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A Dragon in Wolf Skin

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“Tony”- Tony’s Memories

“Dany” – Daenerys’s memories

Khal”- Dothraki language

Dracarys” - Old Valyrian

Chapter I

Something in him wished that he was afraid.

It wished he would fight, that fear would drive him away from death’s grasp…but it couldn’t because he wasn’t afraid.

His body had long since stopped shivering, no longer trying to get warm as his lips turned blue. The cold sucked the warmth from his veins but it didn’t hurt, it wasn’t frightening. The only thing he felt…was betrayal.

The Avengers had forsaken him, after so long of him believing that they were his family. All the time he spent trying to become a better person, someone they wouldn’t mind at their backs or in their life. He’d stopped drinking, even when all he wanted was to drown the pain of Pepper leaving him in a bottle. He’d stopped sleeping around before him and Pepper and hadn’t bothered to go back to it when she left him. He done everything he possibly could to get them to accept him, going as far as paying for every cent of damage caused both by Ultron and Cap’s quest to find Bucky.


Steve .

Steve had been his role model, someone he’d looked up to and trusted even after their rocky start on the Helicarrier and he’d betrayed him. Lied to him. After everything he’d said about not keeping secrets, he’d kept something like this from him. But he was irrational for reacting? For hurting?

They’d lied to him. Tried to break him.

Left him behind.

Even death’s comforting approach couldn’t soothe the pain they’d left behind.

A quiet, hoarse laugh left his throat, jostling his broken body and he gasped, coughing up an alarming amount of blood. It speckled its way across his lips freezing and congealing as it made contact with the dry air around him.

So, this was how his story ended?

Lying broken and abandoned in the base of one of the worst organizations in the world, in the middle of a frozen wasteland.

How fitting.

What better way to die, than as a villain slain by America’s mightiest hero and his ever-faithful best friend?

The air rippled briefly before a gentle hand cupped his cheek and he found himself gazing into the sad emerald eyes of the one being who’d been at his side since the beginning. He gave her a broken smile she returned it with a mournful one of her own.

“Hello, Milady.”

“Oh, what have they done to you, my beautiful merchant?” She breathed, thumb stroking his cheek. He leaned into her touch despite the agony it caused.

“Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

The goddess shook her head, midnight hair brushing his face at the motion.

“You didn’t deserve this, my chosen. But I am not here to argue with this with you. I am here to give back to you what you’ve lost.”

He frowned, wanting to ask what she was talking about but darkness was encroaching upon his vision stealing both his sight and his breath. She smiled, ever gentle, and kissed his forehead.

“You must wake up, Khaleesi. Only fire and blood can save you.”

His eyes fell closed and a strange, but soothing heat began to curl around his heart before making its way through his body.

“Times are changing and war rests on the horizon. Your people need you. Awaken Daenerys Stormborn, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea. Queen of the seven Kingdoms. Mother of Dragons. He is coming, and you must be ready.”

He gasped as the heat intensified. Then, the darkness overtook his vision and he was bombarded by memories that were ( weren’t ) his ( her ) own.


Their home was gone.

She knew she should’ve been too young to remember but the smell of blood and smoke was cloying in her throat. Their mother’s screams rang in her ears, melding with the sounds of steel meeting steel and Viserys frightened sobs.

Everyone told her that her mother died in childbirth. Viserys looked at her with loathing and told her she’d killed them, all the while striking her until her skin was covered in flowering bruises.

She bore it with a silent grace, because how could she tell them the truth.

How could she tell them that she could see through their lies, especially when she wasn’t supposed to remember?

She couldn’t.


Howard was angry with him.

He should’ve expected it.

In his four years of life, he’d never seen his father smile in his direction. Never heard a word of warmth from him despite wishing otherwise.

He curled into a ball, trying to silence the sobs leaving his lips.

Stark men didn’t cry.

Stark men were made of iron.

He didn’t dare to tell his father that iron could rust.

His body wouldn’t survive the beating he’d receive if he did.


He was going to sell her.

She stared up at her brother terrified as he whispered in her ear, speaking of the Khal she was to wed. The man had just ridden away from them after riding around her and inspecting her like she was a piece of meat at the market.

She was as indignant as she was terrified.

And she was very much that.

Khal Drogo scared her much more than Viserys ever had.

Whereas Viserys was lean and slender due to the malnourishment of their childhood, the Khal was tall with arms as powerful as the stallion he sat astride. His entire being spoke of brute strength and she couldn’t help but fear what would happen should he turn that strength on her.

She was led inside to prepare for her wedding, her brother’s warning echoing in her mind. Once alone, she let out a quiet sob and wrapped her arms around herself in a shameful parody of a hug. In that moment, she wished to be anywhere but where she was.


Mother was warm.

She held him when he couldn’t bring himself to be iron, and sang to him when he released his tears into the shoulders of her favorite dress.

Her eyes, a warm chocolate brown, were so similar yet so different from his own, but he loved her all the same. She didn’t hit him, and though she couldn’t stop Howard from doing so, he saw the bruises on her skin that showed him that she’d tried anyway.

Curling closer to her, he nuzzled throat, smiling when she chuckled at the action.

“Tell me a story, mama.” He pleaded and she hummed.

“What do you want to here, bambino?”

“Tell me about the lions! The story about the lions and the wolves!”

“And the dragons?” She asked knowingly. His eyes lit up and she gave him a wry grin.

