyaella had another attack, she'd die too.

Not to mention the dead were still out there beyond the Wall. Every day their numbers grew. If they were to attack the Wall tomorrow and she was still here…

He shook away the thought. Lyaella had a dragon with her, but Sōnar was just barely bigger than a horse. If enough people or dead men tried to attack all at once, Sōnar would easily be overwhelmed.

No, Lyaella wasn't safe here. She'd been okay so far, but staying here permanently wasn't a solution. She needed to go someplace where there was no chance whatsoever that people would harm her. She had a dragon and was a Targaryen bastard, but she was a gentle girl. Kind and sweet, unable to hurt a fly. If there was ever a child that had been born to the wrong House and did not live up to their House motto, it was Lyaella Snow. From what he'd seen from her so far, she was as likely to live up to the stereotype of Targaryen madness and bring fire and blood to Westeros as Aegon the Conquerer had in achieving his conquest had he not had his dragons.

But the question remained as to what to do about Lyaella Snow. He wasn't going to kill her or throw her out of Castle Black to fend for herself. She was a little girl, completely innocent of the crimes the Mad King and Prince Rhaegar committed against House Stark. He would never hand her over to the Lannister's or Bolton's, the two families that destroyed his own. They'd kill her slowly at some public spectacle, one finger at a time. Stannis wanted her and seemed relatively honorable, but Lyaella didn't want to go with the Baratheon king. Jon had no idea why she was against that idea considering her friendship with Shireen, but it only made everything more complicated. Despite how House Targaryen had nearly been eliminated by House Baratheon, Jon was certain that Stannis wouldn't have hurt Lyaella if she'd agreed to his deal. It was rather fair in all aspects, let him use her dragon to win the throne, and he'd let her live so long as she was willing to be legitimized under a new name instead of Targaryen so she couldn't be a threat to him when she was older. Why in all seven hells did she turn him down?

He rubbed his temples, thinking hard. Where could Lyaella go? Where could he send her that she'd be safe? Where was the safest place for a child when their very existence meant that everyone in the world wanted them dead…?

It took Jon a few minutes, but then, quite abruptly, he jolted as the answer hit him: Family. It was a universal truth in life that the safest place you could be was with your family. That's why his father always told him and his siblings to stick together. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Granted, he'd heard enough from Lyaella regarding how her aunts and uncle treated her and her missing brother to know that her relatives were bordering on child negligence and emotional abuse. Even if he somehow managed to convince Lyaella to reveal their names, he'd never send her back to them, not even if they showed up at the Wall tomorrow looking for her. The Martell's were a better option, but like that Dornishman pointed out before, there was a good chance they wouldn't accept Lyaella after how Rhaegar dishonored Princess Elia with his late aunt. Maybe they would, maybe they wouldn't. Unless he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Dorne had forgiven the North for their unintentional role in the death of their princess, sending Lyaella to them wasn't an option either.

There was only one person in the world he could send Lyaella to where she'd be completely safe. But said person was all the way across the Narrow Sea and for all he knew could be a tyrant like her late father. Yet she was also rumored to have dragons, just like Lyaella. Even if she wasn't ready to bring her whole army across the sea to begin her conquest for the Iron Throne, perhaps she would not be adverse to simply… visiting the Night's Watch? If the stories about just how big Balerion the Dread had been, then surely a dragon was more than capable of flying across the ocean and back within a few hours? That would be more than enough time for any potential rider to come here so he could judge them for himself, right?

It was the only way. He knew it was. Quick as a flash, he snatched a sheet of blank parchment from the corner of his desk and reach for a quill. Dipping it into the ink pot, he slowly started to write.

To the Dragon Queen, Daenerys Targaryen…

"Do you still have that book I gave you yesterday?"

"Y-Yes…"

"Would you be adverse to me going through the basics of High Valyrian with you now?"

"Uh-uh…"

"Good. Have you started looking through it yet?"

"No, I… I was t-too upset yesterday after… after seeing you…"

Maester Aemon frowned as he slowly crossed the room to settle in a chair near the hearth, but Lyaella didn't pay him any mind. She was too numb and detached to care as she ran her fingers through Ghost's thick fur. Her father's direwolf was basking in the loving scratches and kisses she was pampering him with. Sōnar crooned with obvious jealousy as she nudged her with her snout. Lyaella snickered, turning to pat her neck.

"Shh, girl. It's okay, I promise I haven't forgotten about you," she murmured. "I'm just giving Ghost here extra attention because it's… it's been awhile, you know? I'll probably do the same thing whenever we find Torrhen and Shadow again."

Sōnar warbled, annoyed, and pointedly flicked her tail in Lyaella's face. Despite her detachment from reality, Lyaella giggled.

"Acting stuck-up doesn't suit you, Sōnar. Be nice."

"I'm inclined to agree. I may have only met you and your dragon a short time ago, Lyaella, but I can tell your dragon enjoys being the center of attention. Quite the prideful companion you have there, I must say."

Lyaella tensed, willing her smile to die down to a neutral frown. She couldn't explain why she felt the need to do that since her uncle was blind, but it still felt necessary for some reason. "It's n-not pride, Maester Aemon. It's… I don't know how to describe it, really," she said, turning back to Ghost. "It's always been just… just me, Tory, and our two best friends. We're not… we're not used to sharing our t-time with others…"

"I imagine not. It must not have been easy for you or your brother while growing up."

