The Wolves Plot

by Ccu55

Summary:

Jon Snow taken as a babe from the tower of joy by his uncle Ned has only known the life of a bastard. the hate, the ridicule, the only saving grace is his siblings and his odd dreams. However little to his knowledge his parentage is so much more than he could ever imagine. And when this heritage comes to the attention of his siblings Robb and Arya the two understand how critical this information is. With the seven kingdoms on the edge of a knife and Ned Stark seemingly unwilling to act the two take matters into their own hands. And from their resolve a plot is born, they swear by the old gods and the new to reunite their brother with his exiled kin and to put the hidden dragon of Winterfell where he should be, on the Iron Throne. For the wolves of Winterfell will protect and uplift their pack no matter what, even if one of those members is a dragon.

Chapter 1: Ned I

Ned I
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Dayne was dead, Hightower was dead, Whent was dead. Three of the finest swords the realm had and possibly would ever know now lay down amongst the Dornish sands. Blood leaking through the gaps in the once resplendent white armor, the whitecloaks dusty and torn from the vicious melee. It was hard for Ned to believe looking at the bodies now that these men had been the ones that had just moments ago dispatched five of the north's finest fighters, his friends. Dustin, Glover, Cassel, Wull, and Ryswell had joined the kingsguard in death, the price to pay for his sister he supposed.

Not that it brought him any joy. Even if these men had turned out to be just as disgusting and complacent in Rhaegar’s crimes, kidnapping his sister forcing himself on her, all the while these men stood by and let their prince act on his worst impulses. Allow him to drag the entirety of the seven kingdoms into war to sate his lust. The thousands dead, the lives ruined, the families and friendships broken and for what. Even with all that Ned couldn't bring himself to find pleasure in these three men’s demise. He wanted revenge that much was certain, but that by no stretch meant he had to take pleasure in it. Not like Robert.

God’s Robert. The man he had thought of as a brother, he who he had grown up with. To see him stand in that room as Tywin Lannister and his creatures masquerading as men brought in the covered bodies of Aegon and Rhaenys, Ellia almost cut in half at the midriff. This was abhorrent. In that moment Ned had wanted to do nothing more than draw Ice and bring it down upon the Lannister patriarch's neck, some justice done. But when Robert had lifted the cover to look upon the babe’s and uttered the words “all I see are dragonspawn” that’s when Ned knew he couldn't recognize his foster Brother. He had been brutal on the field yes but who wasn't. But this… this didn't even sicken him. This was just wrong, and Ned knew it.

So no, Ned did not like this. But he would do it all the same. He would absolutely do this again if he had to. For Lyanna absolutely. For her Ned would bring a fury so great that old Valyria would cry in terror. For the she-wolf, the little sister who would run wild through the halls of Winterfell playfully taunting him. For the girl who would sit in the godswood at the roots of the weirwood plucking winter roses without a care in the world. For her, yes Ned would kill again. Howland, out of breath and bracing himself on his knees, was the only other survivor of the combat.

Howland, bloodied and bruised, returned to a full stand, sheathing his sword and walking over to Ned helping him up and out of his thoughts. If anything Ned was glad his close friend was still here. As the two turned their eyes to the sandstone tower. Moving together the sound of screaming was clearer. The pair quickened their pace blades redrawn as they entered the tower.

Rushing up the spiral staircase they paid little attention to their surroundings until they found the top. A small room with a few windows, a fireplace with a few logs ablaze, although why there was a fire going in the dornish summer Ned cared not. But the first thing the pair noticed was the bed, and the figure desperately clinging on to life in it. Lyanna.
“Lyanna!” Ned all but yelled.

“Ned”

The strain in her voice was obvious, Ned quickly rushed over kneeling at the side of the bed trying to look for wounds that could have resulted in the excess of blood on the sheets when Lyanna stopped him. She was ghostly pale, eyes sunk into her skull, hair matted with sweat. But she smiled, and for the briefest second all strife was forgotten, Ned looked at his sister taking her hand before the situation crashed down on him again like a ram.

“We go to get ye out of here.”

“Ned… we know that's not happening.”

Ned heard her words but they were of little consequence, this was his sister she had to make it. She couldn't die, not here.

“We can get you to a Maester.. Vulture’s Roost it's only a day's ride.. W-we we could-”

Lyanna took his hand and squeezed. Her grey eyes met his. And in that look a thousand words were said and understood. None of them Ned wanted to accept. Tears began to flow from his eyes.

“You can’t die here, I won't allow it!”

“It's not yours to decide Ned”

Ned looked at the blood on the sheets, and some small logical part of his mind was screaming what he did not want to accept. She would die here.

“Ned, I have so many things I need to tell you. But please, Rhaegar… did he?”

“...Robert caved in his chest, he now lies at the bottom of the Trident”

Much to Ned’s shock Lyanna looked pained, anguished, grief stricken. As she tapped a nearby table with a few papers on them. Howland went over to read them, his eyes going wide and face pale. He passed them to Ned. A notice of annulment approved by the high septon. For Rhaegar and Ellia Martell. And below that a statement of marriage, for Rhaegar and…. Lyanna.

“wha-What… What did you do!”

Ned’s shock was immeasurable. There was no way. If this was true than the rebellion, Roberts reign was based on a foundation of lies. Ned looked to Lyanna as if to see some confirmation of the opposite but saw only knowing honesty.
“You loved him?”

“And him me…”

There was shame on her face as she said that, more than likely knowing the consequences of their actions. Lyanna had never been particularly good at accounting for those. But there was grief of the rawest kind too. That's when Ned knew that this was the truth. His face paled, his mind raced and stood still at the same time. But he held her hand still. Her eyes full of tears pulled on Ned’s heart strings, he was furious, angry, but he wouldn't leave her not now.

“Ned… Please bring him to me… please.”

Ned, confused for a second, snapped out of it when he heard the sound of a babe. It's soft gurgling and cooing, no cries of any kind. A wet nurse walked in, in her arms a bundle of blankets. Ned could no longer describe what he was feeling, but he took the babe in his hands. Its blanket bearing the three headed dragon of house Targaryen, but the child's features said anything but. His head had a small tuft of brown hair sprouting almost black, his eyes when they opened were the Stark grey although in the firelight one might think them the deepest of violet.

“Ned.. please”

As Lyanna reached out her hands Ned brought the babe to her arms. In his sister's eyes he saw nothing but the deepest affection and love for the infant. A smile breaking across Lyanna's dried lips.

“Is he..?”

“Yes Ned… yes he is”

“So Rhaegar never-”

“Never… Never”

Ned Felt his eyes welling up with tears again. The weight of the truth set aside by the injustice of it all. His sister was going to die here and leave this babe alone, never knowing the wild energy of his mother, her kindness and warmth. It wasn't fair.

“Ned you have to promise me… right now. Keep him safe. For as long… as you can. Robert… he can't-!!”

“I will.. I swear it, on all gods and oaths… Robert will never touch him…”

Lyanna steeled herself, an icy resolve only a Stark could possibly achieve.

“His name… His name is Daeron… Daeron Targaryen… third of his name protector of the… oh you know the rest.”

The two shared a chuckle, it seemed so out of place at a time like this but it brought back so many good memories that Ned couldn't resist. But Lyanna placed a kiss on little Daerons forehead before weakly passing him to Ned.

“Ned the fire… please he will need her”

Ned looked to the hearth where he saw within the flames what looked like a smoking pot. Howland went over and opened the container. Shock filled his face again as he pulled out an oval shaped object. It was white with streaks of red running across it, it reminded Ned of the weirwood tree back at Winterfell, but as Howland came closer the object's texture became clearer. Covered in what appeared to be scales Ned suddenly became aware of what this was.

“You can’t possibly mean-”

“Ned… please for me and him. Only death can pay for life.”

Ned looked frantically at the egg then to Daeron.

“What would you have me do?”

“When I pass… Build a pyre. Burn what remains to the bone, and place… her on the pyre”

Ned took heed of his sister's words. Holding Daeron and Lyanna for only a little longer.

“Know this sweetling… Mommy loves you… always…”

Lyanna's fingers slipped out of the baby's hand. As the light of life left her grey eyes closing forever to eternal sleep. That's when the baby started crying.

Howland and Ned heeded Lyanna's dying request. Breaking up the floors of the tower. Swearing the servants to absolute secrecy under pain of death if necessary. Ned took his sister's body bundled up in sheets and lay her atop the pyre. He took a torch and set it ablaze. The fire caught quickly and rose fast. Howland stepping fourth placed the egg into the blaze. As the two friends watched, the fire rose ever higher into the night. Little baby Daeron crying, perhaps for attention, perhaps in grief. But Ned joined him.

Neither of the northmen slept that night, just looking into the fire. And when the sun rose the next morning all that remained was ash and smoke. The pair began to move towards the smoking remnants of the funeral pyre when both stopped at the sound of a light screeching. Both their eyes went wide.

Howland approached unencumbered by the newborn babe. As he moved to the site he saw from the grey and black ashes something move. A lizard-like head rose up, white as snow. Its head long, almost reminding Howland of the lizard lions that adorned his sigil. But its horns were more akin to antlers. Its neck was long and barbed with spikes and spines. Its body and neck a base color of white with stripes of jagged red running along its length, its wings a similar color, the arms being white with red stripe wing membranes. Its tail ended with a small pair of wing-like sails possibly for flight stability also red. But its eyes a base color of the deepest crimson possible with pupils of snow white.

“By the god’s”

Howland watched as the little dragon, surely no bigger than a cat, began to move towards Ned who couldnt move. Perhaps out of fear or shock, but it crawled up to him to rest upon Daerons body. A gentle purr silencing the baby for the first time all night.

“Ned… how do we”

“I don't know.. I don't know”

“Ned, we can't just stand here. We have a baby to care for and a dragon… how do we-’

“I DON'T KNOW HOWLAND!!!”

Ned's mind was a mess attempting to make sense of what had just transpired. He had to think of something that was true. Right now he just tried to focus on calming down.

“They can't stay together… not now. Robert will kill him if he even gets the slightest suspicion of his heritage.”

“That much is true.”

“What can I do…”

“The Dragon I can possibly hide in the neck, there's good food and space aplenty. We can move travelers away from where we hide it and I know my people won't betray my secrets.”

“Good… the boy comes with me… as my son.”

Howland looked confused for a second.

“Your son?”

“He has the looks of my House… that may just keep him safe.”

“But Ned, your son? You would lie to him? To your wife? To your-”

“Yes! Yes I would lie, he can't know, no one can know. I'll deal with Catelyn when the time comes but for now he comes with me… as my Bastard.”

“... Your bastard? Ned you cant subject him to that, the hate and ridicule that he will face, your wife is of the Seven, you know their views on bastards. You can't possibly think that's the right solution, That boy is heir to the Iron Throne!”

“NO HE IS NOT!!!... not now anyway. Robert is king.”

“Based on a false premise!!”

“What would you have me do!? Declare to the realm that the rebellion was for nothing and I have a newborn baby to sit the throne?! Why not just leave him with the Mountain at that point!?”

Ned was breathing heavily, as Howland took stock of the situation the pair calmed down. The dragon still curled up on Daeron’s wrap sleeping soundly with him.

“...I will take the boy to Winterfell and raise him as my own. You will hide the Dragon in the neck and…”

“... And when will we tell him the truth?”

“...I don't know… his 16th name day? Maybe never.”

“Never?”

“Maybe…”

“Ned… the boy has a living dragon… this lie is by no means watertight. Someone will find out about this one way or another. You can’t deny him his birthright.”

“I promised to keep him safe not put him on the fucking throne! We can't send him to his remaining family, Stannis will have them dead before the year is done!”

“The boy is the Heir, you can't just cast that aside. I know Robert is your friend but we both know that it will be a miracle of the old gods if he passes for a shit king. You can't just deny the reality of all this.”
Ned looked down at the baby, the dragon, then back to Howland.

“I will keep the documents, the egg shell, I will hide them in the crypts with Lyanna's bones and ashes. You will keep watch over the dragon. If by the time the boy reaches ten and six, and the dragon still seems to be bonded with him… we can decide then what to do.”

Ned could tell that Howland didn't like the compromise, but would accept it for now.

“...what do you intend to name him?”

“...Jon… Jon Snow.”

The pair were gone the next week, they packed up their gear, safely stowed the papers, and collected Lyanna's charred bones to be put into the Winterfell Crypts. A tense silence hung over the both of them as they readied themselves to go. But before departing Ned took the time to set fire to the tower. As if to try and rid himself of the memories attached to the crude structure. But even as the tower of joy fell apart, the pain clung to Eddard Stark's heart like a wound.

They made sure to stop at Starfall to return Dawn to House Dayne, some minor respect given to the fallen knight as some sort of apology given the new context of the situation. Before they turned north onto the Rose-road headed north. They stopped in King's landing, the city having been cleared of the carnage following the Lannister sack. It was there that Robert was told of what happened. Ned and Him took the time to share their grief.

“Ned… oh gods Ned. I'm sorry for your loss, know that I grieve with you… oh Lyanna… My beloved Lyanna… how I wish to have seen you again.”

As Ned listened to Roberts wallowing he felt many things. This was his friend after all and he shared his pain. But at the back of his mind Ned could not help but think ‘you never loved her. You desired her.’ he repressed those notions but they remained. Few paid attention to little Daeron or Jon as he should get used to calling him. But they were more interested in what he represented, Ned Stark’s honor was stained. Jamie Lannister seemed to get a kick out of it considering how Ned had coined his now infamous moniker of Kingslayer. But Ned didn't care for the rumors of scandal and lust that were hurled at him day and night as he stayed in the Red Keep, so long as no one found out, then Ned could take all the insults in the world.

However when the pair reached Riverrun, the circumstances of his lie felt far more egregious. Catelyn had taken one look at the baby, and when Ned noticed the fury in her eyes he knew just what kind of life his nephew was to endure. The faith of the seven had always frowned upon bastards, Ned knew this. Perhaps if he had married a northern lady the ridicule would have been lessened, but he had married Catelyn Tully of the Riverlands, who he had already deduced was particularly devout. How could she not, her house words were “Family, Duty, Honor” of which to protect his nephews life Ned would pretend to spit on all three tenants dictated in those words.

‘For Lyanna, for her’

Ned had taken notice of the newborn baby swaddled in his wife's arms, that for the briefest of seconds brought so much joy and hope to his shattered heart. Robb Stark is healthy and breathing. He went over to hold his son and Catelyn complied. Ned was immediately infatuated, the boy's small tuft of tully auburn hair was clear but never had Ned seen a happier babe.

“Husband… if I might ask, who is the babe you travel with?

Ned's blood ran cold.

“Mine my love”

“Yours?”

Catelyn was furious, and Ned couldn't blame her.

“Aye, my child.”

“A mark of your infidelity. Do you mean to bring the child back to Winterfell and raise him?”

“Aye I do.”

Catelyn was red in the face, fuming. She glared at the little boy asleep before returning her ire to Ned.

“Very well Husband” She said with a tone so sharp she could have murdered him there.

As she walked off Howland just looked at Ned, the dragon asleep and hidden within a crate in a travel cart. But Ned needed not to see the look lord Reed gave him, he knew that he had been right at the tower. The poor boy's life would not be an easy one.

The party moved north as fast as they dared with two babes in tow. Until they finally reached Greywater Watch, Howland led Ned through the swamps far away from the Causeway. They dragged the crate with them on a small boat to make travel easier. Before finally Howland stepped off.

“This will do.”

“You sure?”

“Aye, there's good game nearby, plenty of clean water, and places for the little thing to hide.”

“Alright then, help me out.”

The pair moved the crate off the boat, opening it up, the dragon spread its wings rushing up a nearby tree claiming a hollow as its temporary residence.

“Look at that all moved in already.” Howland chuckled

The pair shared a laugh. Before the depressing weight of the situation sank in again.

“Yer still sure about this Ned?”

“Aye… keep the thing safe, ill keep Jon safe.”

“...It's not your fault ye know. Lyanna.”

“I know…”

“I’ll write once a month to tell you of the dragon's growth. You keep me informed about the boy.”

“I will…”

“And Ned… please tell him”

“...”

Eddard Stark didn't say another word, he simply pushed off the boat returning to the caravan. Allowing Howland Reed’s words to stay in his mind. And when he returned and caught a Glimpse of Daeron… all he could see was Lyanna. ‘How can I possibly tell him?’

Chapter 2: Jon I / Robb I

Summary:

12 years have passed since the tower of joy, Jon goes about his day, Robb wants to have some fun when him and Arya discover something earth shattering.

Jon I

Alone in a field of grass he ran, wind whipping around him through his dark curls. The warmth of the sun baking his pale skin. He ran through the fields never tiring, he knew this was just a dream. But a dream he reveled in every time he had it. He wandered these fields since the day he could dream. Never did he feel the sun this strong in the walls of Winterfell even at the peak of summer. Here he could be happy. Here he could forget, here he could run. Always in the same direction, to a hill in the distance a lone oak tree growing atop it. Its leaves dance in the wind. It always brought a smile to Jon's face. It often reminded him of the weirwood in the godswood. Strong and mighty but beautiful. And as he raced up the hill his mood only improved.

Sitting under the tree as always was that one girl. She was no older than he was some twelve years old. She seemed small and from a distance lonely, always looking out across the fields. But whenever Jon would reach the top of the hill she would look at him and smile. She always had the kindest smile, as if someone took all the sweetness of a lemon cake and made it into an expression. Or at least that was the best analogy Jon could come up with. She always wore a warm red dress with rims of black. Despite the aggressive colors however Jon always thought that it suited her, he wasn't sure why but it just looked right to him. But her most striking features were her hair and eyes. Her hair long and wavy in the wind was a platinum blonde almost white. It caught the sun's light constantly giving it an ethereal glow. And her eyes a bright shade of violet, as if amethysts were snatched from the ground and carved to perfection. Jon every time he saw them thought to himself ‘I’ll never get tired of those eyes’ and he never did.

These dreams would tend to happen once every month or two, and he always looked forward to them. The air, the tree, the sun, the girl. This was his happy place. But once he reached the tree the girl would always pat the grass next to her, and Jon would always sit there. He never asked her name nor did she ask him. And neither found it odd. But they would talk for what felt like ages. But never about any particular thing, more often than not it would revolve around some innocuous topic. Favorite color, best pet to have, favorite instrument. Sometimes they would talk about history, and Jon always loved those. Maester Luwin had found out Jon’s love of history at an early age, always talking about the first men, the Targaryen dynasty, or other such topics that would enrapture any child. But with the girl Jon could always go on. She had once said that she didn't have many books to read about the topics but she loved to learn about them. So Jon would often relay his lessons to her, and she always seemed to enjoy them.

But oddly enough they would fall into conversion about the Targaryen’s at the girls' expressed request considerably often. Jon would never complain about this of course he loved talking about the Targaryen’s. And it always made the girl smile, and he liked when she smiled. He wasn't entirely sure why he liked it but he really did. Today's conversation was a little different. They had been conversing for a long while about the reign of Daeron the first. Jon couldn't be happier, he had always liked talking about the conquering Targagryens if not for the fact that his little sister Arya would always ask about them. So needless to say he knew the information by heart.

“So that's when Daeron finally got House Martell to bend the knee and join the seven kingdoms. Although the smallfolk never did accept them. At least not for a while”

The girl was laying on her stomach, head resting in her hands as she looked curiously at Jon. Seemingly confused by his last statement.

“Why didn't they accept them? Their lords bent the knee, and the Targaryen’s were the most powerful family in the world, it would be insanity to defy them.”

“I suppose they just didn't want to.” Jon responded with a bit of an unknowingness to his voice.

“My brother always says that the Targaryens were loved throughout the seven kingdoms as kind rulers.”

“Well I suppose your brother is wrong.” Jon said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. The girl seemed to consider his words for a second, a small look of melancholy over taking her once happy features. It was a look Jon knew all too well. He had seen it in the mirror for the majority of his life.

“I'm sorry. I was just saying what Maester Luwin told me.”

“No no its ok… its just… my brother never likes when he’s wrong…”

“Oh… does he get mad?”

“Very. We have had a hard life but…”

Jon looked at the girl's face, her sadness and fear was written all over her features. Jon adjusted himself upright again to face her sitting criss-cross. When she looked at him her sadness melted just a bit.

“Does he hurt you?”

“... sometimes when he is really mad.”

Jon hardened that statement. He was no stranger to being mad. Whenever Lady Stark looked down on him or Septa Mordane scolded him for the smallest thing he would get mad. He knew why they did what they did, he was a bastard. But even then Jon knew he would never lay a finger on Robb, Arya, Bran, Sansa or Rickon when he was angry. It was just wrong. And the fact that this girl who he considered possibly his closest friend was subjected to that just infuriated him. But he could do nothing, this was just a dream. In all likelihood this girl was just a figment of his mind. But moments like these made Jon truly hope that she was real. And that maybe he could meet her one day and offer more than kind words to lift her spirits. But for now he simply took her hand in his, it was the best he could do to help right now. But she accepted and they just sat there for a while longer.

“I like it here, I like the grass and trees,” she said, looking out onto the fields once more.

“I like the warmth, it's always cold where i'm from”

“Please it's too hot where I'm from, what I wouldn't give for some cool air.” she said with a bit of taunt in her voice

“Ha, that's because you haven't felt real cold yet. If you were here you'd rush to the closest blanket you could find and never leave it.” he shot back a bit of sass adding to the banter.

“Oh yeah, well if that's the case you'd fry like and egg over here”

“Id rather fry than freeze”

“Speak for yourself” she said mockingly, sticking out her tongue. But they only laughed together for a while.

That's when they heard the screeching. But neither were alarmed, rather they were happy. They always knew that herald the end of their dreams but they always got to see them pass by. Out of the oak tree flew a pair of small dragons. Both flying around each other playfully shooting bursts of fire at the other. One a beautiful white with red stripes along its body and wings, red eyes, and antlers extending out the back of its head. The other black at night with red highlights on its horns and wings. Their fires matched their colors perfectly, it was always beautiful to see them dance at the end of their dreams. And so it ended.

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When Jon awoke he immediately wished he was back at the field. The cold grey walls of his room stared back at him. It was cold but that was nothing new, he was of the north, built for the cold. But that never stopped him from longing for the warmth of the hill. Through his one window he could see the servants of Winterfell were lively this morning. Looking down from his window still he watched as everything woke up. He quickly got dressed, pants, wool tunic overlayed with a leather coat, belt and boots. It was a simple attire but good nonetheless. Jon quickly got moving out of his room walking through Winterfell great keep headed to the great hall to break his fast.

Navigating Winterfell even after twelve years living here was always a chore. The excess of paths and walkways would turn anyone around if they had not lived here all their life. But as such Jon found his way to the hall and took his seat at the far table away from the high table. There he could see his siblings already gathered. Robb looked groggy, obviously having just gotten up. Bran and Rickon were easy as could be simply munching on their bread and oats. Sansa, diligent as ever, ate at a steady pace seemingly mimicking her mother who also was reserved. Lord Stark, seemingly deep in thought, ate slowly, and Arya Jon saw just in time to watch her flick a small piece or porridge onto Sansa.

“ARYA!!”

To Sansa's indignation Ayra laughed, Lady Stark scolded, the boys chuckled, and Jon inwardly giggled himself.

“Arya Stark” Lord Stark quickly quelled the chaos with only a few words and as if it hadn't happened all went silent again in the hall. Lord Stark upon feeling the silence spoke again.

“I would appreciate it if you would not antagonize your sister and waste food that could otherwise have been saved for winter”

“Sorry Father…” Arya shrunk away, slightly catching a glance from Jon who simply smirked, that seemed to pick Ayra up again. Jon, while not having the best relationship with Sansa who had taken to coldly disregarding him as a Bastard since she had learned what the word ment still did find some enjoyment in Aryas antics. After all she would often seek Jon out for a variety of things. And Jon would enjoy his time with her, the trouble she got into and her often wild ways of getting out of trouble… or more accurately attempts at getting out of trouble. It was something to bond over.

“And for the sake of the gods could someone tell me where Greyjoy is?”

Jon snorted, he and everyone within a 10 mile range of Winterfell knew exactly where Theon Greyjoy was if he wasn't already at the hall. A Wintertown brothel, almost always. Jon had even once made the comment that if he had a copper star for every time Theon visited or tried to visit one of those places he would be richer than Tywin Lannister. And it seemed Lord Stark was well aware after a short period of silence sending four guards to retrieve his young ward from his euphoric stupor. But as Jon finished his food he quickly made off to get on with his chores not wanting to draw the ire of lady stark any more than he had to. He also found he just preferred to get his labors over with quickly so he had enough time for his lessons and sparring, perhaps even a walk in the godswood.

His labor was not particularly awful, clean his space, scrub the stables, peel some potatoes. But often nothing more than that. Once he was done he took off to Maester Luwin for his daily lessons which he always found enjoyable. It was one of the few times he was in the same room with the rest of his siblings and not separated. It made him feel normal, like a true Stark. And he was quite good at it too, he never had a real problem with the material of any given day and tended to take to new material quite well. And of course once those were done he would always be accosted by Greyjoy and Robb and from there it was straight off to the courtyard.

As per always Ser Rodrik stood ready and waiting, blunted steel swords at his side for each of the boys to grab. Jon quickly found one he quite liked: the balance was nice and the weight manageable. As he quickly stepped to the side of the yard allowing Theon and Robb to go at each other first. Greyjoy often drawing critique from Ser Rodrik would tend to get perturbed at these spars, he was never the best with swords however with a bow even Jon had to admit he was often impressed.

“Lost in the clouds again bastard?”

Jons thoughts were Interrupted by Greyjoys mocking, he had always called Jon Bastard ever since he had been brought here at the end of the Greyjoy rebellion, Jon supposed at first it was to cope with the fact Theon was a glorified prisoner but once he had gotten comfortable he figured it was just to mock.

“Sorry didn't think i would miss anything interesting” Jon retorted the half veiled jab flying over Theons head.

“Aight enough you two, Jon you and me” Robb tempered the situation as he often did. He was good at that, the stabilizing factor between the two.

Jon quickly strode forward sword in hand twirling it with a roll of the wrist as Theon stepped back. The Brothers took up their stances when Ser Rodrik gave the call to start.

“So you have another dream of your lady love again?” Robb moved in as he spoke, going for a right slash which Jon parried.

“Not my lady love, I will remind you again.” Jon had made the mistake a few years back of telling his Brother of his dreams involving the hill and the girl, which Robb the ever benevolent soul he was would tease him over. Jon moved in with a left faint followed by a strong thrust forward which Robb parried with some difficulty. Quickly needing to refind his footing.

“Oh my apologies, it's just from the way you talked of her id assumed you had already said your vows before the old gods” he quickly went in for a sweep to the legs only to have jon parry and redirect his blade into the dirt, Robb just barely had time to block Jons return attack.

“Please as if I'll ever get there with anyone.” Jon noticed Robbs look sour at that statement, for all the teasing and playful insults Jon knew Robb cared for him. He didn't like to see Jon beat himself down like this, even if Jon had resigned himself to the Nights watch years ago convinced it was the only place he could be of worth.

That's when Jon heard Theon snidely comment “Ye know if not for them frolicking fantasies of yours id just assume you liked boys” the only one who laughed at that joke was Theon of course, Robb and Jon not caring for the krakens japes.

The pair continued to spar for well over 40 minutes utterly drenching them both in sweat, that was until Jon saw Lady Stark watching from the covered bridge her always malevolent glare clearly fixed on Jon. He got the hint and left his guard open for Robb to strike, which he did although reluctantly. Robb glanced at his mother in the window and back to Jon. He knew Jon was the better swordsman, Jon knew he was the better swordsman, Theon… well in fairness Jon questioned if Theon knew anything at any given time. But he assumed the move went over his head.

“Well let that be a lesson Bastard, you can be good but you'll never be better than a proper high lord.”

Robb glared at Theon who seemed to get the message and backed off. Jon for his part was ready to clean off. But it frustrated him as always, to hold back, to endure the ridicule, to stand apart from those you considered family due to the mistakes of one and opinions of another. Jon returned to his room after a while, content to just lay down and breathe. But it was times like this when he had total silence he felt it. He wasn't sure what it was but he felt it.

It was like a tug on his heart, as if someone had wrapped a string of mist around his mind and heart, pulling on it. If he focused hard he swore that sometimes he could feel emotions that weren't his own. Or that was the best way to describe it as he reasoned. He had first truly noticed it when he was six, he had accidentally bested Robb in a sparring match hurting his knuckles, it wasn't anything serious but Lady stark made an absolute fuss over it. Robb had tried to reason with her saying he was fine. But Jon had gone to bed early that night with the vicious words of Septa Mordane to wound his pride even further. He had been crying on his bed when he felt a small but noticeable wave of comfort wash over him. As if a friend was consoling him. He liked the feeling.

From that day on he had been considerably more aware of those emotions. Today they were as they were most of the days, content and calm. Jon knew better than to ask the Maester or his father. They wouldn't understand it, hell Jon hardly understood it. But as he slipped into a nap he focused on it pulling his head south.

—---------------------
Robb I

Robb felt bad, plain and simple. For a multitude of reasons. First and foremost the stunt in the courtyard, Robb had been beyond exhausted at the end of that match which he was proud of, he held his own for close to forty minutes against Jon who he knew was the better swordsman of the two of them so that in itself was a call for cheers. But that was the issue, Jon was the better of the two of them and he lost. And Robb when he had seen his mother in the window knew why he had won that match. Because Jon had forfeited to help Him save face. And that led into why he felt bad reason two, the fact that he had been handed his victory like many others was frankly a little insulting to him. Other than Theon Jon was the only other person Robb could properly put himself against in a spar, and considering Theon’s lack of capacity with swords that left Jon as the ultimate challenge. A challenge that Robb could never accomplish because it gave up at the finish line. And then of course there was reason three. The fact that Jon felt the need to do this was telling in itself. For all their banter and bluster Robb genuinely loved Jon, they had grown up together since birth and even if Robb liked having Theon around Jon was still his brother, damn what the septa told him. And it stings every time when Jon looks at Robb not as a family member… but as Lord Stark of Winterfell as if Jon wasn’t one of them, a wolf of Winterfell. Or at least Robb felt so.

Currently Robb was in his personal chambers in the family wing of the great keep. Enjoying some ale looking into the sunset from his window, the heated vents of the castle keep the room warm and toasty even during the summer snows. God’s Robb loved this place. Sansa was always prattling on about the dreary nature of Winterfell, its greys and dark colors, how she wished to see the splendor of the south and their castles. Quite frankly Robb felt that his little sister was taken with the ideas of her story books and not the reality of those tales. Oh well, his sister would be his sister, honestly the more he thought about it Sansa would only ever hear the stories of the south and pay little heed to the tales of the north. Old Nan was always asked for stories from Bran but Sansa… never. Robb was once like Bran in that he had loved to hear the tales of the north, the stories of the Kings of Winter, his ancestors and their wars with the Red Kings. The tales of Giants and first men. The children of the forest. The wall and what lay beyond, the white walkers would always send a chill down his spine. Guess that meant the story was good, he reasoned. He remembered even a few stories about the ghosts that haunted Winterfell, the ghosts of the kings of winter wandering the crypts always looking for a victim to strike.

Wait.

Robb considered that thought for a second before an impish grin spread across his face. Downing his remaining ale and taking a last bite out of his bread he strode out of his quarters heading downstairs to find Jon’s room before knocking on the door.

“Ughh who is it?”

“Robb, can I come in“

“Not now please Robb”

Robb rolled his eyes to that, opening the door with a smirk on his face. He saw Jon lying on top of his bed obviously having been asleep previously.

“This couldn’t have waited at all?” Jon asked quietly.

“Possibly but I felt it was too good to pass up before I considered it in more depth.”

“Oh? Please elaborate dear brother, what is this idea of yours” Jon asked rolling onto his side still tired.

“You remember the old stories old Nan told us, about the ghosts in the crypts?”

“Aye I do why?”

“Well it has occurred to me that Sansa has never heard about those ghosts, and I think the kings of winter would be very displeased to learn that one of their descendants has such a blatant disregard for their heritage.” He said with a rye smirk.

At that Jon raised a dark eyebrow on his long face.

“Do I have your attention now brother?”

Jon sat up rubbing his face to wake himself up properly looking back at Robb.

“…what would you do?”

Robb smirked knowing that he had Jon hooked already. He quickly dragged his half brother out of bed and led him down the winding halls of the great keep to the kitchens which by this time of night were quiet as the grave. Dinner had been a while ago and cleanup was already done for the day, so Robb figured that there was no real harm in snooping around right now, or atleast no real danger in doing so. He led Jon to the back of the room to a large oak door which he knew to lead to the smaller of the castle's granaries. The pair made quick work of the lock knowing that it wasn't anything particularly difficult, Arya had long ago figured out how to pick all the castle's locks when she was five. Jon and Robb had found this out when they caught her breaking into the kitchens stuffing her face with lemon cakes and in exchange for their silence she taught them how to pick the locks themselves, and a small mountain of those cakes of course.

Having entered the granary the boys quickly grabbed the closest bag of white flour they could find not wanting to linger any longer than they had to. So they made off with the bag and with all the haste of a hare ran through the empty courtyard. The night was calm, a full moon cast its glow over the great castle. No servants wandered the castle grounds, the only signs of life were the horses in the stables and an owl or two. The boys made their way to the oldest section of the castle near the broken tower, that's where the crypts were located. As the boys opened the great doors to the crypts the air rushed out. The pair stepped down into the dark with a small candle to illuminate their path forward. The crypts were a vast system of tunnels built into Winterfell’s cave system, as such no one truly knew how deep the caves went or for how long, but Robb supposed that would leave plenty of room for his future descendants.

But it was an odd feeling, looking at the stone carved faces of his ancestors larging down mournfully at him as he passed. He was unsure how many of those statues were faithful carvings of their lifely visages, or how many were cobbled together after the lord had died far away or their body unrecognizable. And Robb felt a pull at his heart, he would be down here one day inevitably.

“It's odd, to wander the halls you'll be laid to rest in, to see the faces of those you will rest alongside…”

Robb saw Jon contemplate his words with a thoughtful expression. Robb realizing the weight he had added to what was supposed to be a heartfelt prank quickly attempted to change course to salvage the mood.

“Ye know, before we are put down here I want to meet the mason that will carve our statues, that way we dont look so damn mopey for eternity, is it too much to ask that one of them smiles.”

Jon and Robb shared a chuckle as they walked before Jon retorted.

“Well let's be fair to the mason here they already have their work cut out for them with that gnarly mug of yours”

“My mug?! Have you seen your head? They're gonna need a boulder to capture your long face alone.”

Jon gave a small chuckle before his face went sour, and Robb knew that look well, he knew his brother's tendency to brood and mope, and it always started with that look.

“The masons won't have to worry about me, I'm not going to be down here anyways…”

“Oh come on Jon dont be like that.”

“I won't, this place is for Kings and Lords. True Starks of Winterfell. I'm a Bastard… I don't belong here.”

Robb stopped his brother there with a hand on his shoulder. The cable light flickering between the both of them.

“Jon, you are one of us, you might not have our name. But you have our blood. That's what matters, damn what Septa Mordane says. My mother is right about a lot of things, but not you. You're my brother and will always be my brother. Don't you dare forget that.”

Robb saw the tears welling up in his brother's eyes. And Jon smiled back. Robb gave a solid pat to his shoulder.

“Now c'mon, let's scare the life out of Sansa.”

The brothers with a reinvigorated step quickly set to work, Robb dumping the flour over Jon had him hide behind one of the statues. Quickly the pair established what they would do.

“Right you know the signal?”

 

“Aye, when I hear you close and you say ‘sometimes you can hear them scream’ I jump out and we watch Sansa run scared to Dorne.”

“You got it”

Robb quickly saw to it that Jon was well hidden before a quick spin on the heel had him running out of the crypts back to the family wing of the great keep. Rushing up the stairs he slowed his pace as he approached Sansa’s door. He quickly steeled himself putting on a facade of fear and unrest before softly knocking on the door.

“Psst, Sansa… Psst, Sansa are you awake?”

The door creaked open to Sansa with a candle in hand, her hair a mess obviously having been lying down just moments before but still awake. Robb caught a glimpse of the book on her bed ‘tales of the knights of the vale’ Robb inwardly chuckled, of course she would be reading that this late at night. But whatever, he quickly shifted course back to the task at hand.

“Sansa I was walking by the Crypts and I thought I heard a sound.”

“A sound? What's like a rat?”

“No, it sounded like groaning.”

All of a sudden there was a new voice of a much younger tone than Sansa from behind Robb startling him as he whipped his head around to see Arya and little Bran poking their heads out of Aryas door.

“What do you mean groaning?”

Robb Steadying his breath after the spook asked “I'm sorry what are you both doing up at this hour? Especially you Bran?”

The younger of the siblings shared a guilty look not elaborating on their reasoning for being up at this hour, more than likely Arya telling Bran spooky stories.

Then Sansa chimed in “Robb says he heard noise by the crypts.”

“Oh?” Arya cocked an eyebrow Bran attempting to emulate his sister tried to do the same but only scrunched his face in a funny way.

“Well if you all must know yes aye I did hear it from the crypts, and I was going to look but… well.”

Arya Chuckled “Oh big bold Robb Stark is too scared?” she said mockingly. Much to Bran’s amusement.

“NO!... I just wanted my family to help.” inwardly laughing at the charade and the fact that this would be much more fun with Bran and Arya tagging along.

“Well if you're too chicken to go on your own I suppose we can help you.” Arya responded, dragging Sansa by the Sleeve.

The four Starks made their way to the crypts being cautious to stay quiet so as not to disturb the sleep of the castle's servants or god’s forbid their mother and father. Robb led his siblings to the door and lighting a candle led them into the depths of the crypts. Sansa was already on edge, she might have pretended to not care but the dancing shadows in the candle light were enough to put her off foot.

“So where's this groaning of yours?” Arya asked unimpressed as of yet.

“Somewhere down at the end…” Robb said, pointing into the dark depths.

“You sure it's not just a rat?” Sansa asked, her voice trembling ever so slightly.

“Aye no rat… you know this reminds me of something old Nan said a long while back… one of her stories” That caught the attention of Bran and Arya. Even Sansa although begrudgingly.

“She told me that the spirits of the Kings of winter often wander these halls. Moving silently among the statues of their kin.”

“There's no such thing as ghosts” Sansa retorted weakly.

“Oh? Is that so… because I tell you there's worse things than rats and spiders down here…” The candle light now flickered in Robb’s eye, scarring Sansa and Bran, even Arya was now on edge.

“Old Nan told me that this is where the dead walk… sometimes you can even hear them scream.”

That's when Jon jumped out, completely white with flour and screamed as loud as he could, reaching out as if to grab the three youngest Starks.

“GAHHHHHH!!!”
Sansa screamed so loud Robb thought he might go deaf as his sister charged out of the crypts like a bat out of hell. Bran Screamed in total terror, grabbing onto Robb’s leg to brace himself with his brother, which admittedly Robb found sweet. Arya though.

Well Arya wasted no time in balling up a fist and absolutely clocking Jon in the jaw sending him spinning. Robb for his part winced at the blow. Arya wasted no time in grabbing Jon by the tunic winding up for another punch when Jon cried out.

“Woah Woah Ayra it's me!!” He took hold of her hand. “It's me little sister.”

Arya and Bran froze for a second, as Arya looked at the ‘ghost’ and squinted.

“...Jon?... JON!!!”

That's when the boys started laughing their asses off Robb clutching his sides laughing so hard he thought he might burst. Arya quickly pushed Jon’s shoulder in annoyance.

“You stupid..!! You scared Bran half to death!!!”

“In my defense little sister I didn't expect you both here.” Jon said through his laughter.

“Oh ri-... Is that flour?”

“Aye it is.”

“You stole flour to scare Sansa… and you didn't invite ME!?!” Arya shoved Jon again in indignation.

By now even Bran was laughing. Robb having assured him it was all a prank. By now the laughter had died down as the four began to walk out of the crypts and back to the surface. When Robb took the opportunity to tease Arya something he seldom ever got to do.

“You should have seen your face.”

“Oh please, I was not that scared.”

“Oh yes you were.” Robb ruffled up his little sister's hair much to her annoyance. Robb knew he would have to apologize to Sansa and rightfully so. But when they reached the top of the stairs she was standing there… with Mother.

Oh No.

Catelyn took one look at her children then her gaze flicked over to Jon. The look of annoyance and anger was obvious in her expression. As the children lined up single file save for Sansa who remained at her mothers side.

“Snow… what have you talked my children into?” Immediately Robb saw Jon’s solemn demeanor return as he put his hands together behind his back still coated in a thick layer of flour. And he saw his mothers focus on his brother prompting a hasty response.

“Mother it was my idea, I got Jon up and we-”

Robb was abruptly cut off the the harsh scrutiny of his mother, her words sharp and precise.

“Robb I will deal with you later, now Snow what did you do?”

Jon looked up at lady stark before speaking “It was just a joke, we wanted to spook Sansa.”

“Ah the truth comes out. You wished to frighten my daughter and waste a bag of flour to do so, yes?”

“Yes my lady…”

Catelyn scoffed her breath mist in the cold air.