“Alright. Once there was a king, he was a mad man with dragon fire in his eyes and its rage in his heart. His reign was a long one, but it was not a just reign for he was not a kind man. His people lived in fear of his wrath, but none more so than his family. His wife, a once strong dragoness, was a meek, submissive creature terrified of his might. His eldest son, a regal man, had died in battle with the bears over a misconception that would not be discovered until decades after his death. His youngest son was, like his mother, terrified of his father’s wrath but simmering beneath the surface was the madness of their family. Then there was his daughter-”

“The Dragon Mother!” He interrupted sleepily, fighting his hardest not to close his eyes. He didn’t want to miss his favorite story.

She chuckled. “Yes, the dragon mother. The Stormborn, she was prophesied to change the world and she did. You see, within the kingsguard discord was starting to grow and rebellion was coming. A lion, a wolf, and stag led the charge. The lion, the king’s most trusted, slaughtered the king and his wife, while their children were spared to be sold into slavery but were smuggled out of the city before such a thing could happen...”

The six-year-old yawned, eyes sliding closed against his will and the rest of the story vanished into white noise as he slipped into the sweet realm of Morpheus.

That’s okay, he knew the whole story by heart anyway.


Their wedding was a grand affair.

Around them, the members of the khalasar danced and fought, their movements powerful and sensual, savage and brutal.

Beside her, her new husband sat watching the fight going on with a keen interest, sparing the people dropping off wedding gifts barely a glance. Her brother stood off to the side, conversing with the only other Westerosi man there, Jorah Mormont, who had been assigned to teach her the ways of the Dothraki. She could distantly hear him speaking about the traditions of the people she’d been bound to and she fought not to sigh, sitting up as Illyrio stepped forward carrying a chest. Something about the gift called to her and she barely noticed the Khal’s attention shifting to her, or that Illyrio was speaking.

It all paled in comparison to the three objects within the case.

Dragon eggs.

Illyrio was still speaking, something about the eggs being turned to stone with age, but despite his words she could sense the warmth within them, a soft pulsing heat that spoke of life, they were alive and she ached to tell all who doubted it, yet like always she said nothing. Instead she nodded and reluctantly set the treasures aside.

The fight had escalated in the absence of her attention and she nearly flinched as the losing man was slaughtered and debraided by his opponent. Her husband watched it all with amusement in his dark eyes and she looked away, wondering if she would ever come to love him.

Probably not.

More gifts came, jewelry, snakes, a set of books she was dying to read, but she never forgot the eggs beside her. She was hyper aware of their presence, and she almost missed when the Khal stood and started to walk away from the platform.

She followed, belated realizing she was to do so, and gasped as they came to a stop beside two beautiful stallions. One was the large black one she’d remembered him riding the day before, its fur as dark as the night sky. The other was a few hands smaller, but no less beautiful its coat a pale moonlit white, while its mane and tail were a few shades lighter than her own.

Drogo stepped up beside the latter, gesturing to it with a large callous hand. Ser Jorah stepped forward.

“It is his gift to you, Khaleesi.”

She smiled, feeling something in her begin to soften just the slightest bit.

“It is beautiful.” She turned to the andal man. “What is the Dothraki word for thank you.”

He chuckled lightly. “There is no Dothraki word for thank you.”

She looked back at her husband, who seemed to understand her regardless for he gently lifted her by her waist and placed her upon the stallion’s back, as if she were but a small child. Sending her a small smirk, he spoke a few words to their audience and mounted his own steed to lead them away.

She gulped, knowing what was coming.

Hopefully he would be gentle with her.


They were sending him away.

He turned pleading eyes on his mother, who looked away her dark eyes tearful. A dark bruise marred her pale cheeks and he ached to know that it was his fault it was there.

His and Howard’s.

The man looked satisfied for once in his life, his gaze cold and calculating as he told Tony the news. Jarvis looked unbearably sad, his wise blue eyes watching them all with the pain of a heartbroken patriarch.

Seeing that he wouldn’t be saved, he turned to the woman beside him, his beautiful aunt Peggy, and nodded slowly.

Looks like he was going to boarding school.

As he walked out the door, he felt relief and pain course through him. He would miss his mother, and the Jarvis family, but he never wanted to see Howard or his mansion again.


Her life amongst the Dothraki was…different.

She was gifted with three handmaidens Jhiqui, Irri, and Doreah. Of them all, Doreah was her favorite, treating her kinder than the other Dothraki women who lamented the fact their Khal had married a “pale-skinned foreigner”.

They whispered in the darkness that she was weak, that if they could they would kill her, prove their worth to the Khal. She had picked up the Dothraki language very quickly and she understood every word they spoke but she said nothing, biding her time. She was a dragon, and dragons were patient agile hunters. They would learn their lesson in time.

Still, Doreah had helped her immensely, showing her how to please her Khal and in doing so ridding her of her fear of him. It gave her room to feel other things for the gruff but ultimately quiet man and she found herself falling harder and faster than she’d ever knew possible.

He held her and loved her, his demeanor seeming to soften when her fear of him finally disappeared. He even allowed her to start teaching him the common tongue in the privacy of their tent, something she’d thought impossible from the stories Jorah told her about him trying to do it.