"Mmm," she said, not knowing what else to say. She desperately wished her Targaryen uncle would leave the room, even if it was only for a few moments. She wanted some time alone to spoil Ghost the way she wanted, to hug him and kiss him and whisper just how much she had missed the old white direwolf without anyone noticing. Her father's wolf may not fully understand why she smelled like his master, but Lyaella was certain that if she could just explain to Ghost who she really was without anyone listening, the direwolf would understand everything. She and Torrhen had been so little when Ghost died, so her memories of him were rather vague, but she and Torrhen had always loved snuggling up to him and falling asleep while using his body as a pillow. The Ghost they'd known had also been larger, a full grown direwolf, whereas this one looked somewhat… smaller, still growing. It wasn't as though Ghost in the future had been a giant, but he'd been at least the size of a mid-sized pony. Direwolves were capable of growing that big in comparison to normal wolves, after all. She even hazily recollected one time when Torrhen climbed onto Ghost's back and tried riding him like a horse.

His sightless eyes stared at the wall over her head, but Lyaella knew the old maester was focusing on her. He just seemed to be lost in thought. "Perhaps you should try getting used to that, then? It was very rude of you to ask Sam and Gilly to turn away your guests, after all."

Lyaella squeaked, her cheeks burning with shame. Planting a quick kiss in Ghost's fur, she dragged his head into her lap and averted her eyes. How was she supposed to explain her reasons for that in a way that would make him understand? It was nothing that any of her supposed visitors had done anything wrong. It was her that was the problem. "I… I d-didn't mean to be rude… I just… I-I-I didn't — I mean, I wasn't… well, I—" she shook her head, sighing defeatedly. "I… I just couldn't… I'm sorry…"

He smiled at her. "I'm sure you are, but remember, it's not me you must apologize to. It's your friend Shireen and her father's advisers, as well as Lord Commander Snow."

Her frown grew twice as sad, and she shifted about uncertainly on her bed. "I… w-would but… I think the Baratheon's won't w-want me to be around Shireen anymore now that… that I turned down S-Stannis' offer… and J-Jon Snow… he made it very c-clear yesterday that h-he… he doesn't want me to be bothering him anymore. I should probably j-just stay out of the way…"

Her eyes grow wet, and moments later she sniffled as her tears fell. It was stupid to cry, she knew, but she couldn't help it. Everything that had happened yesterday was just too hard to think about, and upon waking only a little while ago and being told that her fear of drinking that awful owls blood tonic had been unnecessary was just the last straw. Every time she'd been feeling tight chested or breathless since arriving in the past she'd done everything she could to hide her symptoms, but it'd all been pointless. She'd been so breathless last night she couldn't even stand, but even then she hadn't dared trying to find help because she was so adamant about not drinking that nauseating potion.

She'd thrown a tantrum. Punched anyone who'd tried holding her down. Hit and kicked Gilly. Even went so far as to bite Jon — her future father. But again, it was all for nothing.

There were better, healthier remedies out there to help her breathe if she became wheezy. She felt so stupid for never thinking there could be.

She did her best to stay quiet, but Maester Aemon had lived so long relying only on his sense of hearing and quickly turned to her. Lyaella cringed, slapping a hand over her mouth to try to muffle her small sobs, but he didn't look away.

"Y-You said you wanted to teach m-me High Valyrian, right?" she asked, wiping away her tears and reaching for the instructional book on the bedside table. "I… I have the book h-here. Where should I s-start reading?"

Her uncle was silent for a moment, then softly smiled. "On second thought, we can begin your first lesson later. I just remembered something."

Lyaella choked back a heavy sigh as she watched Maester Aemon slowly rise from the chair. Of course he changed his mind about teaching her. Now that he'd finally realized just how worthless she really was, he didn't want to waste his time teaching a stupid little girl like her. There were far more important things he could be doing right now, after all. But instead of quietly leaving the room as she'd expected, Maester Aemon approached the bookshelf near his bed. Feeling around aimlessly across the shelves for a moment, he apparently found what he'd been searching for and slowly turned, revealing a small, dark mahogany wooden box with a silver lock attached, as well as a thick leather-bound tome, one so old it's binding was fraying and the edges of its pages yellowing.

"I found a few more things I thought might interest you yesterday after our talk in the library," he said, setting them down gently. "Or rather, I found this old book at the bottom of my trunk yesterday. This box I found weeks ago, but it was the key that I misplaced. Glad I finally found it, wouldn't want to have someone smash it open."

"Why not?"

"Because knowledge is power, Lyaella, never forget that. Even after our House was almost wiped out during the rebellion, I had a feeling that these things might be important some day. With you and your dragon here and everything happening out beyond the Wall, it was wise that I did."

Lyaella blinked. "Wait, the rebellion? R-Robert's Rebellion? What… What does he have to do with the Wall?"

Maester Aemon chuckled, shaking his head. "Not the Usurper himself, child. I mean our House's champion at that time." He paused, fishing out a small silver key with an ornate handle from the inner folds of his black maester garb. "You still have yet to reveal to me regarding how you're descended from House Targaryen, but you and I both know that our family lost any chance of winning that war when my great-nephew was slain on the Trident."

She sucked in a breath, her fingers stilling in Ghost's fur. "Y-You… You mean Prince Rhaegar?"

He nodded. "We corresponded regularly through ravens, my nephew and I. He was a good man, never mind what people say about him and Lyanna Stark. I don't know what possessed him to abduct that poor girl, but the stories that have spread… it's not him. It's not the man who'd been writing regularly to me ever since he learned how to write."

