The Dragon & The Wolf - XXV (Patreon)

Chapter XXV: The Ghosts of guilt.

Arthur hated Harrenhal, the castle was humid and the painful screams of the fallen weirwoods resonated in his skull like tortured women’s.

However, he had not come to this cursed place to rest like he had told his men, it was a specific duty that had brought him here.
Lying in his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, the Stark man waited for sleep to take him. But the screams would not stop, how could they? Even he could feel their pain through his very flesh. Or perhaps it was simply his maimed face and the wounds Rhaenyra had inflicted upon his heart that were still bleeding.

She was haunting him, again, no… She never left his thoughts. And as he tried to ignore the screams of the weirwoods, he heard her as if her mouth had been an inch from his ear.
“Why did you abandon me?” She sobbed.
“Because you tortured me.” His voice was colder than the Wall. “You put us all in danger, you, me, my family, you selfishly chose desire over duty and you made us all pay the price for it. I have done everything for you and you never stopped spitting on my face.”

Her delicate hand caught his chin and forced his head to turn, there she was, naked as he had seen her in Storm’s End through Shadow’s eyes. Lying in bed next to him.

“This is a dream.” He said as he felt her breath on his face and her skin against his naked shoulder. “You are not here.”

“I’ll never leave you, Arthur.” Her voice was soft,  her eyes full of tears. “Neither you nor I can prevent what is about to fall upon us, nothing will keep us apart.”

“Except you.” He cut.

She pressed her forehead against his, lowering his guard as if it was nothing more than a veil.

“I love you.” She whispered.

He believed her, he had always believed her.

“Since you are a dream, I can tell you.” A single tear ran down his scared cheek. “I love you too. I simply refused to return your feelings and I lied to myself because I did not wish to be trapped in your web for the rest of my life. I would have dutifully remained at your side until death comes to take us both. But you wanted more and was willing to pay nothing in return. How could you do this, Rhaenyra?”

She did not answer, of course she did not. She was not really here, she was but a fragment of his imagination. A ghost that would keep haunting him as Rasha had done since he’d returned from the Lands beyond the Wall.

Worldlessly, Rhaenyra wrapped her arms around his neck and he wrapped his around her body, she rested her head on his chest and he was content to let her listen to his heartbeat.
“Gods.” He said, and he let the dream consume him.

“The Gods have nothing to do with what we are feeling, Arthur.” She said. “Our fate is ours to choose, and we both know neither of us will be free of the other. Nothing will ever truly keep us apart. We are the masters of our destiny, we will forge it together, live it together, and die together.”

“There is nothing to forge, Rhaenyra.”

She rose her head from his chest to pierce his grey eyes with her purple ones, slowly, her face came closer to his.

“You know nothing, Arthur Stark.” And she kissed him.

Arthur abandoned himself to this illusion, he let his hands roam her body as she aggressively pulled his pants down. They devoured each other until they realized they needed more to quench their need of one another, soon Rhaenyra mounted him and consumed him.

It lasted for so long Arthur had decided he would kill whoever was cruel enough to wake him up. He let his emotions flow like a torrent and abandoned his desire to this illusion until it disintegrate him.

The next second, he was dressed, standing in one of Harrenhal’s numerous corridors, drowned in deeper darkness than Maegor’s tunnels’.

Arthur frowned, trying to contain his frustration after he had been pulled out of his dream, he had never sleepwalked before, something was not right.

He suddenly felt something heavy climb up the back of his doublet. The creature that was climbing up his back almost reached his nape when he grabbed it and pulled it over his head to face it.

His contortioned face melted into astonishment when his nose met a little girl’s who could not be older than four. With purple eyes and silver-gold hair, a girl who could not be Helaena as she looked nothing like Alicent.

She giggled and tried to pull his hair, but Arthur yanked his head away.

“Enough!” He growled, and the girl’s happy face turned into sadness.

“I’m chorry, Father.” She instantly cried as if he had caught her stealing sweets. “I just wanted to ride you.”

Arthur stared at her, dumbfounded.

“Did you just call me, Father?”

Now the little girl looked confused.

“You chaid I couldn’t call you ‘Papa’.”

“That’s beside the point! I’m not your father! I have no children.”

The confused little girl’s face became blank, her empty eyes looked like they were staring at his soul.

“That’s right, you can’t be my father.” She acknowledged. “You have abandoned us.”