The andal man had taken to teaching her during the day as her husband did his duties as Khal. He taught her Dothraki customs and, as far as he knew, the language as they rode toward the Vaes Dothrak. He even taught her to fight, stunned when she’d asked. The heat in Drogo’s eyes when he caught her practicing in the early light and the night that followed still made her shiver.

Still, despite all the good, she’d noticed something dangerous building up in one of the Khalasar.


Her brother.

Fury built in his gaze the further they got from Westeros, the madness in his gaze slowly consuming him. She’d warned Drogo, who assured her he was watching the situation as well and asked her to stay alert in case he snapped.

She shuddered, focusing her thoughts on the half-eaten horse heart in her hands, the chants of the Dosh Khaleen ringing in her ears as her heart pounded in time with the drum beat.

She had to finish it.

Her son was not weak!

Meeting her husband’s gaze, drawing strength from the encouragement she saw there, she continued her battle to prove their son’s worth.

She could feel him, their little prince, the great stallion he would eventually become and she forced herself to finish the last bite, even as it fought to return to the surface.

She retched, but caught herself before she failed this test of will, chewing and swallowing it before it could escape her.

As she stood she captured her husband’s attention, taking in the pride and fire that burned within his dark eyes and the smile that played upon his lips.

“A prince rides inside me,” She announced, shocking them with the fluency she’d spoken the gruttal language with. “And he shall be called Rhaego.”

The Khalasar roared their approval, her son’s name chanted in celebration but she only had eyes for the man in front of her, who stood and lifted her into the air by her waist.

There was so much pride and love in his gaze that for once, she found herself wishing that the moment would never end.


He…hadn’t expected this.

Bewildered brown eyes slid from the outstretched hand in front of him to the warm, gentle smile worn by its owner.

Two months had passed since he’d began his freshman year of college and in that time, he’d been beaten up more times than he could count. All of them assumed that because he was fourteen the only reason he was there was because of Howard.

Then, when it was discovered that he did deserve to be there they tried to bully him into doing their work for them or giving them money to bride the instructors, and beating him when he refused and leaving him to make his way home on his own.

This was the first time someone had offered to help him, even if they all saw it.

“W-what do you want in return?” He asked resignedly, looking away.

He needed the help desperately, especially being sure that his right ankle was sprained, but he didn’t want to take it. Didn’t know if he could afford to.

Even if it came from his roommate, James Rhodes, who had barely spoken two words to him since they’d met.

Rhodes eyes softened instead of becoming guarded and defensive, and he felt something in his chest loosened.

“How about my roommate to stop coming in looking like he’s gone ten rounds with the business end of a baseball bat…and a friend?”

He stared at the man, seeing none of the greed he was used to, none of the incentive he’d seen in others offering to be his friend. Those who wanted a piece of Howard’s money.

The eyes staring back him were warm, full of the same genuine concern he remembered seeing on Maria and the Jarvis couple. He saw compassion, and something stronger. He saw strength and resolve.

He saw a friend.

He smiled, even as his busted lip protested the act, and took the hand.

That day Rhodes became Rhodey.


Viserys was dead.

Had theirs been the relationship of traditional siblings, she would feel grief at his passing, pain , but as it was she felt…empty.

There was no joy, though she’d long thought that would be her reaction to such an event. No hatred, though that too was well warranted.

Only hours, minutes previous, it had been the best night of her life. Her child was prophesied to be a great man, a stallion none could tame. The high of pride, of happiness had rushed through her, filling her with a euphoria she’d seldom felt before her Drogo. Before their Khalasar.

Viserys had taken that high from her, in his drunken blundering state, crashing their celebration with threats of ripping her growing babe from her womb. All for the notion of a crown their family had long since lost.

As if her child, his nephew, had meant nothing.

Staring down at his corpse, at the morbid gold crown forever lain atop his head, she felt a dark sense of amusement cutting through the emptiness.

Their entire life, her brother had preached of being the rightful heir of Westeros, preached of being a dragon as if he were the fierce beasts in human form. But he was wrong.

Dragons were strong, their very being made of the most hellish of fires. They would not have been killed in the manner Viserys had met his fate. It was the reason behind their house motto after all.

Fire could not kill a dragon.

The irony was beautiful.


It had to be a lie.

It had to be!

Haunted brown eyes stared at the telephone in their owner’s hand, tears streaming unnoticed down his cheeks. A black graduation gown clad his small form, and only a few minutes previous he’d been hurt that his most important people had missed his shining moment.

Now, he would give anything to have them safe at home.

Howard had been driving drunk and crashed their car on the way to get to his graduation. He’d died automatically, and if he were the rest of the world, Tony would be mourning but he didn’t care about Howard.

His mother, and Jarvis were dead.

Distantly, he felt gentle hands shaking him, leading him to sit on the couch.

They were dead.

The hands tried to pry the phone from his grip and he tightened his hold on it before letting go, a banshee’s wail leaving his throat as the news finally processed completely.

They were dead.

He was all alone.

He wanted to join them too.




Why was this happening?


Her husband lay still, his dark eyes empty as he gazed up at the ceiling of their tent, and were it not for the steady rise of his chest she’d have thought him dead.

Dead like their beautiful Rhaego.

Dead like the priestess would be the moment her Drogo was sent away to join The Great Stallion in the Night Lands.

The bitch had stolen both the life of both her husband and her child, when all she’d done was offer her warmth and clemency. When she’d given her word to save one and had no reason to bother the other.

She would die screaming.