As he felt around for the box, Lyaella held her breath, ignoring the soft warbles Sōnar made while nuzzling her hair and the curious glint in Ghost's eyes as he stared up at her. She knew she had to choose her next words very carefully. If she didn't, there were a million possible things she might say, and her mind was so blank from the unexpected mention of her both paternal grandfather and maternal uncle that she feared she might accidentally let slip something that could reveal her true origins. The horrible lies that had been spread about the late Prince Rhaegar were common knowledge, but in the present, no one was supposed to know the truth about how he and her grandmother ran away together. Other than those general facts, she and Torrhen didn't know much about who Rhaegar was as a person. To hear that he'd been a good man was nice to hear.

"I… I never k-knew that," she said finally. "What… What did he write to you about?"

"He often told me about his life, growing up in the palace. His nervousness about marrying Elia Martell, his joys when he became a father, his daily walks in the gardens with his mother. And Aerys' descent into madness. He often told me his fears about what his father might do. Even if he'd never met the late Lyanna, it was only a matter of time before something happened to make Aerys lose his sense and start a war."

"R-Really?"

"Oh, yes, Lyaella. My nephew might have made a spontaneous overnight descent into Targaryen madness, but for Aerys it was a slow transition, one the whole realm was forced to watch. Never doubt the horror stories you've heard about the Mad King, regardless of him being our blood. His mistakes and anger are the real reason why House Targaryen is but a fraction of what it once was. An entire dynasty nearly destroyed, all because of his insanity. Let his mistakes be a lesson regarding what not to do as you grow older. As a Targaryen child, you'll always be judged to see if you're like him."

She stiffly nodded, her eyes falling down to her lap as she idly twiddled her thumbs. "I know that. Tory and me have always been… been s-scrutinized because of the last mad monarch…" A half-truth, really. She and Torrhen had been judged all their lives, but in relation to the Mad Queen as opposed to the Mad King. "What else did R-Rhaegar write to you about?"

He slid the key into the keyhole, smiling brightly. "That's what I wanted to show you now. I saved each one of his letters to me."

There was a distinct click, and moments large the hinges creaked as the lid swung open.

Lyaella lightly gasped as soft music suddenly resonated from out of nowhere, echoing from the box itself. The melody was so beautiful. A bit sorrowful perhaps, but still beautiful, like it had been deliberately written so people would think about both sides of the Targaryen coin toss when they heard it. For some reason she felt like she'd heard this tune before, but for the life of her she couldn't remember where. Various papers were inside, but she hardly glanced at them. No, it was the the small figures of a boy painted completely white yet dressed in courtly clothes as he danced in the arms of a girl dressed in a simple light green dress with flowers strewn through her hair that caught her attention. They were slowly twirling in time to the music in front of the hand painted backdrop on the backside of the lid, one half resembling the ruins of a desecrated castle before gradually morphing to the restored Great Hall of a beautiful keep during the middle of a joyous feast.

"Oh!" she breathed, eyes shining with wonder. Ghost cocked his head slightly as he glanced at the fancy box while Sōnar rumbled, leaning in closer to sniff it. They too had never seen such a box before.

Her uncle smiled. "I take it you like the tune?"

She beamed, her face all aglow. "Yes, it's lovely. Sad, yet lovely… and the dancing couple… they're amazing! I've never s-seen anything like this before…" Now that the box was closer, she could tell it was much more detailed than she'd first assumed from far away. Intricate carvings lined each of its sides, and in the center of the lid was the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen fastened on in pure silver. Seeing that only fascinated her even more. This was a true relic of House Targaryen, one which had been forgotten over the years as the memory of the Targaryen prince of the Night's Watch faded from the minds of the people in Westeros.

"I'm not surprised. The world has sadly lost its fondness for music boxes. They used to be quite popular for nobles to own when I was still at court in King's Landing, but tastes changed over the years and they fell out of fashion. I suspect there's hardly anyone still in Westeros who remembers them, let alone how to make them."

"Oh, that's t-too bad."

"Agreed. The only records of them would probably be in the Citadel, and one would have to be actively searching for that information."

"I see. W-Well, what song is this? I… I know I've heard it before. I j-just can't remember where."

He chucked again, smiling in mirth, but doing so caused him to let out a hoarse cough.

Lyaella squeaked, setting the book and music box aside to gently pat his shoulder. "Are you all right, Maester Aemon?"

"Yes, yes. I'll be okay," he said, waving away her concern. "I'm just old, dear. Old and dying here at the Wall."

"W-What?!"

"I'm over a hundred years old, Lyaella. My time is coming. There's nothing to be done to stop that. But enough about that. I'm still alive for now. And to answer your question, this is actually a special music box my nephew sent to me here at the Wall."

She blinked. "Rhaegar had this made for you? Why?"

Maester Aemon's smile slowly went from being somewhat amused to nostalgically sad. "Because he was the one who wrote this song, and I often expressed in my letters how much I wished to hear him sing and play it on his harp for me just once. He tried so many times to arrange a way to visit me here, but every time he was forced to cancel his plans due to one reason or another. He eventually realized that our eventual meeting would most likely never happen and decided to have this crafted for me, that way I could always hear the ballad he wrote for the Prince of Dragonflies and his Lady Jenny."

"Jenny of Oldstones…"

"Yes, child. A sadly true tale that demonstrates how love was the death of duty once again for our House."