“Very well, Snow you will go to the granary and grind five new bags of flour to make up for the one you so foolishly wasted for your own amusement at the expense of my daughter, and you can expect a reduced portion of food in the morning. Do you understand?”

 

“... yes my lady.”

“Good, now Go.”

Jon walked away much to Robb’s disappointment and anger. Catelyn took hold of Bran before turning to Robb and Arya.

“As for the both of you, you will clean the crypts of the scattered flour and when you are done you will both go to bed without a word, am I clear?”

The two Starks nodded although Robb noticed Aryas indignation at bearing some of the punishment for her brother's pranks, Robb couldn't blame her. But the pair found brooms and got to work without much fuss, they knew better than to argue with mother, even Arya would always think twice before crossing that line. So the pair returned to the site of the prank and got to work. Thankfully it wasn't too bad, mostly just monotonous to work through. The pair cleaned the crypts best they could all the while Robb’s thoughts drifted back to Jon who was undoubtedly working himself red to comply with his mothers wishes. Robb loved his mother, he really did, but the way she treated Jon bastard or not was always a sore point for him, though Robb would never openly say it. Arya on the other hand.

“Can't believe I'm getting punished alongside you for your poor idea of a joke.” She was obviously perturbed at the circumstances.

“Im sorry ok, I just didn't expect Sansa to-”

“Run to mother and cry her little heart out, what else would she have done, that was poor judgment on your end.” Arya’s retort was correct of course, what did he expect to happen when they got Sansa, Robb had never been the best judge of character he admitted, but even he should have guessed Sansa's reaction.

“I suppose you're right, Sansa she just… well she’s”

“Stupid… Sansa is stupid” Arya had a hint of venom in her voice as she spoke those words. It wasn't the most uncommon thing for her to say, but she seldom ever said it in such a vicious tone. Robb knew Arya loved Sansa deep down… but that didn't mean she liked her all the time.

By now the pair had cleaned up the mess and were walking back up when Arya stopped to look at one of the statues. Aunt Lyanna, her stone visage spoke of tranquility and peace as she looked down at the floor. Robb could tell his sister was thinking in an annoyed manner.

“Father told me the other day how much I reminded him of her… same energy, both wild, he even says we look alike.”

“Did he now?”

“Aye… if that's true I doubt she would like this statue.”

 

“Oh? What makes you say that?” Robb was ready to listen to his sister talk and frankly he was interested to hear what she had to say.

“Well if I'm anything like her as father says… I would think I would want my statue smiling, some form of life, anything with a hand extended, perhaps a bow…”

“Are you saying what you think she would like or what you would like?” Robb chuckled.

“...a bit of both… id very much like to be riding a dire wolf on mine i'll have you know.”

Robb’s eyebrows lifted at the absurdity of that request.

“What? I think it would be special.”

“And a hassle for the poor mason required to build that monument to your ego.”

“Oh shut up.” Arya shoved Robbs shoulder to which Robb pushed back. And before long the two were in a playful shove match. Robb had never been as indulgent in his younger sister's antics as Jon had, considering the fact that he was often the butt of the joke. But that didnt mean he didn't enjoy his sister's shenanigans. Far from it, she was a lovely breath of life in the halls of Winterfell and was one of the few who could make Robb feel better when he was feeling down in the pits. So needless to say he enjoyed the shove match as the two of them laughed. Until Arya lost her footing.

Arya after a particularly strong shove from Robb was sent stumbling back past their Aunts grave statue into the wall with a stoney crack. Immediately Robb went cold rushing over to check on his sister.

“ARYA!!! You ok?!”

‘Cough cough’ “yeah im fine” Arya got back up as if she hadn't been sent into a wall. Robb brushed off the dust on her and looked back to the impact site. And saw the stones out of place.

Wait what?

Robb moved past his sister to examine the wall, the stones he realized were without mortar holding them together, and if the force of his sister was enough to move them then they were not load bearing. Arya moved in as well examining the wall and took a brick. It slid out effortlessly, and through the hole they saw the area was hollow. Arya immediately got a look of pure glee on her face as she started pulling apart the false wall.

“Arya, wait, hold on, shouldn't we…”

His words fell on deaf ears as Arya wretched out something from behind. A large box, mahogany by the look of it, intricately carved with the images of Direwolves and Dragons adorning the lid. Robb was stunned, Arya was elated.

“Arya we should put it back whatever it is.”

“Why? Don't you want to see what's in it?”

Before Robb could respond he knew his answer would be a lie, yes he wanted to know. It's not everyday you find something like this. So he stayed quiet and let Arya do her thing. She opened the box resing it on the Crypts floor as she rummaged through its contents. A blanket seemingly for a babe. Some papers and letters. And what looked to be some broken egg. Robb for his part was confused at most of this but his eyes were immediately drawn to the papers while Arya examined the egg shell of god’s know what animal. As Robb examined the papers he gave the first one a skim through. And this went wide, a notice of annulment for the marriage between Ellia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen. His heart leaped into his throat but only more questions came of it. He had heard the tales from his mother and father of the rebellion, what the prince had done to Robb’s aunt and how it ended for him. But this was never mentioned, but what truly put Robb Stark's heart in his mouth was the following two papers. One a notice of marriage between Rhaegar Targaryen…. And Lyanna Stark. Robbs heart seized, his face went pale as snow. Had the prince forced his aunt into marriage, the thought churned his stomach with disgust and rage. But he was once again thrown for a loop when he read the adjoining papers, letters… love letters. All of them between his aunt and the prince. He wanted to stop but he just couldn't, page after page after page of correspondence and sweet nothings. It killed his long held notion of the events surrounding his aunt. If this was true and they loved each other and ran away. Then the rebellion was horseshit. A lie. But the nail in the heart came with the last page, a birth certificate.

‘I Lyanna of the houses Stark and Targaryen do proudly declare the birth of my trueborn and noble son, his grace Prince Daeron Targaryen, third of his name. Dark of hair and grey of eyes.’

The witnesses were Ser Gerold Hightower, Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Oswell Whent.

Robb felt his world crash down around him, standing numb in the candle light while Arya, now noticing her brother's demeanor, quickly grabbed the papers from his hand and read through them herself. Her reaction was much the same, shock, anger, and earth shattering realization. The siblings looked at each other both in shock of their discovery, grateful they were alone in the crypts as they both turned to look at their aunt's statue looking over them.

“Oh god’s.” Arya spoke in a shaky voice trembling with a thousand emotions ripping her apart.

“This has to be fake, these have to be forgeries, there… there's no way this is real!!” Robb all but screamed his denial, this could not be the case, father couldn't lie to them about his beloved aunt. These had to be fake.

“You dont hide false documents in a crypt behind a hidden wall, you use false documents. It's all there the seal the names its.. It's… GOD’S IT'S REAL!!!” Arya’s words stuck in Robb's core. He knew that this was real despite his denial. But the insanity was just too much to comprehend.

Immediately the two read through the papers again and again not sure what they were looking for. Some sign of falsehood, if they were they never found it. That's when Arya pulled out the blanket. Embroidered on it was a red three headed dragon on a field of black.

“Targaryen” The words stuck in Robb’s throat. “This can't be real.”

“But it is…”

“This can't be real!!”

“BUT IT IS!!!”

The two siblings were now all but hyperventilating. But that's when Robb saw the look of realization cross Aryas features as she looked back at the box. And the realization stuck Robb like a mace to the head. They both looked at the shattered egg shell, white and red like a weirwood tree, broken from the inside out.

“Robb…” Arya said with a shaky voice.

“We don't know that it is one… it could be a bird.”

“What bird lays an egg like THAT!!!”

“I don't know… maybe a bird from Essos!!!” Robb was grasping at straws with his reasoning but what else did he have to avoid the more obvious conclusion.

“Robb… if all of that is true and it seems that it is… then that must mean…”

“The dragons are gone, Arya their remaining eggs are nought but stone!”

Arya grabbed the remains of the egg and held them up to Robb before yelling “DOES THAT LOOK LIKE STONE TO YOU!?!?” she promptly put them back in the box before she started pacing around the crypts. Rob stood there his hand grasping his auburn hair as he tried to get a handle on himself. Before Arya stopped and said.

“Father must know…”

“Of course we have to tell him it's jus-”

“No Father ‘Must’ Know, he requested our aunt's crypt be built, he slew the kingsguard at the tower of joy, he was with her in her final moments…”

Robb sat there letting the realization hit him as his eyes widened.

“He knows… He’s hidden this from us… HE KNOWS!!!”

Arya quickly grabbed the papers, the blanket, and the egg and put them all back in the chest, binding it shut with a ribbon from her hair. Robb grabbed the box hiding it in his coat as the two made off to Robbs chambers. They put the box on his writing desk and sat by the fire contemplating their next move.

“So what do we do Brother?”

“...If father didn't tell us about this child then chances are he doesn't want the secret out. It would upend all order in westeros.”

“True…”

“... They have to be close by…”

“What?”

“The baby, he has to be close by.”

“Why would you assume that?”

“If this child is aunt Lyanna's son, then father would protect them… say what you will about him keeping this from everyone, he loves his kin. He wouldn't trust anyone but himself to watch over them. He would want them somewhere where he could keep a close eye on them…” Of this Robb was sure, he may not have been the best judge of character but he was no idiot, and he knew his father and his morals.

“If the boy has dark hair and grey eyes then he would blend in amongst the north.”

“So we agree, are we seeking this Daeron out?”

 

“If they are aunt Lyanna's son then they are family. I don't know what to make of Rhaegar's actions given the papers but if he is our aunt's son then that's good enough for me. Our cousin is out there. And Targaryen or not they deserve to know that they aren't alone. And given the magnitude of this lie I think we are owed at least a look at his face.”

Robb nodded his head in agreement. And that was where they left the conversation for the night. They didn't say a word but just stared into the flames of the hearth. But the weight of the situation never left their shoulders, even as they fell asleep.

Notes:

Thank you for the kind words last chapter, comments are always accepted.

Chapter 3: Arya I

Summary:

Arya in her frustration discovers something that will inevitably change Westeros forever.

Arya I

Two weeks had passed since the discovery in the crypts. Two weeks of staying out of sight and trouble. And two weeks of the most intensive reading Arya Stark had ever done in her life. All in the name of Daeron Targaryen. God’s even now it was hard to think of the revelation she and Robb had been subjected to. Granted, Arya's mood and opinions on the subject had turned from outrage at her father for hiding this from all their family, and she did feel that such emotions would never go away, at least not for a few years. After all, how could you lie to your children and wife for twelve years and not expect them to be cross with you for at least half that time. And it pained Arya to think that only she and Robb knew, not that she was too upset at the close knitted secrecy of the situation. It was actually really fun. Sansa was always going on about her tales of knights in splendid armor saving fair maidens which always made Arya want to gag on her lunch, but this whole situation was much more in Arya’s wheelhouse. The more she thought about it the more epic it became, a brother and sister stumbling into a plot perpetrated by their father kept from the kingdom to prevent war breaking out anew all the while they tried to uncover the secrets of this mystery. Now that made Arya smile. Sure it was no tale of Princess Nymeria and her 10,000 ships. But Ayra would make do with what she had.

But even then the fact that they were looking for not just anyone but a long lost Targaryen price was another thing that just made Arya excited beyond all reason. The Targaryens were one of the few topics in maester Luwin’s lessons that would get her undivided attention, especially when they pertained to the dragons. Whenever the topic of dragons came up Arya would always listen, she loved hearing about the various Targaryen beasts, their colors, their riders. All of it fascinated her to no living end. But now that fascination has been dialed up to a thousand. Her Arya Stark is on the trail of one of the last Targaryens in the world. And this one had a dragon! Or that's what she and Robb theorized he had. The Egg had been the first thing she had gravitated towards when she opened the box in the crypts, at first thinking it some botched sculpture she became truly aware of when she herself had gone through the papers in the box. Once the connection to the Targaryens had been found she knew then and there what the egg was from. Since that night she had gone back to the box hidden in Robb’s room and she would just examine the egg for hours on end. It was beautiful, a shimmering white in the firelight, its red streaks pronounced whenever she held it up. The excitement over the fact that there may very well be a dragon in the world again was enough to keep her awake at night.

But the icing on the cake simply put was the fact that she was related to this Targaryen. If this was really her aunt's son then they were her cousin. Her own blood. She often wondered what he would be like. Would they be more akin to Aegon the conqueror seeking vengeance and wanting their throne back from the Stag’s of Storms end. Perhaps they were more like Jaehaerys the first, a shrewd and savvy politician wise beyond his years. Then the thought came to the back of her mind, the thought she never liked to have. What if he was another Arys the second. She shuddered at the thought, even if Rhaegar was not what her father had made him out to be or at least more complex than she had been led to believe, that didn't change who his father was. The king who burnt her grandfather and uncle alive for demanding her aunts safety. It twisted her stomach. But she would find out soon enough she supposed. Or at least she would if she could find any of what she was looking for.

The day following her and Robb’s discovery the two had sat down for a chat to discuss their next steps going forward. And they both agreed on two things, one that they would only try to find their cousin and after that would confront father on what to do next. They had no desire to create an excessive ruckus which was sure to draw the eyes of many beyond the walls of Winterfell. But the point was clear: keep it under wraps for now. The second thing they agreed upon was that they needed to get a better understanding of what they were looking for. Considering the boy in question lacked the titular characteristics of a Targaryen, namely violet eyes and silver hair, that made their search difficult. So they would need to figure out other characteristics to look for. And after a very spirited debate they both agreed that Arya should do it. She has the more free time of the two of them and could better slip away. Plus it wouldn’t turn as many heads if Arya picked up a few more books on the Targaryens than usual. Whereas if Robb did that people would start asking questions.

So it was to be that Arya would sift through page after page of time after time trying to put together some sort of coherent list of traits they could look for in this boy. Unfortunately she quickly encountered two big problems. One was the fact that there simply weren’t that many books on the topic in Winterfell. The best she had was general history books that barely described the rulers in question as opposed to their accomplishments or lack thereof. And the second problem was that when a Targaryen was described it was without the details she needed and only focused on hair and eye color. Occasionally a scar was mentioned or some other personal look like Aemond one eye and his gem stone in place of his eye. But nothing on any other feature. Arya had even resorted to a book on the great houses of Westeros hoping for something, anything else. But all she found was the same shit in a different format. Silver of hair, violet of eyes.

Arya let her head fall to the table face down in the book groaning her frustrations away. The closest she found was the description of Rhaenys Targaryen who had inherited the black hair of house Baratheon, somewhat odd to be one of the few Targaryens to lack the titular look but oh well. Arya arose from her chair and grabbed a much needed mug of water which she drank promptly. As she returned to her seat she continued her work for hours into the day until the sound of shuffling feet broke her from her thoughts. It was Maester Luwin who walked in. He took one look at Arya and laughed.

“My lady forgive my observation but I have seen students at the citadel studying for their trials who looked more awake than you.”

Arya rolled her eyes before retorting “First of all I’m not a Lady, secondly funny very funny” she promptly returned to her book.

“Oh forgive my reference to your noble stature then. But I must say this seems a tad out of sorts for you does it not?”

“I don’t know, is it?” She responded with a voice overflowing with sarcasm.

“Well put frankly, I remember a girl always looking around the room and courtyard as opposed to her studies and material. So to see you so transfixed on a set of literature is intriguing.”

Arya moved her head to look at Luwin, a slim eyebrow raised above her eye as she responded.

“I like to read. I just like to read what interests me.”

Luwin Seemed to accept that answer before moving over to the bookshelf to reorganize some material before looking back and stating.

“I should inform you that your lady mother is aware of your absence at the sowing table today. I would not recommend aggravating her further than she already is.”

Arya felt a wave of discomfort wash over her. She hated sowing. She often would tout that if she was forced to participate in it any longer she would burn all thread and needles from the wall to the gods eye. Granted her mother did not appreciate that comment and Sansa had looked at her like a wild animal. But Arya didn’t care, she would never have to stitch a singular or embroidery ever in her life if she could help it. Sadly today however she could not help it and slowly dragged herself down to the great hall attempting to stall for as long as she could, slowly walking, dragging her feet anything to keep her out of that room.

But she arrived all the same to the ire of both her mother and Septa Mordane. Sansa was already there with Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel working on what looked to be a tablecloth. Immediately Poole smirked as Arya walked in knowing full well the scolding she was about to get and was intent on enjoying it. The grey clad septa moved over to Arya towering over the young girl as she glared expectantly down at her as if awaiting some kind of response. But when none came and she was met with the cold glare from the youngest of the Stark sisters the septa pushed the issue.

“Young Lady, where have you been, you are 12 minutes late. It's unbecoming of a noble Lady to draw out time for her own selfish enjoyment.”

Immediately Arya wanted to punch her square in the jaw. But she refrained for obvious reasons.

“I apologise but I was caught up in my studies, after all should a Lady not be well read Septa?” she asked knowing it wouldn't help her case but rather exclusively to jab at the stingy old bag of a woman before her.

“Such skills are secondary to the talents a proper lady will need if she is to be an acceptable match.”

Arya cocked an eyebrow at that statement knowing damn well what she meant. ‘I don't care, you need to be useful for another person,’ she always scoffed at how Sansa could think that this was any way to live, let alone live happily. But Arya bit the leather and took her seat near Sansa. Arya always hated needle work, she found it dreary and monotonous. And as always during these sessions the snickers and chuckles of Sansa’s friends were heard in hushed tones. Sansa for all her faults would still be Arya’s sister for as long as she lived, and at least with Sansa she rarely felt the need to punch her for her stupidity and naivete. Her friends however Arya felt more strongly about. Beth Cassel was fine enough in Aryas ledger anyway, she was obnoxious and a bit of a kiss ass to her sister but they tended to stay out of each other's way, besides if she got on bad terms with Ser Rodricks daughter she doubted he would ever give her tips on combat ever again, so she steered clear. Poole on the other hand, well put nicely Arya wanted to watch Poole freeze to death. Or at bare minimum get punched in the mouth to shut her up for five minutes. She was always going on and on running her small mouth to the point where Arya often questioned whether or not it would fall off. The two had had a rough relationship ever since Poole had shown up at Winterfell for warding. She had quickly taken to mocking Arya in a variety of ways, the most notable being her nickname ‘Arya Horseface’ always neighing and whining when Arya walked by.

The thoughts always made her cringe inwardly, and to a degree it did hurt to be mocked like that. And knowing that she couldn't effectively retaliate either was only added salt into the wound, lest she draw the ire of Septa Mordan and mother. So Arya resigned herself back to her needlework and already she hated it. She had attempted to make a Direwolf in the style of her house's sigil, she could visualize it well enough but it didn’t take long for the whole thing to look like a slapped together mesh of thread and cloth. Already she wanted to scream but that was only enhanced by the snickering of Poole who has obviously gotten a look at her hack job.

“Goodness my lady, I should hope that was an example of how not to sew… you seem to provide a lot of those come to think of it”

The veiled jab of ‘my lady’ was not lost on Arya. Poole had picked up on her distan for that term a while back and added it to her armory of insults. Arya simply retreated into her thoughts again. Just trying to forget about the insults and monotony of the situation. She kept thinking back to her job. Back to the traits listed on the pages. ‘Dark of hair, grey of eyes’ she tried to visualize what that would look like, someone tall and well muscled, long straight hair down to the neck, sharp eyes. But Arya knew she wouldn’t get anywhere with that kind of thinking after all with that logic applied to anyone else she would find results wanting. Hell’s Robb was proof enough of that, his looks were more Tully than anything especially concerning his hair. Funny enough that only herself and Jon had the proper Stark looks, both had grey eyes like Father, both had long faces and were generally skinny, both had brown hair… well that wasn’t entirely true Jon’s hair was far darker than her own almost black and far more curly than her own.

That gave Arya pause for the briefest of seconds, before she was abruptly pulled out of her thoughts by the commotion to her left, the others in the room had huddled around Sansa to look at her finished product. And admittedly it was pretty a line of twelve ducks of varying colors walking along the rim of the tablecloth.

“Well done Sansa exceptional work as usual. Now Arya, shall we see your work?” Septa mordane spoke in a soft voice unbefitting the woman Arya knew her to be. But as she looked down on her botched wolf only one word came to mind.

Fuck.

When she begrudgingly showed her work her sister and her friends struggled to contain their giggles of amusement, her mother was no more disappointed in her work than usual and septa Mordane frowned. The scrutiny never felt better even after taking it several times, at this point Arya just wanted to leave and go back to the books. And she did after another lecture on what is expected of a noblewoman, a tedious lecture she had heard a half dozen times and would ignore again. But as she got up to leave she couldn’t help but glare at Sansa and her laughter. Jerk.

————

Arya has decided after the needleworking session to take her frustrations out on the yards training dummies. It was something she was actually good at. A small sword in her left hand she hacked and slashed at the dummy practicing her flourishes and strikes consistently hitting the dummy. She was glad Jon had taught her proper form, and helped her learn quicker. She was absolutely light footed ducking and striking whenever she could as if the dummy was an actual opponent and not an inanimate object. Right, left, left, jab, parry, thrust. She took the moment to catch her breath before drawing the wooden sword back up and reassessing her stance. This time she went for more jabs and thrusts to practice, jab, left, right, upper slash, and thrust. As she lay into the dummy she tried to block out the hurt of the ridicule she had been subjected too just earlier. She hated Poole for her words, Cassel for her laughs, Mordane for her sternness, and Sansa…. Sansa for her silence. Some sister, letting her get laughed at by her and her friends. Jab, parry, parry thrust.

She let out a haggered breath, trying to return to her hunt for Daeron. Trying to go through the list of traits in her mind again small it may be. But she couldn’t help but feel giddy when she did, not over the information but over the situation. Not only was this some grand scheme she was unraveling, she was doing it with Robb. Her and Robb seldom got much time together, he was off either learning from father to manage the north for when he became warden of the north and lord of Winterfell, sparring with Jon and Theon to prepare himself for wars to come, god’s she wished she could join them. Or he was keeping to himself. She rarely ever got to do anything with Robb, so when all this came to light and despite the magnitude of it all she had to admit she liked that she and her brother could work on something together, just the two of them for once. And he seemed to enjoy it too. Their late nights in his room going over the information they had both scrounged out on their lonesome’s. Arya with her books and Robb investigating the nearby Winter town for anyone who could match the description or possible leads, even questioning some of the whores Theon often bedded for any leads. It was risky but he had managed to keep it under wraps using not only his position but also the lie that he was put in charge of surveying criminals by order of his father. Hunting down night's watch deserters had been his favorite alibi and Arya had to admit she thought it was a clever one. Granted the long term effects of this had yet to rear their ugly heads and Robb had been forced to be conservative in his search as to jot arouse too much suspicion, but by the time consequences showed up they would have found Daeron and confronted father already deciding their next moves. Or that was the hope anyway.

In all honesty two weeks later and nought but dead end after dead end. Arya was even starting to consider the possibility that this Daeron wasn’t even near Winterfell, perhaps he had taken his dragon and flown across the Narrow sea to reunite with the last of the Targaryen children. No if that was the case the realm would be in uproar preparing for another Targaryen conquest. No if Daeron was still alive he had to be north. Or that’s what Arya told herself to keep the doubts that this was all a waste of time at bay. She knew that if they couldn’t figure it out soon then father would find out about their poking around. And at that point they would just ask him.

“Your holding the blade too tight little sister”

Immediately Arya’s spirit was lifted by the presence of Jon. He strode over adorned in his usual leather vest over his grey tunic, rough pants and boots. He looked bruised on his face and hands probably from a particularly nasty sparring session with Robb or Theon. But he seemed in good spirits thankfully. Jon had made himself scarce since the crypts, probably working himself raw to make up the debt that mother had put on his shoulders for a joke that wasn’t his own. Arya would never be happy about that, but Jon seemed better and that was good enough for her. And frankly she admitted her own fault in not seeing him around Winterfell given that the search for Daeron had taken up the majority of her focus and she regretted not separating enough time to at least say hi to Jon. Truthfully however she was also a tad upset because she had wanted to bring Jon in on the hunt for Daeron but Robb had reminded her as to the sensitive nature of this plot. She remembered him saying ’how do you keep a secret between three people, you kill two.’ And Arya admitted defeat on that, too many people already knew between Her, Robb, and Father so they opted to leave Jon out for now.

“You look worse than usual.” Arya had chuckled referring to Jon’s bruises. All of them are growing sickly purple in color.

“Well Theon felt the need to tout his martial brilliance and I gave him a stern lesson in humility. I’ll admit he got me good, but not skillfully.”

“Well I should be glad of that then.”

“You’ve made yourself scarce these past few weeks, has Arya Stark finally calmed down?”

All that got Jon was a glance from Arya as if to say ‘as if’.
“I have just been busy with other things that don't involve moping about the kitchens.”

“Oh is that what I am a moper?”

“If the boot fits brother.”

The pair shared a good laugh as Jon stepped closer to observe Aryas stance. He helped her adjust and even told her of some tricks he had learned today. Eventually the two had ditched the dummy and Jon was letting Arya have a go at a proper spar, she couldn’t have been happier than in that moment with no one else around, just her and her brother duking it out with wooden swords, their cracks breaking the silence of the yard and their yells of false war cry’s adding some levity to it all. Jon had made sure to go east on her attempting to teach her how to fight properly. Just two outcasts finding companionship in the other.

Jon struck at her with a solid strike from the left which Arya parried with some effort, seizing the opportunity she went in for a jab which was blocked by Jon as he used the momentum to wind up for a strike which Arya caught with the center of her blade.

“Not bad at all little sister, seems as if you were actually listening to my advice.”

“Or I’m just better than you.”

Jon smirked and took it up a notch. A feint to the left followed by a solid thrust which Arya barely side stepped. Quickly Jon charges in again swinging his sword in a wide arc attempting to get Arya off guard which he almost managed. Arya was holding her own but barely, she couldn’t find a proper opening to strike back. And eventually and inevitably Jon got her with a swipe to the back.

“And your dead”

“You couldn’t have gone a bit easier?”

“You want to play or you want to be good?”

Arya cocked an eyebrow at her brother's statement , but he was right. Arya didn’t just want to crack swords and play knight. She wanted to learn and put her effort to use. So she nodded to Jon. And assumed a proper guard much to Jon’s happiness. The pair practiced for well over an hour Jon eventually calling it off to exhaustion. Arya was sweating and her hair was a disheveled mess. But the two were smiling infectiously. Arya felt properly happy like this. Cracking swords with her brother was one of the best things that happened around here. That was until the chuckling was heard.

“Well Horseface and the Bastard, always we’re close you two”

Poole was there by the wall probably only just got here. She pushed herself off the wall and sauntered over to them, a mocking sneer on her face as she looked at the two of them. Jon immediately became reserved again, his brooding exterior returning. Arya for her part just looked enraged. But she refrained from doing anything rash just yet. Despite the fact that her grip around the practice sword tightened to the point of white knuckles. Jon remained stoic in the face of this cretin.

“Lady Poole, i'm sorry for the disruption to your walk, I was simply indulging my sister in-”

“Sister? Oh that's Arya, I'm so sorry I mistook them for a stableboy.”

Arya began to move towards her wooden sword in hand when Jon put his hand on her shoulder to steady her, which it did.

“Oh the bastard keping the dog out of trouble, suppose someone has to account for her.”

 

“Shut up.” Arya all but snarled.

“Why I'm just stating the fact, Dog walker seems like a good job for a Bastard.”

“Lady Poole, you forget yourself. Good day.” Jon turned around leading Arya away when Poole went in for one more Jab.

“Hmph, the Bastard with manners, funny. I often wondered what Lady Stark did to be cursed with a child such as her. Come to think of it with how similar you look perhaps she’s also a bastard. No sister of Sansa could be this wretched.”

Arya shoved Jon off running at Poole when she ran into the castle and shut the door locking it behind her as Arya bangged against the door shouting profanities and curses seldom ever heard by a girl her age. When she turned back to Jon she took stock of his position. Her shove had been harder than intended, sending him stumbling to a wall. He was getting himself up, supporting himself by using a lit brazier to get back to his feet. Immediately Arya rushed over partially out of guilt and fear, his hand would definitely be burned after that and she had to help. Only he didn't scream, she realized. In fact he didn't seem off put by it he simply got himself up and stood back up.

“God’s Arya! You can't do that, no matter how much she riles you up. You can't just attack her!”

Arya barely registered his words as her focus was on his exposed hand, a little dirty maybe but not harmed in any meaningful way aside from his training bruises. Jon looked confused seeing the shock and wonder on his little sister's face.

“Arya? Are you well?”

“Fine… Fine. Jon your hand is it…?”

 

Jon looked at his hand and flexed it before giving a confused glance to Arya.

“It was only on for a moment and it's not that hot. I'll be fine.”

Arya simply nodded and accepted the answer. She let Jon talk her out of going after Poole but in truth that didn't matter to her anymore, gone with the wind was the incident now completely consumed by fascination. When Jon left the area she stood still looking at that brazier, her mind running wild. She took a few cautious steps to the Brazier, the fire was blazing hot, she was starting to sweat getting this close to it. As she reached out a hand to touch the spot Jon had lifted himself up by she was trying to reason with herself of how that was possible. But when she made contact with the metal it hurt immediately. She flung her hand back seeing a small mark of red on her fingertips where she made contact. She looked at her hand, she had barely touched it and she had a small burn. Jon had grabbed the thing entirely for several seconds and came out unscathed. She just looked at the fire for a while, its orange ends dancing in the cold winds, all the while Arya was slowly starting to put things together.

‘The grand maester’s have recorded in several of the Targaryen line bearing the trait which we dub unburnt. What they deem to be a blessing of their great dragons, we determine to be yet another one of the relics lost with old Valyria. The property does not show up with every Targaryen, but it allows for the person to survive direct contact with fire and similarly heated objects regardless of temperature. Truly a most remarkable gift’

That was one of the passages she had read while trying to find defining Targaryen features a few weeks ago. She had thought it possible to test candidates for this trait but Robb had shot it down, namely because asking every random person in WInter town to stick their hand into a fireplace was asking for a fight. And she agreed, it was a maniacal request but now the passage rang in her head like a bell. All of a sudden connections were being made that she would have never dreamed to make before. Father had returned with Jon at the end of the rebellion with Aunt Lyanna's bones in tow. Father had made only two real stops on his trip, one at Starfall the other Kings landing, neither he remained in very long. If Daeron had been brought back with Father there would have been two babies but there was only Jon. Admittedly that line of reason had plenty of holes but the fire. Jon wasn't hurt by the fire. Then the description flashed in Arya’s mind.

‘Dark of hair, grey of eyes’

Rhaenys Targaryen inherited dark hair and lilac eyes, not the intense violet of the rest of her family, possibly muddled by the baratheon blue.

‘Dark of hair, grey of eyes’

Then she thought more, Jon was always said to have the Stark colors, but thinking on it more Arya realized that yes he had the Stark coloring. But the more she thought about it, he lacked Fathers coloring.

‘Dark of hair, grey of eyes’

It was then that Arya truly visualized Jon in her mind and started to draw the comparisons. Fathers eyes were grey like Jon but of a slightly darker hugh. They both had a long face but the hair. Fathers hair was like her own, a lighter shade of brown and straight. Her mind raced back to her thoughts at needleworking today. Jons hair wasn't her or fathers brown, it was far darker, almost black, more like her uncle Benjen. But far more wavy, near curly. And then she began to realize other differences, subtle things. The shape of their noses, the angle of their jaw, general build of body. Father had never been a particularly tall man but Jon, Jon was growing and fast. He was already taller than Robb. And the more she thought the less like her father Jon began to look. He was often stated as looking just like him but that wasn’t true, not if you truly paid attention. The similarities were only surface deep and broke with perspective.

Aryas mouth by now was hanging open, eyes wide as she continued to put the pieces together. Father came home with one babe, the scandal of the realm. Ned Stark's honor was defiled. No one thought him possible of fathering a bastard but he did. Or did he? Arya thought more and more and in all her life she had never known her father to break an oath, never faltered on a deal, never saw anyone but her mother. No the assumptions were right Eddard Stark couldn't father a Bastard. Arya grew sporadic but unmoving. What did all this mean for Jon? If father brought him back from the war alone, if Father couldn't break his vows of marriage, if Jon was unburnt. Then that meant.

Suddenly it all fit together. An answer so beyond the scope of her imagination it was hard to comprehend. Robb was right, Father had taken Daeron under his wing, he had kept him close to make sure he was alright and safe, he had shared love for the boy that was his nephew, he hadn't left the boy down south or in wintertown. He had hidden the last of Prince Rhaegar's children under the noses of the seven kingdoms for twelve years. He had grown up in fathers household, learned from his maesters, tended to his property, had grown up around his cousins. A prince made to think he was a bastard for his own protection. And suddenly the words found themselves flowing out of Aryas mouth in the empty courtyard. Words so simple yet so amazing.

“Jon is Daeron….”

The world was spinning around Arya as she let the words sink in. All her assumptions about who Daeron would be were immediately shattered and reassembled before her. He was no conquering warlord, no savvy politician, no crazed madman, he was her beloved brother. He was the one who would teach her how to fight, he was the one who would encourage and cover for her trouble, he was the one who would joke and laugh with her and Robb, the one who would cover himself in flour just to spook her sister, who would silently brood by the weirwood tree. He was Jon Snow.

Arya noticed herself running through the castle, almost like a passenger in her own body. She ran and ran as fast as her legs could carry her like a wolf on the hunt. She knew who she was looking for. Immediately she charged into the great hall where Father was instructing Robb on some matters of state pointing to a map detailing the northern houses when the pair looked up at her confused and somewhat alarmed. But Arya only needed to look at Robb, and immediately he knew this was important.

“Sorry father, it seems my little sister needs my attention.”

“Very well, I expect you to be back here tomorrow earlier then,”

“Aye, I will father.”

With a nod of Fathers head, Robb walked over to Arya. She grabbed his hand and rushed back to Robbs room, shoving him inside and locking the door, putting a chair under the handle for extra security. Robb for his part was Confused. And very concerned seeing Arya like this.

“Arya relax, what is wrong?”

“IT'S JON.”

The intensity in her voice was unmistakable. Urgency precluded all other emotions in that moment for Arya Stark as she watched brother attempt to make sense of her words.

“Is it Jon? Is he in trouble or-”

“ROBB ‘ITS’ JON.”

“You keep saying that Arya. What do you mean by it?”

Arya wanted to rip his hair out. How could her brother be this dense? So she pulled out the birth certificate from the chest, handing it to Robb before once again saying.

“IT'S JON.”

Robb looked from the paper to his sister a few times before the realization dawned on him. Immediately his head shot up to meet Arya’s gaze, a similar state of shock over his features.

“How… How did… It's not possible… What made you think this, Arya tell me everything right now.”

Arya spilled her guts, everything. The Brazier, the research, the comparisons between Jon and Father, the timeline from their aunts death, Daerons Birth, and Jon in fathers arms at river run. It all fits. And Robb knew it. The investigation was over, they knew who and where Daeron Targaryen was. The siblings looked out the window to see him down there, cleaning the stables. Robbs voice was shaky as a leaf in a storm.

“God’s be good…”

Arya couldn't remove her gaze from Jon, it was all so unreal to her. There cleaning a stable was the true prince of the Seven Kingdoms, not loud and egotistical but quiet and unassuming, not bloodthirsty and hateful but kind and reasonable, that was the true heir to the throne and for the briefest moment one word crossed her mind ‘good’ good that this was who Jon was. Not a hate filled murderer but her brother. Robb spoke again.

“How can something so massive be so simple… such a conclusion so easy to draw yet… so insane.”

The siblings sat in mutual silence for a long time until the sun set and the halls of Winterfell went quiet. But the Stark children remained awake, sleep would not come to them this night. They sat in two chairs gazing into the fires of the Hearth, Robb looking at the papers and Arya holding the remains of the Egg. Then Robb Realized something that made him go pale.

“It's out there…”

“What is” then Arya looked at the egg shell in her lap and a similar feeling of terror settled in. “How do you-”

“Jon told me a while back about this feeling he gets when he focuses… like a set of emotions that weren't his own, they would calm him down… Arya you said that Targaryens had a magic bond with their dragons right?”

Arya had brought that up in the early days of their investigation as a possible thing to look for in a lead, but now with that knowledge she had no clue what else it could be. It was often described how the Targaryens could communicate with their dragons magically, could balance out each other's emotions or amplify them if need be.

“If that's true then.. THEN JON HAS-”

“A dragon…. Somewhere out there in the world Jon has a Dragon… Jon did say that feeling felt like it came from the south… I had dismissed it initially but now… Oh God’s.”

“If the egg shell was in the box with the papers that means it had to have hatched some time close to when he was born…. That would make it…”

“Close to 13 years old… how big would that be?” Robb asked with a hesitation to his voice as if he didn’t want to know.

“It was said that dragons grew at different rates, the ones in the wild were said to grow faster…”

“Well I know of no lord from the wall to Sunspear that has a castle big enough to house a dragon or the desire to do so, so I think we can assume it’s been on its own for the past years…”

Arya shuttered to think how big it would be by now, no cages, unlimited food, the sky’s to itself. A small part of her was excited at the idea of a great dragon alive in the world but that was overshadowed by her absolute terror at the idea of it.

“Maybe it's one of the smaller ones… the last dragons were said to have grown no bigger than cat’s.”

Robb gave a dry laugh at that statement.

“It was also said that those dragons died young. Given our luck right now and the reality that Jon is still bonded with it… perhaps we should assume the worst and think it's massive.”

Arya didn’t know what to say to that so she just drank some of Robb’s mead to calm her nerves. But she was so beyond stunned or shocked, the maesters might have to come up with a new word for what she was feeling right now. If this dragon was out there and bonded to Jon there was not telling what could happen. It hadn't shown up yet thankfully but they both knew that a dragon at a certain size could take what they wanted and no one could stop them. It was a shared realization between the siblings that it wasn't a matter of if the dragon would come for Jon. it was a question of both when it would come, and more importantly how it would come. Peacefully? Or with fire and blood?

“We have to tell him, there isn’t an alternative.” Robb spoke in a determined voice set in his convictions.

“Aye, we have to.”

Arya was not blind to the situation at hand. Jon could only remain hidden so long. After all Robb and her had found all this out by accident. Admittedly it was true that they had access to documents that proved or based their suspicions that no one else had. But it didn’t change the fact that they still put together the general evidence by accident. What happens when someone tries to put it together? Even if Jon managed to stay hidden for all time that dragon wouldn’t. One way or another someone would find out something and put two and two together. What then? Would the wrath of Robert Baratheon be brought down on the north? Would the lords of the north come to the Starks' aid then the crown charged for them? How far would Robert go, his hatred for Targaryens is legendary. Would he just kill Jon or would he go further, Father, Mother, Robb, Sansa, herself, Bran, baby Rickon? Arya wanted to stop at Jon and say that was too much as is but it was true. There was the very VERY real possibility that when this came to light, everything and everyone Arya and Robb held dear would face a final, brutal, and bloody end. Seven Hell’s it's possible that this has only gone undiscovered because the king was focusing all his efforts on killing the remaining Targaryens in Essos. And then it hit Ayra.

“Jon still has family in Essos…”

Robb looked at Arya and the two shared a feeling of mutual worry. It was funny they had never truly given much thought to Viserys or Daenerys Targaryen but now that they knew Jon’s true name… it humanized them in an odd surrogate way. These were the family of their brother running scared from assassins living on the streets. It twisted their stomachs into knot’s. And if that's how the king treated children a world away, Arya shuttered to think what would befall the family of the King's best friend if he found out the lie that father had spun. Truly the realm, Jon’s life, their lives all rested on the blade of a knife in the most precarious balance possible. And Robb and Arya knew that one way or another that balance would be destroyed, either by a dragon losing its patience or any lord realizing the absurdity of Fathers tale. Arya and Robb knew that war would come. But that didn't mean they couldn't act. Robb said.

“We sit idle, we die… God’s, what has father done? What can we do?”

Arya spoke with a determination only a wolf against a wall could muster.

“We strike first…”

Robb looked at his sister like she was insane. Which she might as well have been. But what other option was there?

“I’m sorry sister, what would you recommend we do? Please, I'd love to hear this.”

“The only thing there is to do. There is only one place Jon, us, and his family will ever be relatively safe…. We can’t stand around and wait for our deaths… so we do the one thing that we can do.”

“And that would be?”

“…we put Jon on the iron throne.”

The words hung in the air between the siblings as cold as the long night. Then Robb laughed.

“HA Ha… yes… Let’s do that… HA Ha” he spoke between his deep chest splitting laugh. But then he noticed Arya’s unchanged demeanor like steel. And slowly Robb realized.

“That wasn’t a joke?”

“…”

“That wasn’t a joke…”

“…”

“…ARE YOU ILL?!?!!” He all but screamed his indignation at her frankly insane idea.

“No, I'm not dear brother.” Arya still spoke in a deadly serious and unmoving tone.

“THEN WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU SUGGEST THAT?!?!”

“BECAUSE WHAT ELSE CAN WE DO!?!”

Robb ran his hands through his hair trying to find some cohesion in his thoughts before turning back to his sister and saying.

“We don't even know if Jon wants to rule, he doesn't even know all of this. What would Father think!?!”

