The Lost Stark

Dragonstone.

~Daenerys
In a state of shock, I lift my leg over the side of the boat and slowly descend the steps Greyworm had placed next to it. As I walk, I reflect on how many of my ancestors must have trodden this beach before me. With a deep breath, I halt and kneel down to touch the ground, my thoughts racing. My breathing becomes erratic as my hands reach down to feel the sand. Just as my fingers make contact with the moist beach, a wave of love and support washes over me, calming my heart. Slightly bewildered, I retract my hand, letting the sand slip through my fingers before I realize its source. "Thank you, my wolf," I whisper, rising to my feet. Looking back, I watch as Harper disembarks, then turns to her brother. Together, they assist Missandei. As if they had planned it in advance, they make their way towards me, leaving Tyrion to his own devices while their wolves jump into the shallow waters.
Once Harper and Rickon reach me, I take each of their hands in one of mine. Together, we walk up the beach, taking in the towering storm-worn walls and rugged cliffs rising from the ground. Soon, we arrive at a brick path leading to a tall black-stoned gate adorned with menacing spikes, built into the cliffs. My eyes scrutinize the structure, adorned with small dragons intertwined with basilisks and other mythical creatures. Two small yet prominent iron braziers protrude from the sides of the two pillars supporting the gates, seemingly held up by the claws of dragons.
Waiting for us atop the stone steps is my nephew, still wearing his golden chestplate, but now with a black cloak trimmed in red. "My Queen," he approaches with a long yellow cloth, placing it at my feet as he kneels. "Welcome home."
Harper steps forward, picks up the cloth, and unfolds it for us to see. "Stannis Baratheon," she mutters with disgust as we all gaze at the faded crowned stag within a flaming heart. I observe her clenched fist around the fabric before she tosses it to the ground. "Ser Aegon, remove any and all evidence of Stannis Baratheon from this island."
Aegon, looking puzzled, stands and gives me a cautious look. I nod in agreement, then return my attention to my impassioned daughter. "As you wish, Princess," he answers with a bow.
Placing my hand on Harper's shoulder, I give it a reassuring squeeze. Her eyes meet mine, and I offer a gentle smile. She takes my hand, intertwining our fingers. Together, we turn toward the gate just as two Unsullied push it open, revealing a winding walkway surrounded by verdant fields leading directly to the inner walls. My breath catches in my throat as I take in the castle's sight, and unshed tears of disbelief fill my eyes. The Great Hall resembles a dragon lying on its belly, with the entrance within its open mouth. The towers resemble dragons perched atop the walls or poised for flight, while the Sea Dragon Tower gazes almost serenely out across the waves. After taking a deep breath, I step forward, leading our group up the beach, immersing ourselves in the grandeur of the storm-worn castle.
As we walk, I can feel Rickon's hand being pulled aside. I glance down with a smile as he peeks over the railing, cautiously moving away from the steep drop leading to the turbulent waters below. Suppressing my chuckle, we continue on the path until we reach another gate that leads into the inner walls. An Unsullied guard turns with a lit torch, pushes one side of the gate open, and leads us into the castle's dimly lit depths. Trusting his guidance, I follow with the children in tow. We follow the flames for what seems like a long time until we reach another high-arched doorway. As soon as I step through, I notice another of Stannis Baratheon's banners. Harper drops my hand and strides forward, tearing it from the wall with a look of disdain. Two more guards holding torches face each other with their free hands resting on the handles of another set of imposing, vaulted doors. Giving them a nod, they push the doors open, unveiling a vast room that appears as if carved out of the volcano itself.
Entering the room, I stand before the Dragonstone Throne in the dimly lit chamber of Dragonstone Castle. My heart swells with a profound connection to my Targaryen ancestors. My eyes sweep over the throne, crafted entirely from obsidian, gleaming with eerie and otherworldly beauty. Its polished surface shimmers in the flickering sunlight that filters through the slim yet tall windows carved into the walls, casting dancing shadows across its intricate carvings. Dragons are etched into the throne's dark surface, their wings outstretched and tails coiled. Positioned on a raised platform, it commands the entire chamber, with an imposing dragon skull as its backdrop.
"Wow," Rickon whispers as he releases my hand.
Not saying anything, I make my way through the room and walk up the steps, stopping before the Throne. While it is beautiful, I can't help but be saddened, realizing there are only a few left to whom this island rightfully belongs. Something catches my eye through a doorway to my left, a sliver of sunlight sparkling in the dark corners behind the Throne. I hear Harper and Tyrion follow me up the stairs and through the small, dimly lit walkway.
As I step into the room, my eyes are immediately drawn to the magnificent sight that commands the chamber's attention—the legendary Painted Table of Dragonstone. The enormous stone map sprawls across the center of the room, detailing the entirety of Westeros. Each kingdom, each castle, and each road is meticulously rendered. My finger skims over The Painted Table's dusty surface, following the delicate lines and symbols. Unable to tear my gaze away from the depiction of the Seven Kingdoms, each territory marked in vivid detail, I try to remember which of the weathered wooden figures strewn across it belong to which house as I make my way towards the open windows that carry in the salty air smelling of smoke and brimstone. It is not only a representation of the realm I seek to conquer but also a symbol of my family's storied history and my determination to reclaim the Iron Throne. Standing there, in the presence of this ancient relic, I can't help but ponder how often this room was used before and after the fall of my family.
I stop at the end of the table and turn my back to the windows. My eyes meet Harper's, and together we watch Tyrion explore, his curiosity evident. Finally, he comes to a stop next to me. I look back to the dusty table once more and place my hands atop it. "Shall we begin?"