Cupping his cheek, she felt her heart shattering as she thought of what she would have to do.

Her sun and stars was a warrior, and lying there as the witch had cursed him was a disgrace to him. He was too dignified, too powerful to have to die lying on his back, helpless and trapped within himself.

It was left up to her to grant him release from such a thing…and there was only one way to do so.

She had to, but first, she tried to plead with him once more.

“I know you are very far away, but come back to me, my sun and stars.”

He didn’t respond, as she knew he wouldn’t, and a broken sob left her throat as she rested her head above his heart one final time.

Just one more moment to enjoy his warmth.

It left a bittersweet taste on her lips.

“When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, then you shall return to me, my sun and stars.”

Placing one last kiss on his lips, she tried to brace herself for what she was to do. A steadying breath did nothing for her as she picked up his favorite pillow and pressed it down over his face, crying in earnest as she did so.

When the body beneath her finally fell still…a part of her died with it.

And when the pyre was lit later that night, she joined her family on it, the witch’s screams echoing through the crisp air.

It was only the birth of her dragons that made her not regret surviving.


He was wasting away.

He’s drank so much since his mother’s passing that he barely noticed the burn anymore and done so much drugs he barely knew when he was sober.

The worried gazes of Rhodey and Obie followed his every move, the worlds scolding after every ER trip but he heard none of it.

He picked up another bottle, another needle and started all over.

Anything not to feel.


Her people were starving. They were dying.

No one was listening.

Her promise was broken.

She wanted to scream.


He was clean now, fifteen months sober.

Rhodey’s proud stare and Obie’s warm words made it all worth it.

He smiled, looking down at the documents spread across his desk.

Stark Industries was his.

Time to start undoing Howard’s damage.


Doreah betrayed her.

The pain of it is countered by a vindictive sense of satisfaction as she hears the woman begging as the vault door closes.

Behind her, the khalasar ravages the beautiful palace.

“Take it all.” Her husband’s language rumbles its way from her lips as easy as breathing and she wonders if he’d be proud of her.

Still, allows her children to land on her shoulder, cuddling the other in her arms.

She would not be fooled by kindness again.

It only brought her pain.


He hadn’t been paying attention to where he was going, which had ultimately led to this.

Fists and feet met his flesh over and over again in a vicious cycle and he felt something in his blood bristle at the show of dominance.

His mother called it his wolf but it was more than that.

It was something…more.

A kick landed against his temple and he gasped when dark spots danced in his vision. A shout sounded and he looked up weakly to see a heavily built man taking on all of his attackers and winning.

They began to flee and soon, all four of the men were gone, leaving him alone with his savior.

“Who are you?”

The man smiled. “Names Harold. Harold Hogan.”

He scrunched up his nose. “Nope. Not happening. Your name is Happy, because I so happy to see you.”

The newly named Happy rolled his eyes.

“And what makes you think I’ll let you call me that.”

“Because you’re my new bodyguard as of now, and all the cool kids get nicknames.”

The man stared at him, then chuckled, offering him a hand off the ground. “Well, alright then. What’s your name kid?”

“Name’s Tony Stark. See you at work Monday, Happy.”



The Unsullied were hers.

Eight thousand ruthless former slaves and not a single one had decided to leave her.

Listening to Drogon’s screech as he soared above them and the cheers of the people of Meereen, she had to wonder if this was what freedom felt like.

Mhysa, they called her.


Unbidden a hand drifted to her stomach.

Crushing the grief that tried to rear its head, she plastered a gentle smile on her lips.

No it was just another chain.

Just another title.


“Mr. Stark, I would like to speak with you about an error made in accounting.”

He blinked, staring at the petite strawberry-blonde before him then at the two groaning security guards outside the door of his office.

“Did you just mace my security?”

She paused then blushed.

“Well, yes. They kept trying to stop me and this is a mistake that could cost you millions of dollars.”

He smiled at her, knowing exactly what mistake she was talking about.

“Where do you work, ma’am?”

“The filing department.”

“Well, congratulations. You’re being promoted because out of everyone that folder has gone through you’re the only one to catch the error I put in it.”

She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

He chuckled. “As of now you are my new personal assistant. Be sure to stop by tomorrow morning for a list of duties and the paperwork needed to cement the change.”

He stood and started to leave.

“What’s your name?”

“Virginia Potts, Mr. Stark.”

“Well, Pepper, why don’t you take the rest of the day off so I can draft up the forms we need and meet me back here tomorrow.”

“But the mistake-”

“Has already been corrected in the system.”


They’re kneeling before her.

All their Khals were burning in the building behind her and they were kneeling in front of her.

They were afraid of her.

Had she been the woman she was before, that timid girl that had been thrust into a marriage with a man she held no love for, the girl she was under her brother’s rule, she would hate it.

As it stood, she was someone else now.

Stronger, darker than she’d ever been, and they had dared to take her away from her children, her people, as if she had done them a personal wrong by not becoming a crone after Drogo’s death.

As if she were wrong for becoming stronger.

They thought her powerless without her dragons, unaware that she was a dragon herself.

A dragon that shared the shape of man, but with fangs just as sharp and deadly as her beast counterpart.

Worse, she was a mother dragon, and they had separated her from her children.

Children who were already distressed.

They deserved to burn.

Jorah and Daario stepped forward, kneeling in front of the others.

Her most loyal.

Her favored.

She smiled.