“You and I both know that Jon would realize the situation we are in. The same goes for Father. We have no other options, unless we all pack up and head to the wall right now.”

Robb strode over and took Aryas arms in his hands, the fire casting an eerie light on her brother's face.

“This isn't a game of Cyvasse where you can restart or take moves back Arya… People Die for this.”

“We are already going to die for this Robb… Father has been committing treason for twelve years now… he seems completely content to let this play out as our house slides closer to the cliff edge… what can we do but fight. You are good at plans, think for a second Robb…”

Aryas words seem to have struck her brother in the heart as he let her go and walked to the fire gazing into it, the look of a wolf on the prowl. He took a few minutes and sighed before turning back to Arya. She could see in his visage the more tactical part of his mind running and turning thinking and weighing options.

“It's insane… it is absolutely insane… we are talking about the fates of not just our family but Jon, his aunt and uncle across the sea, the lives of thousands of smallfolk who will inevitably get caught up in this… but… if we get started now, play our cards right there is a very VERY narrow path to victory that we could follow…”

Arya Looked to her brother and he looked back. The unspoken tension thrummed between them, the weight of the choice they were about to make hung in the air like an executioner's sword ready to drop at a moment's notice. When Arya spoke.

“We tell father first, then we tell Jon. Who else do we need to consider?”

Robb thought for a second before the thought dawned on him.

“Lord Reed… Lord Reed was at the tower of joy with father… he must have played witness to the events that transpired… we talk with him as well. But besides them we speak of this to no one.”

“Aye we tell them… then what?”

“Then we gauge our allies, find those who would be most likely to support this cause. And for those that wouldn't we focus our efforts on swaying them as quietly as we can.”

Arya nodded, letting her brother's tactical mind work itself out and figure out the preliminary steps to their plan. Robb was no politician but he could understand the basics of alliances, he would have to start educating himself properly in the ways of diplomacy and schemes, and Arya would have to do the same. It was an unfortunate and dirty situation but if it meant the survival of their family.. Of their brother… they would walk through all seven hells and back to see it done. It was a daunting task that lay ahead, nothing short of near insurmountable. But Arya and Robb would take it in any way that required it.

It was that night, warmed by the glow of the fire that Arya and Robb Stark would swear themselves to Daeron III Targaryen.

It was that night that Arya and Robb Stark would play the Game of Thrones.

Notes:

Thank you for the kind words last chapter and I hope you have enjoyed this one. Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 4: Ned II

Summary:

Ned and an old friend catch up, and his children confront his deepest secret.

Ned II

Ned had been pacing in his solar for the past hour going over letters and documents sent from all corners of the north. Menial things really, land disputes, well wishes from friends, trade logs. Nothing out of the ordinary for the lord of Winterfell to be reading. Honestly it was mostly just tedious. He had never thought that this would be his fate when he was fostered in the vale. Ned had always assumed that Brandon would be lord of Winterfell and Ned could live out his days in some measure of silence and peace. But then of course Aryes had a tendency of messing things up for everyone and everything. So now here he stood settling disputes and disagreements. But now he hoped he could do just that for the rest of his days. He looked out his window into the courtyard below, he saw Jon sparring with Theon. The boy when he had a sword in his hand bore his mothers courage, her spirit. Ned always liked that, a reminder of his beloved sister made flesh. The similarities in fighting style were so clear to him, then again anyone who truly knew Lyanna Stark would probably see the same thing in her son. How quick on his feet he was, the way the sun caught in his dark curls, his drive to win seldom seen came out when he swung a sword. It brought a smile to Ned’s lips.

Sometimes it was so easy to forget what he really was. Easy to forget his false identity as a bastard. And just see him as Lyanna's son, his nephew. But the blissful illusion would always be broken one way or another. In the case of this day it would be young Greyjoy taunting him as a bastard again. Ned bristled, when he had taken on or rather been forced to take on young Greyjoy as a hostage at the end of his father’s ill fated and frankly moronic rebellion, Nes has tried to integrate him amongst his household. He had a seat at the high table with the lord and his family, would go hunting with Robb, hell he even let him indulge his lust at wintertown. For most other hostages this would seem like a major lack in discipline on the part of the lord. But Ned couldn’t bring himself to keep the boy locked in a room for years on end. However it should not be assumed that he likes how Greyjoy treated his nephew. Initially Ned had figured that it was just Theon trying to adjust to his surroundings and he would grow out of it. But he had yet to see it. And it wasn’t just Theon that Ned had this problem with.

Catelyn at least had some right to be upset with Ned, if not for his apparent infidelity then perhaps as a symbolic penance for his great lie. But what he couldn’t so easily let go was the speaking of Septa Mordane. When he built Winterfell's sept as a gift to Cat he had done so out of a genuine love for his wife and her upbringing, and indeed Cat did appreciate the thought. But could the gods have saddled him with a more vicious woman, it wasn’t just Jon she would target with her drivel but Arya too. The pair of them usually singled out for one thing or another which by the septa’s standards constituted consistent scolding and reminders of their own nature, Jon a bastard, and Arya a troublesome child. And what’s worse she had poisoned his eldest daughter’s perception of her own family with her words. He remembered the days where Sansa and Jon had been close and happy, until Mordane had taught her the alleged dangers of bastards, their deceit and trickery, how they would always look to steal what wasn’t there amongst a thousand other tall tales. From then on Sansa had been cold to Jon. It broke Ned’s heart. But he couldn’t do anything about it without risking Jon’s cover being blown. So he resigned himself to send the septa a disapproving glare every now and again. Not that it helped much.

The more Ned thought about it the more he realized that inactivity appeared to be his greatest sin while home. or more accurately, the inability to truly say what he wished to say in order to prevent these more egregious occurrences. It was one point that he truly felt he failed at as a father and an uncle. but he did know what he was getting into, Howland had warned him when he first took Jon in and his friend had been proved right. Ridicule and mockery were daily occurrences for Jon but he hadn’t expected those same hates to be heaped upon Arya as well. Ned took a long drink of his ale before turning away from the window and back to the papers on his desk. One of them caught his eye. A raven from Lord Commander Mormont had arrived that morning. And in it was the usual request. More men for the struggling nights watch. The wall had fallen into extreme disrepair and considering that wildling raids were starting to Increase in frequency Ned knew that the order needed serious reinvigorating. Plea after plea to Robert for more men and supplies had often gone unanswered. Or Robert did the bare minimum and sent cart loads of criminals and ally scum as opposed to the trained craftsman and fighters the watch needed to bounce back. Desertions we’re far more common now than at any other point in the history of Westeros. Ned had performed at minimum ten executions this past month for deserters. And those are only the ones they caught. the north was quickly becoming a dumping ground for scum and criminals, if not for the loyalty and integrity of his bannermen they might have been overflowing with the worst of flea bottom years ago.

Ned rubbed his temples as he leaned back in his chair, eyes scanning over the papers on his desk. If this was Robert’s idea of kingship then Howland was right yet again. ‘It will be a miracle if Robert passes for a shit king’ he had said close to thirteen years ago and it seemed as if the gods were siding with him. Even in the north tavern talk travelled. Talks of the king's gluttony and excessive use of women. It was said that every time a woman entered the red kee she would leave bow legged. And what’s worse was that Ned could more easily believe those rumors than he’s willing to admit. It was days like this that he almost pitied Cersei Lannister. Almost. As if Ned could feel any other emotions to a family that condoned the murder of children aside from seething rage. He had met the queen during the Greyjoy rebellion and had seen enough to know he didn’t care for her. But Robert was he truly disappointed in.

That’s when he heard a knock at the door.

“Enter.”

In walked a sight for sore eyes indeed. Howland Reed, he had changed since Ned had last seen him, a thick beard now covered his lower face and his hair was tied back. He seemed more gaunt than Ned remembered but then again his own strength was harder to maintain with age as well. But the lord of Greywater Watch smiles and strode over giving Ned a hug, it was there that Ned remembered just how much shorter Howland was standing at only 5,2 in height. But as he backed away he took a seat.

“Eddard, it's good to see you again.”

“Aye likewise, you gotten taller?”

the pair shared a laugh as Ned poured out some ale for the both to share. As Ned took a seat after tending to the fire throwing on another log for warmth before engaging in small talk.

“So how’s the kids?”

“Meera already knows every river, pond, and big surrounding the causeway, and Jojen grows stronger by the day.”

“You must be proud.”

“I very much am. Yours?”

“Two daughters that hate each other, one dutiful son, one son who can barely hold his attention on anything other than a scary story, and one tiny babe who will never cease to bite his wet nurse's teats.”

“Wild little Rickon I see.”

“If Arya is more wolf than girl then I’m almost convinced then that little Rickon is a wolf.”

Howland snorted and took a swig of ale before turning his attention to the fire. And went silent for a second.

“And what of your bastard?”

Ned stopped and took a long while to answer. He knew this would come up sooner or later. And despite his best intentions he had hoped it would be later. But it was not to be.

“He is doing well.”

“…I saw him training in the yard.”

“…and?”

“…he looks so much like her Ned. So much like him too…”

Ned had forgotten about Jon’s other half. It was easy to do so before it came crashing down on Ned’s memory like a cavalry charge. Ned had barely seen Rheagar at the tourney at Harrenhal, even less so on the trident. But Howland was scarcely one to forget a face.

“Aye he does.”

“Are you planning on telling him soon?”

Howland raised an eyebrow and Ned knew that look. Howland wasn’t asking him for Ned's thoughts alone but encouraging him to give a solid answer. The answer that he knew Howland wanted to hear. It was always a sore spot in their friendship. Ever since the tower of joy Howland had been set in his position, Ned on the other hand wavered much more. Often going from one solution to the other, keep Jon at Winterfell, let him go to the Night's Watch, there had even been a time when Ned considered asking Robert to legitimize Jon under his own house before he brushed the idea aside. But Ned didn’t want to buy into Howlands plan of exposing Jon.

“I’m not sure…”

Howland glared at Ned. For such a small man Howland could be intimidating as the stranger when he wanted too. As Howland got up he walked over to the window and looked out. This was a dance the pair had done a dozen times over the last thirteen years. But it seemed as if Howland was reaching the end of his patience.

“How’s the pet?” Ned asked, readying himself for Howlands report.

“….larger than we had thought…”

The words gave Ned pause. Close to thirteen years it had been growing but he had hoped against hope it would not get far. A part of him even wished that it would die early on and not be a problem. But it was not to be.

“She's growing faster than we thought, Ned. She was of riding size at least six years ago… she has barely slowed down since…”

“….how?”

“She’s had unlimited space to grow, a sky open of dangers, more food than is reasonable, and… we think she may be feeding off the magics of the area.”

That caught Ned’s attention.

“What makes you say that?”

“Our…. friends in the neck. Sometimes they tend to her. They say that as a creature of magic living in an area full of it… it helps.”

This wasn’t the first time that Howland had made allusions to the “friends” that his people so often conversed with. Ned by now knew better than to question it. They would keep their silence and that was enough for him so long as Howland assured him of such. But the fact that the dragon was growing this fast in this short of a time frame was concerning.

“There’s more Ned”

“Go on.”

“We’ve been keeping an eye on its hunting grounds. It’s smart enough to keep far away from the Kingsroad. But it’s been moving north.”

Ned lurched up in shock gripping his heart, panic setting in when Howland put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t mean it’s flying right for us. But it’s been steadily inching its way over.”

“How far North has it gone?”

“Farthest we have seen it fly is up to the Fever river. Well away from Moat Calin. But that’s just what we have seen. It could be going as far as the southernmost edge of the Barrowlands for all we know.”

Ned looked over a map of the North following along Howlands described flight path. It was a massive stretch of land to cover. And so quickly too. But it wasn’t good.

“Ned it’s looking for him…”

“We can’t possibly know that. Maybe it’s just looking for more food.”

“But we do know it…. We do. You remember how they were at birth, the thing only left his side when we put it in the crate. It’s smart Ned. Smart enough to understand the circumstances we are in. But you can’t keep them apart forever. One day it will come for him if he doesn’t come first.”

“…is there a way we could break the bond?”

Howland gave Ned a glance. He knew that was an impossibility only asked out of desperation.

“Ned, it's unwise to test a dragon. And that dragon is reaching the end of its patience and quite frankly so am I.”

“You forget yourself Lord Reed.”

“Perhaps I do. And perhaps the same goes for you my lord.”

Ned shot back a glance at Howland. Before stepping over to the desk and staring at the map.

“Ned, we are on an acrobats line here and losing balance. She’s desperate Ned… I’ve never seen such expression in the eyes of any other beast or man for that matter. She’s lonely and worried for him…. And there’s more.”

“Get it on with then.”

“Jojen, he’s been seeing things again. None good.”

Ned listened to Howland intently. When it came to the pair of them Howland was never one to mince words. He told Ned what he knew and his thoughts on them. But when it came to Jojen and his… gifts. Howland often spoke in maybes and riddles. Ned had tried to understand the gift that Howlands son had but to little avail. He resigned himself to simply take what he said with a grain of salt and try to avoid getting caught up in it all.

“What has he been seeing?”

“…ice, snow, and frost taken form. Marching endlessly through the darkest night. The dead astride beside them. All marching to a flickering light.”

Ned considered the words that Howland spoke. He wasn’t sure what to make of them, if he should think that this dream or vision or whatever Howland called it was to be taken literally or figuratively. But it was odd that there were more details than usual.

“Sounds more vivid than the others?”

“Aye because it was. Jojen has been seeing things clearer, the larger the dragon grows the more easily things come to him.”

“Are they connected?”

“Not directly, no, it’s more to do with magic as a whole in the world than any interaction between my son and her.”

“Care to go on?”

“Our friends have long said that the magic in the world has returned rather quickly. The dragons return heralded it and her strength builds it further. Magic is coming back, Ned… and she is a major part of that return.”

Ned stopped for a second and began to think to himself. And at the back of his mind a little nagging memory played again and again. It was of Jon when he was younger, he told him of a few dreams he had. He was flying over the land, sometimes he would hunt things and kill them, but the way Jon described them gave bed pause. So vivid were his descriptions.

“Jon sometimes had dreams.”

“….sorry?”

“Sometimes he dreams of flying, hunting, things like that.”

Howland glared at Ned with a look of uncertainty and worry.

“You didn’t think to tell me this?”

“They were a child’s dreams, nothing more I had thought.”

“How vivid were they?”

“I swear he spoke of them as if they were real.”

Howland ran his hands through his hair. He got up and paced around the room drinking his ale to the bottom of the mug before turning back to Ned.

“Has he had any other dreams like this, in any way. Recurring people, places, events. Anything?”

“Aye he says he often dreams of a girl and a field with a tree.”

“Any description of the girl.”

“He says she’s pretty, very pretty. Whenever I ask him he is always particularly bashful about it. But he described her wearing black and red with silver hair and violet ey-“

Immediately Ned went quiet and his eyes went wide as howland matched his expression, eyes locking with each other as a tense silence fell over the both of them.

“You don’t think he-“

“I don’t know, I don’t have Daenerys Targaryen here to compare experiences.”

Ned rested his head in his hands as he tried to make sense of all this. The dragon, the dreams, Jon possibly dreaming of Daenerys Targaryen for the vast majority of his life. It was all so much, all under his nose. He could never have guessed that the dreams of his nephew were somehow indicative of a greater set of powers enacting themselves through Jon in such a mundane way.

“The boy has a lot more magic in him than I had thought…”

“Can you offer some insight into his dreams of Daenerys or-“

“No, I have nothing to say for that. I’m unfamiliar with that kind of magic. I’m of the old ways and I know the old gods and their gifts. That is Valyrian in nature. And I know not i
t’s extent.”

“He’s just a boy. How can all this fall on the shoulders of a child?”

Before Howland could respond there was a knock at the door. Howland moved back to his seat and poured himself more ale. Ned figured it was probably a servant or guard coming to check on them or alert him to something going on in his house. Perhaps Arya and Sansa were fighting again.

“Enter.”

But much to Ned's surprise it wasn’t a servant who entered. It was Arya and Robb. Ned tilted his head at them confused at their sudden and unannounced presence. They should be at their lessons right now or at least Robb should, Arya should be at needleworking, although to be fair Arya would always try to find an excuse to get out of that. Perhaps she just tagged along with Robb while he came to ask something. They had been spending an odd amount of time together recently. Arya would often go to Robb’s chambers when the day was done where they would talk for a few hours and she would go to sleep. Come to think of it Arya and Robb had both been acting out of sorts these past two weeks in general. Robb was making consistent visits to Winter town and Arya was nose deep in books according to maester Luwin. She has seldom been so focused on something like this. So suffice to say that this began to intrigue Ned.

“Robb, Arya? What brings you here?”

“Apologies father we were-“

Robb abruptly stopped at the sight of Howland in the chair. Howland smiled and nodded curtly at the young Stark, who in turn nodded back.

“Apologies, Robb. This is Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch.”

“Robb Stark. Pleasure to make your acquaintance at last”

The two shook hands promptly. As Howland looked over to Arya and shook her hand too.

“Arya if I’m not mistaken?”

“Aye, you aren’t.”

Howland smiled at her as he returned to his seat. The siblings promptly found some chairs and drew them over. But not before Robb locked the door. This gave Ned pause. Confusion and a tinge of worry leaked its way into his chest as he glanced at Howland who looked equally confused and worried.

“Robb, Arya, is something the matter?”

“Aye father… aye.”

Ned was about to ask what was wrong when he took notice of his children’s faces. Both of them had looks of anger on their complexions. Both directed at Ned. Something was wrong and they were upset with him for it.

“Lord Reed I apologize for the interruption if you could please wait outsi-“

“No….”

Aryas voice was direct and sharp. No hesitation in her voice and fearless in her demeanor. Normally Ned would be upset at the blatant disrespect for his authority as lord and father but something in his children’s eyes made him reconsider. That was when Robb said.

“This concerns Lord Reed too, father.”

Now Ned was properly confused. He figured that this was no issue of the house but something more important. Something serious. He has never seen his children so intense in their convictions. That’s when Robb stepped forward to the desk. From under his cloak he produced a box. Mahogany and well carved. He put it on the table. Ned took one look at it. And his blood ran cold. His eyes went wide seeing the box he had hidden thirteen years ago before him again. Howland shared a similar look of shock and horror, but as he looked to Ned there was something else, a look of pained victory. As if to say I told you so. Ned looked back at his children both looking at Ned with a mix of rage and disappointment. Ned’s anger rose in his chest as he spoke with a tone of pure command.

“Where did you get this?”

Robb spoke first “We found it in the crypts while we were cleaning the flour. Arya stumbled and fell through the false wall.”

Ned felt as if his heart had stopped beating. The deception, the plan, it was all falling apart before his eyes due to an accident. He braced himself against the table, knuckles white breathing labored. But a small portion of his mind was trying to salvage the situation, sure they knew about the lie but that didn’t mean they knew it was Jon. He reasserted himself and tried to regain some lost composure.

“When were you going to tell us father? WHEN?”

Robb’s voice shook with anger. God’s he had never seen him so furious.

“I don’t know. I had hoped it would remain hidden until I felt the time was right to reveal him to you.”

“When you felt the time was right? WHEN YOU FELT THE TIME WAS RIGHT?!?”

Arya took the moment to speak, her voice cold and harsh.

“You lied… you lied to me, my brothers, Sansa, mother, You lied to him…”

That’s when Ned realized it was all over, Him, Arya knew who she was talking about. Somehow they had figured out it was Jon. How though, finding the documents was one thing but making the connection between the two?

“How did you find out it was him…?”

“I saw him grasp a lot brazier and walk away unharmed… the connection was obvious from there.”

Ned chuckled inwardly, magic. Magic again. It would appear that was Eddard Stark's great foil, all the powers beyond his understanding coalesced around Jon like a swarm of locusts. Fire couldn’t hurt him, it made Ned think, in all his years he had never recalled a moment when Jon was burned, it was funny looking back and noticing something so innocuously obvious and here he was. Just another thing to add to the bonfire that this situation was quickly turning into.

“Were you ever going to tell him… don’t say when the time was right… were you ever going to tell him?”

Arya’s words cut deep, his children’s gaze focused on him and so did Howlands for that matter, he wanted to hear Ned’s answer as well. Ned leaned his head back taking a moment to really think of his response, because quite frankly he didn’t know the answer himself. Would he fight for Jon if Robert came, absolutely there was no question in his mind about that. But would he throw the first punch? That was not so easy to answer. If Jon knew and wished to claim his birthright would Ned pledge himself? Would he? He had raised the boy from birth, he had seen him grow and struggle, he was kind and good. He wasn't his grandfather Ned could see that. Ned was confident in that. He was just a boy who didn't know of ruling but one could learn administration and politics, skills could be gained. But Robert was his friend, if Jon was a son to Ned then Robert flawed as he may be was a brother to him. But unlike Jon Robert had 13 years to prove his worth as a king, and he was lacking. Howland was right, he was a shit king. The Lannisters schemed to enhance their own standing and while the realm looked prosperous from the outside Ned knew things were in a precarious balance. But the answer still eluded him, would he have told Jon? The easy answer was yes. Tell him and let him decide from there, but Lyanna… he swore that he would protect Jon, wouldn't he be breaking that promise if he asserted Jon’s claim? And so Ned had his answer satisfying as it was.

“I dont know…”

Ned saw Robbs anger, Howlands disappointment, but Arya… Arya was enraged. Her face red, her lip quivering as if she had so desperately hoped that Ned would have said anything else. And so Arya went up to him and slammed her hands on the table and yelled.

“HOW COULD YOU!?!?”

“Arya please.”

“NO, NO YOU DON'T GET TO TRY AND EXPLAIN YOURSELF!!”

Ned rose quickly out of his seat, angry, not at Arya’s outburst entirely, also due to the guilt he was feeling at this very moment, a sharp piercing guilt sticking out of his heart like a dagger.

“YOU HIDE THIS FROM ALL OF US FROM HIM!! AND NOW THAT IT'S OUT YOU WANT TO KEEP HIDING LIKE A COWARD!?!”

“Arya calms down this instant!!”

“FUCK THAT!!!”

Ned grabbed his youngest daughter by the arm fuming at the enraged defiance but Arya kept going. Snatching her arm away before yelling with all her fury.

“YOU WERE CONTENT TO LET OUR BROTHER, MY BROTHER!!! DIE ALONE AND COLD AT THE WALL AND FOR WHAT?!! SO YOU CAN TELL YOURSELF YOU PROTECTED HIM?!? THAT YOU DID RIGHT BY AUNT LYANNA?!?”

“DON'T YOU DARE INVOKE HER NAME!! YOU WEREN'T THERE AS SHE DIED IN MY ARMS ASKING ME TO PROTECT HER ONE SON!!! TO KEEP HIM SAFE!!!”

“AND WHAT ABOUT YOUR SON’S!?! YOUR DAUGHTER’S WHO YOU HAVE INVOLVED IN ALL THIS!?! WHAT ABOUT US?”

Ned paused as he looked at Arya, her lip quivering in anger, her tears rolling down her cheeks, eyes red and breath ragged. Ned broke there, his own tears rolled down his face as he fell back into his seat. His stomach twisted when he heard his daughters sniffles and soft sobs. He had never known Arya to cry but here and now she did, and he did the same. Howland stood off to the side well away from the argument but Ned knew his thoughts on the matter. Needless to say Howland despite his anger and frustration with Ned wanted him to pull through and make the right call whatever that may be. But Robb… Robb had been angry and furious the same as his sister but much more quiet and reserved about it. His auburn hair seemed to catch the fire light as he walked over to his fathers desk. He put his hand on the edge tapping the table a few times before he and his father locked eyes. Robb had inherited the Tully looks predominantly but in that moment he looked every single bit a Stark of Winterfell. He didn’t mince words or yell when he spoke, he commanded respect with his tone, odd for a boy of barely thirteen name days but here he was. Ned felt a surge of pride in his chest as his son spoke to him, saying.

“Father. I do understand your wants. I understand your desires. I may not understand your pain but I know the weight this is on your shoulders. But the time for hiding is over. The realm weakens by the day. The dragon flies free. And war is coming to break our door down. Jon is my brother, I love him, and I know you love him. But you can’t hide this from him. He deserves to know. One way or another someone will come for us, whether they be Stag’s, Lion’s or anything else. And if you don’t tell him I will.”

His resolve was iron solid, his gaze sharp, Arya even stopped and went silent.

“Winter is coming, and the wolves do not leave one of their own to die in the cold.”

Ned Stark's face hardened. His house’s words being used to remind him of where his loyalties lay. And in that moment the resolve of his children was felt in him, an icy cold fire in his chest as father and son kept their eyes locked for what felt like an eternity. Arya strode over to join her brother's side. The young wolves remind the leader of the pack as to his vocation. Ned looked out the window as Jon walked to the gods' wood for the night. Ned’s face tightened as Lyanna's words rang in his head, not her last words but her naming Jon. Daeron Targaryen, third of his name protector of the realm, the title of the king, not a hidden prince made to brood in exile. She knew damn well what she had said at that moment. The doubt that had plagued Ned not a few minutes earlier began to crack. Robert was a friend, but Jon was a son. No right minded man picks their friend over their son.

Ned turned back to those gathered in the room. The lord of Winterfell bearing the same cold countenance as his children. And in that silence a thousand unspoken words rang out. Before he finally said.

“We tell him tomorrow.”

Notes:

Thank you for the kind words last chapter, I hope you enjoyed this one. comments are always welcome.

Chapter 5: Jon II

Summary:

Jon learns his true parentage and makes a decision.

Jon II

The air rushed around his head, cold air. The moon shone bright in the sky as Jon looked out over the vast lands below and before him. Stoney hills in the distance and marshlands below with a dense coverage of trees which made up the gorgeous landscape over which he reigned supreme. He soared through the air beating his wings to gain some more speed. Flying under clouds Jon began to fly lower to the ground, hunger was biting at him and he caught a scent. Faint but existent. Something large definitely. Scanning the ground below him he saw the faintest sign of movement on a set of rocks. He picked up his speed clutching his claws in anticipation. The darkness hardly hindered him as he accelerated further, he knew his mark. Wind rushed faster, howeled louder, scorching blood raced to his head as he started to tilt downward. He saw the unfortunate animal that would satisfy his stomach. A great bear moving silently across the hills unaware of the reaper stalking them. Jon tucked in his great wings dropping suddenly through the air. The lurch in his stomach grew greater as he dropped through the sky. Speed increasing racing down and down ever faster, eye fixed on his unsuspecting mark. The rush was almost unbearable as he opened a great claw and opened his wings.

The wind pushed against his wings as he started moving parallel to the ground at a great speed. Beating his wings three times to gain altitude he focused on the wriggling in his closed foot. Something trying desperately to escape his clutches, growling, biting, and clawing at his scales in a vain attempt to free itself of its ultimate fate. Jon rose ever higher into the night sky back to the safety of the clouds. He stayed his movement, remaining idle in the air beating his wings constantly to tread the air to hold steady. The bear screaming in terror would soon be out of its misery. He lowered his long neck down to his lower claw and quickly tossed the bear into the open sky. He snapped his jaws with a blinding speed unwarranted for a beast his size. Now the wriggling was in his mouth, the claws scraping pointlessly against his mouth, his teeth sinking into its flesh. Jon felt the rush of warm blood drip down his jaws pooling in his mouth, the bear's motions became calmer and weaker. Deep within his chest Jon felt a growing blaze, the air around Jon began to steam. From his jaw erupted a blinding inferno of white and red.

The bear ceased its movements and went slack in Jons mouth. It’s life having been viciously burned away in the fires. Three bites were all it took. The first a deep crunch was heard as the bones gave way under the pressure of the dagger like teeth he plunged into the carcass, the second the body was split in two one part falling down his throat, and the third bite finished it off as the front of the beast disappeared into his mouth. Anything that had escaped the stranger could have. And as Jon turned back he felt the greatest satisfaction. A victory well earned. But even so there was a hole, a void he felt that he couldn’t quite identify, but if he focused on it he found his head turning north.

———-

Jon’s eyes shot open as he sat up in his bed. His head was aching as he brought his hands up to brace his forehead. He shook his head in an attempt to clear the discomfort he felt in that moment. He looked around his room taking stock of his surroundings. The sunlight leaked in through his window casting its glow onto the floor, the hearth had been extinguished the previous night so all that remained were ash grey logs. Jon in that moment recounted his dream. It wasn’t the first time he had a dream like this. Far from it. He often dreamed himself flying over the lands. Hunting wild game. Dancing amongst the clouds. It was a particular experience for him. He always walked away from it with a feeling of satisfaction or aggression, or any emotion that he had left off on in the moment. As he yawned he noted the residual taste of blood on his tongue. Odd. That was new.

He disregarded the thought as the taste was gone as fast as it had shown up. Probably just his mind playing tricks on him. In all honesty between all his reoccurring dreams these ones were interesting but not preferred. He had tried to talk to Robb and Father about them but neither could offer any insight or at least any insight he found useful. Honestly that seemed to be the typical response to any of his more strange dreams. A lack of satisfying insight or just a brush off. And so he was left to draw his own conclusions and opinions regarding his experiences. And frankly he always preferred the dreams of the feild and the girl. The thought always brought a smile to his face. Sitting there under the oak just talking to her. Silver hair catching the light. Jon attempted to suppress the blush growing on his cheeks getting up and getting dressed. Dark brown doublet, leather vest, riding pants, and boots. Once he was set he turned to the door when he realized what day it was. His thirteenth name day.

The thought somewhat deflated him. His name says we’re hardly ever anything of note. He would get some well wishes from his siblings excluding Sansa in recent years. His father would have a good meal made for him and relieve him of his chores for the day. But other than that it was business as usual. He didn’t expect this one to be much different. The constant companion of melancholy rode over his heart as he took a deep breath to steady himself before walking out the door. He made his way to the great hall as per his usual morning routine. Pass by the same servants, see the same sights, that being said it was a gorgeous day, the sun was bright and it was warm, warmer than it had been in a long time. Jon took the moment to soak it in. He smiled lightly as he continued his walk. The great hall's exterior loomed over him as he walked to its external door. Its position close to the great keep made his walk a mercifully short one. Passing by the Sept he made sure to steer clear of its front doors, he knew septa Mordane would be doing her morning prayers. So he skirted the edge of the wall as he walked to the door and opened it. The smell of food was strong in the air as he went to his spot at the far table. Only it wasn’t there.

Wait.

Jon looked around the hall to find it only to see that it was gone entirely. Not moved, not shoved into a corner. But just gone. Jon was immediately confused. Where would he be sitting if not down here. For the briefest moment a sense of dread filled his heart. Had lady Stark finally convinced father to not even let him into the great hall to eat? He was about to turn out when he heard voices down the hall, Father and his siblings walked in with Lady Stark shooting him a glance as to be expected. Greyjoy was the last in and took his seat at the high table. Jon was about to leave, best to make himself scarce before he could get another scolding when Fathers voice rang out across the hall.

“Jon. Where are you going?”

“Apologies, Lord Stark. I was just leaving.”

“Without breaking your fast?”

Jon was now just confused.

“My lord I- I don’t understand.”

“I’m asking, will you not break your fast with us? Come sit.”

Jon was about to respond when he noticed Robb and Arya put some distance between themselves and Arya brought over another chair. Arya and Robb shot him amused smiles. Jon took a moment to process what was going on and by the looks of it Sansa, Lady Stark, and Greyjoy were doing the same. But Father Simply smiled under his beard. Jon felt a jolt of hope shoot through his body. He began to move cautiously towards the high table. Each step taken with caution as if to brace himself to wake up and find out this was all a dream or some sick joke meant to teach him a lesson on how he wasn’t worthy. As he got closer he braced himself more and more for the inevitable disappointment he knew was coming. But it never did. He stepped up to the chair, pulled it out, and took his seat.

At that moment Jon felt like crying. He kept it to himself of course it would be improper to put on such a display at the table but he couldn’t fathom the emotions that ran through his heart. He barely held his hands steady. Then he felt the reassuring hand of his brother on his shoulder. Robb looked at him, eyes full of happiness and sincerity. He slid over the morning meal of honey porridge, bacon, and bread. Along with a mug of water to wash it down. Jon took the spoon in his hand and began to eat with the rest of the Stark’s. Robb and Arya often cracked jokes and engaged him in small talk. That went on for a while until Lady Stark made her protest. All the warmth and happiness Jon had felt in that moment melted like ice in the sun. But

“Husband, I am sorry for my disruption but is this necessary?”

“My love whatever do you mean?”

“Must young snow join us at this table today?”

“Jon is my kin, it is his thirteenth name day, I see no reason as to why he should not be here. Who am I to deny my kin their place?”

Lady Stark froze half in shock, half in indignation. But she sat down regardless. Ned looked at Jon and nodded his head. The warmth returned in Tandem with his utter surprise at his fathers move. Father ever counteracted Lady Starks wishes especially when the topic of her children were being addressed. But here he was still sitting at the high table with his siblings smiling at him. Jon tried to rationalize the situation, chances were that this was just a gift, a single instance for his name day. But at the back of Jon’s mind he hoped against hope that it wasn’t. That this might be the new normal. He would like that very much.

Jon enjoyed his food and by the time he was stuffed full Father looked back at him.

“Jon.”

“Yes Lord Stark?”

“I think it’s time I told you about your mother.”

Jon froze in the instant, heart breath and all. He tried to inhale but couldn’t. He wheeled his head around to look back at Ned to see if he was tricking him. But only sincerity could be seen behind his grey eyes. Jon then suddenly had the opposite problem and began breathing faster than he would have liked. All his life he had wanted to know who his mother was, it was one of the few things he genuinely did want in the world. He cared little for material objects or immense power. But this, this was everything to him, a part of him he never knew finally being told to him. He often wondered what she was like, kind and gentle, strict and willful, cruel and callous. So many possibilities ran through Jons mind in that fraction of a second he thought he might die. If this was his name day present. Then by the god’s it was the best one he could ask for. He cleaned himself off when Robb placed a steady hand on his shoulder to help him relax which he appreciated immensely. Lord Stark spoke again.

“At the hour of the wolf go to the gods wood, by the reflection pool and the weir wood tree. I will tell you then. Have a good day until then.”

“Yes father.”

His breath came off as little more than a whisper. He didn’t care to look at Theon’s face of shock. On Lady Stark's face of similar shock, the same went for Sansa. In fact he found himself caring little for what anyone thought right about now. No jest or name could break his spirit, no doubt could be planted. Nothing mattered. He was going to learn who his mother was!

————————-

The day beyond breakfast was unusually good for Jon at least by his own standards. There was no sign of septa Mordane, no glaring presence of Lady Stark, even Theon had done the previously thought impossible and shut up for the day, opting to remain quiet. Whether or not it was done at the behest of Lord Stark Jon didn’t care. The sun shone into the courtyard of Winterfell and Jon Snow was happy. Truly happy. He walked with Robb just making small talk about innocuous things, birds and animals. Until eventually Robb and him came to an open area of the courtyard with training swords in hand. They quickly got to it drawing their blades and preparing to spar. Jon had taken notice of Lady Stark's absence and as such felt a little nervous, at the back of his mind he was still worried that she would appear out of thin air and command him to some menial labor or monotonous job. But Robb tapped him on the shoulder with the point of his blade obviously chuckling at his in depth thoughts. And Jon couldn’t help but laugh with him. It felt good to do so if not a bit unnatural.

But regardless Jon stepped up sword in hand in the full light of the sun twirling the blade over his wrist and Robb struck first. A strong overhead swing which Jon paried with a strong hit from his left using the momentum to strike back only for Robb to block. Robb then grabbed the end of his blade half handing his sword as he went for a jab. Jon sidestepped and returned with a decisive strike to Robbs back.

“Gah! That was luck.”

“Oh was it?”

Robb smiled and went in for a series of three strikes which Jon promptly blocked or redirected. Jon quickly took the opportunity for a thrust which Robb blocked and returned with a strike from the pommel of his sword. Jon promptly dodged, gaining some distance between him and his brother who took the break in the fight to steady himself and establish his stance. Jon took up a high guard and the brothers circled each other looking for an opportunity. And when Jon found it he went in for the kill. Left, Left, Right. Each strike made the steel sing in the open air while Robb pushed for a counter attack to sway the momentum of battle in his favor. A series of strong attacks forced Jon back further and further. While Jon was the slimmer and faster of the two brothers, Robb was definitely the stronger. And he employed that advantage to its best potential. He caught Jon’s blade in his hand and forced his brother into a grapple. Something that Robb knew he could definitely win. Jon for his part attempted to escape Robb’s grip but to no avail, his brother had a vice grip on his sword and his arm. It wasn’t long before Jon was knocked on his ass and Robb put the sword to his neck.

“Yield or I shall strike you down.”

“I yield.”

The pair remained silent for a second before they burst out laughing. Jon was helped to his feet by Robb who was still chuckling. Jon was proud of his brother. He hadn’t held back and he had won their match. Jon scarcely remembered a match he lost that he hadn't thrown by the cold glance of Lady Stark. It was simultaneously humbling reminding him that he was by no means perfect and still needed to learn, and incredibly invigorating. But Jon noticed Robb’s face at that very moment. There was something behind his eyes as he looked at Jon. Some odd look of knowing. Jon wasn’t actually able to truly identify what Robb was feeling but he knew it was probably something at least marginally important. But in the flash of a second it was gone again. And Robb was back to walking with Jon to the center of the grounds for another round. And Jon quickly brushed aside the feeling, just wanting to indulge in the day more.

By the time their session was over the pair were properly winded from their several sparring sessions. Their swords cast aside as they say on a close by bench. The both of them breathing heavily were engaged in conversation again. Jon telling Robb where he could improve in his swordplay and vice versa. but it was good to talk these things out. How else would either of them learn aside from trial and error. But it was after they had finished talking about that they changed topics to something else. Jon decided to engage Robb on the topic of his dream that previous night, even if he couldn’t offer any explanation or proper insight it still helped to tell his brother about these things if not to get them off his chest alone.

“I had another odd dream last night. Stranger than usual at least.”

Robbs face tightened, Jon already picked up on the sudden shift in his brother's mood. Was it something he said? Usually when the pair of them talked about his dreams they were the subject of light hearted jests and teasing. Usually about the girl under the tree, or as Robb called her ‘Jon’s Lady Love’ he always rolled his eyes at that nickname, even if it did fluster him a bit, or a lot sometimes. But this was a completely different reaction to what Jon had been expecting. Robb seemed to steel himself as he asked Jon.

“What happened in it that made it so… unusual?”

Jon raised an eyebrow at his brother's more poignant questions, if he ever asked about the contents of his dreams they were surface level or just barely scratching the surface, this however seemed like a genuine ask.

“I dreamt I was flying. Over rocky hills and marshlands. It was night at the time. I caught a bear and ate it. I think I cooked it too.”

“Cooked it as in you skinned it and put it on a pan?”

“No I just… blasted it with fire?”

“Care to elaborate further?”

Jon thought long and hard trying to remember what happened in the dream. He had grabbed it and tossed it into his mouth. Then he just blasted it with fire. No flint or tinder. He told this to Robb whose expression only grew more and more concerned.

“The fire was incredible. White with ends of red… reminded me of a-”

“A weirwood tree?”

“Yeah exactly that…”

Jon’s focus remained on his brother's tight face, he wasn't sure why but he thought Robb had a look of recognition on his countenance, some odd sense of knowing something that Jon didnt which helped him to better understand his dream. But what could Robb possibly know in regards to this?

“And that's what made the dream weird?”

 

“Well no, it's just that when I woke up this morning I thought I could taste blood. There was no cut in my mouth or anything of the sort… I don't know how I tasted it but I did.”

Robb’s look was still tight if not a bit afraid. But he shook it off as quickly as he could trying not to make too much of a scene. But Jon had noticed, and come to think of it, Arya and Robb had been a little out of sorts at their morning meal today, the both of them had a look about them. As if they both were in on a secret and it centered around Jon. he tried to force the feeling to the back of his mind but it just would not leave him alone. But Robb simply patted him on the back, thanked him for the spar, and left. Now Jon was suspicious, something was going on under his nose. Had he been right at the morning meal. Was this day just the setup to something, some great lesson or punishment? He shook his head and went his own way to find some food to snack on before he got ready for his meeting with father in the Godswood. The moment he had been waiting for.

—---------------------------

The walk to the godswood was quiet thankfully. The hour of the wolf had seen all servants to bed, the castle was quiet as Jon moved through the winding passageways of Winterfell silent as a ghost. It was something he was used to doing, moving unseen between the shadows to keep out of trouble, but not tonight, tonight Jon Snow moved in the light of the torches, stride as confident as a warhorse charging into combat at full gallop. Stern as iron. Ready to finally get the answer he had so long been looking for. The want in his chest was eating away at him. He was half tempted to run to the gods wood rather than keep a proper and clean pace so as to not wake the rest of the castle. So he power walked through the castle, cloak billowing behind him. He had decided to dress warmer than usual, the sun gone from the sky and the temperature always dropped fast in the north. Jons breathing was heavy and tense. God's was he frightened and elated all at once. Never had anyone felt what he felt now. The day had been spectacular save that one incident with Robb if you could even call it an incident. More on an observation than anything. A quick hiccup in what he might consider the best day of his life. Or perhaps one of his better days. Definitely top five if he had to choose.