She disappeared in a puff of black smoke, leaving Arthur paralyzed with guilt. Why was he feeling guilt?

A battle cry suddenly resonated across the corridors, and a boy charged him with a tourney sword in hand. Arthur dodged his clumsy strike and caught the sword when the boy tried again.

“That is not how it’s done, Luke.” He chastised without thinking before wondering how he knew the boy’s name.

Said boy lowered his head in shame.

“I’m sorry, Father.”

Again? Arthur could not believe it, what was happening?

“Look at me.” He commanded and the boy did.

He was his spitting image, he had his eyes, his hair, his nose…

How could he deny such an obvious truth?

“You’re not real.” He finally said. “You’re just here to torture me.”

“Is that all we are to you?”

Rhaenyra voice boomed like thunder in a quiet night, Arthur turned and saw her, sitting on the Iron Throne with two boys on her knees, her red and black dress outlined the contours of her pregnant belly.

“Is that all we are to you?” She repeated in anger. “Torturers? Here to remind you of what you have done to us? Of what you have abandoned?”

Arthur’s resolve almost broke when he saw her, the children on her knees were near identical twins, except that one of them had silver hair and grey eyes, and the other had dark hair and purple eyes.

Arthur blinked, and she was at his face, her purple orbs shining with anger.

“Look at what you have done!” She screamed. “Look at what you have done to us!”

“Leave me alone!” Arthur screamed back; his guilt was ravaging his guts. “Nothing of this is real!”

“Because you’ve destroyed it!”

“Father!” One of the boys cried, clinging at his leg. “Why did you abandon us?!”

The others grabbed his clothes as Rhaenyra grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Enough!” Arthur screamed.

And they disappeared, now the Northerner was once again, alone in the dark.

He fell on his arse, exhausted, drenched in sweat, drowned in darkness.

“Are you alright?”

He rose his head, and sighed in frustration when he discovered another silver-haired boy wearing a green doublet.

“I’m not your father.” He said, he just wanted it to end.

“I know.” The boy answered, his voice full of sorrow. “But I wished you were.”

Arthur rose his head in surprise and curiosity, the boy’s eyes were not purple, or grey, they were blue.

But this blue was not natural, it was too deep, too shiny, it was not human.

Arthur suddenly felt extremely cold, his breath turned into mist and chills ran on his skin.

The boy opened his mouth and screamed an inhuman cry. The Northerner jumped back as the boy’s skin turned blue and rushed at him. The moment he touched him, Arthur turned into ice and his body was shattered like glass.

He opened his eyes, he was in his bed, in the room that Lord Strong’s brother had given him, he was drenched in sweat. He turned his head to the side, Rhaenyra was not here anymore, and he missed her already.
Someone had lit a fire in his chimney, a pot had been placed under the fire and whatever mixture it contained was boiling. Arthur knew he was not alone in his room, but instead of looking for his visitor, he let his head fall back on his pillow.

“Good evening, Mother.”

“Good evening, Son.”

A woman that looked his age was cutting mushrooms and herbs on his room’s table, she had hair as dark as the Northman’s and piercing green eyes, shinier than emeralds.

“What spell did you cast on me for this nightmare to be so horrible?”

She rose her head from her work and tilted it on the side.

“Is that how you speak to your mother? The only miracles I have ever performed were carrying you for nine moons and forcing your father to recognize you as his trueborn son, I am not a goddess, son, just your mother.”

He rose from his bed and looked at her, she had not aged at all since the last time he’d seen her, which made him question her claimed harmlessness.

Alys Rivers stood with a cup and a bowl in her hands, she sat at the edge of the bed and handed them over.
Arthur grabbed the cup first and drank without verifying its content, after the first swig, he realized that he should have.
“Is that your milk?”

“Yes, of course.” She smiled from ear to ear, her owl’s eyes made it disturbing.

Arthur considered the cup with horror, until his mother smacked his head.

“Do not break your mother’s heart like you have broken that girl’s.” She chastised him.

The guilt he had felt throughout his nightmare instantly returned, he drank it in one go and put the cup on his bedside table.

“That was as cruel as unnecessary, mother.”

Alys’ smile instantly fell. Her ability to change her expression in a blink had always confused her son.

“I’m sorry.” She sounded sincere as she handed over a bowl full of soup.