“You are mine, from this day forward. Betray me and you die, but ride with me, fight with me, and I shall guard your back as I would my own.”

The men roared their agreement, many having lived oppressed under their Khals and she felt warmth blooming in her chest.

‘Can you see it, my sun and stars? See how our Khalasar grows?’

She hoped he could.

…and she wished he’d been there with her.



His every sense was alight with it and he could feel himself screaming even if the sound failed to reach his ears.

Hands dug around inside his chest and things that weren’t supposed to leave his body were removed and he wished he had the cognizance to beg for death.

For mercy.

His nails ached as did his canines but it paled in comparison to the agony rocking his body.

When oblivion graced him, he could do nothing but thank any deity that would listen that the pain left upon its arrival.

When he woke to water torture, a battery operated heart and too kind, too knowing eyes, he found himself wishing he’d died on the table.

When Yinsen fell instead he screamed his rage to the heavens and razed the entire place to the ground.

Later, he would think about how much his roar sound like the howl of a wolf.



It looked nothing like she’d imagined it would and yet it was everything she’d ever dreamed. Better it had enough room for her entire army of Unsullied as well as her Khalasar without being too crowded.

It was her birthplace and now it had the potential to become her home.

Taking a seat on the empty throne, she looked out at the group before her, her most loyal.



Grey Worm.

They were nearly as loyal as her Ko and she almost saw them as such. The only ones missing were Jorah and Daario, both of whom she both ached for and loathed seeing, mere reminders of the one man who held her heart.

Catching sight of Jhaqo and Aggo out of the corner of her eye, she turned to them.

“We will be riding to the cold lands soon to gather Allies. I will take Rhakaro and Grey Worm, as well as Tyrion. You will stay and help Missandei keep everyone in line. Lord Varys is not to be trusted. Keep him in your sight.”

The low gruttal tones of dothraki left her lips as if she’d been speaking it her whole life and she fought back a smirk as Varys sent her a startled glance. She’d played the part of reluctant leader well in his presence and he still saw her as a foolish child. As a naive girl, playing at being a woman. He didn’t know of the long nights after Drogo’s death that she’d spent training with her Khalasar learning how to fight. The nights before when her husband would sit beside her and teach her the ways of war in the case he ever fell in battle.

She’d been groomed for this since the day she’d wed her beloved and she held no regret for it.

Dragons were patient predators, and they were loyal. If Varys dared to betray her, dared to put her family in danger, she would set him alight and watch as his corpse burned.

Aggo glanced at the group, then frowned, ever the protective one.

“You are our Khaleesi. You need more than the Unsullied one and our Ko if you are traveling. Anyone could try to take you and we still need the Andals to believe you are a meek bitch. Take one of the hunter groups.”

Nodding, she turned to Tyrion, who had suggested she ask the help of the North.

“Tell me of this new King of Winterfell.”

Her hand nodded, disregarding the conversation she’d had with her dothraki.

“Jon Snow is the bastard son of the late Lord of Winterfell, Eddard Stark…”


Flying was…liberating.

It was familiar, even though he knew he’d never done such a thing before. The whistle of the wind in his ear seemed like a mother’s lullaby, caressing the surface of his armor as if announcing that it had missed him.

His blood sang, and deep within his mind came a low content rumble.

It was the second most amazing feeling he’d ever had, just under the feeling he got the moment a new bot came alive.

Warm, and all consuming.

He pushed the suit higher, ignoring Jarvis’ warning of the impending ice damage.

The manic smile on his lips as the suit plummeted to the ground, rebooting and shooting back into the air, was full of wonder and he could only hope the night would never end.


Jon Snow and Sansa Stark were, for lack of better word, interesting.

The eldest daughter of the Stark family watched her with a wary gaze, as if she expected the madness that the Targaryen family were known for to raze her ancestral home to the ground.

In contrast, her brother seemed fascinated by her very presence, and that of Drogon, who seemed to like the older male as well.

It was the first time she’d seen her dear eldest friendly with anyone that wasn’t her.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

Still, there was something familiar about the young Lord. He carried an ember of the Targaryen flame, one cooled by the icy winter of a Stark wolf. It was small but bright, and it caressed her own every time they were in the same room. Calling to her in the way that Viserys’ had once upon a time.

It could only mean one thing, yet she had to be sure.

“Your brother looks nothing like Ned Stark.”

Sansa turned to her, blue eyes cold.

“Do not insult my br-”

“Did you know that our motto Fire and Blood is a very literal one? There is a flame in the blood of every Targaryen and it calls to its closest kin every time it is near. Strange that the bastard child of Ned Stark would carry such a flame when the only Stark-Targaryen relation that could’ve borne such a child ended with your father’s sworn brother killing mine.”

“He raped my aunt!”

She shook her head. “I have spoken to Elia’s family. She and Rhaegar parted after their children were born. He married Lyanna Stark only a week later. My brother was killed for a trespass he did not commit.”

The girl stared at her stunned.

“Father would’ve never betrayed mother.” She finally whispered.

“No good husband would.”

“Jon’s really your nephew?”


Sansa swallowed. “Are you going to make him leave Winterfell?”

She turned, watching the young lord as he stroked Drogon’s snout, oblivious to the fearful, envious looks the other northerners were sending him.

Winterfell had been his home for his entire life. Far be it for her to take it from him.

Still, the choice wasn’t hers to make.