Jon had passed the glass gardens by now so he knew he was close to the gates of the gods wood. He walked and walked for what seemed an eternity before he was passing the gods woods reserved curtain wall. He had always been impressed by the fact that Winterfell had been built around the gods wood as opposed to it being planted once the structure was finished. He had heard that’s how they did it in the south, but there was something so performative about it he felt. Southerners had no clue how to worship the old gods, they didn’t know the significance of the weirwood trees. Many didn’t even have faces carved in them. They were just there to look pretty and be what amounted to window dressing. But not in the north, theirs is the old way, and the wolf way demands the proper reverence for the weirwood trees. Jon had always found comfort in the silent trees shade when he wasn’t much younger. And still did on occasion, it’s great carved face silently watching over him as he sat under its branches gazing into the reflecting pool thinking endlessly for hours on end. The memory brought a small smile to his lips. As Jon walked closer he figured that if he could choose anywhere to learn of his mother it should be in the gods woods in the sight of the old gods. Jon would have it no other way. So as he approached the gates he took a deep breath and pushed them open.

The gods wood was alive tonight, torches for illumination lined the walkway to the great weirwood tree. A path of dead and crumpled leaves he had walked a thousand times lay before him. He looked around and didn’t see Father. He figured he must be down further. He took a few steps forward into the gods' wood and along the path. His cloak whipped around his feet as he adjusted his dark curls. He wasn’t sure why he had put so much effort into his look tonight, it wasn’t like he was dressing to impress anyone, it was just father after all. But he still had done it. Perhaps out of respect for whoever his mother was, dead or alive. Maybe a subconscious way to show that he had turned out better than most in his circumstances. He took pause to consider his life to this point. Despite the ridicule of bastardry he had a family. Some cold and despondent, but others not so much. He had a warm room and good clothes, a bed, and lived in a castle. He realized that he had it better than most in the world. It humbled him. He nodded to himself as he strode forward to find his father, not as a bastard but just Jon. A young boy about to receive all he wanted in life, minuscule as it may have seemed. To him it was perfect.

He reached the weirwood tree at last, surrounding it were four torches ablaze with orange fire. It was an ethereal sight to behold, the face in the weirwood leaking its bloody red sap as it often did. It glared out with unfeeling yet knowing eyes. They seemed to connect with Jon as he looked into them. But that's when he heard the heavy footsteps of his father walk over to him. From where he wasn't sure but it mattered little. Ned Stark was also dressed well looking every bit the lord of winterfell in his thick fur cloak and leathers. On his back he carried Ice the ancestral valyrian greatsword of house Stark, so massive was its blade that if it had been anything but valyrian steel it would be unusable, but here Ned stark carried it around as if it weighed nothing. Ned approached Jon with a cautious but staunchly determined stride looking him directly in the eye.

“Jon, I think it's time we talked.”

Here it was. Ned ushered Jon to walk with him as they moved to the weirwood tree.

“Jon I first must apologize, I've been lacking as a guardian. My negligence has made life for you here harder than it should have been. And for that I am sorry.”

“There's nothing to forgive father, you've given me a life better than most in this world, I'm eternally grateful for that alone.”

Ned smiled at Jon, a warm look of remembrance in his grey eyes as they continued to walk. But then his face hardened. This was it. Jon knew it.

“Even so, it's hardly how one of my kin, my family should have grown up. Unworthy of a Stark.”

Jon’s heart fluttered at that last part, a Stark. A true Stark of Winterfell. In that moment Jon felt complete, as if all things had come together right in the end like in one of Sansa's tales.

“....Much less a Prince.”

….what?

Jon looked confused at Ned. The statement was so out of nowhere, so incredibly off the mark that Jon genuinely has to stop and repeat the sentence in his head again a few times before the words registered.

“I’m sorry father but I’m confused, what do you mean by a prince?”

“Jon, do you remember how I told you your aunt Lyanna died?”

Suddenly Jon was off guard entirely. This wasn't what he had expected, this was supposed to be about who his mother was, why was Father talking about his aunt Lyanna?

“Of course i do father, you slew the kingsguard at the tower and you found aunt Lyanna dead of fever.”

“...No Jon. No I didn't.”

“What?”

Ned put his hand on Jons shoulder as he talked as if to steady him for something.

“I've only ever told a particular version of that story, Jon. Aye I found the tower and slew the kingsguard outside of it. That much is true. But what isn't is the circumstances of Lyanna's death.”

Jon was suddenly intrigued and a little horrified.

“I had thought that Prince Rhaegar had kidnapped her and raped her.”

“Aye everyone knows that.”

“But the truth is… he didnt…”

Jon’s eyes went wide as he swiftly turned his head to Ned. This was astounding information, how could this possibly be true!?!

“He loved her Jon, and She loved him. As it turns out they had ran away together…”

“But.. but.. Wasn't the prince married to-”

“He had it annulled… and he married Lyanna.”

Jon felt some great shift in his emotions again. Some existential dread settling in. The main drive behind Robert's rebellion then was a lie. If aunt Lyanna had… OH GOD’S!!! Jon quickly steadied himself against a nearby tree, he needed a minute and Ned gave him that minute.

“Father… this… this is… How could you know this and not say anything!?!”

“...Because it would have gotten Lyanna’s son killed…”

Jon froze instantly, his gaze fixed on his father as if he had just been stabbed. This was impossible, there was no way.

“Son?”

“Aye, Lyanna had a son with the prince. Lyanna when I found her was in a bay way Jon. feverish aye but not of an illness or infection…”

“Mothers fever…. She died in childbirth?”

“Aye, she did.”

“Father… h-how could….”

Ned held onto Jons shoulder tight, steadying him against the shock. Jon tried to regain his composure to no avail, so he opted to keep questioning.

“Father, forgive me but… what does this have to do with me and who my mother is?”

“Jon… Lyanna made me promise to protect her son. And you know the importance of an oath like that…”

“Of course I am a father…”

“Good.”

 

Ned took the opportunity to step in front of Jon putting both his hands on his shoulders before continuing.

“Jon… I protected that child by hiding him.”

“Where?”

“In my household.”

Jon was stunned yet again, his father had taken in this boy? How could anyone have never noticed, had they dyed their hair to hide the silver typical of the Targaryens?

“Where are they now, why would you reveal this to me?”

“Because he deserves to know the truth…”

“Aye they should but why tell me?”

“Jon…”

Jon was about to ask again when he took note of his fathers face, a deadly seriousness painted over his long face as he looked him straight in the eye.

“...”

Wait….

Slowly the pieces started to fall together in Jon’s head, with every passing second Jon slowly realized what his father was alluding to. Slowly but surely falling together.

“Jon…”

The picture was becoming clearer, and with every second Jon’s breath quickened, his heart raced, his mind swirled like a blizzard. What remained of his analytical mind continued to put the pieces together. Ned came back with him from the war. Lyanna died in childbirth. It couldn't be.

“You're not my son…”

Jon’s eyes widened, his heart seized. His mind went silent. His breath stopped.

“Your mother was Lyanna Stark. And your Father was Rhaegar Targaryen.”

Jon went numb… there was no other way to describe it. Everything he had thought about himself was just gone. He wasn't Eddard Stark’s son, he wasn't a Bastard, he wasn't the brother to Arya, Robb, Sansa, Bran, or Rickon. Jon wasn't even his real name… how could anyone respond to that. Jon saw the earth rush up to meet him as he fell out of shock. There was darkness for a few seconds, but then he was awake again. Lying at the Roots of the weirwood tree. His cheek hurt, but he wasn't alone. Father was there standing quiet. But next to him was… Robb… and Arya. And even with all this coming to light knowing all that he knew now, he couldn't help but take comfort in their presence. Robb looked at him smiling as he came too.

“He’s back.”

Jon rubbed his cheek and winced in pain. He must have fallen flat on it. Arya looked over at him relieved to see him ok. But all of it came back to Jon in an instant as he tried to get up he was still too dizzy and was forced to remain seated. Ned walked over with some water and had Jon drink which helped calm down his headache and dizziness. So Jon with at least a tenth of his wits about him resolved to question.

“....is-is it true?”

It was a dumb question admittedly but it was all he could manage right now, just some form of assurance would go a long way. But surprisingly it wasn't Ned who answered. It was Arya.

“Aye… it is.”

“... You Knew?”

Robb nodded his head.

“Aye we did.”

Jon immediately was confused again and angry. How had they figured this out before him?

“How long have you Kno-”

“Barely two days…”

Aryas response put some of his anger to bed. It was small comfort knowing that a hundred people hadn't known this before him. But he had more questions to ask first.

“H-How… How did you?”

“After our crypt prank, Arya and I were cleaning up when she fell through a fake wall by Aunt Lyanna's grave. We found this inside.”

Robb from under his cloak produced a mahogany box. Well made by the looks of it. On it was carved the images of a Direwolf and Dragon. Robb passed the box to Jon who examined it. Arya stayed close to Jon the entire time as he looked at it. Arya took the box and opened it on the ground. Jon watched as she pulled out some papers and passed them to Jon. although she made sure to hold onto the birth certificate.

“These were inside when we found the box.”

Jon read through the letters, one after another. Many of them were love letters between his parents. Lists of sweet nothings from Rhaegar along with some self written poems, and a list of innuendos on Lyanna's letters. For some reason that got a chuckle out of Jon. He then saw the annulment notice and the wedding certificate. So it was true. All of it. He let the papers fall to his side as he ran a hand through his dark curls. He wanted to scream, he wanted to run, he wanted to cry, he wanted to laugh. He wanted to do so many things but he could only gaze silently. But all the while Robb and Arya never left his side.

“Why now?”

“Arya figured out fathers lie when you got up from the ground by holding onto the brazier. No one aside from a Targaryen could withstand that kind of heat Jon. Arya put two and two together and she came to me. From there on we confronted Father and he was convinced to tell you.”

Convinced? Had Father not planned to tell him? Actually for that matter.

“Still doesn't answer my question. Why now? You could have just as easily kept this to yourself and let the charade go on… why now?”

“Because you deserved to know first of all… it wasn't right that father kept this from you while me and Robb knew. Plus Robb would have told you anyway regardless of what father wanted.”

Jon snorted at Aryas bluntness and disregard for her fathers wishes. And he looked to Robb who smiled and nodded in acknowledgment. He took comfort in the fact that Robb would have done right by him regardless. It was good to know.

“And there is something else Jon…”

Aryas voice was far more weary now as she reached into the box again and removed what looked like a black blanket and passed it to Jon. There was something bundled in it, one large thing and several smaller ones. He unwrapped it, and inside he found what looked like a large fragmented egg. White as its base color with sharp streaks or red around it, it looked scaled. Obviously it was not a bird egg. Then Ned said.

“The second of Lyanna’s dying requests was to burn her body. And put that on the pyre with her, she said that only death could pay for life… and it did.”

Jon looked back at the egg and in a split second he realized just what kind of egg this was. His eyes went wide in shock, horror, and wonder.

“Jon… you have a dragon.”

Jon looked to his siblings who also nodded in agreement. His hands were again shaking as he looked down at the hatched egg in his lap.

“How- wha?!... where is it?”

“In the Neck, with lord Howland Reed. He is the only other person who knows about this besides us four. He has been keeping watch over it these past thirteen years. It's smart enough to stay hidden it seems, that's why there has been no uproar. Howland says the dragon often looks north in the direction of Winterfell.”

Jon quickly made the connections in his head, the odd tug on his heart from the south. It wasn't just some fluke of the mind. It was his dragon calling out to him, supporting him from miles and miles away. It had been there the entire time. Then he made another connection.

“My dreams… my dreams of… of flying a-and hunting wh-wha are those…?”

“Howland also thinks that you might be what’s called a warg Jon… a skin changer, someone who can look through the eyes of animals, control them even.”

More shock to add to the day. Those dreams of hunting had been so vivid because they were real. God’s it was like one of old Nan’s stories come to life. And he was living it. Arya put a supportive hand on his shoulder to help steady him and it did. But then his mind switched again. He thought of the girl in the field. If the dreams of flying were real then… he had to ask.

“The girl… the girl in the field is she?”

Ned gave an unsure nod.

“We think it may be you dreaming of your aunt. Daenerys. Whether or not she has these dreams too we don't know. But considering everything else, I wouldn't be surprised if she has the same dreams.”

That gave Jon some genuine comfort. If that was true then he might have been talking with his family for years now. Well one part of his family he supposed. But his mind pushed the comfort aside quickly before returning his attention to the revelations at hand.

“Jon, there's one last thing…”

“...”

“The Dragon… it's moving north.”

Ned's voice was laced with caution as he spoke clearly aware he just told what might be the greatest deciding factor in the saga of revelations so far. And Jon immediately picked up on the danger that it posed.

“Is it coming to attack?!”

“No, at least we hope not. We think it's coming to meet you…”

Jon went cold with fear. Not for himself. But rather because he knew what it would mean for everyone. If that dragon was seen, and people realized what Ned had done… then that meant.

“I have to leave…”

“No Jon.”

Aryas response was immediate and harsh. It was clear she had thought that he may have gone down this line of thinking. And was ready for it.

“Arya if it wants me and I stay then everyone in the seven kingdoms will-”

“Will find out the truth we know. But we also know that there is no place to hide. Anywhere you got it will follow, and whatever we do or you say. We will be implicated regardless. You're smart enough to know that…”

Jon wanted to rebuke and respond, he could go to the Wall, or escape to Essos. But he knew that those would only make it harder to catch him. Not the Stark’s. Not his family.

“So what then… how do I… what do I do?”

Arya walked in front of him as grey eyes met grey eyes. And with a voice sharp as steel she said.

“You fight.”

“Fight!? Fight what, the world? Every one of the seven kingdoms until there's no one left to come after us!? There is no way I could force the realm to stand down regardless of how noble I fight.”

“You could if you were King.”

The words rang in Jon’s head like a sept bell. The statement was so outlandish and insane that he could barely register it.

“King?”

Ned walked up and spoke.

“When Robert took the throne after the rebellion it wasn't just because he was the face of the fight or his strength, he claimed it through blood as well, through his grandmother Rhaelle Targaryen. If it was right of conquest then by that standard Jamie Lannister should be sitting the Iron Throne. But he isn't.”

Arya spoke up.

“If the blood claim still applies then you have the absolute strongest claim.”

Jon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This was insanity of the highest order.

“I'm not fit to be king, I don't know the damn first thing about ruling!!”

“You can learn.”

“And what if I don't want to be king. DID YOU CONSIDER THAT!?!”

Arya remained silent but unmoving, same went for Robb and Ned. Jon buried his face in his hands, this was too much. This was all absolutely too much for him to handle. And there was no escaping it. He was trapped, trapped and overwhelmed with revelations that had reduced his identity to ash in the wind. As he clutched his face with his hands. He wanted the ground below him to swallow him whole and never let him see the light of day again. He wasn't a king, he wasn't the scion of a great house, he wasn't a bastard, he wasn't even Jon. He wasn't sure what he was anymore. Stark, Targaryen, some nameless mass of flesh for the god’s to impose their will upon, a danger to everyone he loved by his very existence. He had gone in here wanting answers. Well he had them. Now he wanted to be a bastard more than anything.

He stewed in his thoughts for a long time until Ned spoke to him.

“This is a lot. I'm sorry to have kept this from you and to heap it all on you at once. I won't demand an answer or decision now. Please try to rest.”

Jon could only nod. His mental paralysis prevented anything more complex from coming out. Arya Hugged Jon tight before walking off with Ned to get to bed. Soon all that was left was Jon and Robb. Robb slid down the trunk of the weirwood tree to sit next to Jon, the two of them looking into the reflecting pool. They didnt know how long they sat there for. But Robb broke the silence.

“When I first read the papers in that box I was beyond shocked. I was furious, the idea of a Targaryen still breathing under fathers protection felt like an insult given how he talked about them. How Aerys burned our grandfather and uncle. At that moment I wanted to track them down to dispose of them. I calmed down shortly after, I knew they were our cousin and deserved a chance. But the thought remained. Would this be another madman?”

Jon listened to Robb as he continued to look at the pool.

“So you can imagine my surprise when Arya tells me that it's you. I didn't want to believe it at first, but as I came to terms with it you want to know what I felt.?”

“....what?”

“Pride.”

Jon cocked his head taken aback by the word.

“I was proud that this cousin, this Targaryen, was my brother. The one who spars with Arya, who sat by the fire and listened to Sansa's tales, the one who keeps me on my toes, the one who snuck down to the crypts with me and wasted a bag of flour to play a prank on our siblings. That's who he was. And I couldn't be happier about it.”

“...I'm not your brother.”

Robb didn't take the bait, he turned Jon to look at him, Tully blue met Stark grey.

“No Jon. You are. Even if you're not literally my brother, you have our blood, you have our honor, you have our heart. Damn house names and the past. You always were my brother and are always going to be my brother. I know the world is falling around you tonight. But if you're going to hold on to anything, hold on to that. Because that will never change. And no matter what choice you make, what path you walk, I'll be there with you every step of the way. I won't leave you. And if anyone comes for father, Arya, Sansa, Bran, or Rickon they are going to have to go through us first. And we won't yield.”

Robbs words struck Jons heart like a punch. Reinvigorating enough to knock him out of his mental stupor. So much had fallen around him that night and he was still unsure of what to do. But his brother's words struck a chord in his soul. They both sat up and Robb hugged him, and Jon hugged back.

—-----------------------

He was in the field of grass again. He wasn't sure how long it had taken him to fall asleep. But Jon could hardly care right now. So much had happened within the span of two hours. The day had been such an emotional roller coaster that even here, the place where he was supposed to forget. He couldn't. He walked up the hill to see her sitting under the shade of the tree. Daenerys saw him approach and smiled wide. But only for a second before she saw his demeanor. He was devastated, distraught, and confused. Daenerys walked over unsure of how to handle it when Jon turned to look at the fields. Daenerys said.

“What happened?”

“....I learned who my mother was.”

Daenerys had been aware of what Jon’s mother had meant to him, the ambiguity eating away at his heart.

“Isn't that good? You finally know…”

“Aye I know… almost to the point I wish I didn't.”

“Why?”

“Because I now know my life has been a lie… to protect me.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I'm not a bastard apparently.”

Daenerys looked confused for a second before asking softly.

“I thought you didn't like being a bastard?”

“I didn't…. But it was… simpler than the truth I have come to learn.”

“What's the truth then?”

“That I'm a Targaryen…”

Daenerys looked in shock, the magnitude of that statement not lost on her as she stepped closer to Jon her black dress billowing in the breeze.

Jon took the time to explain to Daenerys the events of the day moment by moment, the story of his birth, the deception of Ned Stark and his dreams, Aryas recommendation, and Robbs comfort. By the end of it they were both sitting in the grass Daenerys wide eyed and processing all of it. She was still for a moment before a smile broke out over her lips. Jon saw it and was confused, why was she happy about this? She leapt over grabbing him in a hug before he could ask as he felt tears run down his neck as she cried in joy. He took her by the shoulders and she grabbed his hand, smiling and crying.

“Why?”

“Because we're not alone… Viserys and I… were not alone. I'm not alone.”

Jon took in her words, if half of what he had heard was true then Daenerys has lived a hard life. Much harder than he had. And yet she found joy in this news.

“Doesn't it make you happy? You have family, Stark and us… doesn't that make you happy at all?”

Her voice was filled with hope and pain, desperately trying to get Jon to see the good in this mess.

“It would if I wasn't a danger to them. If word about me gets out everyone I love dies… and me with them… I… Im a curse”

Daenerys took his hands in hers as her violet eyes stared into his… god’s they were gorgeous.

“You're not a curse. You're a good person…. I think you'd make a good king.”

“But I don't want to be king.”

“... then what do you want?”

What did he want? Jon thought long and hard about it, he took in all the options, all his knowledge, all his experiences. And the answer was simple.

“I want my family… all my family, safe.”

He looked at Daenerys as he spoke. And he saw her face encouraging him to continue on.

“I can't keep them safe as I am… I will be discovered. They will have nowhere to hide, you are already in danger.”

“So how do you keep us safe?”

The more Jon thought the more he eliminated possibilities. They couldn't run, he couldn't run, they couldn't hide, he couldn't hide. There was no easy answer, there was a simple answer however. And he cursed the God’s for making Arya right again.

“I fight.”

Daenerys steeled her resolve, Jon reached up brushing a strand of loose hair behind her ear. This was family, the Starks were family. You don't run from your family.

“I swear… on the old gods and the new, I will make westeros safe for us. I will see you return to these lands. I swear it now.”

Daenerys held his hands as he made his oath. Eyes never leaving his. They heard the dragons begin their dance but they paid attention only to each other. And before the dream ended Daenerys asked one more thing.

“What's your name?”

“... I don't know, but please… call me Jon”

Daenerys only smiled as the fields faded away.

—------------------

The morning sun was high in the sky and Jon wasted no time in moving. He rushed to his Fathers Solar signaling Arya and Robb to follow as he walked over. He got them all inside and shut the door. He turned to them all. And he spoke softly.

“I don't want the crown, I don’t. But I do want to keep you all safe. And if that means me taking the throne…. Then I'll do it.”

The Stark’s in the room nodded. Jon had made his choice. And that's when Arya walked over with the last of the papers and passed it to Jon. He gave it a once over and his eyes stopped. He read it once, read it twice. And said it in his mind a few times to get used to it. He smirked. His name, his real name.

Daeron Targaryen, third of his name. The Dragon of Winterfell.

Notes:

Hey everyone i hope you enjoyed this behemoth of a chapter and i hope you are exited for things going forward, were getting into it now. I also have an ask, if you feel so Inclined Id love to have recommendations of what Jon should name his dragon, so feel free to leave a comment on that. As always thank you for the kind words, and comments are always welcome.

Chapter 6: Robb II / Arya II

Summary:

The plot is drawn up and Catelyn is informed

Robb II

The night was cold as it so often was. But tonight was particularly egregious. It had been a frosty day in general and right now Robb noticed that the courtyard of winter fell was being dusted in a light summer now, an ethereal glow cast upon the great keep of Winterfell outlining its stature in the night. The wolves howled off in the distance. Fitting Robb thought, in an odd way. It had been only a few hours since Jon announced to Father, Arya, and himself his intention to claim the throne. Admittedly Robb had been taken aback by how seemingly quick his decision had been, But to be honest, he was not upset at the quick choice. Far from it, now they could stop with the waiting and finally begin to address the problems they faced. No more would they ignore the dangers they faced. That being said, Robb was no fool. He knew that this was where the work truly began. Before tonight he could deny claims and accusations made at him. Whether or not he would be found guilty or innocent was another matter entirely but he could deny. Not after tonight. He was as far as the seven kingdoms were currently concerned a traitor. The thought made him stiffen, but the memory of who they were plotting against steadied his mind. Robb had paid little attention to politics, it wasn’t his favorite subject and he was hardly any good at it, but during his two weeks investigating winter town even he had picked up on a few rumors that just kept coming up. His gluttony and lust always seemed to be a talking point among travelers, few as they were. Robb could gather that Robert had little interest in ruling and cared more for what the throne could offer him. The power it promised.

Robb had made the comparison between Jon and Robert several times by now and uninterestingly enough the more he did so the more he favored this plot. The comparisons between Jon and Robert at least to Robb were night and day. Robb knew that while Jon didn’t want to rule he did so out of fear of the power it posed, not out of ignorance of its responsibility. Where Robert would abuse that power to indulge himself he knew there was no danger of that with Jon. The more Robb thought the more his smile grew. Yes he was a traitor, but for Jon? For his siblings? That was something he could be glad to live with. He steadied himself as he went to the cabinet by the corner of the room, a few candles illuminating a table which he peered over, he removed a set of maps from the storage and rolled them out over the table pinning down their ends with some rocks. He scratched his chin, it had been itching more frequently now that his facial hair was starting to grow in, another step closer to being a man grown he supposed, granted it was too patchy to look good so he chose to stay clean shaved for the time being. He continued his preparations, putting books detailing the great houses and their historical allegiances. All was set.

Robb poured himself a mug of ale when the door opened up. Arya was the first to arrive, having snuck out of her room to be here. She was still a child but she had been the one to put it all together after all. She was smart and determined. Hell it was in a way her plan if only in thought. No one could deny her commitment which was good. It would be a disservice to leave her out now. Following her close was Jon who still looked weary, it was only yesterday that all this came to light but the determination he felt was there on his face too. Jon had remained quiet the majority of the day having been seen by few people as he remained in his quarters coming to terms with his parentage and the journey they were about to embark on. He clearly wasn’t happy with the idea, at all. But he was here and ready to put the work in. He was anything if not diligent. The two took up positions on the right side of the table while Robb stood at the head. Finally the two adults walked in, Ned Stark and Howland Reed, the both of them ready to put to bed the plan for the inevitable confrontation. Ned looked over the map detailing the seven kingdoms and their leading houses before the door and locking it. Ned turned to the four assembled at the table and spoke.

“Our situation is precious. That much is obvious. As of now the north is hardly ready to take the throne. We are strong. But we are not without options.”

Ned walked over to a small chest filled with carved tokens representing the various houses of Westeros laying one with the head of a Direwolf on the map.

“Admittedly we are already off to a rough start. The north isn’t ready and will require an incredible effort to prepare itself for the conflicts to come. And there is the issue of convincing them to support Jon in the first place.”

Arya quirked an eyebrow and asked.

“Jon is of the north, a Stark by blood as much as a Targaryen. why would they not support him?”

“Because they will hear Targaryen first and nothing else. Stark or not they will judge him on that alone. The wounds of Rhaegar run deep with the lords of the north.”

“But we know that was a lie? If we just tell them then-.”

“Then we run the risk of enraging them. So many of them lost loved ones during the rebellion and the north remembers. They won’t take the truth as closure but rather as an insult.”

Robb took a second to consider his fathers words, and it was true. The lords of the north were stubborn and unyielding in their convictions as far as Robb had seen. If they intended to secure support they would have to take intense actions.

“What do you recommend father?”

“If we want the lords of the north to support Jon we can’t let his blood be the only thing that binds them. We have to make sure they aren’t following a Stark or Targaryen. They need to follow Jon.”

“I need to be seen.”

“Aye. If you show yourself to be active, decisive, and capable. It might lessen the pain. They will never forgive Rhaegar. But you? You can still prove yourself.”

The logic was reasonable. Jon enduring himself to the lords directly was a generally smarter decision than relying on him being half stark. They wanted loyalty. Not just swords.

“Next we must consider Allie’s outside of the north.”

Howland peered over the map grabbing out the token for house Tully placing it on the riverlands.

“We can count on support from the riverlands through Catelyn. Even if she doesn’t like Jon she will vouch for Robb.”

The general consensus was agreement. Catelyn for her faults abided by her family words. And Robb would secure her support. Although they all knew that it would be a frosty alliance.

“You reckon we should tell her?”

Robb drummed his fingers on the table. It wasn’t an unreasonable ask. Quite the opposite. It would be better to tell her now than wait until the plot was put in motion to drop this on her. Give her time to get used to it and abate the resentment she felt to Jon. Granted it would be a hard conversation to have. But necessary.

“Yes we should. We can’t afford to leave mother out of this especially if we want to secure the riverlands.”

Ned nodded in agreement as he returned to look at the map. Now things got difficult.

“But unfortunately those are the only two we can think of as secure. And that leaves us outnumbered still seven to two.”

Robb spoke up.

“We could send Theon to secure the iron island’s”

“Absolutely not.”

Everyone turned to Jon surprised at his sudden statement.

“I’m sorry I just don’t trust Theon with that kind of assignment.”

Robb was a bit perturbed at that statement. He knew that Jon didn’t like Theon, he hadn’t exactly given him much reason to admittedly but Robb knew him, he knew that he was more than capable of doing this. Then Ned spoke.

“I agree with Jon. Theon does not have the temperament of a diplomat. But more importantly Balon Greyjoy is not to be trusted. He has already proved himself rebellious and not the smartest man in the world. His vision for the iron islands would only cause problems for us. He wouldn’t win his war but he could cause problems for us. And sending his son to him to negotiate would remove the one pressure point we have on him. So long as we have Theon we keep him at bay.”

Robb wanted to offer a counterpoint but one look from Ned stayed his hand. But he had to admit he hadn’t thought that Balon might be stupid enough to strike out again after his crushing defeat only a few years ago.

“So the iron islands are out of the question.”

“Aye they are. As are the westerlands and stormlands for obvious reasons.”

The group nodded in agreement. No use in trying to ally with the two kingdoms that they would be fighting against. They also agreed that the vale was out of the question, Jon Arryn was hand of the king and while old was still respected. They would see no support from the vale in this fight and that concerned them. When the war came they would possibly be facing the combined arms of the westerlands, stormlands, crownlands, and the vale right off the bat. All of which bordered the riverlands and if they didn’t respond fast enough would kill any support or resistance before they turned their eyes north. Something else had to be done.

“That leaves the Reach and Dorne…. Both of which will be difficult.”

“How so?”

“Dorne only really supported the Targaryens during the rebellion because Aerys was essentially holding Ellia and her children at sword point. And then there’s the fact that we would be asking them to support the child of the woman who Rhaegar cast Ellia aside for…”

“What if we offered them the Mountain and Armory Lorch? Would that help matters?”

“It’s not a terrible idea. It would show we care for their desires and date their vengeance. We could even promise Tywin if we had to… but vengeance would only get us so far.”

“And then there’s the Reach. Personally I favor our odds more with them than Dorne. They supported the Targaryens proper in the rebellion and might be convinced to do the same. Although not without major concessions.”

“Promises are one thing but securing the alliances are another.”

Robb stopped for a second. Unsure by what his father had meant by that. Securing the alliances? What did he me….. wait.

“Robb.”

Immediately Robb’s face went flush. He had heard talk of it a few times but to be genuinely considering it was another thing. He looked over to see Arya smirking at him gleefully.

“You know how these things are tied together, Robb. And you are almost a man grown. It’s time to consider these things.”

“….who did you have in mind?”

“As of right now I’m not sure. You're all still young and things change but I was considering perhaps betrothing Sansa to Loras or maybe Willas Tyrell. If push comes to shove perhaps you to Margaery Tyrell. Or if need be you to Arianna Martell, or perhaps Sansa to Quentyn Martell. Nothing is set in stone, especially not right now.”

That soothed Robb’s nerves a bit although the idea of marriage was still incredibly daunting. But he for now pushed those feelings aside and continued on. But the state of the game remained the same, focusing on Dorne and the Reach. That was until Howland offered another suggestion.

“Perhaps we are not as short on Allie’s than we thought.”

“How so lord Reed?”

“Perhaps we don’t need to secure the support of all the houses in the crownlands… just two.”

The comment brought silence to the group surrounding the table as they listened intently while Howland grabbed three tokens from the box.

“Houses Velaryon and Celtigar.”

“Lord Reed, while it's true that both those houses have been closely tied to the Targaryens in the past, I'm not sure what an alliance with those houses specifically would achieve for us. They have had their power reduced under Robert's reign and would be ineffective on their own.”

 

“Only on their own. House Velaryon as of now has some one hundred ships, house Celtigar has some sixty. Yes, vastly diminished. But if we start work now to build up the Manderly fleet. Assume we have a few years at most, by then we could number some two hundred fifty ships from them alone. If we get Velaryon and Celtigar to come to our cause that gives us some four hundred thirty warships and houses that know how to sail them. Not a grand fleet by any means, but if used properly.”

“Could be maneuvered effectively.”

The idea was sound, if not good. Robb placed the appropriate tiles on the map and made note to work with Father on the empowerment of the Manderly fleet. But there were still a few things that hadn’t come up that really should have been listed amongst their assets and issues to address.

“What about the dragon? Surely that must count for something if not an army entirely on its own. Right?”

 

“Aye it is an asset. But it will require time to utilize it properly.”

“Please explain lord Reed.”

“Jon has yet to meet her. While they are bonded and deeply bonded at that. He will still have to learn to fly her. He will have to learn commands, we might even have to figure out how to make a saddle for her to best use her in warfare. Simply put it will take time to learn. And if Jon is going about the north subtly proving his worth as a Northman, well I see little time for intense training. Jon also has to take time to learn the basics of what it means to be a king. Management and Court politics, and even then he must begin to learn how to be a Targaryen if he is ever expected to truly sway the old loyalists that remain in the realm. So until then we will have to be cautious and keep the dragon hidden for a while longer. At least from the prying eyes of the south.”

Robb accepted the logic. There was a lot to do and they had to do it fast and quickly. Not an easy combination to pull off let alone pull off effectively. But a small part of Robb felt rather impatient. Already he was questioning the best ways to utilize the creature in combat, how it could be used to facilitate communication and surveillance. It frankly made him excited. After all, who else could say that they had the opportunity to use a dragon in their battle plans. A small smile breaking across his lips. But he stopped himself before his mind ran away. There would be no battles for a few years. Hells in a perfect world there wouldn’t need to be a war and that is what everyone at the table hoped for. But the world was anything but perfect. So they returned to scheming. And Jon spoke up.

“What about Daenerys…”

The question gave pause to the audience at the table as Ned shook his head.

“I’m sorry Jon but I don’t see a way to bring her over yet.”

Jon bristled at the comment before trying to rebut Fathers statement.

“If the dragon is big enough I could fly over and get her. I could be fast.”

“And then what. Jon, Robert has been trying to kill her and her brother for years. What do you think would happen if all of a sudden a full grown dragon was sighted collecting them. The realm would mobilize immediately. We can’t have that before we are ready for a fight.”

“He’s hurting her father… Viserys. He’s getting worse and worse by the day. How long before he does something stupid or cruel at her expense?”

The worry and concern in Jons voice was clear. And Robb emphasized. He hated to see his brother like this so worried and scared for his family. Probably made worse by the fact that he was within arms reach of the power to do something about it but told no.

“We know Jon. We have heard the reports of his instability growing worse but we can’t bring them over here yet. Nor can we afford you going and staying in Essos for god’s know how long. We need you here and we need you now.”

“So what can we do. I will not sit by while she suffers father.”

“I’m sorry Jon but we-.”

“I’ll go.”

Everyone whipped their heads to Lord Reed. Looks of confusion evident on all of their faces. No one had expected lord Reed so say such a seemingly outrageous thing. And yet here they were. Ned spoke first.

“Howland I’m not sure I can allow that.”

“Why are you concerned with the neck rising up in rebellion?”

Howland a joke made Robb snort inwardly but he continued.

“I have trusted men and two children to watch over my home. My people are possibly the most trustworthy of the north. My lands will be fine in my absence.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you are offering to go Howland.”

“….a few nights before I left for Winterfell. Jojen had another dream. And our friends say that… it was a rather important one.”

Robb was again confused. As was Jon and Arya for that matter. Now they were deciding their strategies based on a child’s dreams? Was lord Reed mad? Admittedly Robb had never met Jojen reed and could not make judgments about his character off of rumor but this seemed crazed or drunk. But Ned did not share that confusion. Ned had a face of pure discipline on.

“What did he see?”

“A woman of silver hair standing before three pyres. Each ablaze with a different color of fire. One gold, one green, one black.”

“…you don’t think?”

“Aye. Where most of Jojens dreams are murky this one was clear as day. And we both know what came out of that pyre Ned.”

Father had a look of greif and concern cross his face as Howland said that. Robb, Arya, and Jon We’re still confused as to the context but they took note of the severity and tone of the exchange. Arya asked.

“What does it mean? What became of what pyre?”

“When your aunt Lyanna died she requested that we burn her body with the dragon egg. The following morning it had hatched.”

Everyone took a moment to think but Jon had a look of realization cross his face as he looked down and muttered.

“The black dragon…”

“You know something Jon?”

“In my dreams with Daenerys, whenever they are about to end we see two dragons fly out and around each other. One white and red and the other black and red. Spewing black fire.”

Howland moved over to Jon’s side.

“That can’t be a coincidence. If Daenerys is destined to hatch dragons of her own then I would be best to help her.”

“How so?”

“Ned you and me are the only ones who know how to hatch them. And I have spent the last thirteen years housing and hiding one.”

Funnily enough the more Robb thought about the prospect the more he found himself agreeing with the idea. Howland had managed to keep a massive dragon hidden safely in the neck without the realm's knowledge or even mere suspicion for thirteen years with no leaks or mishaps. And there was the fact that if Daenerys was being watched and hunted by their enemies then who better to keep her hidden and safe then someone who specializes in stealth and discretion as a trait of his homeland. You never see a crannogman for a reason. So they came to the realization that if anyone could help Daenerys to hatch and raise her dragons, keep her hidden and safe, and know that she was in loyal and more importantly competent hands. It was Howland Reed.

Jon stepped over to the lord of the neck and stood tall, which in fairness wasn't hard considering he was already several inches taller than Howland to begin with but the point remained the same all things accounted for.

“Lord Reed, given your qualifications for the task at hand I charge you with the duty of protecting my aunt and caring for her, until such a time that it is deemed safe or necessary for her to return to Westeros.”

Howland lowered his head and spoke clearly and plainly.

“I would be my honor, your grace.”

Robb thought for a second. That was the first time Jon had been addressed in that way. It was odd to think about but it was the correct manner of addressing him now. While he might not demand it or even particularly like it. It was funny to consider. Howland then took a few steps over the table and spoke again.

“I will return with Jon and Robb to Greywater Watch in two weeks time to begin the work. There I will introduce Jon to the Dragon. And I will gather thirty of my most trusted men to locate and protect princess Daenerys. I'm not sure how often I will be able to write to inform you of our progress if at all. But I ask that until proven otherwise you assume we are well.”

“That is a fair ask lord Reed, we will heed your wishes.”

“What about Viserys?”

Robb’s question brought the attention to him in an instant. But it had to be asked, they were leaving out a critical detail in all of this and it would be foolish to disregard the eldest Targaryen even if they wanted to.

“What about him.”

Arya’s response was particularly venomous. If not sarcastically hostile.

“We can't just ignore his existence Arya.”

“Why not? If any of what Jon has alluded to about him is true then he sounds like a shit man and shit brother.”

Ned quickly shot Arya a disapproving glance, clearly upset by her word choice. She had been using a lot more swears recently come to think of it, it was somewhat amusing admittedly but Father still disapproved.

“No one is denying that Arya but he-.”

“He hurts her.”

 

“Arya, it wasn't always like that. He has had a hard life.”

“But he’s like that now. He is cruel to her now. If Robb did half the things Jon has described to me or Sansa you would have disowned him and sent him to the wall father. Why should we lend any mercy to him?”

Robb’s stomach churned at the idea of him hurting Sansa or Arya in that way. Frankly he felt that he would rather die than become that. So it helped him to understand and agree with Aryas convictions. This was no way a brother should act regardless of circumstances. And as such Viserys had no place at their table. Certainly not in the near future. And Jon agreed.

“Arya’s right, I wouldn't bother trying to reason with him. If half of what I have heard is true, and I know all of it is. Then Viserys is more than a lost cause, he is a danger.

“What would you have me do your grace?”

“Get Daenerys safely away from him and let him rot if you can. If not, do what is necessary.”

Howland nodded his head.

Little more was said that night until the party departed the room one by one.

—----------------

Arya II

The walk from the meeting to mothers room was short but felt like an eternity. After hours of talking about politics Arya was ready to go to sleep. But not before this was done first. She and Robb had offered to tell mother about Jon. Father had to talk to Howland about a few more things and Jon had returned to his room although begrudgingly. He had wanted to be there when they told her but Robb had assured him that they would deal with it. But in actuality Arya knew why he did it. And it was the same reason she had wanted to do it just the three of them. They wanted to lay out in no uncertain terms what they wanted and what was happening. This was in a way their fault, and as such they felt their responsibility to handle. Father had wanted to tell her himself as well but Robb had also made the point that it might have come off easier if it was her own two children relaying this information, less chance for a massive argument, and Arya wanted to tell her mother all she thought. And she would.

They approached the door to their parents Solar as they knocked mother opened the door. She looked rather confused as to what was going on. Arya was supposed to be in bed after all as was Robb. She looked to have been getting ready to go to sleep herself having opened the door in a fur robe and night clothes, all in her Tully blue which complimented her Auburn hair. She stood there for a second looking at the stern and disciplined looks on her children's faces before finally after what felt like an eternity she said.

“Robb, Arya? What are you two doing up at this hour? You should be in bed. We have a big day tomorrow.”

“We need to talk to you mother. Immediately.”

“Robb, can it not wait until tomorrow morning?”

“No mother, no it cannot. We need you to hear this now. Please mother.”

Catelyn took a moment to sit with her son's words before opening the door to let the pair in. The fire was warm in the hearth as Cat took a seat in a chair looking into it. Robb and Arya remained standing taking positions in front of the fireplace, the light casting odd shadows onto their forms as they stood unmoving like statues. Cat waited for a second before turning to address her children. Taking stock of their expressions.

“Mother, we have something to tell you, and it's about Jon.”

Immediately Cat stiffened. Arya knew this would be her go to reaction as it always was when it came to the topic of Jon. She knew damn well her mothers feelings on the matter and that was what was going to make this conversation so hard. But it was necessary. Absolutely necessary that she be on the same page as Father and Jon. this had to be done now.

“Go on then. I am listening.”