Arthur grabbed it and put it on his bedside table without drinking it.

Alys tilted her head to the side once more.

“It is to keep your nightmares away.”

“They’re a fair price to pay if they all start the same way.”

They say curiosity killed the cat, but in his mother’s case, it gave her wings. She climbed into the bed and embraced him with a hug.

Arthur did not protest, his mother was a strange woman, but she knew how to love. He desperately needed her.

“My poor, poor boy.” She lamented as she pressed his head against her neck.

Arthur relaxed in her arms, and a comfortable silence settled for a few moments.

“You were right.” He sighed, remembering what she had told him when he had traveled South to reach King’s Landing. “I found no Queen in the South.”

“Of course you didn’t. You’ll find her in the North.”

He frowned and freed himself from her grasp to look at her in the eyes.

“What are you talking about?”

She smiled once again and rubbed his scared cheek with her soft hand.

“The sight is never easy to interpret, Arthur. Had you not come South, the Realm would have remained Queen-less, a Queen needs a King, otherwise neither is truly what they claim to be.”

As Arthur felt his frustration build up, his mother kept on talking:

“Only the meeting of Ice and Fire will settle you down the path you were always supposed to take, my boy. You have done your part; the rest is up to Rhaenyra. Your trials are still numerous, your life will be hard, yet your greatest enemy will keep on fighting even after you die. There is nothing you can do but overcome the obstacles that will stand in your way and entrust the future to those you will love the most.”

“I don’t understand.” He sighed.

“There is nothing to understand.” She smiled. “My riddles exist to reassure you when you solve them, not to guide you on a path you would have never taken without them.”

Arthur snorted, his mother had always loved riddles. But he knew that even she did not know their answers.

“The weirwoods have stopped screaming.” He realized suddenly.

“They stopped the moment they realized you were my son, why would they despise one of their own?”

This time, Arthur knew he should not ask questions for he would not like the answer. His mother smiled at him and rubbed both his cheeks, surprisingly, his right cheek was not pained by her touch.

“You need your beauty sleep now, the next months will be hard and you will need all of your strength.”

“For what?”

Alys smiled; she pulled a pinch of green powder out of her pocket, and blew it at her son’s face. The effect was immediate, and his eyelids instantly became heavier than stones.

“For the hardest trial in any man’s life.” She whispered, and he fell asleep.

(-)(-)(-)

When he woke up, she was gone, her, her pot and all her ingredients. The only trace she had left of her presence was the smoking ashes in the chimney.

Arthur did not look for her, nor did he wonder where she had gone, he had stopped wondering about his mother a long time ago.

The trip back North took an entire moon, and Arthur’s sleep was plagued with nightmares all the way. He knew those children were not real, but for some… insane reason. He wanted to take them in his arms and be the father that they wanted. That was the only thought that made him look back.

(-)(-)(-)

“Winter is coming.”

Such were Arthur’s words when he saw Winterfell for the first time in more than a year.

He was home, as he trotted through Winter Town and crossed the gate of Winterfell, that’s what he kept repeating himself: He was home.
So why did he feel so empty?

When he dismounted his horse, he received his first welcome as Giant rushed to tackle him to the ground and lick his face under the laughter of his guards.

“Getsh off, Giant.” He commanded, but the beast was as childish as its master, Shadow had had to grab its sibling by the nape to allow Arthur a moment to get back up. Which didn’t last long as Cregan ran through him the moment he was on his feet, and he was taller, heavier and stronger than Arthur remembered.

“I’m so glad you’re back!” Cregan declared as he tightened his embrace around his cousin’s waist. Arthur smiled and picked him up. Gods he was heavier now. Cregan instantly wrapped his arms around his neck.

“I’m glad to see you too, Cregan.” Arthur whispered. “But as heir to Winterfell, you can’t display so much emotion in public.”

Cregan whimpered in his neck.

“I’m still a child.” He protested.

Instantly, all the images of the different children Arthur had seen in his dreams appeared in his mind, they made him surrender.

“You’re right, you are.” He conceded.

Cregan let him go to look at him and frowned when he saw the fresh scar on Arthur’s cheek.

“What happened to your face?” He asked, concern obvious in his voice.

“A woman.” Arthur sighed, earning a giggle from his cousin.

“Why am I not surprised?”