“I will not. It is his choice to make, but as I’ve seen, this is his home. You are his family. Take care of my heir, Sansa Stark.”


This was all his fault.

Yinsen’s home was being attacked with his weapons and it was all his fault.

Obadiah knew and had just led him around by his nose, and he had followed, so eager to have an adult in his life that finally cared about him again. Someone to fill the hole left behind when Jarvis and Ann died.

There was always his aunt Peggy, but she was sick, horribly so and had been admitted into a nursing home during his stint in Afghanistan.

Obadiah was the only person he had left to trust, and the man had betrayed him.

Tightening his repulsor glove he stepped into the newest of his suits and flew out fury and betrayal thumming through his veins.

In the back of his mind, the beast let out a terrifying snarl and he vowed one way or another he would make his “godfather” pay for this.


She’s done it.

A small disbelieving laugh left her throat as she stared into the stunned gazes of Jon Snow and Tyrion.

Years of fighting and the Iron Throne was finally hers, Cersei Lannister’s cooling corpse lying at her feet. Blood streaked her skin and her hair was in a wild disarray, the war cries of her Khalasar and Unsullied ringing in her ears as adrenaline raced through her.

Twenty years, since the throne had been usurped from Targaryen hands and it was finally back in them, yet she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

So many emotions swirled within her gut, that she was almost faint with them, her heart racing beneath its cage in her chest.

Standing, the young woman turned to her people, feeling the phantom of strong arms wrapping around her waist.

He was warning her, and she listened, breathing in the scent of a man who was long gone.

The peace would only last so long, everything in her could feel it.

Winter was coming.


Obadiah was dead.

Standing before the press, taking in the hungry gazes of the sharks watching him, he had the oddest urge to…laugh.

Sheep, each wanting to be the one on top. The one with the most sensational article, never mind the fact that as far as they knew he’d just lost his “godfather” in a tragic accident.

They didn’t care.

Not for his feelings, not for the fake story that SHIELD wanted him to feed them.

Not even for the murderous little electromagnetic disk in his chest keeping his heart in one piece.

It was then that he decided he didn’t care either.

So, he looked them all in the eyes, his gaze dark but honest as his beast bayed for blood in his mind. He’d show them.

All of them.

“Truth is, I am Iron Man.”


The peace lasted two summers.

It  had served its purpose in stabilizing the seven kingdoms, the remains of Westeros’ most powerful family coming together to form an alliance. Jon and Sansa ruled the north, keeping watch over the wall as their family had for centuries. Tyrion served as her hand, Jorah, Daario, and her dothrakhqoyi serving as her guard.

The people had been hesitant at first, especially seeing her beloved children, but within months of her rule, that hesitance was forgotten. Jon had warned them of the Night King, a warning emphasized by the reappearance of Bran Stark who along with confirming the coming war, had also Jon’s heritage. She’s formally named the older man her heir, much to his surprise and he’d been happy to learn more of their family.

For the first time in eons, Westeros was prospering the Seven kingdoms getting along better than they had in ages.

Then Winter came.

Cold swept across the land, harsher than it had any right to be only days after Jon had arrived speaking of the white walkers nearing the wall.

She’d flown out to help the night’s watch stall them and for the most part they’d succeeded…

But her child was dead.

Her beautiful beloved Viserion.

The Night King had slaughtered him, sent him tumbling from the skies as if he were a mere fly and for the first time in a long time she felt hatred.

Another child stolen from her, another death on her hands.

He would pay for taking her child from her.

As of now, Westeros was at war.



Naughty, naughty SHIELD.

A bunch of fucking idiots.

Did they really think that because he was dying he wouldn’t notice that they’d sent one of their agents to infiltrate his company?

Surely they knew that he’d been designing their firewalls since Howard had discovered his talent for it.

He knew every agent on their roster including their infamous Black Widow.

Smiling politely at the woman, he decided to play it by ear and act as they expected him to. The beast within rumbled in agreement.

No one expects prey to a be a predator.

Following the arrest of Hammer and creation of an element that would save his life, he found himself almost disappointed.

Iron Man, yes. Tony Stark, not recommended.

Perhaps the Widow would be able to read masks better if she knew her own face as well as he knew his own.


The war against the white walkers was vicious, deadly in a way the game of thrones had never seemed.

She went to battle with her dothraki and Unsullied, her armies from Mereen joining to fight alongside them and the Westerosi armies.

It was the first time since the era of her ancestors that all of the kingdoms, both Westerosi and Essos had come together to fight a common enemy.

Worse they looked to her to lead.

She had no time to panic or protest the appointment either, she’d taken to it with the grace of a Khal, showing the non- dothraki how to fight with the same savagery her beloved’s people were known for.

Other than herself only one other woman graced the battlefield.

Arya Stark.

The youngest Stark was vicious in her manner, a true Wolf and Dany found herself increasingly fond of the young woman.

In this war, banners, borders, none of it held any meaning. The only goal was survival, and Arya Stark understood that as well as anyone. The girl had been shocked to see her on the battlefield.

“You are the queen, yet you are here.”

“A true leader fights and dies with their Khalasar. Not sitting on their ass in an iron throne.”

Arya stared at her, then smirked.

“Whatever you say, Khaleesi.”

She snorted, as did many of the dothraki.

“Daenerys. We are comrades.”


Their friendship had been an amazing one, one forged in blood and she’d slaughtered an entire legion of the undead when news of the wolf’s death reached her ears.