“He isn't Fathers son.”

Cat sat there in the seat for a few minutes, her facial expression frozen in a pure neutral. As did Robb and Arya but for different reasons. Robb and Arya were stern because they had a job to do. Cat was absolutely blindsided. It was six minutes before she had enough will to say anything to them.

“I'm sorry?”

“Jon is not Fathers son.”

Now the look on mothers face went red with anger. She rose from her seat as she looked at her children, clearly uncertain as to how she was going to respond to this. Arya knew this wouldn't be easy, she probably thought this was a joke of some sick nature.

“...I don't know what would possess you to say this, to hack at a wound you know runs deep. But i will not have it, if think that I-”

She was abruptly cut off by Arya walking over and putting the mahogany box on the table, opening it up. Although they had removed the dragon eggs shell so that she wouldn't have a heart attack when they explained that, they figured that this was more than enough for revelations tonight. But Cat looked through the papers in the box one by one. Arya could swear she felt the emotions rolling off her mother as she looked through each paper. Her hands trembled and if looks could kill then Catelyn Stark could fell an army. Her breath was shallow and cold and her lips trembled with rage.

“And Jon…. Jon is… is this…”

“Yes mother, Jon is Daeron.”

It was funny, for the first time in her life Arya heard her mother refer to Jon by his name. Or pseudonym more accurately. Arya would never stop calling Jon, Jon. but her mother had always called him Snow. Nothing more nothing less, a veiled way to remind him of his bastardry. Or rather a more polite way to call it out, if such a thing existed. But here she was now. And to a very very repressed extent Arya found some satisfaction in her mother being proven wrong. To have her cold and callous nature be reckoned with in such a distinctive way. Arya loved her mother, she would chaff and rebel but she loved her. But she also loved Jon, and this was a well deserved moment of comeuppance for her mother.

“And you came by this information how?”

Robb took the time to explain the events that lead up to the discover and the process the took to find it out sparing no details until they arrived at the night in Robb’s room when Arya told him. They went no further than that.

“And your father knows that you…”

“Yes we have told him that we know.”

“And Jon?”

“Was told last night.”

“He is taking it well?”

“As well as one can expect.”

Cat exhaled deeply glaring at the papers.

“All these years he lied to me. Thirteen years and he never trusted to tell me. He would have me believe that he broke his vows and…”

She couldn’t say more after that, choking on the words in her throat. She was betrayed, twice over. But she continued on.

“What is to be done with him? The danger he poses is too great to ignore.”

“Robb and I have talked at length about it and we came to a decision. We are going to put him on the throne.”

Cat went white with fear.

“Your father would not allow that he would-“

“Fathers already agreed with us. As has Jon, although reluctantly.”

Cat looked between her children as if they had pulled knives out.

“You can’t be serious.”

“But we are mother.”

“Would it not be enough to send him to Essos or the wall, into hiding somewhere away?”

Arya at that point could stomach no more, she moved over and said.

“No, even if he wasn’t traced back to us I wouldn’t let him go or you send him off. He is my brother, even if you never saw him that way I always have. And I’ll never stop. And I won’t let my brother hide and die alone and scared because you can’t stomach him. What father hid from you was enormous. I won’t blame you for being angry, but you will no longer take that anger out on Jon quiet as it may be. You will stand with us when we press his claim, he will fight for you and you will fight for him.”

Cat was stunned by her daughter's words, Arya’s had laid it out straight and clear. Robb looked proud with her words and returned his gaze to his mother who was just regaining some semblance of clarity. She attempted to speak before Arya again cut her off.

“The plot has already begun. It may not be obvious right now but it's been going for a while now. Jon will see us safe, and we owe him that much in return.”

Cat was again silent for a long while. She looked like she wanted to say a thousand things and scream a thousand curses. But Robb moved over and hugged her. He just wanted to comfort his mother at that moment and it seemed she appreciated it. As the pair stayed like that for a while the fire crackled as Arya prodded at it with a poker to keep it alive for when they got back once they were done for the night. She knew that Mother and Father would get nothing in the way of sleep tonight, nor would she.

—-----------------------

An hour or so later the three had gone down to the godswood which was alight with torches again. There at the roots stood Ned and Jon who were both in warm cloaks to guard against the light snow that fell on their shoulders tonight. Immediately Ned and Cat looked at each other, the tension more than obvious, Ned had a look of grief and guilt on his face, Cat had a look of distinguished anger and grim determination. Then her gaze fell to Jon, much the same look remained but Jon met her gaze with solemn resolve. They moved closer to one another as Cat spoke first, formally and dignified as she so often was when referring to Jon. She sighed and spoke.

“...I do not intend to change your attitude towards me with this one conversation alone. I have been cold to you. I admit it. And given the recent information that has come to my attention I realize that my treatment of you was uncalled for. I hold the opinion that this plot is insane and dangerous for my family. I would recommend you go into hiding far away from my family. But I have been reminded tonight that despite my disposition to you, you remain loyal and steadfast to my children and husband. And that is more than I can say for most in this world. And in return they stand with you.”

Arya saw on her brother's face a flurry of emotions, satisfaction, hurt, anger. Perhaps he was happy at getting the closest thing to an apology he might ever receive, angry at mothers comments that she would prefer he be sent away regardless if he was of the same mind initially. Perhaps it was being told to get out was the deciding factor there. But her brother remained calm and collected despite it. He continued to listen to her mothers words.

“If you are fighting for the safety of my family, and their protection against those who would do them harm on my husbands sins then I can accept that. You will have the riverlands support your claim. But know this…. If you knowingly and cruelly put my childrens lives at stake to sate your own vices or selfish desires. Then what will follow will be unspeakable.”

Jon was quiet for a second, never breaking his gaze with Mother. But he took a single great deep breath before speaking as shapely and calmly as he could.

“I swear to you here and now Lady Stark, so long as I can act, and so long as I can prevent it, your children… my siblings shall not endure more pain than the god’s demand of them. And if I can, I will seek out those who have wronged them and see justice done by my own hand.”

Mother considered his words for a long while before nodding and walking to her husband's side, although coldly. Robb, Arya, and Jon approached the weirwood tree and knelt before it. The torches around casting an orange glow onto its face seemed to animate it as it bled sap from the eyes cascading down its white trunk pooling at its roots, ready to hear their oath, as one the three siblings spoke in perfect unison.

“In the name of the old gods we swear this oath, that none of our kin shall suffer undo pain or death, that we shall see them delivered from suffering and torment so long as we walk this mortal land, for our kin shall find safety in our arms and halls, from this day until our last we swear this oath, and should we break it we pray that death finds us quickly and takes us slowly.”

As they finished their oath Arya looked up at the face of the weirwood tree, the dancing lights casting odd shadows on it, she shuddered as for the faintest of seconds, perhaps a trick of the tired mind or light, she swore she saw a sick smile looking back at her.

Notes:

Thank you to all those who recommended names last chapter I really do appreciate it. As always thank you for the time and kind words. And comments are always welcome.

Chapter 7: Jon III / Howland I

Summary:

Jon finally meets his dragon and howland talks with his friend.

Jon III

Three months had passed since the oath under the weirwood tree. All things had become so stressful so swiftly it was hard to reckon with. The first days had been a change in lessons. Ned had taken to teaching Jon alongside Robb the basics of managing an estate and house, Robb had been helping him where he lacked but he was starting to get a feel for the way things worked or in some sense at bare minimum. It had been grueling work from day to night. In addition Jon had been trying to learn more about his other half. Luwin had been most kind in teaching him the basics of high-Valyrian and Targaryen history, granted Jon already knew a lot about that to begin with. So it was mostly just practice in administration and language lessons that kept him up constantly. It had been an odd transition for not just Jon but Theon and Sansa as well who were both extremely confused. And Jon couldn’t blame them honestly, from a bastard to suddenly being trained in lordship the same as Robb was a hard pill to swallow let alone accept. He had often noticed Theon shooting weary glances at him from across the courtyard when he thought he wasn’t looking. Out of spite definitely but Jon had other things to worry about besides the krakens glares. It was only a few weeks ago that Robb and Jon set out on their great tour of the north as father called it. Officially it was to get Robb acquainted with his future vassals which in fairness it would do. But in truth it was about getting Jon out in the spotlight or at least the minds of the northern lords. Robb would be the face of the operation obviously, the pair would visit every single one of the lords for a few months at at time where they would be completely subject to their services, asked to weigh in on administration, combat, and various other duties the lords saw fit.

Naturally Robb would Be the face of the operation and he would be competent in his duties it wouldn’t look good after all if the future lord of the north simply put all his duties onto his bastard brother who was officially there as a sworn sword and meant to placate lord Starks wife with getting him out of her sight for a year or two. However Robb would subtly include Jon in his dealings, making him more of an advisor. Someone who would weigh in on critical issues at Robb’s behest but offer solutions. In addition Jon would be expected to go engage with any combat they may encounter. In fact there was the cruel and unfortunate hope that maybe when they visited Last Hearth under the care of Lord Umber that they would encounter not an insubstantial amount of wildings so that they could possibly cast themselves and more importantly Jon as a protector of the north. Jon didn’t like the idea of glory killing and neither did Robb but anything to cushion the blow when the secret came out. But that was a ways away. Right now Jon had a bigger moment up ahead. They had passed Moat Calin a few days ago and we’re making good progress into the neck. Howland Reed led the group forward, eager to return to Greywater Watch to begin the bitter work.

Officially Jon and Robb were starting their tour here. But this wasn’t about aiding in administration or learning about the local customs of the north. This was about one thing and one thing alone. And it terrified Jon to no end. Soon was the day that Jon would finally meet her. Years of warg dreams, and months of knowing about her made the edge all the worse to endure. Jon didn’t know what to think, how she would react to him, would she remember him, would he remember her? Would she lash out in anger or be absolutely accepting of him? Would he do the impossible and fly her? The mere thought of that was enough to make his stomach lurch and his heart pound all on its own, Robb had tried his best these past few days to stead him but it barely worked. Jon was terrified plain and simple. And there would be no remedy until he simply met her. Granted she would still have to stay hidden but for three months they would foster their bond non stop, they would learn each other. And frankly Jon was already surprised by her restraint thus far. Thirteen years of being separated and only now growing impatient was an incredible feat. Especially for a creature that could just fly on over and pull him out from the wall if she wanted to. It suggested an incredible intelligence both intellectually and emotionally and that intrigued Jon. He was scared, intrigued, and oddly enough extremely excited. How many children dream of this exact scenario and here he was going right to it.

Robb had promised to be there with him when it happened, he wouldn’t miss this for the world, Howland had offered assurances that it was relatively safe, the dragon had been tended to by his people for thirteen years now and was more used to random people than one may think. Still made Jon worried for his brother's immediate safety but he allowed it all the same. Maybe he just didn’t want to go alone. So the caravan moved deeper into the neck eventually leaving the kings road and delving deep into the neck. They were lead to a spot near grey water watch when Howland stopped the boats and had Jon and Robb load up into a small one as he pushed off with a few days of supplies. Not that he needed them, Howland could find a buffet in a tree stump out here. It was more for their comfort than anything practical and Jon was more than happy to accept. And so they left into the depths of the Neck.

Very shortly after departing all signs of civilization disappeared quickly. It was nothing but water, trees and various animals all local to the Neck. It was a frankly dreary place to be. So still and suspicious. Howland however paid no mind to his passengers mood and simply paddled with all the confidence he had earned growing up on these waters for his lifetime. He cautiously and precisely moved along the waterways taking turns no one other than a crannogman would think to move. So Jon and Robb opted to stay quiet. But it was on the second day paddling that Jon finally worked up the courage to ask some questions properly, now sure that they were all out of earshot of anyone.

“What's she like?”

Howland, looking ever ahead at the waters, responded quickly and calmly.

“...In temperament she is usually calm. When on the hunt she is ruthless to no end. When she relaxes she is curious and inquisitive. It has been said that she often lays down and watches the fish and lizard lions swim silently through the water paying no mind… until she strikes that is.”

Robb looked as interested as Jon was already trying to get a sense of what he was in for when they found her.

“What's her colors?”

Howland gave an eyebrow raise to Jon at that question before responding in his gruff voice.

“White as snow, with stripes of crimson red decorating her body, tail, neck, and wings. Some of my men have called her a weirwood given life.”

“How big is she?”

“Hard to say, she grew so fast we could hardly take proper measurements, but well over a hundred feet in both wingspan and length.”

The thought made both brothers freeze for a second, taken aback by the ballpark estimate that Howland had provided, Robb looked visibly pale and Jon wasn't faring much better. The mere idea of something that size was unbelievable. And Jon was going to have to face it head on. He felt like he might puke but he stayed still. The boat pushed further and further into the neck as night fell once again over the three men, they shared fish and bread with water for dinner. And when morning rolled around they were already under way again. By now the lack of nature had become glaringly obvious and was actively starting to put the brothers on edge, no fish, no birds, no lizard lions. Nothing except trees.

“Lord Reed, where is everything?”

Robb’s voice was shaky and nervous as he observed the lack of animal life that surrounded him. It was not a feeling he liked and was ready to suggest turning back by now.

“Were close, the beings of the land do not wish to be close to her.”

“Why not?”

“While she was small she needed our protection, when she could fly she could hide, when she could breathe fire she could fight. When she grew large everything learned to stay as far away from her as they possibly could. She keeps them away so while we are in her territory we shall not be harmed.”

Eventually the boat pulled ashore as Howland leaped out into the chest deep water to pull it the rest of the way through the mud that the boys in their leathers would drown in. but as they moved Jon could feel that tug on his heart growing greater, more noticeable, stronger with every single step into the bog. It was only a few hours before they reached solid ground once more. They got off the boat relieved to stretch their legs after days travel. Where they found themselves was a rather large spit of solid land, dark dirt mostly but still solid. Howland grabbed out a bow and a frog spear as he ushered the two to follow him into a large patch of trees. Their trunks covered in moss and their roots wet. It was an intense walk to follow Howland. Robb lost his footing constantly while Jon was repeatedly tripping on roots much to Howlands amusement. No wonder armies died in this part of the world. Jon could barely handle a twenty minute walk for God’s sake. But they pushed on. Until Robb sniffed the air.

“Is there a fire somewhere?”

Jon smelled the air. The scent of smoke was in fact there. But it was off, it smelled more potent. Cleaner almost. It was odd to smell but that’s when Howland looked back and said.

“We’re just outside her nest now.”

The brothers faced each other as Robb steeled his face and moved up to Jon.

“You ready brother?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Good, that's the only right answer.”

Robb put a reassuring hand on Jons shoulder who nodded heavily and fear gripped his heart as it beat out of his chest like a drum. Howland called him forward as Robb took up a spot near a tree overlooking the nest.

“Right listen to me Lad, you're her bonded rider, I doubt she'd try and kill you. But you have to try and foster that bond. You have thirteen years to make up for. Dont keep her waiting any longer.”

 

Howland patted his back as Jon took one more breath before stepping up and out of the tree line. He walked out into a large clearing the ground blackened most likely with dragonfire. Scorched bones surrounded him as he walked into the clearing further. He had left his weapons behind because one he figured he should seem as least threatening as possible and two in the event she did turn on him what bloody good would they actually do? He walked out his boots slapping on the cold dry ground as he arrived at the center of the nest. He looked around and saw nothing, so he closed his eyes and tried to focus on that tug on his heart. Anything to draw the creature out from its solitude. He focused. Trying to imagine what it would feel like to announce his presence with his heart as opposed to his mouth.

The silence was broken by an incredible screeching sound, louder than any animal Jon had heard yet in his life. He looked back to see Robb pale as snow looking wide eyed at a set of trees ahead of Jon. he whipped his head around to see what was out there when he saw them. Eyes. of the bloodiest crimson with pupils white as snow, looking right back at him. They were big. Jon froze in place, scared witlessly as the eyes began to move. One bounding step at a time breaking through the trees like they were nothing. A pair of wings made their appearance first as the creature's forelimbs, its claws red as its stripes on the wing membranes. Its head made its appearance next, it was long with a sudden curve downward at the front of the snout almost resembling the shape of an eagle's beak. Its mouth is lined with teeth the size of large daggers if not short swords, some straight, some curved especially in the middle of the mouth. On its scaly lips were small sharp lines of red extending upwards giving the look of its muzzle always being doused in blood. Over its eyes sat a line of three small red spikes giving a very odd illusion of eyebrows. But what truly caught Jon’s attention was the antlers. A pair of them sweeping out behind its head, it reminded him for the briefest second of an elk. The tips in a similarly red color setting apart from the white. Down its neck ran a small set of frills and spikes, the body was covered in scales all around and on its back a set of large spikes ran down to the tail, which ended off with a set of wing like protrusions one for each side of the tail.

God’s it was massive at least a hundred and forty feet in length, its wingspan if Jon had to guess was possibly two hundred feet. He was absolutely floored at the sight of her and for a bit Jon forgot his fear. He was just enamored by her beauty. A weirwood given life indeed. She stepped forward sizing him up, sniffing him the tug on his heart thrumming with curiosity but slowly morphing into joy. Jon has an odd feeling of recognition wash over him, as if meeting an old friend you haven't seen in many years showed up. The dragon stopped sniffing briefly, leaning down pushing him with her snout. Jon almost subconsciously removed his leather glove and pressed his hand to her snout rubbing the scales affectionately, they were warm. The scales were comfortingly warm. A smile broke out across his lips as she leaned into his touch, she was gentle, how could something so big be so gentle? She made a sound akin to a cat's purr, a deep bellow of her chest thrumming through the air piercing all things living. Jon’s smile at this point was childish, his fear melting away by the moment the tuf on his heart ringing with affection most pure. He started laughing giddily as she moved back for a second to give him space, he was almost tempted to follow her.

He looked back at Robb whose Jaw was on the floor, eyes wide with shock as Howland just smiled and laughed. The dragon now curled around the nest site as Jon ushered the others to come out. Howland strode out proudly and Robb was more hesitant as Jon grabbed his shoulder.

“Well she seems rather taken with you Jon.”

“It would seem so brother.”

His smile began to work its way to Robb as the dragon craned its neck to keep watch. Robb took the opportunity to try and give himself brevity.

“You know the way you look at her I think you might be running the risk of making Dany jealous.”

Jon rolled his eyes, ever since his dreams of Daenerys had become clearer he had taken to teasing him more mercilessly even coining the nickname Dany. That still didn't stop the flush from breaking out over his cheeks however.

“I think she'd be as happy as I am ill have you know.”

“Ah yea, nothing like having your man’s longing gaze transferred to an animal, im sure thats every woman's dream.”

“It's not like that, Robb.”

“Not yet.”

Jon pushed his brother who just laughed and looked back at the dragon. Despite his teasing Jon knew that Robb was fascinated too. Who wouldn't be?

“Want to touch her?”

“What me?”

“Aye.”

“See Jon unlike you I quite like living so ill pass.”

“Yeah not happening.”

 

Jon grabbed his brother's arm dragging him over despite his protests, somehow he knew it would be fine. He just had a feeling. Not that he told this to Robb of course. But he removed his brother's glove. The Dragon bright her head down and despite Robbs fear looked at him, her eyes soft, for such intense colors her eyes held a softness to them, a kindness almost if one could call it that. He brought Robb’s hand up to her snout as she pressed her head into their grip with a level of care one would not suspect from a creature of such size. Robb went breathless instantly, he ran his hand along her scales and Jon did the same. That look of childlike glee came to Robbs face as it did Jon.

“Remember when we would always play under the weirwood tree when we were little? Pretending to be legends of old?”

“Aye, I remember, I always was Daeron the young dragon, and you were Aemon the dragon knight.”

“Aye, how we used to pretend we were flying around on dragons doing might battle in the clouds.”

“Aye.”

“And here we are… touching a living dragon… all our dreams come true… Jon its.”

“It's incredible…”

It was then that the dragon pulled back slowly keeping eye contact with Jon as it lowered its body to the ground, spreading its wing out to its side. Jon was confused as Howland watched from a distance.

“What's it doing?”

“I think she's asking you to do something Jon.”

Howlands response was a little cryptic but it only took a few seconds for Jon to get the idea.

“Oh… No. no no no. I-I am not ready for that.”

“No but I think she is.”

“I don't know how to ride a dragon.”

“No one does, best get to learning, she's been waiting thirteen years, don't try her patience.”

Jon looked back to the dragon, her red and white eye’s watching him expectantly, slowly he took a few steps to the wing, he climbed up walking to her back. Finding a spot right before the larger spines on her back he sat down grabbing hold of two small protruding neck spikes, tight as he could. Robb backed away with Lord Reed obviously having no intention of being knocked on his ass. Jon looked down the length of her neck past her antlers. He felt patience through their bond, a calm readiness. He collected himself, recalling his limited Valyrian lessons as he spoke.

“Sōvegon!!”

The dragon spread its wings fully rearing up on its hind legs jumping into the air as it beat its wings, once twice three times again and again gaining altitude as she went. Jon clutched on for life as her wings threatened to kick him from her back. He almost screamed as she rose higher and higher, he took a moment and yelled out another command.

“Keligon!!!”

The dragon stopped in the instant keeping aloft with repeated wing beats. He knew she was less understanding the words that came out of his mouth more his intention through their bond but he pressed on.

“Naejot!!!”

He pushed the spines he held onto forward as in tandem with his command she began to move directly ahead. The wing beats became less frequent only once in a while to keep her aloft. Now Jon took stock of his surroundings, the neck below him moving faster than he could have ever anticipated. The world seemed to rush by him as he flew over. In the distance he swore he could see the outline of the Kings road. He opted to stay away from it. He quickly tugged on the spines pulling them right testing it out and sure as day the dragon responded and banked right, he held on tight the force damn near overwhelming. But the thrill was something else entirely. Every wing beat, every chirp or screech, every aspect of the dragon made his heart race like a river of excitement. He banked again this time to the left. Then he pulled up gaining altitude as he felt the wind whip through his dark hair. Charging ever higher into the sky he saw land for miles and miles, he had never imagined the neck being so massive. On all the maps it looked so small so easy to move through not the miles and miles of gorgeous land he saw before him. Quickly he stopped just below the clouds letting go of one of the spines and reaching up. His ungloved hand ran through it getting wet as he went. God’s he was touching the fucking clouds.

He laughed out loud to himself then and there, the dragon seemingly sharing in his mirth ascended through the cloud drenching Jon as he began to guide her through the open spots as a form of practice. Up, down, left, right every direction he could move he did. He left no ground unchecked as he pushed on mile after mile in the sky. Jon felt for that very instance then and there that he would never be happier. He had been happy when he had joined the high table on his name day but this was different, this was pure uncaged joy coursing through his veins like lightning. This is what his ancestors experienced, this is what gave them their strength. It was said they felt as gods did while they flew. But surprisingly enough Jon didn't agree. Every sensation he felt, every sight he saw, every beat of his heart reinforced that he was a person not a god, he was a man experiencing the heights of the world. And he loved every single second of it. He cared not for the aches in his muscles and bones, not for the wind in his eyes, and certainly not for the water in his hair, the dragon's heat kept him warm as he thundered through the sky before he decided to finish off the flight after several hours. He positioned himself behind the spines making sure he was secure, he guided her to look up as after a certain height he felt he was safe. He took one look ahead and said that most dangerous yet powerful of commands.

“Dracarys!!!”

A tornado of white fire tipped with red shot out of her mouth right into the sky ahead, her wings beating mercilessly as she pushed through her own cloud of fire. The flames licked at Jon as he pushed through with her, the fire should have killed him but all he felt was the warmth surrounding him, enveloping him like the kindest friend. He breathed when he got through the open air filling his lungs as the dragon looked back at him, by the God’s was she smiling? Probably not but the feeling of joy and bliss rang through their bond, it was undeniable, he ran a hand along her neck shocked that this was the creature that they had thought could hurt him, this was a kind creature, one who knew him, who had always known him, who had been there since the start of his life, even from the hundreds of miles away she was there for him. And that made Jon happy.

—-----------------------

Jon landed back down shortly after quickly rushing over to Robb describing his experience in detail, or all the detail he could muster through his energy filled bliss. Robb got him some water and food. The soreness kicked in shortly after as the Dragon curled around the party, all of them basking in her warmth. And that's when Robb asked.

“So you got a name yet?”

“Sorry?”

“A name, you know. For her?”

Jon hadn't even considered that yet, he turned back to look at her and she looked back. He considered it for a while. He could name her for a Valayrian god. That was generally tradition, but it just didn't feel right for her, this wasn't just a dragon of the Targaryen household, she grew up in the neck, around the Flint Cliffs and the cold of the North, she was of the North and deserved a Name that at least somewhat reflected that. He looked at her, a weirwood came to life they said… weirwood… weir…

“Weirya…”

She perked her head up at that understanding the implication of this word. Jon smiled at her as she moved her gigantic head closer and Jon placed a loving hand on her snout as she huffed hot air out her nostrils.

“Her name is Weirya.”

—---------------------------

Howland I

Howland looked over at the sleeping brothers and the newly named Weirya. He was sure that there was no real danger in the immediate area given the presence of the dragon. Nothing living would touch them like this. So it was for this reason he felt it safe enough to leave them be for a little bit. He had to take care of some things after all. He walked away from the camp into the treeline stepping over roots and through vines pushing deep into the swamp. He had walked this way a thousand times by now. He was sure he could tell if a stone was out of place for all he knew. But he pushed on and on for well over an hour until he found where he needed to be, a great weirwood tree by its lonesome in the swamp. He was never sure how it had managed to survive all these years even with their help, it just seemed so out of place for the Neck, but it's carved face stared out all the same, red sap bleeding out. He looked around. They were usually here by now, perhaps they had gone to resupply.

“Took you long enough.”

He looked up to see her in the branches of the tree. She looked down at him, bark like skin covered by a patching of leaves and vines. Her eyes wide and green, cat like in look, hair a tangled mess of vines, fungus, and flowers. She was short, barely taller than a large child but five times as agile as she lowered herself down to the ground. She placed a dragonglass spear aside to rest against the trunk of the tree as Howland passed her some bread and oats to share. She nodded and accepted sitting down on a root.

“I see he has taken to the weirflame well.”

“Dragon, Root, it's called a dragon. I should think a million reminders would get it through your head by now. And she has a name now.”

“Hmmm? What's her name?”

“Weirya.”

Root smirked at the name but approved even if inwardly.

“He brought his brother I see.”

“Aye he did. Joined by the hip those two are.”

“Good, it will help when the time comes.”

Root took a bite of bread and butter savoring the taste as Howland raised an eyebrow. He had always found Root’s taste for the foods of men to be a little odd but honestly he was happy that she was open to trying things at least. It was something going in her favor at any rate. But he put down his oats before speaking again.

“You know when I brought you over here from the isle of faces, I have to say I expected far less cryptic answers from you.”

“Green dreams are hard to interpret, especially when it comes to the more prophetic visions. If you want clarity head up north and find the three eyed raven. Until then you're stuck with me.”

Howland laughed, he had noticed Root's change in personality the decade he had known her since meeting her on the isle of faces when he was much younger. Spending the winter with her had been an odd experience. But once she had been convinced to come north with him and her interactions with the crannogmen had become more regular she had noticeably picked up on some sarcasm and quips that she could and would huck right back at you if she felt like it. But that didn't change the fact that she would more often than not provide unclear answers to Howlands many questions, many extremely important questions. She had been instrumental in helping Jojen interpret his green dreams more clearly, while he wasn't a full fledged greenseer Jojen had proven useful several times now so it was imperative that they figure out what they could when they could.

“Has he had any more in my absence?”

“No, unfortunately.”

“...”

“You know that this is not a certain thing, he occasionally has them, and even then they vary in strength, again if you want certainty you need the three eyed raven.”

“Any word from your kin beyond the wall?”

Root paused and shook her head no. It wasn't surprising, even if they could somehow get messages past the wall little could be done in the first place to deal with what was going on up there regardless. Although Howland was more than aware of the legitimate dangers they were up against, any more info would be nice under any circumstances, but so far no such luck was theirs yet.

“You're still sure about Jojen's dream of more dragons?”

“Positive, what else could it be? You have said several times the importance of these Targaryens in the wars to come. I believe you so ill interpret the best I can with what little I have. And what I interpret is that this needs to happen.”

“...”

“You don't want to leave the boy behind do you.”

“Not particularly, especially not right now. But-”

“But what other choice do we have.”

“Aye…. What do you make of Jon?”

Root leaned back on the tree and thought for a quick second. Howland had been talking about him for years now ever since the tower of Joy but her seeing him was a whole other thing, and howland appreciated her input on the matter.

“He seemed broody and emotionally starved at first, I'll say that now. But seeing the way he interacted with the weirfl- dragon… it gives me a lot of hope. He seems like a good person. And that's far more than I can say for many people I have seen in a long time.”

Howland nodded his head, generally satisfied with her answer before taking a bite of bread himself and breathing for a second or two, he turned back to Root before asking.

“You sure you don't want to come with me? To Essos I mean. I could use your help, you're very experienced with Dragons by now, first child of the forest in thousands of years to hop the narrow sea.”

Root gave him a sarcastic glare. He knew she wouldn't accept she had her job to do here and he had his. God’s willing they would meet again and in a generally short time frame, they had little time left after all. Every second counted in the long run from here on out. The plot was underway, magic was returning to the world quickly, and thankfully stronger than anticipated. That had been of major relief to the two of them as Weirya grew larger and larger. Hopefully with three more in the world that process would only speed up. It might not do much but if it helped to restrengthen the magic of the wall for even a bit longer then they would take that as a much needed victory all things considered. And with that the pair finished their bread and butter along with their dried oats.

“Well if you're not going to be there with me, then I must ask, do you have the remedy?”

Root nodded and passed him three vials of a dark liquid each in a wooden flask. He had not known what went into the concoction. But whatever it did had accelerated Weirya’s growth early on in her development and was only now wearing off. So in the event that Daenerys did manage to hatch dragons this would be invaluable in getting them up to size for when the time came to call the realms banners and march north. Granted Root also theorized that Weirya had been feeding off the magic that the neck and north held innately which also sped up her development at a considerably quicker speed so this was only a small booster in the grand scheme of things.

“One for each of the we- Dragons, make sure they get it quick and fast, we have no time to waste on anything.”

“Unfortunately Root time will always be wasted one way or another.”

“Howland you know what we are facing, the enemy grows stronger by the day and your realm tears itself to shreds fighting over what sounds to be the ugliest chair possible.”

“It's not the chair the lords bicker over, it's the power that comes with it that drives men crazy.”

“Still means the same thing to us, delays and wastes of time. The Long Night is coming Howland, I'm not sure we could eke out a decade of time. We might have a few years but that is really all. What happens if it arrives and we aren't ready. What happens then?”

“We all die. Simple as, it's why we need the right king on the throne and fast.”

“And you think this Jon is the right man for the task?”
“Aye I think he is. I think he is certainly better than what we have now or will have next if this line of kings continues. I'd much rather have him on the throne then them, that and it is his right. Hed be good at it, he just needs to realize that.”

“And get there in time.”

“Aye he must do that too.”

“Howland if you have this much faith in the boy I'll trust you, just know that this is hardly the time for your folk to engage in this game of thrones. Death comes for us all and it comes faster than we hope. Just try to get things ready as best you can and as fast you can.”

“I'll promise that much Root, I'll promise that much.”

Root smiled and handed off the remedy to Howland who took it in his coat and finished up his food before making the hour long trek back to the nest. It was a somber walk as Howland considered what he was about to do. How far from home he was about to go. Essos, of all places he thought he might see in in his life, that was not one of them, much less just one of its several city states, he might see several. He would see several, and if Jojen's premonitions were any indication we were going to be there a while. He would hate being away from his children, hell he would hate being away from the north, he had even grown fond of Jon and Robb in the short time traveling with them. But no, he had a Job to do by demand of the God’s and his King. From what he had heard Daenerys was in Pentos under the roof of the Magister Illyrio. So that was his first place to go. From there on who knows. But he will do right by his King. If not the world would not be ready for the coming storm.

Notes:

Thank you to everyone who recommended names and thank you to LINOUCHKA for the final inspiration. as always thank you for your kind words and comments are always welcome.

Chapter 8: Robb III

Summary:

Jon and Robb while on their tour of the north make a stop at the wall and family meetings are held.

Robb III

Robb swung hard ro block the incoming axe strike raising his sword barely catching the weapon in time. He delivered a powerful kick back into the Wildling that was currently attempting to kill him. Again he swung with all the force he could currently muster. The weapons collided with a sharp pang of the steel ringing out across the cold forest. Robb repositioned himself, widening his stance as he faced off against the beast of a man before him. Thick grey beard and fur clothes with incredibly burly arms. The bastard was intimidating, Robb would give him that. He raised his sword and went in for another set of quick strokes which the Wilding was hardly prepared for. He sent him stumbling as he cracked the brutes face with a solid strike from the pommel of his sword. Blood splattered all over his face as he gave a deep laugh, a sick grin widening across his face.

“Not bad… for a southoner.”

The wildling raised his axe again bringing it down once more over Robb’s head as he quickly side stepped, shifting the momentum into another swing. He damn near threw his sword at the Wildling with the amount of force he put into the swing and thankfully it found some form of a mark. While Robb missed his initial target of the Wildlings head he managed to cut lean through the handle of the man's axe right below the axe head sending it sprawling off into the dirt below. The Wildling quickly went for a crude knife obviously intent on getting in close. Robb naturally attempted to keep distance and not let the man get in too close. He knew that he was outmatched for strength in this fight and had no intention of dying in such a brutal fashion. So while the wildling swung wildly with the knife Robb waited for his moment.

“Are all ye fucken southoners so cowardly when ye fight!!?”

“Not sure, but we certainly don’t raid and rape our way though the homes of the innocent!”

 

The wildling scoffed at the comment, still trying to get in close but being kept at bay by Robbs superior reach. Swipe swipe swipe, that's all Robb saw as the man attempted to get ever closer, until finally he saw it. The wildling overextended himself with the last strike and Robb seized the opportunity to take the damn kill. Running over and behind the wildling Robb brought his sword down in a wide arc slashing the back of the man's head hard. Essentially half beheading him, he sent a long line of blood flying out and across the fields as the wildling fell down dead in the dirt. Robb breathed for a second, the fight had been hard, the adrenaline pumping through his body keeping him alert as the sword almost dropped from his hand. God’s this was worse than sparring by a mile. But it was then that he was brought back to reality realizing that he was alone and the others weren’t near him. He must have strayed away from the group during the fight. Immediately he grabbed his sword and rushed back in the direction he came.

“JON?! JON WHERE ARE YA?!”

“OVER HERE!!”

Robb picked up on his brother's voice and charged through the woods right in his direction, not stopping for a second. He shot through shrubs and pine branches until he saw Jon hacking into another pair of wildings' defenses, two of them ganging up on him and he was starting to falter. Robb jumped into action sword in hand running over intercepting a blow meant for Jon allowing him to focus on one of the aggressors at a time. Robb pushed back Jon keeping at his side as the pair through a series of coordinated hacks and blocks began to slowly shift the momentum of the fight in their direction. The brothers pushed hard against the wild and sloppy swings of axes, their castle forged steel holding up far better than the crude flint and bronze of the wildlings. Suddenly there was an opening, Jon swung his sword down through an opening in his aggressors guard cutting through the man’s face. The shock of the hit threw Robb’s opponent off guard in a similar manner allowing the young lord to drive his sword through the man’s chest. Silencing him for good. The pair took a moment to breathe.

“You alright Robb?”

“Fine, you? You're the one who was being piled on.”

“Just a nick of the shoulder, nothing that can’t get better on its own.”

Robb nodded, their boil’s leathers holding up against the weapons of the brutes was good news. That was until the pair realized that they were a man down. They had come into the forest with seven men, and now there were only the two of them. That’s when they heard the grunting of combat over the hill.

“Smalljon!”

“Oh shit!”

The pair rushed again over the hill to see a scattering of four more dead wildlings and four dead men in Umber’s sigil. The household guard they had entered the forest with hadn’t survived after all. But Smalljon umber was still up and relatively unharmed but barely holding his own against the remaining two wildlings. Jon was the first to rush in as one of the wildlings had taken up a fallen Umber guards sword looking to bring down the heir to house Umber swiftly and easily while the man was engaged with his friend. Jon was able to throw up a block just in time but it was sloppier than anticipated, the sword caught but ran right across Jons cheek in the process leaving a nasty cut along the length of his cheekbone. Robb rushed in planting his sword in the wildlings' back with an unreasonable speed sending him sprawling to the ground while Smalljon finished off the remaining wildling. All breathing heavily Jon bracing his face after the blow. Smalljon took stock of the field recognizing just how close to death he had been had it not been for Jon.

“You alright?”

“Think so.”

“You’ll need a maester for that thing, it’ll probably scar.”

“No time to waste then, where are the horses?”

“Back over that way.”

The three left quickly, finding the horses out by a set of trees on the edge of the wolf's wood. They saddled up quickly and rode hard to make it back to Last Hearth, Jon’s Face bound by a scrap of loose cloth he had torn from his shirt kept the bleeding at bay as they moved through the lands of the north up the hills to the seat of House Umber. Robb rode alongside Jon making sure he was fine despite his persistent claims that he needed no help and that it would be fine. Smalljon took some humor in that notion. They rode up to the castle charging through the gate as Greatjon came out looking for an explanation as to why the hell four of his household guards were gone and his guests and son were drenched in blood.

“What the fuck happened out there?”

“Wildlings, ten of them fathers, came out of nowhere as we were returning and went right for the throat.”

“You hurt?”

“I'd be more than hurt if it wasn't for Lord Snow over there.”

Robb chuckled for a second at the title. Ever since they had left Greywater Watch a few moons ago to start their tour of the north the lords had quickly taken note of Jon’s prevalence in their meetings. Initially he had been dismissed as a bastard and just someone to keep Robb safe, a more trusted sworn sword than an actual companion. That was until their months with house Tallhart in Torrhen square. Robb had been talking with lord Tallhart on the topic of his accounts and the two had hit a roadblock in the accounting. Jon had come up to offer a solution of his own to which lord Tallhart had made the snide comment ‘and what if your advice lord Snow?’ however once Jon had helped crack their problem lord Tallhart had been particularly impressed with him. Robb had smirked knowing that not only was Jon paying attention to his fathers tutoring but knew how to properly implement it.

From there on Lord Snow had become something of a joke amongst the northern lords, whenever they entered a new house Robb had taken to addressing Jon by that title. And it quickly caught on. But the more Jon and Robb went about proving their metal the less of a joke it became and more a call of respect. Robb had noticed the slight of bastard becoming less and less common slowly but surely replaced with Lord Snow. And neither him nor Jon would complain about that fact, it was a good sign all things considered, it showed that not only were the lords of the north getting used to Jon but they were beginning to respect and more importantly like him. And Robb would take every opportunity to offer Jon more chances to prove himself. By the time they had reached Bear Island he already had quite the reputation around him, and surprisingly they had taken to Jon quite quickly. Robb wouldn't argue with that but he had found it funny when Maege Mormont had made the comment ‘One would think Lord Snow that your Father was raising you to be a lord yourself.’ oh if only they knew. Robb smiled to himself as he dismounted the horse.

Greatjon had called a maester over by now and was moving over to Jon who he gave a curt nod to.

“I thank you Lord Snow for your risk of life to help my son. I apologise that you had to be in that situation in the first place.”

“There's nothing to forgive my lord.”

“I'll have the maester look at that for you, and know that house Umber owes you a great debt.”

Robb let the satisfaction run through his veins as he nodded to Jon. While he never would wish that harm befall any one he did admit that it was particularly good that Jon had racked up a debt like this from house Umber. That would go a long way when the time came. But for now Robb helped around as Jon tended to. Eventually the pair were invited to dinner as they had been for the previous nights but this would be the last one they had with the Umbers.

“So where is it next for you two?”

“We actually have to make a detour to Castle Black before we move east. We received a raven earlier detailing some things that we have to address with Lord Commander Mormont before we continue.”

“Are ye now? You sure this isn’t just some plot by ear mother to get Lord Snow to say his vows and not come back down south?”

The group laughed at the snide joke.

“If it is she will be most upset to hear me taking the same vows then. I’m not leaving him up there without me.”

“I could handle myself.”

“Yeah I'm sure you could.”

The pair shared a hearty laugh as the Umbers looked on smirking.

“It's good you both can be like this. Few bonds are stronger than the bonds of brothers. And again we thank you for your time here, it has been most rewarding.”

“The honor is all ours, Lord Umber. We thank you for your time and hospitality.”

As they went on drinking and feasting through the night eventually Jon and Robb moved to their temporary quarters, closing and locking the door before breathing deeply. Jon rubbed his new wound almost self consciously. Robb rolled his eyes and poured some water into a pair of cups for the two to share by the fire before they went to bed. They were already packed so they could leave early in the morning.

“Damn thing it's still paining me.”

“Oh give it time. I bet it will look real nice once the stitches are removed.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Oh come on now, I bet Dany will like it.”

Jon went still at the mention of her. Robb instantly regretted his statement.

“Still no dreams?”

 

“No… none.”