The Northman turned his head and smiled at his bastard cousin. Sara had not grown too much since he’d last seen her. She had probably reached her adult size. The bastard girl wrapped her arms around her cousin and her brother, enjoying the presence and reunion of the one true pack in Winterfell in her eyes.

Of course, this did not last as Bennard Stark made his presence known.

“Arthur.” He simply said.

“Father.”

“I had not believed the raven when you announced you had resigned your position as Hand of the King.”

“Add it to the long list of things you’re unable to comprehend.” Arthur answered, his voice cold as a blizzard.

Bennard turned red in anger at his son’s word, but he was not given time to retort as the former Hand of the King ignored him.
“Where is our Lord?” He asked Sara.

The latter lowered her head in pain.

“In his bed, he’s alive but… Maester Alim doubts he’ll last, he says the poison is slowly contaminating his blood.”

Arthur nodded grimly and felt Cregan’s arms tremble around his neck.

“Is father going to die?” He asked with a broken voice, earning a glare from his uncle.

Arthur’s own glare withstood his father’s, he spoke to his cousin.

“I don’t know, Cregan. For now, we must spend as much time with him as we can to support him if he recovers, or to make sure he rests in peace if he doesn’t. Do you understand, Cregan?”

The little heir buried his face in his cousin’s doublet while Sara glared at Arthur for his bluntness.

“No.” Cregan whispered, afraid and ashamed.

“It’s okay, you will.” Arthur assured him as he patted his back. “Let’s go see him.”

The Lord of Winterfell was lying in his bed with a wet towel on his forehead and a bandage, he did not open his eyes when his children and nephew entered his room but did so when he heard a voice he hadn’t heard in a long time.

“You look like shit, uncle.”

Rickon snorted.

“And you look like a scarecrow, Arthur.”

The former Hand of the King sat beside his uncle’s bed, said uncle noticed the presence of his children and sighed in defeat.

“I did not want any of them, to see me like this.” His voice was weak, broken, hoarse because of the hole he used to have in his throat.

“Uncle, either they see you like this or they’re never seeing you again.” Arthur chastised him.

Rickon actually laughed before his throat reminded him of his state and strangled him with coughing.

Sara rushed to grab a cup of water, her father had needed her help to drink it.

“Thank you, my dear.”

Sara sadly nodded in response.

Rickon went back to Arthur.

“I’m glad you’re back.”

“Are you now?” Arthur asked as he squinted his eyes, he hadn’t forgotten who had sent him South without an actual motive.

The Lord of Winterfell seemed to catch on what his nephew was implying, for he sighed deeply.

“I am.” He confirmed as he pointed at his bedside table where a sealed scroll laid. “Open it and read it.”

Arthur frowned, put Cregan on the ground and did as he was told.

“In the name of Rickon of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North hereby command my…”

He paused, he should have seen this coming.

“… my nephew Arthur of House Stark, to serve as Lord regent of Winterfell and Warden of the North upon my death, to rule in my stead, until my son, Cregan, comes of age.”

“Is my father truly that bad? Or are you begging for forgiveness before you breath your last.”

Rickon’s snort prevented his children from being shocked by Arthur’s bluntness.

“Both.” He admitted. “Cregan?”

The little boy came closer, until his father could grab his hand.

“You’re going to listen to your cousin, you hear me? He is going to teach how to be a man like I have taught him. If he tells you to jump, you jump, if he tells you to fight, you fight, if he tells you to hide, you hide. If he gets carried away, you remind him that you’re his Lord and you kick him in the leg.”

Cregan giggled like the child he was and nodded despite his apparent fear. Arthur ruffled his hair to support him.
“Sara?”

The bastard girl straightened up like a soldier, but a wave of hand from her father made her relax.

“Watch over your little brother, will you? Make sure the woman he will marry will be worthy of our House. And make sure… Arthur does not die alone and sad like he is so dead set on doing, you think you can do that?”

“I will!” Sara swore as she fought her own tears.

“Relax, my daughter, I’m not dead yet. Good… Watch over the boys, they need you more than they think.”

A comfortable silence settled between them, until Rickon spoke once again.

“I must have words with Arthur in private, the rest of you go, I won’t die tonight.”

Once they were alone, the former Hand of the King crossed his arms and legs.

“What happened, between the Princess and you?”

Of course he would ask that.

“We broke each other’s heart. I wanted to serve her dutifully, she wanted to marry me no matter the cost, which would have dragged us all into a war.”