Lyaella didn't dare reply to that. She simply frowned and kept watching the twirling dancers. This sad yet pretty melody was the perfect accompaniment to this little music box. She wished Torrhen was here more than ever. If he were here right now and could see this amazing musical box, she knew he'd be more than inspired to write music. He could call himself stupid as much as he liked, but between the two of them, Lyaella knew Torrhen was smarter than he realized. He picked up on things faster than she did and was always thinking ahead about problems that could or would happen eventually, unlike her who struggled to comprehend basic things regarding how the world really works and often forgot to think three moves ahead of any of her daily decisions. Plus, Torrhen was the main reason why they'd written as many songs as they did over the years. He focused on writing the music itself, and she tackled the lyrics. Writing lyrics was easy, as all she had to do was make up clever rhymes with a certain number of syllables in each phrase. But the music itself? Now that was hard. How could Torrhen hear so many beautiful tunes when there was literally no music to be heard? What she wouldn't give to have his gift right now. She was already thinking up ideas for lyrics for a new song after seeing this amazing musical box, but the accompanying music she couldn't hear. What did Torrhen understand about music that she didn't?

Still, she should try jotting down these loose ideas for lyrics later. She'd been failing to find inspiration to write new potential lyrics or to even play her lure upon being separated from her twin. She could feel deep down that her brother was still out there somewhere, so she wasn't too worried, but whenever she did find Torrhen again, she would show him that she hadn't been neglecting their musical skills while working to rewrite history with their future father. Whether or not she could try thinking of the beginnings of any possible musical scoring was a whole other matter, but she could at least try. Getting the basic ideas for lyrics down on paper to show him later was what was important.

As her mind raced with thoughts for new lyrics, the dancing couple gradually began to slow in their spinning. Lyaella didn't notice at first though, but she snapped back to reality when the tune quietly pandered off, and moments later it completely faded away and the dancers froze in place. "W-Wait, what happened? Why'd they stop?"

"Don't worry, it just needs to be winded up again. I'll show you how later, though. First, I want to show you these old letters from my dearly departed nephew." He felt around for the first sheet of paper on top of the pile, his smile fading into an awkward frown. "Were I not blind, I would read these out loud to you, Lyaella, but…"

"No, no, it's fine. I can read them j-just fine on my own. It's very… very k-kind of you to show me all this, Maester Aemon."

Ghost butted his head pointedly against her free hand for attention as she perused the contents of various letters. Her late grandfather and uncle had indeed been writing to her many times over great uncle for many years prior to his death.

As she skimmed one particular letter, her brows furrowed, puzzled. "Maester Aemon? I don't understand t-this one."

"Oh?"

She nodded, still focusing on reading. "The p-prince… The prince writes that he's all but read all the books in King's Landing about something he's apparently told you about before 'cause he doesn't say it directly. He asks that y-you contact the Citadel for him so he can do more research into 'the historical facts' about whatever he's looking for."

A slight chuckle made her glance up, and she saw the amused smile on her great uncle's face. "Ah, you found that particular conversation, did you?"

"What?"

"That discussion between myself and my nephew is actually something we corresponded about regularly when he grew older. He was asking if I could have the Citadel send me books regarding more detailed accounts of the earliest known wars in Westeros from around the time the Andals first invaded."

"The Andals? Prince Rhaegar was interested in the Andals conquest?"

"No, no. The Andals themselves were just as far back that he could historically trace during his research. What he was actually looking for was more information on the legends regarding the Long Night."

She straightened, eyes widening as she gave Maester Aemon her full and undivided attention. Lyaella still hadn't heard much regarding the so-called Night King and the army of the dead to make up her mind about whether they really existed, but anything she could learn about the first Long Night from thousands of years ago was welcome news.

"Really? Why?"

"He was quite fascinated with the prophecy that the priestess with Stannis Baratheon keeps alluding to. The ones who shall be reborn as Azor Ahai and his Nissa Nissa."

Lyaella thickly swallowed. "The Prince and Princess of the legend…" she murmured. "The Ones that were Promised…"

The blind maester nodded, now reaching for the heavy tome. "Rhaegar wanted to know everything I knew about the legend, as he was convinced he was either the Prince that was Promised or that it would be one of his own children. He wanted me to ask the Citadel for any additional books on the prophecy that might have information he didn't know. They sent me this—" he pushed the book into her lap "—but sadly I never got the chance to send it to him before he fell on the Trident."

Blinking curiously, she flipped the book open and leafed through a handful of pages. Within a minute she furrowed her brows, puzzling over the pages. The untidy scrawl was already hard enough for her to make out, but the ineligible text was written so tiny and the ink was so faded in some places it made it even harder for her to decipher. Even the little she could read she didn't fully understand, as there were so many places where sentences would fade out randomly or there were words she already didn't know.

"'The… The earliest known war was… was when the Andals' — I can't really r-read the rest, here. I can't read the writing — 'T-They were led by' — the ink runs off, it's too faded, here — crossed the… N-Narrow Sea. Upon landing on' — more f-faded ink — 'were appalled by' — messy writing again… for quite awhile — 'the North.' That's the end of this paragraph. It's like that for m-most of the book." Frowning, she glanced back up again. "What is this?"

"I told you, Rhaegar was researching the legends of the Long Night and the origins of the legends behind the Prince that was Promised. His research led him to believe that the Andals invasion of Westeros was somehow related."

"H-How so?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Lyaella. He never got the chance to fully explain this theory before he died. I'm terribly sorry for the faded ink and the bad handwriting, though. I didn't realize it was like that."

"No, no, it's okay. I don't… I don't mind," she insisted. That wasn't even a half truth at all. She honestly didn't mind that the book wasn't perfect. What mattered was that Maester Aemon wanted her to see it. He wanted her to see the book her Targaryen paternal grandfather and maternal uncle had been eager to read before he died. No one had ever told her or Torrhen much about the late Prince Rhaegar aside from the publicly known lies and that he and grandmother Lyanna had run away together to secretly marry. That he'd been fascinated by the prophecy of the return of Azor Ahai and his Nissa Nissa was interesting to hear.