Robb took in his brother's words, he had learned that his dreams with Dany had gotten more sporadic in recent months, where once he could generally count on them to be once a moon, now it was more uncertain. What didn't help was the fact that there had been no contact from Howland since he left some months after the two had left. He was there to make sure Jon’s bond with Weirya was strong and that he had a handle with her but once they left he had to go. He might have still been at sea by now or maybe he had made it to Braavos and was now moving to Pentos.

“She will be fine, Jon. She will.”

“...”

“Remember what Howland said that night at the table,”

“Until proven otherwise assume all is well, I understand but it's not easy.. The silence.”

“What is there to do but wait.”

“...So who is this person we need to find at the wall?”

“Father said that we should speak to the Maester there. Said that you should really get to know him. Might be important.”

“We shall see, I suppose.”

“Aye we shall.”

The pair fell asleep soon after that. Taking the night to rest although Robb could hear Jon tossing and turning restlessly through the entire night. He couldn’t blame him but Jon had to have trust in Howland, trust in Dany that things would be ok. But the lack of information would not do his brother any good. But once again Robb made the point that what could be done. They had been making extremely good progress amongst the lords of the north and that wouldn’t have been possible if Jon had flown overseas to do god’s know what. This was for the best.

The next morning they saddled up their horses and set out north towards the wall. Admittedly the pair were excited. The wall, the greatest structure ever built, hundreds of feet and hundreds of miles of pure ice separating Westeros from the horrors that lay beyond. Or so the stories say. But in recent years the wall had proved to be little more than a semi substantial road block against the wildings that somehow just kept getting in much to the ire of lord Umber and the mountain clans. All things considered it was going to be in a bad way by the time they arrived there. But at bare minimum the pair were looking forward to seeing Uncle Benjen again. It had been far too long since they had last met. Hells Robb could barely remember him. Jon too for that matter, so this would be good one way or another at least Robb felt as such.

——————————

The travel took a few days less than they were expecting as they passed through the gift, they had linked up with a small group of recruits headed over themselves and it was best to travel in numbers especially this close to the wall. Although thankfully no more wildlings had been seen since their incident and both brothers thanked all the gods for that. Their trip from there was mercifully short, topping out at only ten days. Eventually they had noticed the greater quantity of snow falling around them forcing them into thicker cloaks and clothing to compensate for the rapidly dropping temperature. But they pressed on and on the dirt road until it finally came into sight. Immediately both brothers' breath left them as they gazed upon the immense structure. The stories hardly did it justice, straight up it went no slope with barely any structures to see either at its bottom or top, just white and blue ice all the way up into the sky.

“Gods….”

“To think I might have lived here. Had things gone differently.”

“Frankly despite its beauty I’m not sure how I could handle the snow all the time even in summer.”

“That’s concerning to hear brother. I thought you were a Stark of Winterfell. The snow should run in your blood.”

“Perhaps your dragon's blood keeps you warm but me? I’m still here to live with the freezing temperatures all year.”

“You’ve been pampered by the hot springs brother. Can’t handle a little cold can you.”

“I’ll gladly take the hot springs of Winterfell over this anytime. Honestly, how has Uncle Benjen lived here for years?”

“Perhaps that’s the reason for all the deserters, not the denial of duty but want for anything other than a frozen bed.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me Jon, it really wouldn’t.”

Robb bucked his horse forwards as Jon followed close behind leaving the new recruits behind and charging down the road. Castle black was odd looking for a castle, no curtain walls defended its flanks, for its only wall was the great one of ice that it was built into, its towers and keep more akin to mass housing than a lord's residence. Which made sense considering its purpose as a base of operations for the Nights Watch. Robb laughed to himself as they got closer. Before Jon had fantasized about the idea of joining this order, the only place a bastard could make a name for themselves he thought. Robb had always thought that a silly idea but actually seeing it only confirmed his suspicions however, Jon would have been disappointed and more miserable than usual, the buildings were in disrepair, the weather sucked, and everyone around them as they passed looked not like the belonged in the order that guarded the realms of men from Old Nan's stories but rather in a cell or on the execution block preferably. The scum that Robert had sent up had sullied not only the reputation of the watch but in a way the North itself. This was no home to quiet unsung heroes resigned to their fates for serving a greater cause, but rather a dumping ground for the worst the seven kingdoms had to offer. And it made Robb sad.

Riding into the courtyard of Castle Black the boys dismounted and looked around. Angry and weary glaces were shot at them from every shadow and every nook the passed. The resentment was palpable, Robb couldn't blame them entirely watching two people come in here and not say their vows just visiting where so many would spend their last days on this earth cold, afraid, and alone. It saddened him if not for a second, but they moved through attempting to find the chambers of the Lord commander, which they did after a bit of asking around with not an inconsiderable amount of grunts and murmurs directed at them. Ascending the stairs to the tower they gave a small knock at the door to which opened an old and gruff man his face clad in a thick white beard, this had to be lord commander Mormont. The resemblance to his kin on bear island was unmistakable. He eyed the boys before nodding his head and letting them in.

“Robb Stark I assume?”

“Aye, and this is my brother Jon Snow.”

“Ah, I was wondering who this was.”

He shook both their hands, a small smile visible under his beard as he put his sword aside and ushered them to a pair of seats.

“We are honored to host you both my lord. We do hope your travel up here from Last Hearth was uneventful.”

“The trip was aye, but we had an unfortunate encounter with a host of wildings hiding on the edge of the wolfs wood not two weeks ago.”

Lord Commander Mormont bristled at the statement. Robb could understand, he had heard on bear island that the whole reason he even joined the Night's Watch was to hand off his lordship to his son and help his home in another way, only for that son to dishonor himself and leave his daughters tough as they were alone to manage the entirety of bear Island by their lonesomes. It was a tragedy if he had ever heard one.

“I apologies for the encounter, it was-”

“Not your fault. It was not your fault Lord Commander.”

“... How many attacked you?”

“We were beset upon by ten in total, lost four of Lord Umber’s men and almost our own lives.”

“Ten?... It would appear that the raiding parties are growing bigger in size then. Damn I had hoped it was just rumors.”

“Is this unusual?”

 

“I wish it was, reports sparse as they have been, have detailed larger parties making it over the wall.”

“How are they getting over?”

“Climbing over, makeshift rafts, some have even reported particularly mad ones swimming their way around.”

“God’s. Is there no way to prevent this?”

“Oh there's a thousand ways to prevent this my lord, it's not an issue on whether or not it can be done, its whether or not we have the means to achieve them.”

“Not enough men?”

“Men, food, materials. Everything. It's all just dried up these past decades. We just have nothing.”

“And I assume the crown is less than eager to supply the order properly?”

“HA. If the crown was less than eager to help us we would be up a thousand men and four castles by now. They care not for us out here, we are just a dump for them to send away people to and because of them we have lost our way.”

“Is there any good news Lord Commander?”

“Yes, in fact. Your here to talk to.”

“...So absolutely nothing.”

Mormont just shook his head at that.

“... We can talk to Father, perhaps we could get some craftsmen and a few grey beards up here to keep things running.”

“I would greatly appreciate the effort my Lord, things are getting worse up here by the day, too few hands, too many threats from too many places at once. If things keep up at this rate we may not make it to winter… then there will be nothing left.”

“We will do what we can for you, Lord Commander. Oh by the way, is Benjen Stark currently here?”

“Aye he is currently getting ready to lead an expedition. You'll find him in his chambers.”

“Thank you Lord Commander again.”

With that the pair left his quarters and began to move downstairs reeling from the conversation with the old bear, it was concerning to hear the dire situation the watch was in given all they had seen while staying at Lord Umbers home. If the wildlings were growing in number, if the watch was weakening by the day in both infrastructure, equipment, and integrity essentially by the day then this would only cause problems going forward for the North. And if the Plot was to go smoothly then they couldn't afford a potential full scale invasion from beyond the wall. They would have to find a way to strengthen it and fast before everything came to a head. Then there was the issue of more possible deserters leaving when things become untenable. The pair had to give Mormont his credit; he seemed to be holding what little remained of the watch together by his lonesome, then again if half of what they had heard about Jeor Mormont was true then this should not be a surprise. But the issues remained.

—------------------------------

Uncle Benjen's quarters were small and modest, minimally furnished but there was enough to live. At least there was a fire place, guess there were some benefits to being the head ranger Robb supposed. But Benjen the second he turned around to see his nephews was beaming with delight, Robb and Jon rushed over enveloping their uncle in a hug so tight he began to wheeze. He looked good in all his black furs and seemed over the moon to see them both. He brought over some chairs for them to sit, he poured some ale for them all to drink as they talked. His questions mostly revolved around the boy's travels so far.

“I see word had reached even beyond the wall of our exploits.”

“Ah yes such fascinating stories of accounting and housekeeping are sure to keep the wildlings off our doorstep for thousands of years to come. They shall rue the day that the Lords Stark and Snow arrived at castle black to set our supply books straight.”

“We've been far more than bookkeepers Uncle.”

“Aye that we have, we've taken on a few wildlings that got south of the wall, that surely must count for something?”

“Try a hundred, then we will talk. If you're lucky you won't ever have to see one again.”

“God’s willing.”

“So Jon, are you still set on the night's watch?”

“I don't think so anymore uncle.”

“Good, I apologise but it was foolish in the first place.”

Robb smirked at his uncle's bluntness. But even then he had to agree with his assessment that Jon’s initial desire to join the watch was rather misguided and laid more in the emotional tension than logical thinking and now that stress was more or less relieved well Jons desire to leave has been noticeably less. Granted this was still an intense situation to be in. From Bastard to king, what a transition.

“Aye perhaps it was. But Uncle, what's going on beyond the wall if you don't mind me asking.”

Benjen stopped to think for a second, recollecting his experiences in the lands of always winter. He cocked an eyebrow as he spoke. His tone sharp and defined.

“Well, I can only speak for my experiences but, it seems as if things are beginning to stir up north.”

“How so?”

“The various wildling tribes are moving farther and farther south. Their escapes are becoming bolder, and more frequent. We haven't had numbers like these frankly ever. Not once in the history of the watch as far as I recall have we ever seen this sort of thing from them. Then there's the stories that come with them.”

“Stories?”

“Aye, those we manage to capture talk of a great storm moving south, an icey doom some call it, others say they have seen odd things in the northern Frostfang mountains.”

“So they're running from something?”

“That's what it appears to be.”

“What could be driving them south?”

“... some say that they have seen monsters, other beings, some say they have seen the dead walk.”

“Wildling supersticion I assume?”

“...I'm not sure what's driving them all towards the wall, but whatever it is I think we can all agree that it would best remain on that side of the wall.”

Robb agreed. He had no desire to find out what lurked in the lands of always winter and that was certainly not going to change now. Much less with the idea that there was some… thing, driving wildlings south by the thousands. Jon may have once wanted to be a ranger, but Robb knew that the wall was built for a reason, and whatever was on the other side of it should stay there, forever. Although this all only further confirmed his worries that the wildling incursions may not only grow larger and stronger but that this could pose a problem to their plans when the time came. He now had to make sure Father knew the dire straits the watch was in and be ready to compensate for it when the time came. That or he would have to take charge of it himself. God’s he hadn't truly considered the scope this whole plot may reach.

“Ah well then, how was the meeting with the lord commander?”

“Worrying to say the least, uncle. We're going to make sure that this is a priority that will be addressed when we return to father.”

“Well please do, I'm not sure how much longer we can keep the wall even partially secure, much less our entire order together, it really is hard to fathom how this could be worse, but here we are.”

“We will do all we can uncle.”

They talked for a bit longer about the state of things in the north, the brothers relaying their tales from their travels, Benjen eager to listen to his nephews tales. For once he felt like he was back at Winterfell, a taste of a life he missed out on. The wall's sacrifices were nothing new to him but this one hurt especially. So this was nice, or at least Robb deduced as such. But it was when they brought up seeing the maester that Benjen looked confused.

“Why would you need to speak to maester Aemon?”

“Father said that Jon might like to have a conversation and get to know him, but he said little more than that, if anything were just as confused as you are about his reasoning.”

“Well, I reckon he can make a bit of time in his day for you, he’s hardly ever truly busy anymore, his blindness has prevented him from doing much of his duties, but he remains a brother of our order. Although again I have no clue why Ned would wish you to talk to him.”

“Thank you Uncle. And we wish you all the luck on your expedition.”

“And I wish you safety in the remainder of your travels.”

The brothers gave a last hug to their beloved uncle as he returned the gesture before slinging his gear over his back and walking out to the stables. The Brothers stayed to watch him leave with a ranging crew of twenty men. Astride their horses they waited for the gate of the wall to open as the horses entered the gates shut behind them, and that would be the last the brothers saw of their uncle for a long time.

—------------------------

They soon after found their way to the maester’s quarters again not but a simple wooden door held together by crude iron hinges. A solid knock was given by Jon as Robb stood by intent to let his brother take the lead in this conversation. Father had wanted him to talk to the maester after all, who was he to deny either his brother this or his fathers wishes. But they heard shuffled footsteps and the door creaked open slowly, standing there was a frail elderly man, balding with what remained of his hair a pale ghostly white. His eyes were cloudy, clearly blind, but there was an odd warmth around him. Something inexplicable Robb couldn't describe it but something was there. Jon seemingly felt the same but as such he spoke first.

“Good day maester Aemon, I am Jon Snow and this is Robb Stark. We were told to seek you out by our father.”

“Hmmm, for what reason have you been sent to seek my counsel?”

“In truth sir, we are unsure. But if we could have a bit of your time I'm sure we could make it worth your while?”

The man glared unseeingly at them, his eyes transfixed on a great void of muddled light staring aimlessly and oddly as they spoke. But his small smile quelled some of Robbs worries. The pair were allowed inside the surprisingly tidy quarters. The books were well organized, probably unused for years but still, his desk was neat and his bed was made. It almost looked cozy.

“It's nice in here.”

Aemon gave a chuckle.

“I have tended to these chambers for well over seventy years, it's less clean by necessity and more of habit.”

That gave Robb and Jon pause. Robb had never known anyone to live that long or at least anyone living. And he seemed older than that Robb couldn't help but ask.

“If thats so… how long have you lived.”

“Don't you know it's rude to ask a man his age, young lord?”

“I-I meant nothing by it sir it's just… well.”

Aemon laughed for a second, Jon even chuckled a bit at his brother's panicked ration. At least the old man was good humored.

“If you must know I am now one hundred name days.”

Both Robb and Jon were stunned by that. It was an almost unfathomable age to achieve.

“And you have been here the whole time?”

“Why yes I have.”

“Why? If I may ask, why did you join?”

“Initially I simply wished to be a maester of the citadel to aid my family. But as my brother became more engrossed in politics and more plots arose around his desires, I feared my involvement in them. So I chose exile on the wall to remove myself from any potential schemes.”

“Your family was involved in politics to such an extent?”

“One could say that lord Stark.”

Robb had little clue where to go from there, but Jon was looking around thinking through the old man's words. He was putting something together obviously going through his lessons and memories, his face scrunching as the pieces he was working with were falling into place. But that's when he asked.

“What was your father like?”

It was an odd question Robb thought, perhaps Jon was testing the poor man's memory, but Aemon scrunched his face obviously thrown for a loop by the question as well. But he responded all the same and with total certainty.

“He was a harsh man. Quick to condemn. A judge of actions and character all the same. He was blunt and sometimes rude. But when it came to me and my siblings he was good.”

A warm smile crossed the old man's lips, obviously happy reflecting on the memories, it admittedly made Robb a little warm in the chest, he wondered if he would get the chance to look back on his life in this manner. But Jon suddenly went wide eyed, his breath stuck in his throat as his gaze whipped around to the old maester.

“It can't be….”

“Can't be what my dear boy.”

“Are you Aemon Targaryen?”

The statement took the both of them off guard, Robb was trying to go through his history lessons again attempting to remember which of Jon’s ancestors he was referring to. But Aemon, he noticed had a look of recollection on his face, and stern acceptance.

“I am a maester of the citadel. And a sworn brother of the night's watch. That name holds little to me now, nor to the realm… not any more.”

Robb was in shock at this revelation. He could hardly fathom the enormity of this especially for Jon. So this was Fathers reasoning for sending them here, while the visit had been useful in other ways, father had wanted Jon to meet with his kin. Jon struggled to speak and Aemon noticed his tone.

“It matters notIi hope you know, my family lies in ruin and all was lost in the fire of war.”

“Perzys daor ossēnagon nykeā zaldrīzes”

Robb noticed Aemons face reel back in shock at Jon’s use of high Valyrian. It had obviously been a while since he had heard it, but he understood it all the same.

“W-What do you mean by that my boy?”

Jon rushed over to the old maesters side grabbing a candle, the light flickering on their faces.

“Are you unburnt?”

“How do you?”

“Are you unburnt?

“I am but I don't see how that-”

Jon took the candle and ran Aemons fingers through the flame, as well as his own. Aemon took a second to realize that like this Jon would have to be running his hands through the flame too. And yet he did not recoil in pain or anguish. And then it struck Aemon as his cloudy eyes widened further.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Daeron Targaryen, my father was Rhaegar Targaryen and my mother Lyanna Stark.”

Aemon let the words sink in for a few minutes before Jon took his hand in his own, smiling all the while with a barely contained glee. Aemon’s face morphed from one of shock to a joyful sorrow. Tears began to well up in his eyes as he reached for Jon's face.

“The God’s are cruel, to strip me of my sight before I can see you.”

“I dont have the looks of our house uncle. I'm afraid I might be a disappointment.”

“Nonsense my dear boy, you are blood of the dragon all the same. Hair of silver and eyes of violet or not. You live, and that is more than enough for me.”

The pair's smiles were infectious, Jon had tears welling up in his own eyes as Aemon smiled so wide he might have strained a muscle. Their hands grip never wavered as Jon told the story of his birth and life up to this point. Aemon listened to every word that his great-nephew had to speak of, only asking questions when absolutely possible. His talk of Weirya truly made Aemon glow with the most raw joy Robb had ever seen in a man.

“Please tell me more of her, what is she like?”

“She is gentle, curious, and kind. When we flew together it felt as if all was right and no wrong could befall us. She's beautiful uncle, red and white like the weirwood trees. Weirya her name is.”

“Weirya…”

Robb could tell that the maester was angrily cursing his blindness even more so now.

“And you know of your aunt Daenerys across the sea?”

“I have sent trusted men to protect her and to bring her home once all is safe to do so. I won't leave her out in the sand any more.”

“That's good. You care for her?”

“...Aye, I do.”

Aemon smiled at that.

“Good.”

They finished their story and the conversation went on for hours and hours talking about all things that came up, Targaryen or otherwise. Robb was more than happy to sit this one out and let Jon and Aemon bond in this precious moment of time that they had been gifted, two dragons finally meeting. But as the conversation died down Aemon’s tone became stern and determined some fire long cold reignited in him as he ushered Robb over much to his surprise. He took a seat next to Jon and listened to the old maester’s words.

“So you intend to take the iron throne?”

“I do uncle.”

“And you intend to support him in this endeavor?”

“On my honor before the old god’s, I swore to see it done and it will be done.”

“Good, you will need each other, and trust me when I say you will. I left my brother, and I have regretted it ever since.”

“You had your duty to do maester. You honored your family with your choice. You did right by your house.”

“Ha! Duty. What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms, or the memory of a brother's smile? What is honor compared to a woman's love? Wind and words. My house has been annihilated and is only now recovering. Do not make my mistake, never make my mistake.”

Robb nodded his head to the maester, genuinely taking in his words.

“You both stand at the edge of a great cliff, a fall to an uncertain end. But you must make this jump, together. This road you choose will be painful, it will demand sacrifice, it will break and build you, you have no say in the ways that it does and say in it all the same. You will need to make decisions that defy all you thought you knew of yourself and you must live with the consequences. You are far younger than when my brother took the throne, and I warned him as I will warn you. Both of you. Your burden is a far crueler one than he faced, you will have little joy in your commands, and little thereafter, but I think you have the strength in you to do the things that must be done. So I say to the both of you, kill the boy. Kill the boy and let the man be born.”

Robb and Jon were quiet. They didn't need to consider the man's words, only accept them. Jon said his goodbyes and promised to write when he could. Robb bowed his head and turned to leave before Aemon grabbed his hand. Confused, he looked back.

“Come with me lord Stark, I have something.”

Robb followed the maester to the wall near the bed as he fell around the bricks trying to pull a loose one out. Robb stepped in to help as the large brick gave way inside was a leather long wrap, Aemon pulled it out holding it in both hands.

“When Brynden Bloodraven left beyond the wall for the last time he gave me this to keep safe. Admittedly I hardly trusted him but I did respect his wishes. It is wasted out here. I wish for you to give it to Daeron when the time is right.”

Robb took hold of the wrapped object, it was solid and long, obviously a weapon of some kind, he pulled off the wrap to see a scabbard of black leather and the handle of a sword, its guard made to represent dragon wings, its pommel a dragon egg, and as Robb drew it from its scabbard its blade was a dark grey near black, patterns on the blade gave it away as valyrian steel. And considering the reverence that Aemon held this weapon in that could only mean one thing.

“Dark Sister….”

“The same.”

“Why not just give it to him yourself?”

“Call it a hunch. But please do see that it finds its way to his side.”

“It will be done sir.”

“You're a fine man Robb Stark, Daeron is lucky to have you.”

Robb returned Dark Sister to its scabbard and wrap before nodding his head and smiling at the old dragon once more. And then without delay returned to his brother.

Notes:

Thank you for the kind words last chapter, and I do not own any of GRRM's work obviously, enjoy and as always comments are always welcome.

Chapter 9: Daenerys I

Summary:

Daenerys' life takes a turn for the best.

Daenerys I

The Sun was blazing today, it always did in the city of Pentos but today was especially bad, not a cloud in the bright blue sky providing a break in its power. The ships were moving in and out of the harbor all the time every day around here. Sails of all shapes and colors billowed with wind as they moved with their precious hauls of goods. It was days like this that Daenerys wished she could just grab whatever money she could find, run to the harbor, purchase her exit on a ship and sail away to wherever she may want to go. Perhaps Braavos, Lys, Tyrosh, Myr, or cut the waiting and charge straight to Westeros. God’s how she wished she could do that. To sail home and step foot on the land’s of her birth, the lands her ancestors had ruled for close to three centuries. Her home, ruthlessly stolen by a pretender. Viserys had always spoken so highly of their father, how prosperous the seven kingdoms were under the reign of the dragons. It was a pretty picture, but a rose tinted one. One built from the lies of those who wished to stand at her brother's side when he would claim the throne, or at least that was the hope. But Daenerys knew better.

She knew the sin’s of her family, hard as they were to hear. Unlike her brother she knew what her father had been, a tyrant consumed by insanity. For that reason she could understand the rebellion. But the murder of her niece, nephew, and good sister. That was unforgivable. That as far as she was concerned killed all the legitimacy of Robert. His acceptance of such an atrocity would always bring her rage of the purest kind, dragonfire in her chest. And yet Viserys had only ever focused on their fathers death, not the rest of their family. Because Daenerys knew that was all he truly cared for, not the restoration of their family but his right. Or, what he thought was his right. Daenerys smirked inwardly at the thought as she sat in the window still of the manse looking out at the bay of Pentos. She knew why she knew better than her brother, though she hid it to not rouse his anger, she knew she was far more informed on the matters of her family and their history than he would perhaps ever be.

Her thoughts rolled back to the field of grass she would so often walk in when she dreamed, ever since she was little she would have those dreams. The beauty of the oak in the sunlight and the swaying of the grass in the breeze, the two dragons performing their dance every time it would come to an end, they were always so beautiful. But her thoughts always focused on the true reason she was so fond of the field, despite its beauty and tranquility, always focusing on the boy with dark hair and grey eyes. She would always sit at the roots of the tree looking out into the swaying fields and wait for him, he tended to be delayed only a few seconds but she would always see him moving through the fields to the tree. He had a naturally solemn look about him. But when he saw her there was always a shift in his expression that she found most joyus. A warm smile breaking across his lips, his eyes lighting up with mirth as he would ascend the hill to meet her. The hours they spent talking were some of Daenerys’ happiest, they would talk about everything that came to mind from history and the boy's lessons to the sights she would see in Essos.

There was an unspoken rule between them initially that their names should not be spoken, they were just two people in that field, not a princess, not some political tool to be sold when it would give her brother an advantage. She was just Daenerys, granted she had learned the boy was a bastard after a particularly bad day of his. She had heard of what was thought of bastards by the faith, but the boy didn't reflect that at all. He was sweet and kind, it was through him that she learned her family's history, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Initially she had thought these dreams to be just that, dreams. Constructs of her imagination wishing to escape the horrendous circumstances of her actual life. But when she had started comparing what the boy had said about figures like Aegon the conqueror, or Jaehaerys the first to some of the few books on her family she did poses or visitors and she found the accounts lining up almost perfectly she began to believe him, and she began to believe that perhaps, maybe these dreams were more than just products of her mind. Oh how she hoped it was true. Especially given the revelation the boy had come to a few moons ago.

He had somehow learned her name, and not only that he was no bastard, but not just that. He said he was a Targaryen, son of her brother Rhaegar. The revelation had sent off a storm of emotions in her but she had known the boy to only ever be honest. And with the way he spoke of this she had the hardest time doubting his claims, he didn't have her family's looks, but she felt that his word alone was more than enough. In that moment she had felt the purest joy in the world, she was not alone with just her brother. At that instance she wanted to leave the dream and run to find him, but it was not to be. That had been the last dream between the for the past few moons, he had promised to see her returned and she held that hope close to her chest, it was one of the last things keeping her going. Jon, that was what he wished her to call him, Jon. She liked to say it, it was so simple, so plain, so sweet. The thought always brought some color to her cheeks and this was no different. Sometimes she would dream that Jon would fly in on the white dragon they always saw dancing with the black dragon. He would descend from the sky, take her by the hand and make their escape to somewhere far from here. But she knew those were truly just dreams. And for now she sat here under the hospitality of magister Illyrio and the ever watching eye of her brother.

She hated it, the way he looked at her. Either he would mull about her boserving her from every angle he could as if appraising a butcher's work, talking about how she wasn't ready just yet. She knew what he was talking about, she wasn't ready to be sold off yet. To be pawned off for an army so that her brother might attempt his doomed to fail endeavor to reclaim the throne in his name. It would not work. Jon had told her as much, the seven kingdoms still remembered the days of her fathers rule, they had overthrown her family for that reason, and with the behavior of her brother she feared that he would be like him. They would never accept him, that was even if they assumed they sailed over safely. Whatever her brother would do would fail she felt. He would never be king. At least when it came to Jon he had the better claim and the north through his relations to the Starks. Or that's what she assumed. Still one kingdom was better than Viserys’ zero. But that relied on the idea that one Jon would be able to win their loyalty, and two that she was right and Jon wasn't just some figment of her imagination.

She looked out the window again, so beautiful the day was. She thought about what it must be like in King's landing, to look out over the black water, to stand in the Red-Keep and survey all the city. She could see it clear as day in her head. The wind blowing, her standing on some balcony or battlement observing it all… maybe even with-

“Sweet sister, I have been looking for you.”

Her thoughts were shattered by her brother's voice. It was almost giddy. Immediately she was worried, her brother was seldom ever happy and when he was it usually didn’t mean good things for her. But she rose from the windowsill and stood before him. Her face was calm and neutral but her mood was anything but. Fearful and angry. That’s what she was.

“What has arisen dear brother?”

“The beginning of my war sweet sister.”

Oh no.

“Magister Illyrio has told me he was able to arrange a meeting with Khal Drogo. And I do believe that he will accept our offer.”

“What offer, dear brother?”

“Why a marriage proposal. You shall be wed to him and in return he will lend his khalasar to me so that I might reclaim my throne.”

Daenerys’ blood ran ice cold. She had feared this. She had hoped that she might have another year before he attempted to make a match. And she had hoped it would be a match to a great house of Westeros. At least that would make more sense but this. She grappled with the fact that he was to be sold off to a barbarian horse lord in the hope that they would help Viserys take the throne, not the promise. Her face expressed none of the emotions she felt but then and there she wished to cry and scream. To fight this in any way she could. But she found herself frozen still.

“Sweet sister I am aware that this is a rather momentous situation but I assure you that it will be remembered with the honor it so deserves. When they write about my reign they will say that it started here. We will meet with Khal Drogo in a moon and you will be married in two. Then we shall set about my conquest.”

“….”

“You understand, sweet sister. You understand?”

“….”

“Sister, you know to respond to your king when he asks a question of you. Do not wake the dragon.”

Waking the dragon, that was what he always said before he would hit her. Ever since he had begun to change on the streets of Braavos she had feared those words and what followed. She would often talk to Jon about those encounters, they always enraged him. It was no way for a brother to act, he said, and Daenerys thought he should know, Jon had multiple siblings or at least he said he did. But from the way he talked of them it made her jealous, that he should grow up around those that cared about him in such an intense capacity and her own brother, once kind and loving should now look at her and treat her in the way he did. It felt the cruelest injustice in the world. But now that she heard it again, knowing all that she knew, the fear while still there was off put by a little voice at the back of her head. This is no way a Brother acts, this is no way a King acts, this was pathetic. A brother threatening to beat his sister so that he might feel powerful for a few seconds. She wouldn't say that but she felt it. If her talks with Jon had kept anything in her mind it was that she was a dragon, Jon was a dragon, Viserys was not a dragon. And she would remember that for all time. But for now she held strong and played to his tune, what other choice was there.

“I understand, brother.”

“...that was all I needed to hear.”

He walked away without another word, leaving Daenerys to her thoughts alone by the window. Gazing out again she wondered, how long until she left this place, whether by ship or horse. And she hoped so desperately it was by ship.

—--------------------

The month had passed quicker than she had anticipated, she was still without the dreams of the field and Jon. It worried her. No contact, no way out, it was nerve wracking. She couldn't stand the stress for much longer, she had many restless nights these past few weeks. She didn't want to do this. But she steeled herself as the gates at the bottom of the manse opened. In rode five men of incredible stature, their hair in long braids with small bells tied into them, their horses were well muscled and outfitted with good saddles and provisions, their weapons were odd, some bows and curved sickle like blades. They wore little in the way of clothing, much less in the way of armor. At the head of the group of riders was a truly colossal man, clearly several feet taller than Daenerys whose braid was longer than all the rest by a wide margin.

“Khal Drogo sister, your future husband and the man who will secure my conquest.”

Daenerys froze at the sight of him as he got closer atop his red stallion. His cold glare seemed like it would cut through steel if he wished for it, his beard was thick and his grip on the reins firm. His skin was a tone of copper probably from his life in the Essos sun. As he continued to ride up Viserys leaned over speaking in a hushed tone.

“Dothraki grow their braids out all their lives only cutting them when they know defeat, Khal Drogo’s is longer than anyone else's. He is undefeated. He is one of the best killers alive.”

Daenerys looked at her brother fearfully and questioned his glee. Perhaps he thought that this proved him right to have Illyrio broker this marriage. As if the idea of sailing over the sea with an undefeated man would assure him victory. Probably not considering the fact that there was nothing to force the Khal to hold up his end of the bargain. She had thought that Illyrio would have alerted her brother of this but the magister seemed content to let it go on. Why she could hardly say, but she grew more and more unconvinced of the man's loyalties by the minute. But those thoughts were brushed aside when the Khal strode over dismounting as the Magister walked to him half bowing in respect.

“Khal Drogo, we are honored by your presence.”

The Khal paid little mind to Illyrio as his translator did the work of interpretation.

“May I present my honored guests, Prince Viserys Targaryen the third of his name and Princess Daenerys Targaryen.”

Viserys gave a self satisfied smirk as Dany just averted her eyes the best she could. Viserys gave a glance her way as if to signal her to look up. And she did albeit reluctantly. But when she made eye contact she was sure to hold it. And to the Khals credit he held it as well. Viserys had put her in a purposefully alluding gown of silk that hid little of her form, no doubt her brother had wanted to accentuate all that he could about her so that she might be all the more appealing, it made bile rise in her throat. But the Khal did not look her up and down, nor did he reach out to gain a better look as her brother sometimes did. Khal Drogo at least had the decency to maintain distance and hold his eyes on her face. In some odd way Daenerys had some small monicrom of respect for that. Illyrio after hearing some hushed words from the translator waved her over.

“Come forward my lady.”

Daenerys complied, stepping down the walk way approaching the Khal who now truly towered over her. She held her eye contact with fear and resolve mixing into some odd combination of bravery as she dared not look away. But after a few seconds of eye contact the Khal simply turned around, mounted his horse and left without a word. In some capacity she was relieved that it was over for now. Same went for Illyrio. Viserys was much less calm rushing down the stairs, sword shaking at his side as he almost panickedly asked.

 

“Wait, wait, where's he going?”

“The ceremony is complete your grace.”

“Ceremony complete? But he didn't say a word. Did he like her did he accept?”

“Trust me your grace, if he didnt like her, we would know.”

There was a bristle in her bones at that statement. She had hoped that perhaps he didn't want her and had left never to be seen again. But unfortunately it seemed the Dothraki were a people of few words. She knew her brother would be over the moon at this news. His deal, flawed as it may be, was now in motion. One month she had left before she was to be offered up or that's what they assumed. She stared ahead with a sightless gaze stunned cold as it all sank in. Her fears now seemed so very close and so very tangible. It was sickening to think about. All of it now. She watched as Viserys and Illyrio spoke in calm tones as they walked about the gardens of the manse, no doubt about the wedding and the preparations therein. She on the other hand made herself scarce rushing inside and thought the house right into her chambers. She didn't stop for anyone shutting and locking the door behind her as she slid down the wall on her back to the ground. She held herself by the legs burying her face into them as she let the emotions roll out in soft quiet sob’s. She hated this, she hated her brother, she hated her life as of now. She wanted to get away now, she had to get away now. She couldn't stand this for much longer.

She remained that way for hours that night only getting up when she realized that the sun was setting and she had to light the candles of her room so that she might be able to see. She went around with a match stick slowly illuminating the room one wick at a time before she turned to her table. She had only a few books on it all of which she had read, many of them histories and tales of Essos. She had thought to drown her sorrows in books that night and try to sleep. But when she sat at her table she noticed something. An unopened letter, no name, and a blank seal of white wax. She looked around confused, no one had delivered this to her, all mail went through Illyrio and her brother. Immediately she was concerned. Someone had broken into the manse and left this here. She was about to rush out and tell her host of the letter when she felt something inside it, something small and long. Letting curiosity get the better of her she broke the seal and opened the letter, out fell a small brass knife. Its blade curved slightly at the tip and sharp, very sharp, small and easily hidden it was. Her curiosity only grew as she caught sight of the words on the letter itself.

‘To Daenerys Stormborn of the house Targaryen,

This letter must be burned when you finish reading it so commit its contents to memory. We know your plight and have been sent to help you. We cannot reveal ourselves now as we fear eyes watch the manse always. But know that we wish to see you safe from your brother and new betrothed. On your wedding day you will be gifted a silver mare, we have seen it prepared. It is a fast horse. Once the festivities are over you will be led away from the center of attention for your betrothed to do his marital duty. We will not let this stand. You will take this knife and conceal it in your dress, and once far enough away you will take this knife and do what you must to free you and your horse. You will be followed and watched along the way. Then you will ride hard down the coast away from Pentos. You will be met with riders of our own who will escort you to a secret location with a ship waiting. From there we will decide our next move. Speak of this to no one. And know this if you have doubts, Jon wishes to see you safe, and we do not take our oaths lightly

Yours truly, a Friend.’

Daenerys felt her heart speed up, hope reigniting in her chest as she read the letter so much confirmation of hope and so many doubts shattered in an instance. She could barely hold her thoughts together as she read the letter over and over and over again as if to try and shake herself awake, but this was no dream. The knife she had in her hand was real, the letter she read was real, Jon was real. Her smile was infectious; she wanted to scream in joy. She clutched the brass knife in her palm, a feeling of determination and power running through her as she glared at its glinting blade. Quickly she committed the details of the plan to memory as she grabbed a candle burning the page as she held onto it breaking what remained into a fine powdered ash before tossing it out the window to be taken by the wind. She hid the knife in her pillow quickly and steadied herself. She thought about nothing else that night, any hope for sleep was gone or any hope for some reading before she dozed off. Not that she would, she just sat on the bed smiling to herself, one month and she would be gone, one month and her brother would never touch her again, one month and she was free. And Jon. She couldn't get over the fact that he really did exist, and he was out there. The absence of the voice in her head telling her it wasn't real that the dreams of the field were just wishful thinking, it was satisfying and exciting. Jon was out there and wanted her safe, and she would make damn sure she made it out alive.

—-----------------------

The month was the longest in her life. Every day she would try to stay away from Viserys and Illyrio. Every day she would keep her eyes open for any odd figures who might have been the ones to leave the letter but she never did see them. Whoever they were, they obviously knew how to stay hidden, but it was an odd comfort knowing that there was something watching you that did not wish to hurt you but rather safeguard your life. Nothing as blustering or bold as a kingsguard but in an odd way she found she preferred the daggers in the dark approach to the protection. It was far easier to go about her day like this she felt. And there had been a subtle shift in her mood, a slight confidence to her step that she hadnt had for a long time, she knew now that she was not at the absolute mercy of her brother anymore. And that brought some comfort to her day.

So she faced each day with a new task in mind, on some days she would practice concealing the knife, she found a good place on her leg to secure it that could be accessed while riding a horse when the day came. She took to her horse riding lessons far more vigorously now, she would have to ride hard to get away from the event once it was time so she practiced and quickly found the results well worth it. As such she continued to keep her distance as the days rolled by. And a few days before the wedding she received her dress to be fitted for the day, and once it had been done and over with she requested to have the dress kept in her room until the day came. Illyrio had agreed none the wiser to what she was actually doing. She found a spot to properly hide the blade right in one of the decorative sashes which was close to her arm and hid the curve of the blade very well. And when she tried it on she felt the blade but it was completely concealed under the excess of fabric. She smiled to herself. She hadn't had another dream of the field but it was alright by her, soon she would no longer need such dreams as she would be on her way in the flesh or at least she hoped.

But on the day of the wedding they rode out of the manse into the coastal fields south of Pentos, the spot had been well decorated for a Dothraki wedding, several other Khals had arrived for the affair and already the scene was rowdy. Drinks, food, and whores were everywhere to be seen, the center of the yard had a large space opened for dancers to partake in their art. Daenerys found it all shocking and too wild for her taste. But she ascended the stones to a small area reserved for Drogo, his blood riders, Viserys and herself to sit at and enjoy the festivities. There was little in the way of conversation between her and Drogo, he seemed more interested in the entertainment in front of them with the exotic slave dancers performing moves that Dany had seldom thought possible. But as the day dragged on the more she grew unnerved with the Dothraki idea of a party, already a pair had gotten into a fight over a dancing girl one trying to have his way with her only to be killed by another. Illyrio had made the comment.

“A Dothraki wedding without at least three deaths is considered a dull affair.”

And if that was true then Daenerys hoped the rest of the wedding was boring as watching mortar dry if not for her sake then for the sake of the poor dancers subjected to this indecency. But it was not to be as within the next few hours she counted seven more dead, blood spilling into the sand much to the Khalasars enjoyment. But the insanity was broken for a moment with the arrival of a man far older than herself looking to be in his late forties, maybe fifties. He wore westerosi armor and a westerosi sword. And in his hands he carried a variety of books. He bowed his head slightly and looked back up to her. Illyrio introduced him.

“May I present Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island princess.”

“Princess I am most honored to be here. I come bearing gifts, Histories of house Targaryen and its rule of the seven kingdoms, I hope you find them insightful.”

Daenerys thought for a second, she thought that perhaps this knight might have been the one to leave her the letter, he was of the north. but she refrained from asking on the matter as it would be insane to do so here, if he was she would know by the end of the day. So she simply nodded and took the books from his hand grateful for the considerate gift.

“Thank you good Ser knight.”

“Mormont? A northern traitor.”

Viserys was already angry and Daenerys wanted to retaliate before the old knight responded first.

“Hardly your grace. I am simply wishing your sister well on her wedding day.”

“And why are you here then ser Jorah?”

“…exile much like you.”

That was a little shocking to hear but she went along with it. Then Illyrio walked up his hands on his overgrown belly as he smiled through his forked oily beard and spoke in a similarly oily tongue.

“If I may be so bold princess that I may give you my gift before we conclude this evening.”

A large chest was brought over, clearly expensive, but the contents shocked her to the core. As the lid opened there sat three large eggs, one black and red, one green and bronze, and one cream and gold they were some of the most beautiful things Dany had ever seen, even Viserys looked on enviously. She reached down and picked up the black one watching it shimmer in the light like onyx.

“Dragon eggs princess. Though the years have turned them to stone I give them as a reminder of your family's power.”

“Thank you Magister Illyrio.”

She spoke in a hushed voice before returning the egg to the crate, and for the faintest second she swore she felt something, something living. But she brushed the feeling aside as the chest was taken over behind her. Khal Drogo rose up walking over to one of his blood riders, with him were two horses, Drogos red stallion and a silver mare. It was beautiful she thought and for a second she was just taken by it. Before she recalled the letter, the silver mare. She steeled herself. It was time, the knife tucked at her breast was still there as she walked down. Drogo lifted her up and placed her on the saddle as he mounted his own horse. The pair were walked off away from the grounds as Daenerys looked forward grim determination brewing in her gut.