~Ryker
"The horses and carriages are ready for departure, Your Majesty," Condon says as he walks with me across the courtyard.
"Thank you." I continue to scan the area, trying to spot my sister. "Have you seen Sansa?" I ask him as we proceed along the path leading to the kennels.
"Unfortunately, I haven't, but her guards are there," he points to the entrance of the crypts.
My heart skips a beat before racing again. Throughout my time at home, I've avoided setting foot in the crypts. I don't know why, but the thought of seeing my father and Robb etched in stone statues sends a cold shiver down my spine. Perhaps that's why Sansa chose this moment to visit them, knowing I'd want to bid her farewell before leaving. I give Condon a nod and swallow the nervous lump in my throat as I approach the entrance.
Taking a deep breath, I start descending the steps into a labyrinth of passageways lined with statues of the Lords and Kings of Westeros who came before me. The further down I go, the colder my limbs become, and the more visible my breath becomes, each exhale a puff of white in the frigid air. I hear the sound of flint striking and mumbled, cursed words. I turn the corner away from the stairs and find Sansa attempting to light a match in front of our father, who stands between our aunt and brother. I reach out, taking the match from her trembling hands and effortlessly lighting it. With a gentle smile, I lean over and light the candle on the side of our father's alcove.
"They should have had someone who knew their likeness better carve their stones," she whispers, her gaze fixed on our father's statue and then Robb's.
Painful tears well up in my eyes as I meet my twin's lifeless gaze. "Aye," I agree in a rough voice.
"You're leaving?" She whispers. I nod, unable to tear my eyes away from Robb.
"When will you return?"
Drawing in a ragged breath, I wipe the frozen trails from my face. "As soon as I can."
"I know he's been a difficult brother, but don't leave him there," she says, pulling my arm and forcing me to look at her. "His mind may be clouded with falsehoods, but he's still our brother. Give him another chance to bend the knee."
"And if he still refuses?"
"I don't know," she whispers, lowering her head. "Just don't let her kill him, please, Ryker."
I let out a sigh and gaze at my father's statue. "If he refuses to bend the knee, I cannot guarantee his life. However, I can try to keep him as a prisoner."
Her head lifts, and she throws her arms around my shoulders. "Thank you, Ryker," she whispers, planting a kiss on my cheek.
I nod and hold her close. "I'm going to miss you."
"Me too." She gives me one last squeeze before pulling away. "Give Rickon and Harper my love."
"I will." I nod and kiss her forehead.
Sansa takes a step back, offering me a final smile before turning and leaving me in the quietude of the crypts.
"I'm sorry," I say to the statues as soon as Sansa's footsteps fade. "I never wanted this to happen. This was never supposed to happen." My sadness turns to anger as I remember all the things I wished to tell them on the hill. "You were supposed to come back to me. You were supposed to live," I tell Robb's statue. "We were meant to grow old together, raise our children together. Why did you two trust the wrong people? Honor isn't everything to those who don't understand its meaning." I shout into the cold, damp air. Breathing heavily, I step back, trying to calm myself before I inadvertently shift.
"I delivered his bones myself," I jump at Littlefinger's voice as he approaches me. "I presented them to your mother as a gesture of goodwill from Tyrion Lannister." I turn away from him and face my father's statue. "Seems like a lifetime ago. Do give Lord Tyrion my best when you see him," he continues, as I ignore his presence as he stops beside me. "I was sorry when he died. Your father and I had our differences, but he loved your mother very much. So did I."
Looking past him, I resist the urge to unsheathe Blackfyre and relieve him of his head. "You don't belong down here," I warn him.
"Forgive me," he turns quickly. "We haven't talked properly. I wanted to remedy that."
"I have nothing to say to you," I growl as I walk away, knowing that if I kill him now, the Knights of the Vale will leave Winterfell.
"Not even thank you?" He snarks. "If I hadn't come at your sister's request, the Boltons would have destroyed your brother's army, and Ramsay would have taken Sansa as his wife again."
"It's a good thing there was never a battle," I say over my shoulder as he follows me.
"You have many enemies, My King. But I swear to you, I'm not one of them," he rushes out. "I love Sansa. I loved your mother."
As soon as I hear his words, my control snaps. Swinging my fist out as I turn around, I feel it make contact with his nose. He stumbles on his feet as I advance, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him against the stone wall. I hold him there for a moment, my grip preventing any air from entering his lungs. His hands weakly fight against mine, attempting to break free. "Touch my sister, and I'll kill you myself," I growl, getting closer to his face and letting my canines extend.
Just as his eyes start to roll back into his head, I release him and leave him gasping on the ground, gulping in the damp, cold air. Anger consumes me as I climb the steps and leave the crypts. Just as I'm about to mount my horse, I see Lord Royce talking with Lady Brienne. Abandoning my horse, I approach them with my hand on my sword's hilt.
"Lord Royce, Lady Brienne," I call out, getting their attention.
"My King." "Your Majesty." They both say as they bow.
"Peytr Baelish is not to be alone with my sister," I order them. "I don't care if you have to follow her wherever she goes. Do it. If she tries to dismiss you or her guards, tell her I ordered you to stay. And if he tries to overstep, put him in chains. Do you understand?"
"Yes." "Of course," they agree, nodding.
"Good. Thank you." I nod and turn back to my horse. As I prepare to mount, I see Sansa standing on the balcony where we used to watch Bran practice his archery. I give her a brief smile and a small wave before nudging my horse forward toward the Southern Gate.