CHAPTER 51 | AN INVITATION

WARNING: CHAPTER CROSSES OVER AND CONTAINS SPOILERS FROM MY OTHER GOT FICS, "SINNER" AND "HOWLING"

"YOU have a parcel waiting for you outside, my lord."

Jaime Lannister, former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, walked the hallowed halls of the Red Keep. Court had just adjourned, leaving Jaime tired and not willing to form proper responses. All he wanted at that moment was to sit down and shut his eyes, but it was only early in the afternoon. Sometimes, especially on days like that, he didn't know if it was his body that was dragging him, or his large, golden hand.

But at the call of his name, Jaime lifted his head. Two men of the Kingsguard looked at him, waiting for an answer. Jaime only blinked, as he was confused to why he had a parcel waiting for him outside the doors of the Red Keep. He never received parcels or boxes outside, they were always brought to him.

Jaime cleared his throat, shaking himself from his thoughts. "Why must I find my carton outside?"

"Suspicions and conspirators against the crown run high, Ser Jaime. Forgive us, but we cannot always trust bringing foreign packages into your abode from now on."

Jaime couldn't argue with his statement. The Kingsguard began to lead him outside his walls, outside his home – an area that might've made him feel unsafe. But Jaime never felt safe these days, what with Cersei's new ways of taking down that Targaryen girl's invaders at Dragonstone. War was upon them – again – and alas, all Jaime wanted to do was shut his damn eyes.

The crate was waiting outside the entrance of the Red Keep. It sat near the gates, where two more Kingsguard stood, watching over the outskirts of the castle. The men who led him there drifted off to stand beside their colleagues, silently waiting for Jaime to open the package. They were armed and ready in case of something dire, but they didn't know what.

Jaime stared at the crate for a moment in confusion. His eyes narrowed before he cautiously stepped forward, taking each step as if his life depended on it. He looked up at the Kingsguard for moment, debating his options to open the crate. I mean, the men were right. There were many conspirators against the crown now, who was to say that this package could've been from them?

Folded in between the crevices of the crate was a small piece of parchment. Jaime plucked the scroll from the box, unraveling it. He began to notice a strong odor wafting into the air, causing the confusion to completely muddle his brain.

Jaime's eyes finally focused on the unraveled scroll in his hands – one real and one of forged golden metal. The writing was almost unrecognizable, and was written in a heavy quill, he presumed. Splotches of ink dotted the corners of the page. The scroll read:

Long overdue. Fire and blood will take the throne.

– Ellaria Sand of Dorne

Jaime shook his head at the letter. He rolled his eyes and threw the scroll to the ground. Ever so carefully, Jaime began to lift the top of the crate off, and then realized the stench had gotten worse. The Kingsguard moved closer to the Lannister, just as a safety precaution. Jaime managed to remove the lid and threw it to the ground. The smell of corpses was everywhere now, and when Jaime finally looked inside the box, he knew why.

In the middle of the crate, lying on a heap of hay and meadow grass, sat the dried and rotting heads of a small boy and an aged maiden. The maiden had once glowing, olive-toned skin, and so did the boy, but now their skin was only grey, rotting and falling off the skeleton. Most of the head was actually bare bone, besides half of the skin that was left. Their hair had fallen off, especially the maiden's, who once had long, dark stray curls – ones that Jaime remembered felt like the softest silk he ever touched. Jaime knew these two heads. He knew these two corpses.

These were the heads of his secret lover and their bastard son.

Laila Ryswell, the woman who had once called him a sinner. The former handmaiden of Catelyn Stark. The woman who believed in him, who called him a savior. The surviver who was given the order to trek with him and Brienne to bring him back to King's Landing. Tyland Ryswell, a boy too young to not have seen the whole world. Jaime never gave him that world, because he had never been a good father to any of his children.

He could never save the people he truly loved.

Jaime's legs gave out on him, and he was suddenly kneeling in front of the box. The Kingsguard slowly moved away, in fear they would alarm him. Jaime gripped the edges of the crate, his mouth wobbling. Tears slowly fell from his eyes, though he dared not to weep and moan. They were gone. He couldn't believe they were gone. How terrible could he have been, to leave them in Dorne with Lannister connivers? When his own bastard son had the infamous head of bright, golden Lannister locks? How could he?

And for the first time that day, Jaime shut his eyes. He wished to be blind, so he could never see this horrid world ever again.

•••

Jon had tried his hardest touch Maia that morning, but she absolutely was not having it. Not only was she already pregnant, but she also needed to tell Jon that she was in that current state. The more he wanted to have sex, the more she thought about it. Maia didn't exactly care if she was putting a damper on his spirits in a time of terror; she was too scared to have sex.

In fact, it took all but Maester Wolkan walking in on them in their chambers to stop Jon. The King had been kissing his lady's neck while trying to lift the bottom of her skirt with his shakey hand, but then the door slammed open, almost hitting Maia in the head.

The maester had shut his eyes, exclaiming, "Oh, King Jon! Lady Maia! So sorry to intrude!"