—-----------------------------

Drogo and the blood riders took them far from the festivities along the coast, the sun was setting and Daenerys grew more and more tense. She looked around for something, any kind of sign on when to act the knife in her dress practically calling her to make a move and strike fast. Drogo was only looking ahead riding beside her, he was close to her. The blood riders leading the horses were stopped by their sudden apprehension. Drogo steadied his horse and Dany hers. The blood riders looked around for a second.

“Anho vekhat jin azantys?”

“Anhaan vekhat jin azantys.”

They talked in calm tones for a second as the horses began to relax. It was close to dark. Daenerys surveyed the land around her. All was quiet. The riders moved away from the horses for a second. That was when the arrows started flying. Immediately one was hit in the chest and neck. The confusion gripped the other blood rider as he reached for his knife only to meet the same fate by an arrow to the eye killing him instantly. Dany almost on instinct grabbed the brass knife from her dress turning to a confused Drogo bringing it down on his face, she cut though his flesh like paper as she brought the blade from his forehead over his left eye down past his lip and out the jaw.

“AUGHHHH!!!”

His scream was guttural as he grabbed the eye, his hands leaving the horse's reins. That's when Dany bucked her horse, sending it into a wild run. She looked back for a second only to see Drogo’s mount go down, shot three times in the neck as the Khal fell to the dirt clutching the eye. He screamed pounding the dirt.

“Anhaan vekhatjin kash, majin vekhat jin azantys!!!”

Dany didn't know what he said nor did she care. She charged across the desert not stopping for a thing, shortly after she saw a pair of horses on each of her side keeping pace with two riders each, one rider another an archer on the back ready to fire. They fell in with her the four men all of small stature coated in dusty rags resembling the desert landscape as they kept pace one yelled.

“THIS WAY PRINCESS!!!”

As the horses charged for the coast. Daenerys looked at the riders, they seemed focused either on the path ahead or behind in the case of the archers, their faces concealed with fabrics but they couldn't be taller than her, if not slightly shorter. Whatever they were she was too lost in her desperation to care. They stirred their horses on ever faster and she did the same, her silver mare ran beautifully, she could think that in another life she would have enjoyed riding her through the open plains of the Dothraki sea. But it was not to be, and she didn’t mind that fact. She had escaped and was running fast and free. The wind kicked loose her hair as it flew wildly behind her, tangling itself as she went on and on. They didn't stop riding for at least two hours. Until on the horizon in the cold dark of the ocean night she saw the faintest glimpse of a ship swaying idly in the water. The riders changed course and her with them as they moved down the cliff face running on the sandy beaches as the last of the sun set below the waves. They stopped as the horses started to pant, the four riders dismounted quickly grabbing their gear and helping her off. They left the horses there as Dany wished the mare a fare well and a thank you.

“Quickly princess, we must hurry before they find us.”

Daenerys snapped back to reality as she moved with the men two keeping watch as they met up with four more concealed men rushed out with crossbows immediately escorting her to a row boat as they got her in they pushed off hopping in riding through the ocean surf pushing on into the darkening ocean towards the ship bounding over the waves. Daenerys looked back for a second to see the torch lights undoubtedly belonging to the furious Khalisar, her breath quickening as the men rowed harder into the night, the 8 men eventually approaching the side of the ship. She saw a few more men on top as she ascended the ladder to the deck; she was helped up by two of the ship's crew. She was cold, shivering almost immediately as the crew helped her to some food and a warm cloak. The riders and rowers stripped themselves of cover, they weren't Essosi, she realized. They were gruff looking folk, with thick beards on some and lighter on others, they were pale skinned, and in fact some of them dressed generally similar to Ser Jorah in terms of color and style. She realized they were Northmen. They approached and bent the knee after they had been all safely brought aboard.

“Apologies princess for the haste of our exit, but speed was imperative.”

“There is nothing to forgive my good sir, you got me out of there with no harm done to myself. I am in your debt.”

They nodded as they rose before they moved to the rear of the ship to look out at the water.

“What's going on?”

“The second group is coming back.”

Second group? Daenerys rushed to the stern of the ship as she saw another small boat with a multitude of men in it, some worse for wear and some injured. The crew rushed down to help their comrades onto the deck, some had arrows lodged in their backs and some were dying as they were lifted into the boat. One man stood out amongst the rest, his face was gaunt and beard thick with a very dark blonde look to it. He stood at exactly her own height as he looked up at her, face painted with relief and admiration, he quickly ascended the ladder to her and bent the knee immediately.

“I am sorry you had to see this princess.”

“Worry not about it sir?”

“Lord Howland of house Reed my princess, lord of Greywater Watch, guardian of the north, loyal vassal to Eddard Stark of Winterfell, and servant of King Daeron the third.”

Daenerys had a look of shock and a tang of confusion.

“Daeron?”

Howland simply smiled at her and said in a very amused tone.

“Jon, dear princess, Jon.”

Dany’s heart lit up like a pyre at those words, so Jon’s true name was Daeron, it was odd to think about but she would probably still call him Jon regardless out of respect for what he told her in their last dream a few months ago. But what did that matter? She was safe amongst friends.

“Rise Lord Reed. And tell me all you know… please.”

Howland smiled at her, he explained all he could, the reveal to Jon, the current plan for the war, and their time in Essos thus far. She had to admit it was impressive the extent of the plans the crannogmen had gone to so that they might blend in amongst the people and environment. It was a major relief to also know that it was Lord Reed who had left the letter for her the past month. And at all the information she felt as if she would just break any moment now, but the warm smile of Howland Reed kept her together.

“Come now chin up, you're amongst friends tonight.”

He brushed some of her hair behind her ear as he took note of the blood on her sleeve, actually she just now realized how much blood had gotten on her when she slashed Khal Drogo across the eye. She quickly took the brass knife and handed it back to Lord Reed, but he just chuckled.

“Princess that blade has served you well tonight it would be a waste to cast it aside now.”

“But is it not yours?”

“Not any more.”

She felt a pang of happiness at that statement as she put the Knife aside for a minute, happy that she would at least have that measure of defense for herself going forward. But then her eyes saddened she remembered the eggs she was forced to abandon, of all the things that had happened today she had hoped that they would at least have remained with her.

“Princess are you well?”

“Yes Lord Reed it's just… earlier today I received a gift that I will sorely miss.”

“The dragon eggs?”

“Yes…”

Lord Reed simply smiled mischievously before whistling to a crewman. Dany, initially confused, was once again driven to elation at the sight of the chest they brought up. They opened the large chest and therein lay the three eggs she had received earlier today. She grabbed the black egg once again allowing its warmth to seep into her skin looking back to lord reed a wild expression on her face.

“Wha- How did?”

“You see princess, unlike your brother, we crannogmen actually think our plans through first. Besides, we couldn't leave you without them.”

Dany hugged lord Reed right there content to let posturing and manners fall to the waist side for now as Howland returned the warm gesture. Then Dany asked.

“What is to become of my brother?”

“We last saw him and Illyrio rushing back to Pentos, likely to hide. We figure he will move on from here soon and begin to hunt you down. We will be sailing south for a while to put some distance between us and Pentos.”

Dany could agree with that sentiment, but now she hardly wished to see her brother again and was not going to be around when Drogo came back to answer this insult. But then the question arose in her mind prompting her to look back at the eggs.

“What did you mean, you couldn't leave me without them.”

“...Princess, hold each of the eggs if you would be so kind.”

She complied and they each felt the same, all warm, comfortably warm. Each of them gave pause to her as she thought about them, it was odd. Illyrio had said the ages turned them to stone but they looked and felt anything but.

“You feel it don't you, some form of warmth.”

“Yes… but what does that mean?”

“... At the tower of Joy, when Jon was born. His mother Lyanna pointed me and lord Stark to a dragon egg by the fire. I felt nothing but cold stone but she insisted that Jon would need her. Me and Ned were confused and Lyanna said that only death could pay for life. She requested we build a Pyre and burn her body with the egg on it. We did so and I'm not sure what kind of magic was at play that night but once it had burnt out…. There stood a living dragon.”

Dany’s face morphed into absolute surprise, gut wrenching shock took hold as she held the black egg. Jon hadn't mentioned he had a dragon. She looked at the three eggs, could it be possible?

“He has a dragon?”

“Aye, full grown.”

“What is its name?”

“...Her name is Weirya”

Weirya, the first dragon in over a century alive and healthy. It was an absolute dream come true, and as she looked at the eggs in her hands she couldn't help but wonder.

“Is it possible…?”

“Aye it is princess. But remember the cost… Only death can pay for life.”

She considered for a moment that statement. If Lyanna's death had paid for Weirya’s life, what would it cost for three? She looked to lord Reed with a fearful look in her eye.

“Two of our own died in the attempt to bring those eggs to you, and one lies dying as we speak. I mean not to be cruel, but this world is dangerous and we will face things seldom ever seen in these centuries soon.”

“I will not kill this man. I am not my father.”

“No you are not, and that brings so much relief to my heart. I will not have you kill him. But I do ask that you speak with him before he goes. Listen to his story, listen to his life. Treat him with the respect he deserves for this deed. Can you do that?”

She looked at Lord Reed taking on his words, and she nodded, returning the egg to its chest as the crew secured it. The ship by now was sailing away to the other side of the bay of Pentos so they would hopefully outrun the Dothraki on land. She stepped down into the ship's hold to see a few hammocks on the ceiling, one with a man inside it, he was deathly pale an arrow wound in his lower neck already getting red with infection, his coughing was weak but he opened his soft grey eyes to look upon the princess.

“My lady… what brings you down here?”

“... what is your name?”

“...Harmond my lady.”

“Where are you from?”

“....Northern Neck… near Moat Cailin. Grew up on the fever river…”

“Tell me more.”

They went on like that for hours, all the while the poor man grew weaker, but he recalled his life perfectly, Harmond had lived as a tracker for his village hunting big game. He was fond of ballads and canoe paddling. He had left the neck to go with lord Reed on his journey for a chance to see what lay beyond the marshes. It was simple, but no less sad now that the man was dying here. But Daenerys stayed there all the hours long into the night. Listening to every word the man had to say all until he finally looked into the flame of the candle one more time and shut his eyes, never to reopen them again. Dany looked back to Lord Reed with a deep sorrow in her chest. Howland spoke.

“He was a kind soul princess, and I hope that because of this you will ask yourself, the power, the dragons, are they truly worth this?”

Viserys would have said yes without hesitation, perhaps there was a time not too long ago that Dany herself would have said yes with no hesitation. But she looked at the body of Harmond in his hammock, a man she had just spent the past few hours getting to know only to watch him die, and now she was to use him and two others as sacrifices to grow her and her family's power once more.she found herself shaking her head to Lord Reed’s question.

“No… I dont think its worth it.”

“For power alone… no. it should never be worth it for the sake of power.”

Lord Reed kneeled down and put an arm on the princess's shoulder.

“You will hatch dragons, and you will see war, you will kill. But when you do remember this night, these men did not die so that you may burn villages and murder those you see fit. They died for a higher purpose. Honor their deaths princess.”

—--------------------

The ship sailed on for hours until they found a small spit of land to perform the ritual. All the while Daenerys was silent with contemplation. The words of Lord Reed stayed in her head long after he had left and long after she had gone to the room allotted as her quarters for the time being. She had never considered herself a warlord or conqueror but now that this ritual was approaching she wasn't so sure anymore. She was a Targaryen; she had that capacity within her especially if this ritual went successfully. She had spent so long watching Viserys, now she had to watch herself.

There was a knock at the door and she exited the room. She moved up to the deck and into a boat. From there the crannogmen brought her ashore on the sandy spit of land in the middle of the dark ocean. Some small pyres had been built from some dead trees and spare planks. The bodies had been laid out on their hands folded over their chests. She walked up to Lord Reed who held a torch. He said a few kind words, thanked them for their service, and one by one lit the pyres. The orange glow quickly turned into a blaze on each of the wooden stacks. From there they brought forth the chest, Daenerys grabbed the eggs out one by one placing them on the pyres, leaving the black one for Harmond’s pyre. Slowly they disappeared into the flames as the crew watched in silence. As did Lord Reed and Daenerys.

It was the entire night they waited, many men falling asleep where they stood. By the time morning broke the only people standing were Howland and Daenerys. The pyres were nothing but ash by now. Howlnd held his breath hoping that this worked as it did last time. Daenerys approached first, slowly stepping across the sand towards the smoldering remains. When she approached she was terrified, of the ritual not working, of the possibilities that now warded her as she moved ever closer. That's when she noticed it, a stirring in the ash. Movement. She reached in as Howland looked on in awe, clearly seeing this for a second time was hardly any less special than the first. She took hold of something warm and moving, lifting her hands out of the ash she pulled a black lizard like creature, its wings unfurling to show the small streaks of red in its coloring, its eyes focusing on her as it chirped happily. She moved to the next pyre, out came a green dragon with bronze flecks to it quickly crawling up her arm and perching on her shoulder. The last pyre brought forth a cream and gold dragon, its colors more vibrant than the other two. It also perched itself on her shoulder.

By now the crannogmen had woken up and upon seeing the sight quickly bent the knee as did Howland. Daenerys looked at the dragons now perched upon her body with a look of astonished wonder. They knew her, they were real. She reached up to scratch the black one's head as it leaned into her touch. She smiled as it produced what could be described as a purr.

“Princess… their names?”

Howlands comment spurred her mind as her eyes fell to the gold and cream one. She thought for a second before speaking.

“She is Rhaellon… for my mother…”

Her eyes turned to the green and bronze dragon on her left shoulder, its mirthful and curious looks catching her in stupor for a second. But she responded in time.

“Rhaegal, for my fallen brother…”

And then her eyes turned to the black one on her shoulder. She struggled with him, but then a thought came to mind. Perhaps an odd choice but one she would make.

“What was the full name of Lord Stark again?”

“...Eddard, princess.”

“...Eddaron… this one shall be Eddaron, for the man who protected and raised the last of my loving kin.”

Howland was taken aback by the odd name for the dragon. But that mattered little to Daenerys at the moment. Little did at the moment, she knew now that she may have to extend her stay in Essos to raise her dragons for a time, it would be too risky to sail home with them. If what Howland described of the political situation in Westeros was true then she would not risk their lives. But she could manage that. For yesterday she was a slave, to her brother, to the designs of the magister, and almost to the Khal. Today she was free. Free and happy. As the dragons chirped and screeched, princess Daenerys looked back to Lord Reed. determined to go forward in life, head held high. She hoped that she would dream with Jon again soon. She had much to tell him.

Notes:

Once again thank you for all the kind words last chapter I hope you enjoyed this one. Thank you for the time and comments are always welcome.

Chapter 10: Ned III

Summary:

Ned finds discusses the state of affairs and allow his children some pets.

Ned III

The time that had passed since the discovery of Jon's parentage had been some of Ned's most stressful. Howland had been gone for nearly a year now tending to the princess Daenerys across the sea, and it had already been a few months for him to get there in the first place. And had Robb and Jon finished their tour of the north and returned home. That at least brought some warmth to his heart, his sins returning home. He wasn't sure if Jon had dreamed of Daenerys again, but if not he would be elated at the news of her safe retrieval and hiding. Ned smiled to himself, he knew Howland would pull it off, he had a knack for pulling through. But since that was for now taken care of Ned could refocus on his efforts to strengthen the north for the coming wars. But today he had something to do first. A deserter of the night's watch had been caught running south, apparently scared senseless. Ned had heard the song a thousand times before quickly going over to retrieve Ice from the wall, slinging it over his back as he went to find his sons. It was about time that Bran had been taught the old way of execution.

He found Robb catching up with Theon in the courtyard, he couldn't blame them. It had been a long tour for Robb and Jon topping out at just shy of two years. It seemed as if they were falling back into something of a routine again which was fine as far as Ned was concerned, Theon had been particularly moody the time that Robb was gone and if he could be knocked out of his stupor then who was Ned to complain. Bran had also been pestering his brothers for their adjoined attention almost constantly, same went for Rickon, Sansa had been warm and happy to see Robb again Jon on the other hand not so much. It seemed as if little had changed with Sansa in regards to him, that would have to be a conversation for a future date. And Arya, well, she was over the moon to see them both after so long apart, naturally she had a dozen questions all about their travels, and some more subtle questions regarding the trip's effectiveness and had it gone as well as they had hoped. Thankfully Ned during the whole course of their tour was receiving ravens left and right speaking of the boy's intellect and ingenuity. Keyword BOYS, it seemed as if the gamble had paid off or he hoped it had.

But he could ask about that later, he approached Robb and Theon, stopping their conversation as they paid all attention to him. They were both a little nervous at his countenance.

“Father, what is it you require of us?”

“Night's watch deserter was caught running, get Bran and Jon. it's time that my youngest learns the old ways, Theon with me please.”

Theon nodded and walked with Ned to saddle up the horses, it didn't take too long they were almost ready when they got there, but not a moment too soon came in Jon and Bran with Robb close behind. It was only now that Ned looked upon his son and nephew. Both had grown out their hair on their tour, beards starting to darken giving some much needed definition to their faces. It was faint right now but it would get there, furthermore they had started to mature physically, less scrawny with more muscle, Jon was still slightly taller than Robb but now not by much. It somewhat amused Ned and he didn't know why, but they came and mounted up, Bran riding next to his father. They left the castle headed out to the execution grounds not too far from Winterfell, just on a hill through a small patch of trees. It had been a while since Ned had a chance to ride and concluded that he should do it more often. It was an odd form of stress relief for him as he moved. But eventually they made it to the grounds where his house guard were already waiting.

The party dismounted as they approached the grounds, the execution stone slick with the morning dew, Theon held ice in its scabbard as Jon with Robb stood aside Bran close to them looking on in intense interest. He was satisfied with his youngest holding firm, he knew that this wasn't something any child would like to see but it had to be done. He called for the deserter to come forward. He was a young man barely in his twenties, Ned wondered what had happened for the boy to end up at the wall, and what had happened to get the boy this sacred, Ned had seen fear of the executioner's blade many times before but this was something else entirely. As he was brought forth he was mumbling to himself something damn near incomprehensible. But once he was close he looked up at Ned, his eyes a cold pale blue that told of a great fear, he spoke softly.

“I know I broke my oath… I should have gone back to the wall to warn them but…. I…. I saw what I saw. I saw the white walkers…. People need to know… if you can get word to my family, tell them I'm sorry, please.”

With that the boy lowered himself to the stone laying down on his chest. He extended his neck, he had accepted his fate. At least that would be easy. With Theon’s help Ned drew Ice from its scabbard placing it in a resting position at his feet. He heard Jon speaking to Bran in a hushed tone, probably encouraging him not to look away. He had to thank him for that. But as he was about to recite the sentencing Ned looked to Jon, it was an odd moment but in some weird way it was almost like asking permission, and Jon nodded. Perhaps he felt the same way. Perhaps he was just signaling that Bran was watching, but Ned would take it as it was.

“In the name of Robert of the house Baratheon, first of his name, king of the Andals, Rhoynar, and the First Men, I Eddard of the house Stark, lord of Winterfell and warden of the North, sentence you to die.”

With that he Raised Ice above his head and brought it down in one swift and clean motion. The head dropped to the ground and the guards cleared the stone. Ice was returned to its scabbard as Ned walked back to Bran, Jon and Robb were moving away so that the two could talk. Bran looked a bit distant as he approached, it was hard to blame him. But once he stopped in front of him he asked.

“Do you know why I killed him?”

“Jon said he was a deserter.”

“Aye. But do you know why I had to be the one to do it?”

“Because our way is the old way.”

Ned nodded pleased with his son’s answer.

“The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.”

Bran looked up at him, a tang of fear in his eye as he asked with a shaky voice.

“Is it true he saw the white walkers?”

“...White walkers have been gone for thousands of years, Bran.”

“...So he was lying?”

Ned thought for a second. Looking back at the body. He thought, in the recent years he had seen so many fantastical things, the return of the dragons, Jon’s dreams, Jojen’s visions, Howlands mysterious friend. It was all so odd and strange that if you had told this to anyone else they would probably think you crazy. So when a man comes running scared from the wall talking of white walkers especially given the added context provided by Robb and Jon of Benjen’s stories. Well suddenly it looked alot more probable by comparison. The thought chilled Ned, but he looked back to Bran offering as simple and nondescript answer he could.

“A madman sees what he sees.”

Bran looked away after that, returning to his horse as Ned returned to his. But as they rode out Ned couldn't help but wonder, with all the stories of the wildlings, and now the deserters, how long before he actually believed them?

—-----------------------

The return ride was looking to be just as uneventful as the morning mist began to clear from the road to Winterfell, the muddy ground sloshing beneath the horses hooves as they moved through the small woods. Cresting a hill they began to approach a small stone bridge under which ran a small creek. Ned at the head of the march began to slow down upon seeing something in the way of the road. Initially assuming it was a fallen tree branch he moved to investigate. But rounding the corner revealed something else entirely, there dead on the road bloody and dead was a grown stag. One of its antlers was torn off and its wounds indicated some kind of beast tried to take it down. Bran was instantly amazed. Jon, Robb, and Theon were more cautious as they inspected, its guts hung out of its opened belly and the tooth marks rounded the creature's abdomen. Immediately Ned took note of the bloody trail skewing off the road down the hillside to the creek.

“Ser Rodrik. Hold the march.”

By now his sons had dismounted as had Theon as they began to follow the bloody trail with Ned, the hill side was steep and slippery thanks to the morning dew, but he managed to make it down with minimal strain, times like this Ned wished he was ten years younger again. The aches were definitely something he could do without. But then his thoughts were interrupted again by seeing the cause of both the stag's death and the trail of blood. There before him lay the corpse of a wolf, a damn big wolf, way larger than those seen in the Wolfswood. Way larger than any seen in centuries, this was no ordinary wolf nor a freak of nature. Ned moved closer to Jon at his flank as they inspected the corpse, Ned saw attempting to drink at their fallen mothers breasts a group of five pups climbing and crawling over each other.

“What is it?”

Bran’s question was swiftly and snidely answered by Greyjoy looking on with a hint of disdain.

“It's a freak that's what.”

“It's a Direwolf.”

Ned pulled from the fallen beast's neck the remains of the stag’s antler lodged thoroughly into its jugular. Poor thing must have had eyes bigger than its stomach and picked the losing fight.

“There are no Direwolves south of the wall….”

“Considering our experience brother what isn't south of the wall these days. There were no direwolves south of the wall… now there are five.”

Ned looked down at the wolf pups, small and fragile. He watched as Jon picked one up and handed it to Bran, he held onto it with a distinguished care cradling it like a babe.

“What is to become of them?”

“...Better a quick death, they won't live long without their mother.”

The words shocked Bran who cried out in protest as Theon drew his dagger grabbing the pup from his arms holding it by the scruff of his neck.

“Give it here ill get this done with.”

But it was Robb who responded with a tone that could freeze fire glaring at Theon as he unceremoniously held the wolf pup.

“Sheath your blade Greyjoy.”

“I am simply following my lord's command.”

Before things could get any further Jon spoke up as he rose from the body.

“Lord Stark… There are five pup’s. One for each of the Stark children…”

Ned looked to Jon as did Bran, a look of hope growing across his face as he took back the pup from Theon holding it close as it whimpered sadly.

“My lord the direwolf is the sigil of your house… you were meant to have them.”

Ned in that moment honestly couldn't tell if Jon believed this genuinely or was just trying to help Bran but Jon looked at Ned with an unusually determined glint in his eye. Robb by now was already moving down the slope to help out but stayed.

“...you will feed them yourselves, you will train them yourselves, and if they die… you will bury them yourselves.”

Immediately Bran’s face lit up like a torch as Theon returned his dagger to his sheath. Robb passed two of the pups to Jon and two to Theon as he moved to inspect the dead wolf further fascinated. Bran looked to Jon an air of worry and pity on his face as he asked.

“What about you Jon?”

“...i'm not a Stark.”

Theon had a self satisfied smirk, the double meaning of the statement was completely lost on him and Bran for that matter who had a look of sorrow, as if he wanted to deny Jons words and offer some encouragement. But Ned and Robb shared a look, they got the meaning, and knew that it was only a half truth. But as they ascended the hill Robb stayed back for a second moving off something having caught his eye. They all heard him chuckle with a warm grin before he spoke.

“I'm sorry to break your notions Lord Snow… but it would appear the god’s disagree with you on your beliefs.”

From the bushes he pulled up one last pup by the scruff of its neck, white as snow with red eyes marking it as an albino, its little tongue licking its nose as it looked out to Robb. He moved up the hill, the little pup in hand taking the two from Jon and passing him the white one.

“This one’s yours brother…”

Robb moved back to the horses but Ned could see the smile on Jon’s face as he held the direwolf pup close and carefully. The little thing was falling asleep in his grasp. And with that they returned to Winterfell.

—-------------------------

Upon their return the reception to the wolf pups was ecstatic. Arya, Sansa, and Rickon were immediately taken with their chosen pups. Lady Stark was far more frosty to the idea of these for all intents and purposes wild animals in her home. But upon seeing her children's immediate affections for the things she relented. Although reluctantly, Ned could still tell that she was still frosty over the reveal of Jon’s parentage those years ago. She had begun to thaw in recent months but Ned hardly dared push his luck with her, this might be a stretch regardless and he was in no mood to further enrage her. So he stayed clear as the children set about picking their wolves. Sansa was immediately drawn to a golden eyed pup as she picked her up.

“You're so beautiful. So soft and fluffy.”

Her smile was wide as Robb moved over.

“Thought of a name for her? She seems every bit the proper lady you wish to be.”

“...Lady, that shall be her name. And yours dear brother?”

“Greywind. For his coat.”

“What have the others named theirs?”

“Bran has called his Summer. Arya has named hers Nymeria.”

“Of course she has.”

Robb chuckled at Sansa's disappointed reaction.

“And Rickon?”

Robb held in a laugh.

“Shaggydog.”

The pair shared a quick laugh at that, not a malicious one but more amused with Rickons decision. Granted when you had a look at the black wolf pup you'd probably agree with his choice of name. But moving over to the children Ned saw Cat looking down at him. He knew that it was time to finally debrief Jon and Robb from their tour and to inform them of all that has transpired. Ned quickly moved over to the children.

“Robb. find Jon and Arya, their presence is needed in my solar.”

He nodded and moved off to find his brother and sister who were unsurprisingly sitting together with their pups. He spoke a few words to them before they got up, faces hard as stone moving quickly with their father only stopping to leave their pups in their rooms. They followed them into the solar where Cat stood waiting at the table. She turned quickly when they arrived, having in her hands a scroll which she put on the table with a worried expression on her face, her blue eyes shimmering in the firelight.

“What is the matter my love?”

She opened the scroll.

“A raven arrived today… from kings landing.”

Immediately the door was locked by Arya as Jon and Ned moved close to Cat, Robb putting some more logs on the fire and pouring drinks. The worry was instant: they knew any message from the capital was bad news I’m most circumstances and that assumption was true as it seemed.

“The king writes that the hand of the king Jon Arryn is dead.”

Immediately the hurt went through Ned’s heart, he had loved that man like a father and while he was old it still made him upset that he hadn’t even had a proper chance to say goodbye. He could only imagine how Robert was taking the death. But then Cat continued.

“Robert wishes to name you hand of the king….”

That put concern on everyone’s face, this was hardly optimal at the best of times and very bad at the worst. Ned has just gotten Robb and Jon to return and he was still overseeing the development and preparation of the north for the coming conflict; this would throw all his work into disarray if he left now.

“Perhaps I can write to Robert and respectfully decline his request, I have too much going on here to divert my attention to the south.”

“I’m not sure you will be able to do that dear husband.”

“Why not?”

“Because Robert is on his way here.”

Now the fear set in amongst everyone in the room. Robert was coming to Winterfell as they spoke. Ned read the date of the letter, Jon had been dead some time, and if Robert left shortly after his passing and funeral then that meant not only was he on his way, but had been on his way for a while now. Knowing Robert he would make plenty of stops but this was urgent and it had been years since the two had seen each other, that might be enough to encourage him to hurry. If the situation was tenuous before now it was actively getting worse by the second. The sentiment was shared by all in the room.

“How long do we have?”

“A moon probably, perhaps less than that. His arrival is imminent and we are unprepared.”

Robb stepped forward.

“If he intends to name father as hand of the king then he will not be denied.”

“We will have to adjust our plans then.”

“How so father, where do we stand first of all?”

It was a good question. Ned moved to grab books and ledgers, spreading them out on the table. all of them detailing his progress on the preparation of the north. Funnily enough Arya had been most helpful when it came to the accounting of the ledgers, she had always excelled in mathematics and now she got to put those skills to good use. But she and Ned had quickly come to a few unsatisfactory conclusions. For one the economic state of the North was hardly in a position to sustain a war effort. It’s only exports being wool and lumber while producing little else. Ned had hoped to investigate the flint cliffs for precious metals but that was looking less and less likely the longer they stayed on this route. And the further development of new economic prospects were a fantasy. Then there was the state of trade.

“House Manderly had been making more ships as requested and good ships to. The fleet is coming together but it only numbers some 200 vessels, the same goes for house Mormont although they could only gather some 50 vessels. still below what we wanted should we even secure the crownland lords we wish.”

“What of our potential Allie’s?”

“Now that Jon is dead, sad as it is for me. It does open up the possibility of an alliance with the vale now that Lysa is acting as regent until her son comes of age.”

“What about the Reach and Dorne?”

“The Reach as far as we can tell still has its ambitions to place its blood on the throne. Although they have been stonewalled by Robert for their support of the Targaryens in the rebellion. I still think them as our best hope of an alliance as of now excluding the vale.”

“And Dorne?”

“Dorne is tricky, but I have sent a raven requesting a meeting with prince Oberyn. I’m hoping to at least gauge his willingness to support a cause such as this.”

“How long until he arrives?”

“I only sent the raven today. It will be a while.”

Robb nodded his head. Then Jon spoke.

“Father… I must ask. How is Daenerys? Have we received any word from Lord Reed?”

His voice was filled with worry as he spoke but lightened up at Ned's smile.

“We have, she was successful and safely removed from the hold of her brother and is in Lord Reeds protection. Although they are staying in hiding in Essos for a while longer to make sure they have truly removed themselves from the prying eyes of Robert.”

Jon smiles an obvious sense of relief washing over him if not a smal blush as Robb put a hand in his shoulder. She was safe and well. Then Robb spoke.

“The thought occurs to me, father. Could this not be an opportunity?”

“What do you mean?”

“We need to expand our list of Allie’s quickly before everything falls apart. What better way can we do that other than positioning ourselves at the center of all power?”

The thought gave pause to Ned, he hadn’t ever wished to return to kings landing but the point was worth hearing out.

“Go on Robb. Speak your mind.”

“If we wish to ally ourselves with the Celtigars and Velaryon, we will have to meet with them, if you are hand of the king you could request such meetings on official orders, you would be tapped right into Robert’s small council, you would be in the perfect position to learn all that we face.”

“Robb, are you suggesting that I accept Robert’s offer?”

“I am father.”

The idea wasn’t awful but it was certainly risky, Ned would leave the preparation of the north in Robb’s hands if he accepted, furthermore it might be expected of him to bring Sansa and Arya to court if he accepted. That was a much harder ask to swallow than if it were just him going to court.

“Robb, if I accepted it might be asked that I take Sansa and Arya. Would you be willing to put their lives in danger for this? Remember your oath.”

“Then take me with you.”

All eyes shot to Jon as he spoke. Now Ned had an incredulous look on his face. That's too far.

“No Jon. You won’t be going. Why would you go?”

“As the protector of your children. I have sworn my oath same as Robb. And I intend to keep it. Furthermore if we get the chance to meet with the lords it would provide a chance to back up your claims. I’d be with you the whole time and if things get bad you send us away and I stay with them until we are safe.”

“I refuse to accept your request. You will stay here with Robb and help prepare the North.”

“.... Kings Landing is a nest of snakes father, a plot around every turn, or so I have heard. To take Sansa or Arya in there is to bring them into the most dangerous place in Westeros would be worse than to take me. You misunderstand me Lord Stark, I am not asking. I will go with you to king's landing. And I will secure the aid of House Velaryon and Celtigar.”

Ned was going to protest again, Robb was going to protest, Arya was going to protest, Catelyn was going to protest. The demand was ridiculous and dangerous. If anything horrible should happen or something should go wrong then all was lost. But the sheer determination on Jon’s countenance was enough to stay his thoughts for a quick second, it was so very uncommon for Jon to be like this, to try and exercise his presumptive authority, he only ever did it if he felt the situation demanded it. But when he did Ned could see past his Stark colors and there stood a dragon. It was times like this that Ned remembered that Jon was a Targaryen. But his mind returned to its rational thoughts soon enough as he mulled over Jon’s statement. He was right in some respects, but so was Ned. But regardless of his thoughts Jon seemed set on the matter. So Ned resigned to a playcating answer.

“I will consider it for the sake of my children, but it should be noted that this is not acceptance nor a marker on what will happen when the time comes. Robert has yet to arrive and we have more things to discuss in the meantime. We will revisit the topic at a later date, Jon.”

Jon accepted the noncommittal answer stepping away from the table not wishing to widen the divide any further. But Ned would consider the offer regardless of the manner it was brought up in. because the frank truth was that to an extent Jon was right, much in the same way that he had attempted to prove himself competent in the eyes of the northern lords he would have to do something similar with the lords of the south. Many still felt the pain of the mad king's reign and would not be the most eager to put a Targaryen on the throne, furthermore there was the issue of Jon’s look. What had been his saving grace in hiding him might now work to their detriment, a Targaryen without the Valyrian looks was not unheard of but hardly preferable when winning alliances. So Jon was right in that he would need to be there in person to demonstrate his Targaryen traits, his unburnt properties preferably as to not sacrifice much more. Furthermore Ned would have to make copies of the annulment notice, the wedding and birth certificates, all papers. So the more he thought about it the more he very hesitantly agreed, perhaps he would need to bring Jon to the capital. But for now he tabled the thoughts and moved on to other immediate topics.

“We should also discuss the state of our possible forces for when the time comes.”

Robb stepped forward.

“Thanks to our efforts we estimate that in the north alone we could perhaps raise about 25,000 troops if we can rely on all our banners to answer the call. The majority of those being Karstark, Umber, Glover, and Bolton. If we get the Riverlands then we could add 15,000 to that total, that is assuming the Frey’s don't delay.”

“Walder Frey had earned his nickname for a reason, let's assume that they don't declare. How many then?”

“That could cost us five thousand at worst. So the riverlands would be able to field some ten thousand. Which would bring our total if all goes in our favor in the north to 35,000.”

Ned shut his eyes in stress. He knew the answer to his question a while ago but it still warranted confirmation, and he just got it. It wasn't enough, their forces were not enough. They couldn't win the Iron throne on the backs of thirty five thousand men and some four hundred ships at least not without some extremely adept maneuvering and an immense death toll. It was an incredibly precarious situation to be in but they had to find a way to make it work. He looked back to the map. The Vale, the Reach, and Dorne. Those were their options. They could marry off Robb and Sansa right now, they could promise Arya, hellish a conversation that would be, and they could betroth Bran and Rickon. Jon himself was another matter entirely although he knew Jon would consider it, even if Ned knew he would stall for as long as he could, and he knew why even if Jon didn't. But the options were there, perhaps Sansa to Trystane Martell and Robb to Margaery Tyrell, that would be the preferable options for them. He knew that the Tyrells if their royal ambitions were that strong they might make a play to marry Margaery to Jon. Same could possibly apply to Arianne Martell if the Dornish wanted to regain lost influence at court.

“It's not enough men to win the war. We have to reconsider marriage alliances if we expect to win this.”

Cat spoke up first.

“What did you have in mind?”

“I would ask you love, you're the one more versed in southern politics than me.”

Catelyn looked to Ned then to the younger members of the plot, eyes lingering on Robb.

“Robb is heir to Winterfell and what amounts to the brother of the king. That makes him a desirable match assuming we can successfully establish Jon’s legitimacy. If we can do that, then the optimal choice would be to wed Robb to Margaery Tyrell to secure the reach, and Sansa to Trystane Martell..”

The plotters' eye furrowed, it was the obvious choices and by no means bad ones. But Arya moved up and asked in confusion.

“Why are we not considering Jon for a match? He is supposed to be king, wouldn't that go much farther than Sansa or Robb?”

“For the securing of one kingdom yes, but not multiple.”

“How so?”

“Our alliance options are limited as is and with someone as politically desirable as Jon we would be granting an incredible amount of power and privilege to one family.”

“Exactly.”

“No, our options for alliances are Dorne and the Reach. Both have a contentious history with each other and Dorne is still scorned from the injustices they have been forced to endure in the names of the Targaryens. And with the Tyrell’s royal ambitions the situation is only more dangerous. Assume we marry Jon to Margaery while the Dornish are attempting to pair him with Arianne, would they accept that rejection and still fight?”

Arya, starting to understand her mothers reasoning, shook her head.

“Quite right dear, the same applies to the Reach should we go the opposite direction. It is better to tie these houses to house Stark rather than Targaryen, lest we alienate the other.”

Arya nodded and moved back to her spot at the table, eyes refocusing on the table sternly. But now with a general agreement on who the children should marry Arya looked over the map again and asked.

“But if army size is such a problem, why aren't we considering our greatest asset?”

Robb looked to Jon who looked at Ned. They had been considering it, and they had been considering it seriously. It wasn't an incredulous question. No one would deny the usefulness of her. Frankly she was so much more than a mere beast of war. She was a symbol of legitimacy, proof of Jon’s heritage and claims if not an additive factor to those claims, her mere presence would silence all doubt of his blood silver hair or not. It was a grand statement, but that was the problem. It was a loud proclamation. And Ned, Jon, and Robb knew that when that proclamation was made when she cast her shadow over the world revealing herself for all to see. There was no putting it back in the box. From there on there was little predicting how things would change. It could rally banners to their cause, but it could also turn them away out of fear. As of now the reveal of the dragon was too much of a risk to reveal in proper.

“We can't know all of what will happen when we reveal her Arya.”

“Even if we win battles with her, what kind of message will that send?”

“We have to be cautious with our use of her. Very very cautious.”

Arya took on her Brother’s and fathers words and nodded looking back on the map. A small part of Ned wondered if she was just excited to see the dragon in action. But that could not be allowed just yet. Even if Ned knew that it was in some ways an inevitable, he would stay the inevitable for as long as he could or at least until he knew for certain who was with them and who wasn't. Until then the dragon waited. The silent piece in the game that could change the board in an instant in their favor, or detriment. But nevertheless they moved on. The situation was tenuous at best and none denied that. Eventually they left the room leaving just Ned and Cat by the hearth, the maps and books stowed away leaving the two in the room. He moved over to the bed as he laid down Cat joining him in a few seconds. They laid like that for a while listening to the fire crackle in the hearth in silence.

“Are you still sure about this? This course of actions? What will they mean for all of us?”

“Are you having doubts my dear wife?”

“Always. I don't think I will ever be without doubts again if I'm being truly honest. All that has transpired, all that has come to light in the last years. How can I not doubt, how can I ever truly trust again knowing what we are willingly walking into?”

Ned stalled on his response, silence lingering between them like a fog over the water. This undertaking was hardly what Ned had imagined would happen when he had taken Jon from Lyanna's arms. But at the same time he thought what other way could this end if not in some shedding of blood, either by war, execution, sacrifice, what other way could this have possibly ended. He tried to think, long and hard. Perhaps he could have left Jon with Benjen, perhaps he should have let his brother in on the plot. But at the end of the day at the end of every scenario every road, trail, route, and gate. It always had someone dead. Hell people were already dead for Jon, Dayne, Whent, Hightower, Robb had told him about the wildling attack back at Last Hearth. Blood was shed and out now.

“Perhaps it is best not to trust everyone.”

“Perhaps.”

Silence enveloped them both once again, Cat drifted off to sleep fairly quickly not saying much more as she curled the blankets around her to keep warm, but Ned remained awake, all that has happened all that he learned all of it, the feeling gnawing at him as he stared at the ceiling. Jon, god’s above Jon. All this for him, he had his doubts for sure, how could he not. His wife's words rang in his head. Was this right? Was this the right thing to do? But oddly enough as he thought more of it his doubts as to the whole plot or any that he had remaining began to melt away, perhaps some odd acceptance washing over him as he thought in his bed. Robert was coming, the whole royal procession behind him, this would be a test of resolve and conviction. And Ned would see it through.

Notes:

Thank you for the kind words last chapter and fair warning Im back to Uni this week so updates may become less frequent. still thanks and comments are always welcome.

Chapter 11: Jon IV

Summary:

Robert arrives in Winterfell.