And was what she'd just heard from Maester Aemon true? Had he really been working on a theory that the legend was somehow linked to whatever reason why the Andals first came to Westeros? That was the first she'd heard of such. Lady Kinvara was the only person she'd met thus far who she fully believed told her and Torrehn everything she honestly knew about the prophecy. She was the one who told them specifically that the prophecy was supposed to be about both a prince and a princess after all, and that the history needed to be changed so that the Prince and Princess that were Promised could bring the Dawn of Peace for all the world. She told them point blank that their future parents were Azor Ahai and his Nissa Nissa reborn, and that it was up to her and Torrhen to change things in the past to ensure that Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen survived this time around. Up until now, that was the most she'd ever been told about the legend surrounding her parents roles in the War for the Dawn. Before that, the only other information she'd ever heard came from the bits and pieces Lady Melisandre had spoke of in passing, the brief snippets of information Grand Maester Sam had briefly mentioned researching for the war to her and Torrhen during the one time they'd met him, and then the one bit of ominous back story that her creepy uncle had divulged and made public knowledge known to everyone in the future during her timeline: the Night King had been created by the magic of the long extinct Children of the Forest. Why? Lyaella didn't know. Nobody knew. King Bran wouldn't give them a straight answer as to why they did it.

As much as Lady Melisandre frightened her in regards to practice of burning people alive at the stake, perhaps she should consider speaking with her later to find out more about the prophecy itself. The wasn't much she could do at all yet in regards of changing history for the better, but if she was to have any chance of making sure her future parents actually fulfilled their roles in the prophecy this time around, she needed to learn more about it. At the very least she needed to know if what Lady Melisandre mentioned in passing about there possibly being a mistranslation in the legends was true or not. But that was food for thought for later, though. Right now, she really needed to know the basic facts of what the legend was by itself through basic general knowledge. And who better to ask than the very same Targaryen relative her both grandfather and uncle Prince Rhaegar had corresponded to regularly about in regards to this very legend?

"What exactly is t-the prophecy about? I know the stories about… about the Long Night. Everyone k-knows those stories, but… what's the prophecy about?"

Maester Aemon blinked, visibly surprised. "You don't know?"

"Mm-mm, just that the Prince that was Promised was supposed to be destined to become Azor Ahai, and his Nissa Nissa is the Princess that was Promised and supposed to fight by his side."

"Huh… I wasn't expecting to hear that. You continue to surprise me, Lyaella."

"Sorry…"

"Don't apologize, there's nothing wrong with asking questions. How else would you learn?" He paused there, staring blankly ahead as he thought hard. "It's been a long time since I've thought about my past correspondences with my nephew, but if I remember correctly, he said that in the books he'd researched Azor Ahai worked for over a hundred days and nights to forge a heroes sword to defeat the darkness with."

"The… The white walkers?"

"Naturally, but on his first two attempts, he failed. Realizing that a sacrifice had to be made in order for the sword to be finished, Azor Ahai called for his wife, Nissa Nissa, and drove the sword through her living heart."

Lyaella jerked. "W-What?!"

"It was the blood sacrifice of someone Azor Ahai truly loved that was needed to finish the blade. With her soul combined with the steel sword, it became Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes. With Lightbringer in hand, Azor Ahai led his men into battle, driving back the darkness to beyond the Wall. In accordance to this, it was foretold that one day Azor Ahai and his Nissa Nissa will be reborn again to lead us all in the fight against the return of the darkness. If they should fail, the world shall be doomed."

Her stomach twisted into knots, and she gripped the edges of the book tightly with her shaking hands. It was the only way she could stop herself from making any audible sound that would clue in Maester Aemon to how anxious she'd suddenly become. What Maester Aemon had just told her sounded horrifyingly similar to how her father had been forced to kill her mother. She didn't know whether or not any swords had been supposedly made from the actual dagger that'd struck the killing blow to her mother's heart, but her parents had been the only two monarchs to use their armies to supposedly fighting back the threat of the Night King and the army of the dead. All the other kings and queens out there had never taken the threat of the dead seriously, and even she herself didn't fully believe the stories about second War for the Dawn in her timeline, Lyaella did acknowledge that something must be happening out beyond the Wall at this very moment. Why else would she have arrived in the past on the very day that Stannis' army beat back the King Beyond the Wall's army of Wildlings that had been all willing to fight to the death to get behind the safety of the Wall itself? Whether or not that was because of an army of living dead men or because of some other more believable reason was still yet to be determined.

Whatever was going on out beyond the Wall, it was what led to her future parents meeting each other and joining forces, but if the legends told about the original Azor Ahai and his Nissa Nissa were true, then that meant her future father was always meant to kill her future mother. If that was the case, then why had she and Torrhen been sent back in time? What was the purpose to them changing the fates of their parents if they were already the reincarnations if the original heroes that had also loved each other and chose duty over love?

"You're awfully quiet. Did I scare you with the details on the legend?"

Lyaella jumped. She hadn't realized how long she'd been sitting there lost in thought. "N-No, not… not at all! I was just surprised, that's all…" glancing back to the music box and scattered letters, she squeezed the old history book closer to her chest. "Would it be… Would it be possible for me to borrow these things for a little while?"

"Hm?"

"I'd never ask you to give them to me. I'd never do that. I just… I just would like the chance to read through this stuff p-properly. There's something I n-need to check… I'll give them back when I'm done, I promise!"

Maester Aemon turned to face her, his expression curious. "I have no qualms about that, but what exactly do you hope to find?"