She’d thought she couldn’t hate the Night King more than she did.

Then there was this.

Dark violet eyes stared hollowly at the cooling corpse before them, their owner’s heart empty for all that it was bleeding in her chest.


Another child stolen from her.

She was a horrible mother.

Three children, all stolen from her with nary a thought.

Rhaegal’s lifeblood stained the crisp snow beyond the wall, one of his wings frostbitten thanks to the fires of his formerly dead brother.

Strong arms wound around her.

“Do not look, Khaleesi.”


He, much like the dothraki knew very well how much her dragons meant to her. They knew the alternative and they couldn’t help glancing at Drogon’s wailing form knowing that if he was lost their Khaleesi would follow.

Sometimes they hated being right.


Why had he agreed to this?

Looking around the debrief room at the exhausted “heroes” in front of him, he couldn’t help but wonder what the hell he’d been smoking when he’d agreed to join Fury’s little boy band.

The pirate had just finished debriefing them all and he could feel his beast growling lowly at the back of his mind at the looks a certain star spangled asshole was sending his way.

The man looked like he couldn’t decide whether or not he measured up to Howard or not and it made his hackles rise. He’d been putting up with it his entire life, always trying to catch up to the shadow of a dead man and he was sick of it.

Still, as Fury revealed that the heroes would be housed in his tower, as he argued the announcement only to be given an ultimatum, he wondered how these things would go horribly wrong.

Because it would.

Later, he would come to regret this, he knew he would.


They’d won.

Ten long summers of fighting the monsters behind the wall, including the desecrated corpses of her children and the war was finally over.

No one was relieved.

Every eye was on her, but she paid them no attention, her entire being empty and the battlefield eerily silent.

Her children, each and every one of them had fallen.

Viserion, struck down mid flight by the Night King himself, then reborn as their enemy.  She’d been the one to strike him down the second time, her arkh of dragon stone slipping through his scales with an ease that belied they pain she felt when she did it.

Rhaegal, struck down by the wight form of his younger brother, his wing frostbitten by the blue flames that had replace once burning red-orange. He’d been turned into a wight by The Night King, just as Viserion had, and she’d returned him to his rest just as she had her youngest. It had hurt just as much.

Then, Drogon.

Her beautiful, beloved eldest son.

He had lived until the very end of the war, fighting alongside her, mourning their dwindling family as she herself did, and she had prayed to the Great Stallion that he would remain with her when the others had not.

Her prayers went unanswered.

His corpse lay still before her, scales frozen under her touch and the Night King’s headless body beside him, and she wanted to scream.

Why was all she loved taken from her?

What had she done, that the gods would curse her to lose not one child, but all four?

Empty violet eyes watched as her only remaining child slowly turned to ash, collapsing to her knees beside him as he joined his brothers and fathers in the Great Stallion’s fields.

Behind her, her armies were silent, each bowing their head.

The war had been won.

But none of them had any doubt that their queen was lost to them.


Why didn’t they understand that he was trying to save they all?

Another invasion was coming, larger than before, worse HE was coming and nothing they currently had would stop him.

The horrific visions of future the witch had forced upon him flashed through his mind and he fought back a shudder, his heart rabbiting away painfully in his chest.

How could they take her word over his?

She glanced at him and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from flinching away from her, determined not to show her anymore weakness. His beast roared it’s agreement, baring its teeth at the threat.

Then Cap told her, she was an Avenger.

Worse, everyone else agreed with him, Clint treating the girl like another daughter, the others coddling her like she was a mere child.

They acted like she hadn’t just violated his most private and treasured place. The only place he could just be.

He wanted to warn them, wanted to lash out at their betrayal.

Beast snarled at them, and it was all he could do to keep his lips from curling to echo the sound.

He’d thought, had let himself believe, for one glorious second that they were a family. He had wanted, so badly, for it to be true that he’d ignored the obvious signs that it wasn’t.

He’d ignored the way they conveniently scheduled team nights on days they knew he was gonna be out of town, and how they asked more and more of him at every turn.

He’d ignored the way Rogers berated him at every turn, and how the others barring Bruce just let it happen, even if most of the time, he’d been trying to help. The whispers of how he was just a civilian trying to play with the pros fell of ears that played deaf.

And he would ignore this.

They could have his compound, and he would continue to maintain their budget and their PR, but as of this moment, Iron Man was retired.

Turning away from the scene of his “friends” welcoming the enemy into their midst he tried to ignore the feeling of his heart breaking.

The low whine that left his beast told him that he didn’t succeed.


She died on her thirty-fourth name day.

In the two years since the Winter War, she had become listless to those that knew her, so they weren’t surprised, but the general public hadn’t and they were devastated.

She’d seemed so...well not lively, but successful and kind, and once more under her reign, Westeros was flourishing. They’d thought she was recovering from the death of her dragons, had thought of them as little more than their Queen’s pets, but...they couldn’t be more wrong.

The night before, she called her closest companions to her chambers, violet eyes worn but warm as she greeted them. Jon, Jorah, Sansa, Tyrion and her dothrakhqoyi all stood before her as she gifted them with a smile and thanked them for their services to her.

Then she asked Jon to step forward.

“Your grace,” He greeted cautiously, able to tell that something was off about his Queen Aunt, especially after years of fighting at her side.