Rickon squinted his eyes in suspicion.

“You had the opportunity to become the first Stark King in Westeros since Torrhen bent the knee, and you refused… I appreciate your loyalty, Arthur, but I doubt that was all.”

Since his nephew’s face had turned into stone, he went on:

“She made you vulnerable, didn’t she? I know how you hate that feeling.”

No answer.

“She did something, did she want to hurt you?”

“I don’t care what she wanted.” He growled. “I have done everything for her, and she ruined everything. She played with me… She plotted against me to seduce me into renouncing my duty to my house for her and a bloody future… All her damn plots had disastrous consequences on each of us… She went as far as to insult our House to force me into one of her plots, I will never forgive her.”

“Forgiveness is not just earned, it is granted.” His uncle chastised him weakly. “If she does manage to earn your forgiveness, don’t be stubborn…”

“Don’t tell me you support this.”

“I don’t, you’re right, it is far too dangerous for you two to marry. But trust the experience of a dying man; I have far too many regrets, especially with women. If you or her die before you’ve forgiven each other, your guilt will follow you until your deathbed.”

Arthur contemplated his words for a moment, and an abominable feeling started gnawing his guts. His uncle was right, he did feel guilty. He had hurt Rhaenyra and he was regretful about it, the fact that she was haunting his dreams was evidence enough of this. Yet… How could he forgive her? Even though he wanted to, even though he desired her touch, he would never forget that he was scarred for life because of her, he would never forget how she tried to break down his defenses with no regards for his feelings. And now that they were apart, the bad memories outweighed the good ones.

“One last thing Arthur, I want no war with Dorne.”

Silence.
“I mean it.” Rickon insisted. “I have already instructed the maester to send a raven in my name, informing Prince Qoren of what has happened and of what was probably his daughter’s plot. I want this feud with Dorne to be buried with me.”

“You do know that I might not have a choice, right?” Arthur was frustrated, even though he did not want a war either, how could he let the Warden of the North’s assassination slide? How could the Northern Lords accept that?

“This is my will, and you will respect it.” Rickon said, putting an end to this discussion. “If Cregan wishes to start it when he reaches his sixteenth nameday, it will be his prerogative. But you, will, teach him better. Do you hear me?”

“I have heard you.”

“Good. Now go be the Lord, Winterfell has been unruled for too long, and don’t let your father anywhere near my solar. Neither him, nor your brothers.”

“It’ll be done, my Lord.” Arthur bowed.

Rickon watched as his nephew left his room, taller and stronger than ever. He wondered if his story with his Princess was over, but he knew the boy too well. He was passionate, and no matter what he said, he was well trapped in her web. This was not the end. He remembered the small and studious boy that Arthur used to be, he wished he had been a better uncle, but as he had himself stated, a man on his dying bed only had regrets and hopes that were out of his control. The North was in Arthur’s hands now, and if Cregan would meet an unfortunate premature end, Rickon trusted the maester to make his testament known.

(-)(-)(-)

Arthur’s first decree as regent was to make his uncle’s will known and to announce himself as regent. He sent ravens all around the North to inform the lords of his new status, and one to King’s Landing to inform the King himself, then he went to his uncle’s solar to start working.

He considered bringing Cregan, but his cousin still had his lessons with the master, there was no reason to rush things, Cregan was a child that would soon lose his father, he deserved to live his childhood to the fullest.

He worked until late at night, when his own exhaustion reminded him that he had not rested since he had come back from his moon long travel all the way from King’s Landing.

He pushed to the side the Night’s Watch letter that had informed him of a potential new King beyond the Wall and looked out of his window. It had been a moon since he last saw Rhaenyra, a moon since he had abandoned her in the middle of her courtship. He wondered how it had gone, even though he supposed it did not go well. At the very least, he hoped that she would be civil and politically responsible regarding her numerous suitors. After all, they had worked so hard together to help her win the Game of Thrones. He knew that, out of respect for the time they had spent together, she would not ruin it. Otherwise, their meeting would have been a mistake, and Rhaenyra is too proud to let it happen.

He missed her, he missed her terribly, he was home, surrounded by family, with his direwolf at his feet, ruling Winterfell like he had always dreamed to do, but he felt incomplete.

Rhaenyra was here, always, haunting him, whispering words to his ear, torturing him with images of potential children they could have had together.