Maia moved away and hid her face from the maester. Jon huffed before staring angrily at Maester Wolkan. "Is there something you need, maester?"

Wolkan whipped his arm out, still keeping a hand over his eyes. In his hands sat a small scroll. "A letter, Your Grace. From Dragonstone."

The maester quickly sprinted out of the room as he handed Jon the letter. Maia slowly looked up at the mention of Dragonstone, which she knew now to be the seat of House Targaryen. After sending her letter and not hearing from Queen Daenerys for so long, she was sure her letter never reached her. Maybe she had heard. Maybe they now had a chance against the Walkers.

If only she didn't also have an unborn child to decide on as well. She was losing time.

And that was what brought them to where they stood now. Maia, along with Sansa and Davos, stood on the battlements of Winterfell, as Jon laid one hand on the railing. His other hand held the letter. Children and commoners alike practiced their bow and arrow skills in the courtyard, training for the Great War. Though they all knew that they would never be prepared.

Maia gestured with her hand for Jon to open the letter, and he grumbled before doing so. He smoothed out the corners of the scroll and read to himself. Maia and Sansa shared a glance, waiting impatiently. But Sansa's look held more contentment and wonder, thinking if Maia had told Jon her secret yet, but from the dilation of her friend's eyes, she guessed not.

Jon frowned as he finished reading, looking to his sister. "It's from Tyrion Lannister."

Sansa took the letter in her hands. She read over the writing quickly, seeing if she could recognize his penmanship. "You think it's really Tyrion?" She asked. "It could be someone trying to lure you into a trap.

"Tyrion Lannister?" Maia questioned with a raised brow. "I thought he was Cersei Lannister's brother? Why would the brother of the Queen be supporting Daenerys Targaryen?"

Jon handed the letter over to Maia, who read the words inked on the page carefully.

To the King in the North, Jon Snow,

Daenerys Stormborn, First of Her Name, invites you and company to Dragonstone. We wish for you to join our armies from Dorne and the Reach, the Dothraki horde, a legion of Unsullied, and three dragons. The Seven Kingdoms will bleed as long as Cersei sits on the Iron Throne. Join us and together we can end her tyranny. Remember: all dwarves are bastards in their father's eyes.

To the sender known as Lady Maia of House Sanders,

Daenerys has lately received your letter sent to Meereen. Targaryen loyalists in Meereen were able to send the letter to Dragonstone within time of her arriving. Your letter has intrigued Her Grace, not only about a supposed Great War on the horizon, but she wishes to know more of you, since you have said to come from a practically extinct house that aided her deceased brother. She requests to meet both of you.

– Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen

When Maia looked up, she saw Jon staring at her with confusion. "Why didn't you tell us that you sent this Daenerys a letter?"

Maia folded the letter in her hands. "I honestly didn't think it would ever reach her, but I'm glad it did. I heard that she had dragons and I –" Maia sighed. "I hoped for the best."

"It could still be a trap," Sansa quipped. "Someone could've gotten their hands on Maia's letter and it never did reach Dragonstone." Davos nodded at her statement.

Jon shook his head. "Read the last bit."

Maia tossed the letter to Sansa, who cleared her throat before reading, "All dwarves are bastards in their father's eyes. What does that mean?"

"It's something he said to me the first night we met," Jon replied. He took in a deep breath of fresh, Northern air, knowing it wouldn't be like this for long. He then turned to his sister. "You know him better than any of us. What do you think?"

All eyes turned to Sansa, for Jon was right. Sansa had been married to Tyrion Lannister. Maia remembered back to a long time ago, when she had been sitting on the sofa in her apartment, her ex by her side. He had been rewatching for the upcoming season, and while Maia licked ice cream off her spoon, she watched Sansa Stark walk into the Sept and marry a man she didn't love. It was sad, really, but Maia never thought she'd feel anything for these people until this moment.

"Tyrion is not like the other Lannisters." Sansa said, with a shake of her head. "He was always kind to me, but it's too great a risk." Her eyes casted to the parchment again. "The Seven Kingdoms will bleed as long as Cersei sits on the Iron Throne. Join us and together we can end her tyranny." Sansa then wrinkled her nose. "He wrote to Maia: Your letter has intrigued Her Grace, not only about a supposed Great War on the horizon, but she wishes to know more of you, since you have said to come from a practically extinct house that aided her deceased brother. Sounds odd to me."

Davos held his hand out, to which Sansa handed him the scroll. His brow lifted at the words on the paper. "Sounds like a charmer," he joked. "Of course, the casual mention of a Dothraki horde, a legion of Unsullied, and three dragons. A bit less charming."

"Well," Maia proposed, stepping forward to look at her two friends, "let's focus on the last part of that letter." She turned to each of them, her hands raised. "You know what could help us with the army of the dead? Three dragons."

As a child, Maia had always been obsessed with the idea of dragons. She owned at least fifty books on them, all from different places. She adored the creatures and the magical appearance of them, both in literature and television. But, gods, she never thought she'd ever have the chance to actually see one, since they obviously didn't exist in her world.

"Lady Maia is correct," Davos agreed. "Fire killed wights, you told me. What breathes fire?"