She tensed, setting the book aside to fidget with Ghost's fur. What half truth could she tell him that sounded believable? How could she pass off the fact that she needed to see if by some off chance in either this book or those letters that the legends surrounding the original heroes were wrong about Azor Ahai killing his Nissa Nissa?

"I… I'm interested in this stuff, that's all. I wanna find out more."

He tilted his head, still intrigued. "There you go again…"

"W-What?"

"You're doing it again, answering a question without even saying anything," he replied, a subtle smile crossing his lips. "It's very clever, I must say. You come across as an honest girl who has nothing to hide, and yet you keep your secrets tightly guarded anyway. Not many people have the lick of sense to know how to lie without actually lying."

Lyaella's fingers instantly froze in Ghost's fur. She stared at her blind uncle, eyes bulging. He understood her and Tory's game. He understood Truth or Half-Truth. He knew how she always managed to avoid giving straight answers about anything. She didn't dare say anything further. To talk again would mean telling another half truth to try denying that statement, and that would only further confirm his theory.

He seemed to pick up on her reasoning for her silence after a few moments, and his smile turned thoughtful. "I understand why you feel like you need to keep secrets. Your brother is probably the only person in the world you fully and completely trust, and he's not here. The rest of your family has never been to kind to either of you, you've said, and you endured so much pain already due to their indifference over how you and your brother struggled to belong while growing up."

Her lower lip trembled, and she hastily turned away. She was not going to cry. She was not. She was going to sit here, keep her mouth shut, and not give away any details regarding how she was from the future and that Jon was secretly the last true-born son of Rhaegar Targaryen as well as the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. She was not going to tell him that. She was—

"That being said, why are you so afraid of your secrets themselves?"

Lyaella blinked, hesitantly glancing back over. "What? Afraid?"

He nodded. "You become so quiet and hesitant to say anything if someone asks you for details about you or your brother. I can understand why it would be… understandable to be wary of strangers at first, but I thought we were getting to know each other rather well at this point. It was my belief that you were slowly beginning to trust me more, or perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps it was just the hopeful wishing of an old, dying blind man who thought he'd pass on before ever seeing a member of his own family alive and well once again…"

"No, of course not! I do trust you, Maester Aemon. I… I'm so sorry if I made you think I don't…"

"Well, that's good to hear," he chortled. "I want you to know that you don't have to be worried about me telling anyone about your secrets if you don't want me too. I only wish to help."

She averted her eyes, still unsure. "But…"

"Lyaella, aside from my niece all the way across the Narrow Sea and your missing twin brother, you are the very last of the once great Targaryen dynasty. The blood of the dragon runs through your veins. Had things been different, you would've grown up with the proper Targaryen surname, in the halls of Dragonstone or the Red Keep. You would've learned to speak High Valyrian before the Common Tongue. That you've been forced to grow up hidden from the rest of the world here in the North…" he shook his head, his white eyes glistening. "You cannot imagine how painful it is for me, seeing you like this."

"Right… b-because I'm stupid little girl who's an embarrassment t-to your House," she whimpered, her shoulders shaking. "S-Stuttering all the time, timid and shy… terrible at s-swordplay, never brave enough to… to speak my mind and defend myself… and my stupid lung problem! I… I'm a nothing 'cause of my relatives! A Snow! I d-don't deserve to be part of House Targaryen!"

She completely burst into tears, unable to hold them back any longer. It was the truth, after all. Not a half truth, but the complete, undeniable truth. It didn't matter that it was a bitter pill to swallow, accepting those facts for herself, but it was still the truth. She wasn't a proper Targaryen. She was just one more Snow in the world. A Snow that everyone else in Westeros would always hate more than any other bastard because of her silver hair.

Sōnar rumbled sweetly, and Ghost pressed up against her legs. She gently patted them both, grateful for their comfort. Thank goodness they were both here for her right now. If anything ever happened to her beloved dragon sister, her heart would probably die, and being reunited with her father's sweet direwolf made everything seem so much better now.

"On the contrary, Lyaella, you exemplify the very best traits of our House in ways that warm my heart, because they are always overlooked in comparison to the terrible things that our family is known for."

She abruptly stopped crying, her eyes snapping back to his.

"It's true you're no Visenya reborn with a sword, but you train every day to become her, and even when you start feeling winded you don't give up. Your asthma might cause you problems, but now that I'm aware of your condition, I can teach you how to manage it better. Your stuttering is simply a side effect of you not having much self-esteem. Don't think I haven't noticed how it occasionally goes away when you relax and be yourself around others. And as far as not being brave or speaking your mind goes, I have no idea what you're talking about. You are one of the bravest little girl's I've ever met."

Lyaella stared at him, deadpanned. "Wait… what—? N-No, I—"

"Listen to me and listen well. You, Lyaella Snow, are the only person in all of Castle Black who is brave enough to tell off Alliser Thorne for his discriminative judgement over Lord Commander's Snow status as the late Lord Stark's bastard son when he was still giving you proper respect as a Targaryen bastard. Why do you think everyone in the Main Hall was stunned by how you spoke to him about his attitude? He was the acting-Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, once a loyal knight sworn to serve House Targaryen, and yet a Targaryen bastard child politely made a point of not only correcting him on how to say her name which he was continuously mispronouncing, but also made sure to remind him that it wasn't right of him to treat Jon rudely for being a bastard and yet you kindly instead."

Lyaella was grateful her elderly uncle was blind, or else he would easily seen the way her cheeks burned as hot as dragon fire. "I…! I w-was only being honest! I-I-It was incredibly rude of h-him to be like that! I w-wasn't… I wasn't trying to be brave…!"