He’d been stunned when she had revealed his true heritage to him, but had ceded the throne to her as he had no desire to be anywhere but Winterfell. Instead, he’d allowed himself to be named her heir, an arrangement the general populace was more than happy with, many of whom were enamoured with the Queen’s firm, but gentle no nonsense way of ruling. She was as ruthless as her dothraki screamers, but knew when to be kind and the public loved that about her.

She knew it and he did as well, what her true reasoning for singling him out was, and she knew he wouldn’t like what she had to say.

“Nephew, tonight you are Jon Snow no longer. You are Aegon “Jon” Targaryen, First of your name, and King of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Milady,” He protested, while everyone else gasped, stunned and she found herself vaguely amused by their actions.

Tyrion breaks their shock. “Queen Daenerys- Dany-” he seemed unsure of how to continue, for once, and she smiled.

“Khaleesi?” Aggo asked and her smile turned his way, full of the pain she kept so carefully hidden.

I am tired, Aggo. I wish to join my family in the Night Lands.” She whispered in her late husband’s tongue and she knew all of them could hear the age old grief in her voice. Jorah looked devastated by his words, but her Ko weren’t. They knew her feelings as well as they knew their own.

She is tired of living, of outliving everyone she loved. She had done what she’d set out to do and had united both her kingdoms in Essos and in Westeros.

Now she just wanted to rest and her Ko knew that. They’d been waiting for it.

They nodded, knowing that they would be following her into the Night.

“You’re leaving?” Sansa gasped and she nodded.

“Yes. By dawn, I’ll be gone. I wish to rest.”

Taking the wrong meaning from her words, the newly crowned King and his adoptive sister left the room, still stunned by her passing of the crown.

Only Tyrion, Jorah, and her Ko remained.

“You plan to die.” Tyrion stated, having gathered so from the horrified expression on Jorah’s face.

“Please, Khaleesi,” the former knight begged. “Reconsider.”

She sighed, cupping his face in one hand.

“My Jorah, I have outlive all of my children, though I’m not but three and four summers. I am tired of waking every day with the ghost of a dead man lingering on the edge of my conscious. Of walking outside expecting to see my children soaring above me only to find birds flying in their place. Please,” she pleaded, tears welling in her eyes. “Let me rest.”

He stared down at her, then nodded, a single tear escaping his resigned gaze.

“As you wish, Khaleesi.”

Thanking him, she pulled a clear vial from the trousers beneath her dress watching as Tyrion’s eyes widened in horror.

“No. Absolutely not!”

“Fire cannot kill a dragon...and the fire in my blood nulls most poisons. All but this one.”

Jorah swallowed, wary of Tyrion’s reaction. “What is it?”

The imp answered for her, a scowl twisting his features.

“Tears of Lys. Which she won’t be taking because anyone that does dies in agony.”

She sighed and she wanted to argue but she didn’t, not with her other plan still in place. Instead she handed over the vial to her Hand with little argument, his relief too imminent for him to think of her having a backup.

How unlike him.

She promised not to try to use the poison, and watched as they left believing they’d thwarted her imminent death.

That night, as everyone slept, she slipped away from the castle with her faithful bloodriders at her side.

After a short ride they arrived in a clearing  not too far from Kings Landing, the stars shining down on them as she pulled a second vial from her dress.

Its smaller that the vial she’d handed over to Tyrion, the liquid inside was no less deadly.

It was a concoction of her own creation, and she knew that with it, she would be able to achieve her goal.

Saying her last goodbyes, she downed the vial and laid down beside her horse, her bloodriders following her lead as they each removed a knife from their sheath.

“He is riding,” She whispered, smiling as darkness descended upon her vision. “He came for me, my sun and stars.”

Her voice faded and a smile, the likes of which they hadn’t seen since the days of Khal Drogo, crossed her lips, her last breath leaving her as a peaceful sigh.

Paying their last respects, they followed their Khaleesi into the Night Lands and prayed she would find happiness there.

Finally, their Ko was at peace.


Why wouldn’t they listen?

Why didn’t they understand that The People were afraid? That they were not Gods?!

They hadn’t even read The Accords!

Yes there was room for improvement but that’s why it was only in the drafting stage. He’d been meeting with the committee every day for weeks to straighten them out but no!

Why would they trust the only person on the team with any experience with negotiation and politics?

He hadn’t know that this was the reason.

The War had never been about the Accords at all. No, it was all about Bucky , because why wouldn’t it be?

Bucky who had killed his mother.

He wanted to believe that  Steve hadn’t known, but the guilt and self-righteous placation in those blue eyes told him that he had. And that he hadn’t told him.

As soon as the ‘yes’ left the blonde’s lips, his vision went red, his beast roaring in his mind, and he struck.


The memories flashed back and forth between his memories and hers, and he barely felt it when his body was taken from his frozen hell.

He didn’t noticed the scream that left Pepper and Rhodey as they took in his battered form or Pepper begging him to hold on, that she was going to save him. Nor did her feel it when she injected him with extremis and his blood began to boil.


All he knew were the images that were flashing in his mind and the pain of his past merging with his present, the memories slowing as they reached her ( his ) death.

Finally, two weeks after nearly returning to the Nightlands, violet eyes shot open, their owners back arching as he release a roar that shook the world.

Daenerys Targaryen, Tony Stark , had awakened and was out for blood.

Steve Rogers had no idea what he’d unleashed, but he would soon find out.