A tear ran down his scarred cheek as he remembered all the childish faces that had haunted his dreams. He slammed his fist against his desk to get a hold of himself and sighed to calm his nerves.

His uncle had been right, he regretted leaving, she had trapped him, he wanted to go back to King’s Landing and ask for her forgiveness… But would she forgive him? How would his return be interpreted? Every Lord in each corner of the Realm would declare them as lovers and everything would fall apart.

They were stuck, they had both put themselves in this situation. Arthur could not go back South anyway now; he was Winterfell’s Lord Regent. He had to watch over his cousin, to be here for his uncle’s funerals, to rule the North for a decade…

How could they possibly see each other in the near future?
He was pulled out of his thoughts by a visitor who did not bother knocking. Sara entered with a bowl of soup and a piece of bread in her arms.
“You haven’t changed at all, have you?” She chastised him as she rose an eyebrow.
Arthur chuckled, it’s true that he had always been busy studying and working that he often forgot to eat. He never had that problem in the Red Keep, a servant had always brought him food no matter the hour or the room he was in.

“Thank you, Sara.” He smiled as he dipped a piece of bread in the soup. Unsurprisingly, it appeared her bastard cousin had things to say as she crossed her arms.

“Was she really that pretty?”

Arthur slammed his hand on his desk, making Shadow whimper.

“Was is it with you all questioning me about her?” He growled. “First your father, now you, even Lord Roderick could keep himself from questioning me all the way from King’s Landing.”

“You can expect Cregan to ask as well.” She answered mockingly. “She was in most of the rumors we have heard about you, so there must have been something.”

Since Arthur chose to ignore her and eat his supper, Sara kept on attacking.

“You did love her.”

“I do love her, is that what you wanted to hear? And don’t ask me why I did not want to marry her, I’m tired of answering this question, and yes; she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Anything else?”

Sara looked flabbergasted by her cousin’s aggressive answer, the latter realized he had gone too far and lowered his head in apology.

“I’m sorry, Sara… It’s just that… my entire life has revolved around her for the past year.” He passed a finger on his cheek. “This what I got in the end, and don’t forget that your father is on his deathbed because I went South.”

“No one is to blame for this except that moron of a Dornish Prince and his sister.” She retorted angrily. “What did she do to put you in such a state?”

Arthur shook his head.

“I am not answering this question anymore.” He said. “Ask me anything you wish, but she, is out of your reach.”

Sara was not satisfied with this answer, she crossed her arms and gave him her best glare.

“You did not tell me about the previous one either.”

This time, it had not been his hand that had slammed the tabled, it had been both his fists.

“You want to know what is worse?!” He yelled, unleashing his fury and startling both his cousin and his wolf. “I told her, I told her about Rasha and she did not care! She tried to manipulate her way into my heart, she played with my feelings no matter how many warnings I gave her. And it ended in blood. Mine and her swornshield’s!”

Arthur sighed once he was done ranting and fell back in his chair, exhausted by his harsh day and the ghost of the woman he loved.

“There is nothing you can do or say for me, Sara.” He said as he drank his soup in one go and got up to walk past his cousin with Shadow on his heels and his cousin’s worried glance on his back. He went to his room, splashed his face and went to bed. She haunted him, they haunted him, all of them. Each of their faces, each of their cries were now part of his nightly life.
Arthur Stark knew deep down that he was not done with Rhaenyra Targaryen, and never would be.

AN: Some of you have been complaining about the fact that Rhaenyra may end up having children with someone else than Arthur, well you guys have clearly misinterpreted my words when I say I would follow ‘canon’ a bit, and have clearly not been paying attention when you read. I won’t change everything  but there will be major changes obviously, otherwise this story has no meaning. I think I’ll stop with my authors’ notes if you keep interpreting the worst case scenario and demanding answers under the threat of unsubscribing. From now on, I’ll just post my chapters, without ANs and if you want to unsubscribe, do so. I won’t spoil anything even if you DM me. Just debate between yourselves. Reread if you need to, some cluees might be hidden.

To those who have been wondering if a timeskip would occur between arcs, the answer is yes, but only a month after this last scene. And we will follow Rhaenyra’s POV for a few chapters.

Anyway, I hope you guys have enjoyed this chapter, feel free to react by comments as much as you like despite my little rant😉.