"That doesn't matter. The point is you are the only one who's ever spoken up about it. And you were so polite and firm while doing it, too. Thorne couldn't even argue back because you were absolutely right. If that's not enough proof, then consider this — you alone and no one else here at the Wall — including me — has the courage to tell Stannis Baratheon the plain and simple truth of how he's not really a king."

She swallowed, her fist wandering up to her neck to fiddle idly with her dragon pendant. "Well… that's… that's j-just—"

"Don't sell yourself short. The Wildlings don't consider Stannis as their king, but as they're not real Westerosi in Stannis' eyes, they don't count. You alone are the only one here at Castle Black who willingly tells the stag king that he's is not the rightful heir simply because he's not a Targaryen. Not many people would ever consider stating something that potentially treasonous out loud, let alone to a king claimant themselves. You might be shy, but you are indeed brave, Lyaella. You're bravery is simply hidden by your lack of self-confidence. If you were to overcome that, I'm positive one day you will become the living embodiment of why others should never try waking a sleeping dragon."

Lyaella couldn't think up a good response to deny that this time. She simply squeaked and looked away, her face still pink. She could see where a Maester Aemon was coming from, but she wasn't entirely sure if she believed it. It really didn't feel like she'd been brave in either of those instances.

"I know things cannot have been easy for you or your brother, and if I had the power to bring him here right now, I would, Lyaella. But the fact remains that you might very well be the last remaining hope for all of House Targaryen here in Westeros if my niece never crosses the Narrow Sea. If she doesn't—"

"She will."

"If she doesn't and your brother is never found, then you and your dragon will be the very last of the Targaryen dynasty. I don't have much time left, child. I'm growing weaker with each passing day, but before I go I want to be of some help to the only family member I have been given the privilege of meeting before my time's up. These old letters here? This old book? The music box? They're yours, now."

"W-What? No, those… those are yours! I-I-I couldn't possibly—!"

"They're yours now, Lyaella," he said firmly, taking her hand and pointedly giving her the silver key. "These things are dear to me, that's true, but they don't belong with an old, dying man here at the Wall. They belong with someone who both understands their importance and has a chance of restoring our House to greatness someday. Even if that never happens, they belong to you regardless. As the only Targaryen left in Westeros, I'm only alive because I was already sworn the Night's Watch when the Usurper took the throne. Had I simply been. A maester in the Red Keep at the time, I would've been killed just the rest of our family. I wanted more than anything to go fight for our House when I first heard about the rebellion, but I was already old by then, Lyaella. I had no hope of being any help whatsoever."

He paused there, taking a moment to wipe away a few watery tears. Lyaella could stare, unsure where he was going with this.

"It broke my heart that I was forced to stand aside and do nothing when Robert's Rebellion was raging, and when I heard that all our family aside from Viserys and Daenerys had been slain, I was horrified. I don't know how whichever one of your parents with the Targaryen blood was overlooked during that time, but the fact that you're here now… it's a miracle, Lyaella." He smiled at her, tears still streaming down his face. "I want you to have these things, as they are part of the history of our House. You might not have our House's name, but you have our blood. They belong with someone who has a chance of ensuring that House Targaryen will have a future again. There's even one more thing I wish to give you, but I still can't find it."

"There's s-something else? No, please, don't go to any trouble on my account! I told you, I can't—"

"I wish to help the only member of my family I can help, Lyaella. You. I want you to accept these. If not for yourself, then for my sake. Take them and make an old man happy that he can pass on his treasures from days long gone to someone who deserves and will appreciate them."

A thick lump gathered in her throat. There was no way she could refuse him now, not without offending her kind uncle. Swallowing thickly, she unfastened the class of her necklace and slid the key through the chain. "Thank you… I'll treat them with respect, I promise."

"I know you will, Lyaella. Believe me, I know," he said. "And again, I want to help you, Lyaella. Now that I know that you've been medically mistreated in the past for your asthma, I can do more than just give you proper remedies. I can have Sam write to the Citadel in my stead and see to it that whoever that maester was that gave you that outdated tonic loses his chains."

Lyaella blinked, her mouth going dry. "Huh? N-No, you—"

"I know you're scared. I know you've lived under the thumb of your relatives for your entire life. I suspect that whoever that maester is, he's the only one who's ever treated you for your asthma and you therefore don't wish to deal with him ever again. But I just told you that I want to help the only member of my family that I can in the little time I have left. I can't do that unless you trust me with at least that bit of knowledge. I'll do everything I can to keep you sheltered here at Castle Black if you're relatives come looking for you or your brother here, and I'm certain the Lord Commander wouldn't hand you back to them if they come here demanding we release you. I want to help you, Lyaella, but you have to let me."

It was uncannily silent in the small workroom aside from the crackling flames in the hearth. Sōnar had finally drifted off to sleep and was curled up like a kitten in her corner, and Ghost was simply sat next to her ankles as he stared up at her, his red eyes boring straight into hers. Lyaella let her hands disappear into his white coat again, but inside her thoughts were racing.

Maester Aemon wanted to help her, and he was family. He'd been treating her more like family in the short time she'd known him than in all nine years she'd spent in Winterfell with her Stark relatives. If there was one adult she could undoubtedly trust with the truth of who she was and would not use that information in some way to play his own games with to better himself, it would undoubtedly be Maester Aemon. Sam was kind and seemed like a true friend to her future father, but she still didn't know how he would react to when her future mother executed his father and brother. Ser Davos seemed as kind and honorable as she and Torrhen always remembered him being in this timeline, but he was still allied with Stannis right now. Hence why she was reluctant to approach the old smuggler and bond with him. Lady Melisandre probably would help her regardless of her current allegiance to Stannis if she told her everything about the future... but aside from considering asking her for more details about the prophecy for the Prince and Princess that we're Promised, she still didn't want to have too much involvement with the Red Woman. Not when it was going to be her fault why Shireen was going to die soon.