Jon looked away in distress. Sansa turned to the two with venom laced in her tone. "You two cannot be suggesting Jon meet with her?"

"Uh, she invited me too –"

Davos shook his head, interrupting Maia's response, "No, too dangerous."

"But?" Jon said, urging his advisor to continue.

"But if the army of the dead makes it passed the Wall, do we have enough men to fight them?"

Maia's hand shot up, causing their eyes to fall on her. "Oh, I can answer that question easily," she replied. "No."

•••

The storm currently raged on and on as the Brotherhood Without Banners move through the North. Snow covered every inch around them, and it was hard to remember summer. Freya Greyjoy, the Queen Who Lost the North, rode her horse beside her friend, Thoros of Myr, and Sandor Clegane, who held a cloak tightly to his chest.

Freya Greyjoy had been the oldest of her two siblings, after their older brothers had died, even for being a legitimized bastard. She had been a warrior since she was a child, and when she was sent out to live as a ward with the Starks, alongside her brother, honorable Ned Stark helped and trained the young girl. She was one of the greatest commanders alive during the War of the Five Kings, even marrying Robb Stark as a revenge plot against her father for the Northern lords, not knowing she would soon fall heavily in love with the man she used to loathe. Robb and Freya where the Northern rulers people cheered for and sang songs about, but that life was spoiled when Walter Frey invited them into his home and slaughtered her husband and their army. For once, Freya had a grace of luck in her life, for she was alive and had been taken in by the Brotherhood. She had not seen any of the Starks or her true family for many years.

The snow reminded her of how much time had passed. Now at twenty and six, Freya felt like she aged twenty years more. Her face had sunken in. Some strands of hair turned grey, due to stress. She was weaker than she had ever been, but Freya insisted on always being able to fight her own battles. That was something she never gave up on. She would stay true to herself, a factor that her husband would've appreciated.

"Bad night to be outdoors," Thoros observed.

Sandor sent him a glare. "You've got real powerful magic to figure that out. Did the Lord of Light whisper that in your ear? 'It's snowing, Thoros! Windy! It's gonna be a cold night!'"

"Enough of your babbling, Clegane." Freya said with a roll of her eyes. "You're lucky I gave you my cloak. Why are you always in such a foul mood?"

"Experience," Sandor had quipped.

Freya's eyes narrowed when she looked at the Hound. "And you don't think I've had enough of that? You were there for the deaths of my husband and army. I know experience." She rode her horse forward, pointing to an empty cottage near their path. "We'll make camp there, boys."

"These people don't want us here," Sandor argued.

Beric appeared on the Hound's right. "Listen to your Queen, Clegane. She'll slit your throat, nice and easy."

As the sky got darker, the storm became heavier. Freya didn't like the coldness of the cottage, especially after finding the corpses of the owners inside, but it was their only source of shelter for the night. She watched the snow fall down in heavy heaps from the window outside, barely paying attention to the conversation Beric and Sandor were having. That was until, Thoros insisted on the Hound looking into the flames.

Now, Freya wasn't one to believe in the Lord of Light, but after staying with Beric for so long, he was a pretty good convincer. Sandor refused the offer several times, and Freya knew it was because he feared fire. Freya walked behind the Hound before shoving him forward, which caused him to trip and move close to the fire Thoros had made.

"What do you see?" Thoros asked calmly.

Sandor laid a hand on the mantle, giving the fire a glance. "Logs burning."

"Keep looking. What do you see?"

He sighed and did as told. The Hound looked deep into the fire burning in the cottage's hearth. He looked deep into the depths of it, trying to find something – anything – as a sign. Freya watched on from the back, arms crossed over her chest. She began to tap her foot and look to the ground.

Suddenly, Sandor whispered, "Ice."

Both Freya and Beric viewed up at that statement. Freya's whole body went rigid.

"A wall of ice," Sandor continued. "The Wall. It's where the Wall meets ... the sea. The waves are frozen. There's a castle there." The fire then crackled, making him jump, but Sandor looked deeper in the flames. His teeth clenched. "There's ... a mountain. Looks like an arrowhead. The dead are marching past. Thousands of them."

Beric stood beside Sandor then. "Do you believe me now, Clegane?" He asked. "Do you believe we're here for a reason?"

Freya's body felt cold. The reality of the world was right before her, and her mind still wandered to avenging the deaths of her husband and family. But then, right there, Freya knew she was meant for a greater purpose. They all were. And for the first time, after traveling with the Brotherhood for four years, Freya finally believed.

•••

A/N: And we got not one, but two other OC appearances from my other GOT fanfics. Freya finally made herself known, and Laila ... well, Laila tried her best to make it to the party 🤷🏼‍♀️

If you don't know who those two OCs are, Freya Greyjoy is my OC in my Robb Stark fic, "Howling," and Laila Ryswell (and the bastard child, Tyland) are from my Jaime Lannister fic, "Sinner." Readers of that story know the end too well lol, so I thought I could tie up some loose ends to "Sinner" here, while also showing different perspectives in the story and how they are being affected by the war going on!