Shireen. Her first and only friend aside from Torrhen and their animal companions. If she wasn't supposed to die soon she'd consider telling her, regardless of her Baratheon heritage. She was the only girl she'd ever met close to her age aside from her brother who had treated her like any other normal child. It didn't matter that House Baratheon and House Targaryen had such a bloody history because of the Usurper. They were friends. Or at least they had been, anyway. Between her mother's frightening warning to stay away from her daughter from now on and how she had turned down her father's offer to help him win the Iron Throne, it was unlikely she'd be allowed to go anywhere near the little doe of House Baratheon again.

Aside from them, there was only one other person she would be willing to trust aside from Maester Aemon with the truth — Jon — but she couldn't do it. Even if Lady Kinvara hadn't warned her and her twin against telling their parents who they really were until 'the time was right,' she still wouldn't do it. Jon hated her right now. That had been made apparent to her yesterday. He didn't want anything to do with her. That hurt her more than other sharp smack or slap she'd ever felt, and it cut her deeply. Jon didn't want her hanging around him anymore. Fine, she wouldn't. She'd stick close to him for however long it took to find Torrhen again and to meet their mother eventually on Dragonstone, but she'd give him his space from now on. So long as she could still do whatever it was she had to in order for both him and her mother to survive this time around, it didn't matter if he didn't like her. She'd endure that pain if it meant that someday when she is born to Jon and Daenerys she could live a happy life with them, Torrhen, and their honorary siblings.

But she was getting off track. The question remained on whether or not she should tell him her secret. She trusted him, but what if telling Maester Aemon was a mistake? Not that she doubted his loyalty, but what if telling him instead of someone else could have a devastating impact on the future? Lady Kinvara warned her and Torrhen to only tell people they fully trusted that they were from a timeline that had to be prevented from coming true. She told them point blank that if the wrong people were to find out who they really were in the past, there could be devastating consequences for the future. Maester Aemon seemed like a good man, but what if telling him was still the wrong choice over someone else? What if—

A low whine reached her ears, and Lyaella was abruptly pulled from her thoughts. Ghost had wandered away from her during her long internal debate, and was now sitting and panting quietly at Maester Aemon's side as he stared back at her with a wolfish grin. She stared back at him for a moment, and then finally sighed. She still hadn't explained to Ghost who she was exactly, but her future father's direwolf was just so smart. What were the chances he already instinctively knew who she was? That he could tell what she was thinking right now and was giving her his stamp of approval to trust Maester Aemon with her secret?

That was all Lyaella needed to know… but it didn't hurt seeing Sōnar sleepily opening one eye and rumbling softly as she jerked her head in Maester Aemon's direction, too.

Well, that settled that, then.

"You can't."

"Hm?"

"You can't. You can't help me."

Maester Aemon sadly sighed. "Lyaella, I'm not sure what else I can say or do to convince you, but—"

"You misunderstand. I meant… you can't help me with Maester Marlon."

He straightened at that, now listening attentively. "Maester Marlon? Is that who's been giving you that owl's blood tonic?"

"Yes, that's him."

"Well, no worries. Now that I know his name, I'll send for Sam and have him—"

"No, I mean, you really can't help me when it comes to him. You can't write to the Citadel about a maester who doesn't even know I exist yet."

Silence filled the room. Dead silence. Maester Aemon frowned at her, tilting his head with obvious puzzlement. "I… I beg your pardon, Lyaella?"

She bit her lip, slowly averting her eyes. "W-What… What I'm about to say, no, to tell you… it's g-going to sound crazy. I-I-I won't blame you if you don't believe me or think I'm mad…"

"Lyaella—"

"Please! If… If I tell you everything, then you've gotta promise to hear me out fully and not tell anyone! No matter what!"

"Promise? What—?"

"You have to! You have to promise! Swear on… Swear on the souls of every Targaryen that's ever lived you'll keep this to yourself! Y-You can't tell anyone! Especially not Jon!"

"The Lord Commander? What does—"

"Promise me!"

For a long, tense second, Maester Aemon stayed silent, his expression unreadable. If there was ever a moment before now that she wished her elderly uncle wasn't blind, it didn't hold a candle to how much she wished he could see her now. Were he not blind, she knew he'd see the raw pleading in her face and understand how serious this was. She could only pray he could pick up on that fact from her words alone.

"Why must I promise this?" he asked finally. "Why is this so important?"

"Because it is."

"Lyaella—"

"I can't give you a better answer than that because I don't want to give away details to someone who might put two and two together the second I say anything. Just… Just know I wouldn't otherwise ask this of you if it wasn't necessarily. So, please! Please… promise me."

He bent his head, considering her request, then finally nodded. "Very well, I give you my word, Lyaella. I give you my word. I won't tell anyone."

"P-Promise…?"

"I promise."

Lyaella smiled, self consciously tucking a loose strand of silver hair behind her ear. "Okay, then…" she paused, taking a deep breath for strength. "Maester Aemon… what if… What if I were to tell you that you haven't actually been as alone here at Castle Black for the past few years that you thought you were?"

"Pardon me?"

"What… What would you say if I told you Robert's Rebellion was built on a lie? And what would you say if I told you that the whole truth as to how me and Sōnar got separated from Tory and Shadow is because… because we come from about twelve years in the future?"