Jon IV

The day was once again cold as he stood in line with his siblings. All were to be present for the arrival of Robert regardless of whether they wanted to or not. Thankfully this was no issue for Jon as he did want to see the king, for macabre reasons albeit but he wanted to see him regardless. His reasoning being that he wished to take his measure, if he was to come into conflict with the man very soon he wished to know what he would be pitting himself against. And of course to see the man who had felled his true father. While Jon would never and could never truly know Rhaegar there was still some closure in knowing how the man had met his end, who had caved in his chest and sent the rubys of his armor flying for yards into the banks of the trident. He wanted to know what manner of man could do such a thing. So suffice to say Jon was both terrified of what was about to ride through the gates of Winterfell and equally curious. But he did stay away from Ned and Robb who the king's eyes were bound to be drawn to. He didn't want to run the immediate risk of Robert recognizing any of Rhaegar in him, slim a chance as that would be. From all he had heard Robert and Rhaegar had met a scarce few times, at the tourney of Harrenhal and the Trident where he was said to have been wearing armor from head to toe. So again the chances he recognized anything in him was slim but neither Jon, Robb, Arya, or Catelyn were willing to run that risk not now.

Granted the reasoning for caution was obvious and if they were to start a fight here it would be an absolute slaughter if not a disaster. They wouldn't be so stupid as to assault the current king in sight of all his royal procession and kingsguard. It was lunacy at best and moronic at worst. So they would play along, accept the offer and learn what they could before springing their trap. The timeframe was still up in the air at this point but preferably they would have another two or more years to ready themselves and properly scout for allies and support, along with making the country secure enough for Daenerys and Howland to return home. But that was a ways away or at least they all hoped it was a ways away from where they currently stood in the plot. But they would move on all the same. As Jon was thinking he looked over to see his siblings lined up, Robb shooting him a worried glance as if to ask you sure youll be ok? And Jon with a small tilt of he head reassured his brother to that. It wasn't as if he would fly into a rage at the king upon seeing him, of that he was sure.

It was by this point Lady Stark looked around confused prompting Jon to more subtly look around as well and he noticed the same thing that Catelyn noticed.

“Where’s Arya?”

Her tone was frustrated and stern, this was an incredibly formal and tense affair given all the four of them knew. But just as soon as she asked the youngest of the Stark daughters came running in head clad in a steel helm as she moved to her father who was far more amused at his daughters antics than her mother as he pulled the helm from her head passing it behind him to a guard who stowed it away quickly and Arya got in line with her siblings quick as a rabbit, staying close to Bran. Jon took the opportunity to ask her a question or two.

“So where were ya this time?”

“I just wanted to get a better look.”

“At?”

“The royal procession.”

“And was it worth it?”

“Not sure.”

Sansa chimed in not wanting the discipline of her siblings to break down, or just to make sure she didn't look bad.

“Will you both please be quiet?”

Arya rolled her eyes looking back to Jon who gave a curt nod, Sansa was right, now was not the time for idle banter. The moment would be upon them soon. So they returned to their state of rigidity and calm demeanor.

“OPEN THE GATE!!!”

Here it came.

Jon steeled himself as the great gates of Winterfell opened wide creaking old oak held together by black iron hinges, In rode the first of the precession. Bannermen both on horseback bearing pikes with the yellow and black banners of house Baratheon fluttering in the wind, the rearing stag with its crown above its antlers proudly proclaiming the king's dominance. Following them came the first of the kingsguard and some more bannermen and household guards to further enhance security around the ruling monarch. Many were adorned in the Baratheon armor and sigils but as more came in Jon noticed other banners and armors being held in what seemed to be the same regard as the kings. Red and Gold banners fluttered in the wind carried by armored riders their armor and finery similarly colored, the flaring gold lion proudly proclaiming the houses stature, Lannisters. Jon bristled at the sight subtly, he knew his Fathers disdain for the family and considering the crimes they committed against his own he would agree. But that could be addressed later. In rode in the rest of the kingsguard along with an incredible beast of a man his face obscured by a helm resembling a snarling dog. Then came striding in a boy golden hair and green eyes a very cocky smirk on his face dressed in red leather a good sword at his side adorned in lion imagery, one would think him a Lannister by birth and name but the excess of guards surrounding him gave him away as the crown prince Joffrey, clearly he preferred to take after his mother.

Following the crown prince was another handful of house guards and a wheel house lumbering in of incredible size, the thing screamed excessive and decadent beyond all logical need, four great wheels on steel axles as nothing else would support the immense weight of the thing. Jon could see the line of horses drawing the thing as it pulled in front of the Stark’s lined up as a set of stairs were brought over, the gilded door opened to display an ever so slightly more decadent room on the interior just big enough to comfortably hold its inhabitants, first stepped out a young girl similarly colored to the prince, in fact exactly the same coloring, gold hair, green eyes. She wore the same colors as the prince, red and gold but she was far sweeter in her disposition. This had to be the princess Myrcella, she looked nervous but nice. Following her was another boy of a young age, gold hair, green eyes. But this one wore the colors of house Baratheon in his clothing and much like Myrcella the boy had a kind and easy demeanor about him. Jon noticed the young boy held a small wooden toy stag in his hand as he looked around clearly nervous. That had to be Tommen. Jon couldn't help but feel a little warmed by the way the youngest children's reactions to the situation, it humanized them. Significantly more than he could say for their older brother.

Then out stepped a woman of gold hair and green eyes, dressed in finery impossible to find in the north, silks and cloth foreign in look with impeccable embroidery and excess of golden detail to offset the reds. She had a particular look on her face, some mix of disgust, pride, confidence. Jon could hardly identify it and to be honest hardly cared too. He knew this had to be the Queen Cersei Lannister. She strode over to her youngest children and stood resolute, even then Jon had to admit she was stunningly beautiful, no sane man would deny it. But Jon smirked to himself, he knew someone more beautiful. But he remained firm face of stone. Finally riding in the gate the last of the bannermen as a loud call rang out.

“MAKE WAY FOR THE KING!!!”

Here he was.

As the king rode into the courtyard of Winterfell Jon felt a flurry of emotions, but chief among them was disappointment. He found himself shocked at his reaction to the demon of the trident, the man who had stood by and accepted and rewarded the deaths of his half siblings, the man who had sent assassins to try and kill Dany all these years, the man who had killed his birth father. But this was hardly a great powerful warrior of legend. He was tall yes, but age had worn him down, he was fat and sluggish with his movements. He wore a great sword at his side but seemed to have not used it. He dismounted his horse stepping onto a set of stairs to help him down as he walked over. The Starks and all around him bowed and Jon did the same to play along. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Robert usher Ned to his feet.

“Your grace.”

“You've gotten fat….”

There was silence for a few tense seconds when the pair of them burst out laughing. Suddenly all the pomp and circumstance was gone as Robert enveloped Ned in a hug patting him on the back hard. He moved over to Lady Stark's smile beaming.

“Cat!”

“Your grace,”

She received a similar hug from the massive man. Before the rest of the family rose up.

“Nine years Ned… Nine bloody years. It's been too long”

“Apologies your grace. I have been tending to my charged duty.”

“Oh piss off with the pomp Ned.”

Robert shifted his gaze to Jons siblings. Moving over extending his hand to Robb.

“You must be Robb, pleasure to finally meet you.”

Robb stayed silent and nodded his head. Robert quickly moved to Sansa.

“Ohhhh, she's a pretty one, you're gonna do well in court little lady.”

Sansa beamed at the compliment clearly loving the attention, this whole scenario was probably a dream come true for her. But Robert moved over to Arya.

“And you are?”

“Arya, your grace.”

“Ahhh for a second i thought all of Ned’s kids had their mothers looks.”

Robert again shifted to Bran.

“Oh you're a tough one, c’mon lets see your muscles boy.”

Bran showed off and flexed his scrawny arm much to Ned and Robert's amusement.

“Ah, you'll be a soldier yet boy. Ha ha ha.”

He gave a passing glance to Rickon with a kind nod and as Robert was about to move away when he suddenly looked back at Jon. He had almost missed him and if Jon was being honest he wished he had. Robert moved over to him the invisible tension of Jon, Robb, Arya, and Ned unnoticed by Robert.

“And you are?”

“Jon Snow, your grace.”

“Ah Ned’s bastard.”

Robert looked at Jon for a second taking in his features. Under his stoic face Jon was panicking hoping to all God’s he recognized nothing of his father or mother. He waited for what felt like an eternity until RObert let out a chuckle.

“You really are your fathers son boy.”

Robert gave him a firm handshake and moved on. Jon felt the breaths of relief leave his siblings and father, even Cat looked relieved. And Jon let his heart rate slow immeasurably after that single second. He had made it through unnoticed, he would make himself scarce for the remainder of the visit until he knew if Ned would take him to the capital with him. Robb looked over worry on his face as Jon again gave a nod assuring him of his good well being. Arya had a similar reaction to Robb as she watched the King call Ned.

“Take me to the crypts. I wish to pay my respects.”

“We have been riding all day my love, the dead can wait.”

Cersei’s comment was quickly ignored by Robert who Ned accompanied down to the crypts, allowing for the royal procession to get settled, one of the kingsguard moving over to the queen who Jon could only assume was Ser Jaime Lannister from his coloring. Sansa all the while had her eyes locked onto the Prince who dismounted and maintained his smirk and sneer as he followed after his mother his siblings in tow. Sansa looked ready to faint, Arya looked around even more, a confused look on her face.

“Where's the Imp?”

By which she referred to Tyrion Lannister. And frankly Jon neither knew nor cared.

“Not sure.”

“I would have liked to see him.”

“You'll get your chance soon enough.”

Arya, Sansa, Bran with Rickon left the yard with their mother, Jon and Robb moved away to the battlements of Winterfell where they could get some privacy. Robb led the way moving to one of Winterfell's sentry towers stopping at the top where Jon joined him, the pair looking out over the landscape of Wintertown in the distance. Robb lay a hand on Jons shoulder.

“You feeling well?”

“Aye… I am.”

“Hardly expected him to single you out.”

“He singled you out.”

“That was to be expected.”

“...I suppose.”

“... What do you think of him?”

Jon thought long and hard for a quick second as he attempted to put together a cohesive opinion.

“I'm not sure, he was disappointing yet terrifying if that makes sense?”

“Hardly, care to elaborate?”

“...We heard the stories growing up, how he crashed into Rhaegar's torso with a hammer, strong and fearsome. But what came to me and approached me in that yard.. was just a man. A man who had done terrible things and condoned horrible actions and who just laughed with our father as if he was a child. It's hard to think of that as the same man.”

Robb thought long and hard for a second considering his brother's words. It was hard to think of those two men as the same.

“I think I get it.”

Robb quickly tried to shift the topic to something else. Something more light hearted.

“So what do you make of the prince?”

Jon scoffed. Joffrey. What to make of that child. Admittedly he couldn't say much in regards to him; he only had seen him for that moment in the yard, but what he got from that alone was more than enough to sour his mouth at the thought of the cocky boy.

“I think he might be a lot of things, few of them good.”

“Yeah I agree.”

Jon laughed, if Robb being the shit judge of character he was could come to the same conclusion as Jon on the topic of Joffrey's quality of character then something was probably wrong.

“And Sansa is already off her feet, arms around his pencil neck begging him to marry him.”

Robb and Jon shared a chuckle. Sansa was predictable in that manner, she had always hoped for a storybook of her own, a handsome prince to catch her and marry her all the while she blushed red as his clothes. But Robb and Jon knew better, they knew at least more than Sansa what the world was out there and they were none to happy with her choice of prince, not that there were many to choose from.

“Wonder what her reaction will be when the truth comes out?”

“That will be quite the spectacle wont it.”

“Aye it will, I reckon her reaction will be a mix of mind numbing shock, fuming rage, and some deep form of regret. That or she will just faint.”

The brothers laughed at the speculation and it was one that Jon might agree with.

“Needless to say, I doubt she will be swooning anymore when she finds out.”

“I'd be scared shitless if she didn't.”

“As would I. But I have no fear of that being the case, besides you already got your Lady Love.”

Robbs smirk and teasing had been reinvigorated since news of Daenerys’ escape and safe hiding, all the while Jon suffered. Or more accurately suffered the knowing smirks and glances of his brother on the topic.

“Will you ever stop doing that?”

“Aye, one day, not today.”

Jon rolled his eyes at the sarcastic remark.

“C’mon Jon.”

“I'm very happy she is safe. I'll leave it at that.”

“Good… are you ever going to tell me what she's actually like?”

“One day aye, perhaps after the next time we dream of each other.”

“Still nothing?”

Jon shook his head disappointedly. Only for Robb to pat his shoulder.

“It'll come again. Trust me.”

“Alright I will.”

Jon and Robb looked out across the landscape again. Enjoying the dull greens of the wolfswood and hills surrounding their home.

“So you're still set on going south?”

“Aye I am. Especially given our shared thoughts of the prince, I don't trust him. He has an air about him that just reeks of-”

“Shit?”

“...I was going to say arrogance but that works too.”

“Both are true as far as I am concerned. And if that's the added reasoning then I'm starting to agree that you should go. Arrogant boys aren't to be trusted, much less a Lannister boy.”

“Baratheon you mean.”

“Oh do I? If you had a single look at him not knowing who his father is you'd agree with me without a second thought. The boy dresses like a Lannister, looks like a Lannister, presents himself as a Lannister, seven hell’s he even judges people like a Lannister.”

“How do you reckon that last one?”

“While Robert spoke to you I saw the queen giving a glare your way, she didn't do that too much with the rest of us. But you, I swore she wanted to call her brother.”

“Huh.. odd.”

“Is it really? An assumed bastard being presented on even somewhat similar footing with the lord's own children. Much less to the king, it could be that.”

“Possibly…”

Jon and Robb sat in silence for a while longer taking in the view before both agreeing to return down, the feast would be on soon and both boys were starving with no intention of missing it.

—--------------

Jon had lagged behind Robb on the way to the feast making sure that his presence was as minimal as possible. But even then he was getting hungry and wanted to go to bed with at least some food in his gut. That's when he felt satisfaction sing through his bond with Weirya, the warm comfort latching onto his heart. He smiled at the feeling, hundreds of miles away and she still brought him joy regardless. He couldn't wait to see her again, to fly again. He held onto those memories like a familiar friend. The great beating of her red and white wings ascending ever higher into the sky, the fire, the warmth. The next time he saw her he would have to introduce her to Ghost. Sweet little guy had been growing fast ever since he began to eat real food. The more he thought about it perhaps the two would like each other. He knew they would. But Jon continued into the hall, his mind adrift with thoughts of his two companions together, under the oak tree in the field. He began to blush as the thought of Daenerys approaching them began to play in his mind her warm presence all that he needed to make the moment whole. Until his thoughts were broken by the cries of the warm hall. The drinks were everywhere, the stores emptied, and the atmosphere was vibrant.

Pushing through the crowd people paid little mind to him, frankly he wasn't too upset about that, less chance to cause a major scene. He slowly made his way to the table Robb sat at his brother inviting him over openly as he sat beneath the shadow of the high table which hosted the king, the queen, and the lord of the house. Frankly Jon just busied himself in conversation with Robb and on occasion Theon about random things and little more. Sansa was off with Poole and Cassel at the adjoining table with Arya down the ways sitting with Bran and Rickon. All were in their places. Even then Jon felt a little off, much like the first time he had been invited to the high table on his thirteenth name day. A sense of displacement overcame him, and he thought of all he had gone through these past few years. It was so surreal. But again his thoughts were interrupted this time by what he thought to be the most cocky voice he had ever heard.

“Would you look at me?”

He turned to the voice behind him to see the queen addressing him directly. Not seeking to make a fuss he responded respectfully and succinctly. Her sneer was evident on her face, a look of disgust as she stared at him.

“You're the Bastard then yes?”

“...Aye, I am your grace.”

Robb and Cat both looked worried either for different reasons or the same reasons but Jon paid attention to the queen who had singled him out for whatever reason.

“Ah, and what makes you think you should be sitting there?”

Ah there it was, perhaps Robb and Jon had gotten used to the rhythm they fell into on their travels, Jon had gotten used to sitting and treating his brother as just that, his brother. But he had to remember what the world saw him as regardless of the truth, at least for now.

“I apologise for your grace, I will be leaving.”

 

“Did I ask you to leave bastard?”

“...No your grace.”

“No, I asked you what?”

“What makes me think I should be sitting here.”

“Quite right, and your answer?”

His opinion of the queen and his mood were soaring very quickly as he responded, remaining cordial.

“I was invited over by Lord Stark’s son to discuss matters of a private nature, your grace.”

“Really… these matters could not have waited?”

“I would not dare keep my lord’s son waiting your grace.”

Cersei scoffed at the response.

“Well that is good of you, but is your business with Lord Stark’s son concluded?”

“It has your grace.”

“And yet you linger…”

Jon’s sourness was growing more and more bitter as the queen kept talking, an anger that had been mostly forgotten since Lady Stark had begun to turn more of a blind eye to him all together and septa Mordane had been told to lay off as well. He had forgotten the sting.

“Tell me bastard, do you fancy yourself a lord? A highborn who will control and manage lands and its people?”

“...No your grace.”

“Ah. then perhaps it is best you do not linger amongst those very Lords and Ladies you know to be your betters…”

For the flash of a moment Jon wanted to stand up and proclaim his true birth and heritage just to spite the queen, to throw in her face her words. But he could not do it. He simply nodded his head, and moved out of the great hall, Robb while stone faced was also fuming, Arya similarly, Theon was chuckling to himself, Sansa barely noticed the whole ordeal same went for Bran and Rickon, Catelyn had a look of almost sympathy but was otherwise neutral, and the queen looked on at him with her self satisfied smirk watching as he left. His boots sounding on the cobbles rang out through the halls of Winterfell as he left the feast behind moving outside picking up speed as he went until he fell into a strong power walk. Quickly moving out to the far end of the training yard he rested upon a lone bench face in his hands looking down. All he could do at that moment was breathe. He knew he wasn't a bastard, so why did the name still sting?

“The bastard come to brood?”

Jon’s eyes shot up at the sardonic voice calling out from some unknown shadow. He looked around attempting to find the owner of the voice when his eyes fell on a small figure walking out from the gates leading to wintertown. A dwarf by build and of the same gold hair and green eyes that seemed to be wherever Jon looked now as if they were some fog around his vision, he wore the same red leathers as the Lannisters and Jon knew then who he was.

“Tyrion Lannister? The queen's brother?”

“My greatest achievement it would seem.”

“What are you doing back there?”

“Preparing for a night with your family. And what are you doing out here?”

Jon wanted to consider his response to not sound offensive but it just slipped out.

“Suffering the hospitality of yours.”

Jon instantly regretted his words and was about to apologise when he heard a chuckle from Tyrion.

“So you have met my sister properly then?”

“Aye.”

“And you, your Ned Stark’s bastard aren't you?”

In another time Jon might have taken offense to the observation, seven hells he just took offense to it with the queens harrying. But something logical was returning to Jon's mind, and oddly enough when it came from Tyrion the phrase didn't seem designed to hurt him, it wasn't an insult so much as an observation. And given Tyrion's knowledge of him a true observation. In all honesty Jon was starting to enjoy the false observations people made of him, there was something funny in being insulted by someone and you knowing their wrong, so why did it hurt when Cersei said it?

“It would appear so aye.”

“Hmmm, it was interesting, you know. To hear that Ned Stark had sent his bastard with his Son to tour the entire north, surprisingly the both of them turned out to be quite the useful helpers. Such great deeds done.”

“If you consider balancing a budget a great deed then I suppose.”

“The master of coin is a position for a reason.”

“I suppose it is.”

Jon didn't even realize that they were walking by now strolling the courtyard in the night as the party raged on inside.

“Well then it would seem that Lord Snow has quite the reputation about him then.”

“You heard of that nickname?”

“When the majority of Northern Lords call you that, word tends to travel down south you see, the world is much bigger than just the North you know.”

“Aye, I should hope to see it.”

“Good, there's so much to see, so much to experience out there beyond the greys of these lands. But that begs the question, wouldn't a bastard such as yourself wish to join say the night's watch?”

“I had considered it once, but decided against it.”

“Ah, and what do you plan on doing in its place?”

“...hopefully accompany Lord Stark and his daughters south.”

That surprised Tyrion, Jon wasn't sure the reaction he expected but it was certainly not that, the imp spun on his heel to look Jon in the eye.

“You intend to travel to the capital?”

“Aye.”

Jon was thankful Tyrion did not question his reasoning further but rather pivoted to a more direct form of conversation.

“You know they wont like you down there.”

“They hardly like me here.”

“Really? The people who call you Lord Snow hardly like you? Then I suppose I should hope for some northern kindness if that's what they do to people they don't like.”

Jon gave a small laugh to the man's sarcastic comment, admittedly finding it funny. But he took a drink from his wineskin before continuing.

“They like you because you're one of them, you will find no such courtesy in the south. If you thought my sister was bad… well that's a lie she is bad, even by most standards, but my point stands. If you didn't like what she had to say then you will hate what the rest of them say, especially in the royal court. Imagine, a thousand of my sister's eyes staring into your soul mocking you at every turn. Bastard…”

“It's not a pretty picture i'll give you that.”

“No it's not. So that begs the question, why?”

“...Because I wish to serve Lord Stark and his family.”

Jon in that moment saw the man's smile turn up.

“A desire to protect your family… Honorable, like your father.”

Jon tilted his head upward.

“...Let me give you some advice, bastard… never forget what you are, the rest of the world will not, wear it like armor… and it can never be used against you.”

Jon took on the man's words, even given the hidden context of his parentage it was still sound advice. But then Jon asked a question out of pure curiosity.

“What do you know of being a bastard?”

Tyrion paused for a second considering Jon’s words.

 

“All dwarves are bastards in their fathers eyes.”

With that the pair nodded to each other and went their separate ways, although a level of respect hung between them as they walked away. Tyrion joined the festivities in the hall and Jon went off to the Godswood for a bit of time.

—---------------------

Jon had taken his time in getting to the godswood not caring to pay much mind to the goings on around him, just seeking some peace beneath the weirwoods watchful gaze, he tended to sit at the roots just gazing into the reflecting pool. He looked into the waters for a long while thinking to himself. It was here he would most often get the quiet he desired after a long day. But his thoughts were interrupted by a soft yet gruff voice, one that spoke to a man's wisdom and experience, measured and trained, disciplined to the perfect extent yet comforting in an odd way.

“I apologise sir, I did not mean to disturb you.”

Jon looked over his eyes opening to see a man clad in white armor a similarly white cloud draped over his shoulder, it was resplendent it its cleanliness and the sword at the man's side spoke to his status, one of the kingsguard, his helm covered his face so he could not get the man's identity just yet.

“There is nothing to forgive good Ser Knight, I was simply resting.”

The knight nodded his head in understanding. And Jon almost subconsciously extended a hand as if inviting him to sit with him. He had no clue why he did it, but the Knight seemed trustworthy, odd as that was to say. And he complied slowly sitting down on a root. He removed his helm, he was an older man but by the way he moved you would swear he was a man in his prime, he had white hair and a similarly white beard neatly shaved, he had a warm smile, and soft almost sad blue eyes. Jon quickly gained his bearings and introduced himself properly.

“Jon Snow, good Ser Knight.”

The knight gave a Smile.

“Ser Barristan Selmy.”

Immediately Jon’s smile grew, Ser Barristan the bold sitting right here next to him, a younger Jon would have been skipping around the godswood in joy, Jon as of now was barely holding back the desire to do just that.

“Forgive me Ser Barristan, I had not expected company tonight. I can leave if you wish.”

“No no no, it's quite alright. Frankly, I'd enjoy the new company.”

“Would you really?”

“Why yes, an excellent change of pace from the capital. So much more quiet, open, dare I say i might prefer the weather down here too.”

Jon gave a chuckle.

“Truly?”

“Perhaps.”

“I must ask… why are you here?”

“Well his grace has gone to bed and has men posted at the door, I have yet to take my watch and I thought that I might enjoy the peace of the godswood for a while.”

“Does the Red-Keep have a godswood?”

“Yes it does, although hardly this nice, the godswood at the Red-Keep is far too small for my liking.”

“I would imagine as such, but here… it's peaceful.”

“Aye it is.”

“And what are you doing out here?”

“Same as you I suppose, getting silence, I'm not exactly welcome in the feast hall, I learned that the hard way.”

Ser Barristan’s eyes went soft for a second.

“I do apologise for that ordeal, I didn't hear the exchange but with the way you left I had assumed some less than savory things were said.”

Jon was surprised at the old Knights apology, he hadn't expected him to attempt rectification for the queen's words.

“Still, it was not my place to be there.”

“...Perhaps so.”

Jon saw the look of conflict in the knight's face. Did he disagree with the queen's actions? Jon supposed that perhaps swearing an oath to protect someone doesn't prevent you from holding your own opinions on their actions. But the pair sat in silence for a while, they weren't sure how long but a long while. That was before Jon asked something completely out of nowhere.

“Can you tell me about Rhaegar?”

The question caught both Jon and Barristan off guard. Jon had no clue where it came from, what emotion or thought had spurred it but it was out there now. And much to his surprise he answered. And answered genuinely.

“Rhaegar… Rhaegar was… solemn. Bookish initially, a great fighter when he committed himself to it, although he never liked killing. He was kind. He would often go down to the people of king's-landing and sing to them playing his harp. He had a certain melancholy around him, but when he was happy he lit up the room.”

Jon smiled at Barristan’s recollection, it was obvious he looked back on Jon’s father fondly, he had assumed as much essentially watching the boy grow up. But it was nice to hear of the man who had sired him through a more positive light. It warmed him.

“...You know it's a funny thing…”

“What is?”

“Just in the right light, you almost looked like him.”

Jon felt his heart clench, he had pushed too far too fast. But he couldn't let him know that so he played off the comment as a joke. Attempting to speak sarcastically.

“Really?”

“Why yes, I meant no offense by it, it's just that, if you'll pardon my bluntness, you have a look when you're thinking that almost… reminds me of him.”

Jon looked calm on the outside, collected, and properly composed, internally his worry was growing as he moved his attention to the pool of the godswood, attempting to stray himself further as to not give anything away that might make the old night suspicious, whatever the hell had given him the idea to ask about Rhaegar he didn't know but he was quickly regretting it. So he did the one last thing he could do.

“Well, I thank you for the time Ser Barristan. But I must be getting on my way.”

The old Knight smiled and shook Jons hand. Before getting up himself and moving to look into the reflecting pool.

“And I thank you for the time Jon Snow. God’s willing we may speak again, and sooner rather than later.”

Jon couldn't help but smile at the knight's words again. It was at that moment Jon considered just coming clean and admitting all of it. But he didn't know Ser Barristan, he seemed honorable and good, but that was it, he seemed that way, that was hardly an indication of how he actually was. So Jon took his leave casting one last glance the old knight's way and they locked eyes for the briefest of seconds. And in that moment Jon swore he saw a look of recognition in his eye, and odd analysis trying to put something together, but thankfully failing and turning away. From there Jon left his room and shut the door, locking it, and going to bed very anxious.”

—------------------

Jon awoke suddenly and he looked around, it was bright, the air was fresh, and it was warm. Suddenly he was wide awake and realized where he was, the field, the oak on the hill. His heart leaped up into his chest, excitement and happiness overflowing, the stress of the day was lost to him now as he charged up the hill. The feeling was exhilarating, but the thing that brought it all to a boiling point was seeing her on the hill looking for him, and when she saw him running he swore he could see her smile from there. Up the hill he charged and there she stood waiting as he flung himself into her embrace the momentum of his run stalling just enough to where he didnt tackle her to the ground. He wasn't sure how long they held each other like that and he didn't care, let it be an eternity for all he cared. He was here and she was here. Together.

But eventually the two broke apart but kept their arms around each other, he drank in her features, she had grown since he had seen her last, still slim and small but taller, more mature in her looks, but he only found himself growing happier at it. Her hair was far shorter cut to her shoulders and tied back in a small braid almost resembling one of Arya’s braids, northern by style. But her eyes still shone a stunning violet that would make him drop dead any day. And from her look she was doing the same to him not that he minded all too much. She held him close and he held her close in mutual silence for a while content to remain that way until the end of time. But she broke the silence first by reaching up to his chin running her fingers over his slowly darkening facial hair.

“Well this is new…”

“As is this”

He moved a hand to investigate her braid, she smirked at the gesture but was flustered at the attention.

“Lord Reed suggested I cut it shorter for travel.”

“Easier to hide?”

“That's what he said.”

“And has it worked?”

“As far as I can tell.”

“Good then.”

She smiled and ran her fingers across his chin again.

“And what's your explanation for this?”

 

“I wanted to try it.”

“Ahhh…”

“...You like it?”

“...I could get used to it when it gets darker… possibly.”

“Possibly?”

“Not sure if I want that much of your face to be covered up…”

He blushed at the comment. And she noticed smirking as she ran her finger over his mustache grazing his lips as she did, and he swore for a second that it was damn intentional, and he liked it. That's when they heard sniffing coming from an unknown source both concerned for a second looked down. There sat Jon’s faithful direwolf, a small thing barely bigger than a dog sniffing at Daenerys. Jon rolled his eyes as Dany lit up with adoration at the little wolf. Jon picked up ghost in his arms as Dany moved in to get a better look.

“And who is this?”

“This is Ghost… My Direwolf…”

Daenerys looked to Jon with an intense amount of amusement, he could tell she was immediately taken by him, and from the licking that Ghost was giving her had he assumed the same was true for him.

“He is so precious. Where did you find him?”

“About a moon back we found his mother dead of a stag, we took in the pups, Robb found him silent in the brush nearby and proclaimed him mine.”

“Well I shall need to thank Robb Stark for finding this sweet precious thing before you had a chance to overlook him.”

She was rubbing Ghost's head by now and Ghost was soaking up all the love with no argument much to Jon’s sarcastic enjoyment.

“How did he get here?”

“I'm not sure, but I'm not complaining.”

“Neither am I.”

Jon put Ghost down but he maintained his closeness to Dany and Him often weaving between the two as they walked around the tree. They began to catch up, Dany spoke of her escape and meeting of Howland Reed along with the birth of her dragons which shocked Jon.

“Three?!”

“Three.”

“What are their names?”

“The green and bronze one I have named Rhaegal, the cream and gold one is Rhaellon for my mother. And the black and red one is Eddaron.”

“Eddaron?”

“Yes.”

“Never heard of a Targaryen being called that.”

“That's because I did not name him after a Targaryen.”

“Then who did you…”

She raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“For father?”

“Yes, in honor of Lord Eddard.”

“Why him if you don't mind me asking?”

She turned to face him feeling her fingers lace between his own much to his surprise.

“For keeping you safe.”

Jon at that moment felt something rush in him although he dare not act on it. But he smiled and held eye contact.

“I'm sure he will be honored.”

“Perhaps. And what of yours?”

“Weirya… for her coloring, in honor of the old gods.”

“It's a lovely sentiment. I should have guessed that if you did have a dragon you wouldnt name it as our predecessors did.”

“Well to be fair we're hardly your average Targaryens.”

“Quite right.”

The comfortable silence hung between them as their hands remained together, they wandered through the fields Ghost moving with them. It had been too long since they were together. It was refreshing but Jon had to inform her regardless of how comfortable they were.

“Robert Baratheon is in Winterfell.”

Daenerys looked at Jon concern immediately painted on her features, if not an angry look to her.

“He doesn't know.”

“Good.”

“That being said, I'm going to the capital.”

The shock on her face was dialed up tenfold.

“You can't be serious.”

“I need to gather more allies and I need to make sure Sansa and Arya are safe.”

“Can you not get another to do that Jon?”

“I would trust no other. I need to do this.”

Daenerys was simultaneously furious and concerned, gripping his hand tight and using her free hand to force him to look her in the eye.

“I can't do anything to stop you, but know that I don't agree with your choice, I think it's foolish, reckless, and puts you in needless harm. And if they hurt you in any way, so much as a cut on the finger, I will honor our family words. And there will be none that will prevent me.”

“...I would expect no less.”

He brought his hand to her cheek now, holding it carefully as if she would break under his touch, but her intense eyes never left his as she pulled his hand closer with her own, leaning into the touch, the intensity never leaving but clearly enjoying the affection. And for no small second or fleeting of moments did they deny what they felt in that moment. Neither acted on it. But they knew it was there, not even below the surface right now. And Jon thought to himself, they were alone here, no chance of interruption, just the two of them, why pretend to hide it?

But as if timed the dragons began their dance signaling the end of the dream much to the pair's disappointment. They dared not push any issues further that night as they simply waited there hands together with Ghost watching the dragons dance.

Morning came for Jon as his eyes opened slowly, a smile on his face and happy to have spoken to Dany again. It was good. Until Theon knocked on the door a panicked tone to his beating. Jon, while tired, immediately became concerned, Greyjoy would only seek him out in an emergency, he quickly rose up throwing in some clothes as fast as he could flinging the door open.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Bran, he fell!”

Notes:

Thank you for the kind words last chapter, hope you enjoy this one. As always thank you for reading and comments are always welcome.

Chapter 12: Arya III

Summary:

Arya leaves winterfell and meets two important ladies

Arya III

Despair and anguish, those were the two best words to describe what Arya felt in the following weeks after Bran’s fall. Everything else had fallen to the waist side. She cared for little else initially, even as her mood had stabilized as the days went on she still often went to bed feeling like crying. Bran had loved climbing, and he was good at it; she often saw him on the roof of Winterfell without a care in the world, confident as if he could fly. But he couldn't, he was no bird, and he fell. The broken tower was treacherous, everyone knew that, Bran was always the only one who dared mess with it, and now it had cost him. Maester Luwin had said that even if Bran survived he would be a cripple, unable to walk. The thought alone made her heart burn with a seething rage. Why did Bran have to do this?

And here she was packing up for a trip down south, to say she was conflicted about the idea was an understatement, yes she was excited to be going south, to move beyond the walls of Winterfell. But now? While her brother sat in bed dying or crippled, it felt the worst disrespect to leave him now not knowing if or when he would wake up. And all she could do was pack her clothes and items in preparation for the move south. She wanted to rush into Bran’s room and stay with him as her mother was until he woke up, give him a hug and not leave his side for all the while he was in that bed. She sighed as she balled up another one of her shirts shoving it into the bag, Nymeria walking over with another set of pants passing it to her. She was one of the few things keeping her together, she was a good girl. Although training her tended to be difficult. But she was grateful nonetheless.

“Thank you Nymeria.”

The wolf returned to the corner of the room sitting down quietly awaiting Arya's next movement as she balled up the pants Nymeria had brought to her. She could hardly care less how she put it into the bag at the moment, Septa Mordane had already harried her on that several times while her father had been looking elsewhere. All wrong as to be expected she supposed. It seemed regardless of how she arranged her garments or how tightly they were fit together there was always some new thing to criticize. Perhaps she just wanted to more subtly scold her to relieve some frustration, she hadn't been so thoroughly scolded by her in at least a year or two. Still didn't make it any better in her eyes given the context of Bran, why did she have to make things harder than they already were. To go south, to watch your brother die in bed, and you get scolded for not properly packing your things. What a world. That’s when the door opened and in walked Jon.

“Jon…”

“Little sister.”

“…septa Mordane wanted me to repack… my things weren’t properly folded, she said… who cares if they aren’t properly folded THEIR GOING TO GET ALL MESSED UP ANYWAY!!!”

Jon moved closer and put a hand on her shoulder.

“...you have to trust he will make it. Bran is a Stark, you lot are hard to kill.”

“... I hope you're right.”

“... I do too.”

The painful silence hung in the air for a while between them. Neither wanting to break it, it was hurtful and comforting. But Jon moved across the room.

“Well at least you have some help.”

Arya looked at Nymeria, a small smile twitching on her lips as she addressed the Dire wolf.

“Watch, Nymeria, gloves.”

The wolf merely looked at her confused.

“...”

“...”

“Impressive.”

“Shut up.”

She turned again to the wolf embarrassed at the display.

“Nymeria. Gloves.”

To that the wolf only cocked her head. Arya frustratedly sighed and resumed packing, but Jon moved over to her bringing out something.

“If it makes you feel any better, I have something for you.”

“... A present?”

Jon smiled.

“Close the door.”

Arya, intrigued moved over and shut the door making sure no one was in the hallway. When she turned around she saw Jon with a sword far too small for a normal man. She moved over as Jon handed it to her.

“This is no toy Arya. I had the blacksmith make it special. It won’t cut a man in half, but it will poke them full of holes if you're quick enough.”

She drew the blade from the scabbard, it was a slim little thing, but sharp and precise. She held it in her left hand tight as she held it to the light, the candle flame gleaming off its blade. It was an amazing piece of work, and she was damn excited to be holding it.

“I can be quick.”

“You’ll have to practice at it, every day.”

“I will.”

“Good, I’ll make sure of that.”

Arya whipped her head to him wide-eyed.

“You're coming with us?”

“Aye.”

“How did you get father to agree to that?”

“I asked him nicely and pleaded my case that it would be better for our cause if the lords of the crown lands were able to see me and get my worth like the northern lords. Although we will be far more upfront about what we’re doing.”

Arya was pleased that father had agreed to let Jon come, dangerous as it may be. It was smart for the purposes of their cause but moreover it would be nice to have at least one of her brothers with them. Regardless of the fit Sansa would inevitably throw over bringing a bastard to court. Oh, if only she knew. The thought made Arya chuckle, it was going to be so funny when it all came out into the open. But as she looked at the blade she thought.

“You know all the best swords have names.”

“Aye they do, so what will yours be?”

Arya looked at the blade, the thin pointy blade gleaming in the light, and then it came to her.

“Sansa can keep her sewing needles…. I've got a needle of my own.”

Jon smiled, one of the few smiles he had in weeks, as did Arya. Bran was hurt, and she was leaving but for the first time in weeks the hurt alleviated ever so slightly.

—-------------

The rest of the packing up was swift and easy. She brought her bag to the wheelhouse hiding needle deep inside so that no one but her and Jon would be able to find it. Nymeria trotted close as she saddled up having said her goodbyes to her mother, Bran, Robb, Theon, and Rickon. Jon strode up on horseback next to her nodding his head in a gesture of confidence trying to lighten her spirits, his goodbyes as to be expected had been harsher when it came to mother, but Robb had given heartfelt goodbyes to all his fellow conspirators. Joking how he would hold the north for his grace, well partially joking, the double entendre had gone over everyone else's head, only they could detect the veiled seriousness in their brother's voice. It was odd, but they all knew to a degree that in all likelihood the next time they saw each other it would be close to the time they would spring the trap.

It had seemed so much like a lifetime away a few weeks ago but now as they prepared to move south it all became so much more real, they were going to King's-Landing. The capital of the seven kingdoms and one day god’s willing Jon’s home, the idea was enough to make her stall for a second in contemplation, assuming all went well which she knew it really wouldn't, Jon would be living there. She wasn't sure why, but she had always envisioned him ruling from Winterfell, sitting in the great hall hearing the troubles of the people of the north. It was a childish notion she admitted, but it was still an image she had held for these years now. She tried to envision the Red Keep based on all she had heard of it, the great walls and Maegor's Holdfast, an imposing central structure projecting fear and terror across the seven kingdoms. A great hall of similarly bloody red stone braziers of fire illuminating the way down, the dragon skulls of the Targaryen’s fallen beasts hung up by chains from the ceiling all framing the Iron throne, a twisted mass of steel stairs ascending to the seat.

It was an intimidating sight or at least she thought it would be. She would have to see it first, but she could imagine until then. By now the procession was moving and Arya looked one last time at the gray walls of her home before spurring her horse on and out the gate. As she moved away from the place of her birth for the first time. It was bittersweet, finally getting out and so far from home, now it seemed she didn't want it. But Jon rode by her side. It settled her nerves as he smiled at her. He seemed to be thinking of something that brought him joy based on his rye smirk. Arya just had to ask considering her brother had been brooding now for days straight now and this was a lovely break in the general depressive nature of the past few days.

“What's got you on the up and up?”

“Hmm?”

“You heard me. You've barely had a chance to smirk since Bran fell and here you are cracking a grin like it's dinner.”

“I've been smiling these past few days, just out of sight.”

“Well this one was in sight, and I want to know. So get on with it.”

Jon looked as if he was mulling over her words and she seized the opportunity to push her curiosity.

“Is it about a girl?”

Jon was speechless for a second, but the light shade of red that rose over his face was telling enough. Arya, amused at the reaction, pressed harder trying to get details.

“Is it about the girl in the fields?”

Now Jon rolled his eyes, dead giveaway.

“It isn't it.”

“Must we talk about this now?”

“Why not, we're at the back of the line, it's not like many people will care about your lady love.”

Arya took pleasure at his exasperated look at the nickname lady love. She had taken it up from Robb, and she saw why he liked to tease Jon with it now. It was fun to watch him flounder and try to talk his way out of it.

“She is not my lady love, and I feel as though I've had this conversation a thousand times with Robb and I don't want to have it with you.”

“But you're going too. So speak on, how is she?”

“... She is well as of now.”

“Hmmm… you seemed happy to be thinking of her.”

“... It’s just a relief to know she is safe and far from harm, that is all.”

“Have you kissed her yet?”

“Not sure if it would be fulfilling in a dream.”

“So you want to kiss her?”

“No I… I just… Are you going to keep this up all the way to King's landing?”

“If it doesn't bore me then yes.”

“Seven hells.”

“... when do you plan on bringing her over?”

Jon considered the question for a long while.

“Preferably when it's safe, not sure when that will be.”

“What if she wants to come back before then?”

“Not much I can do to stop her.”

Arya chuckled at the comment, in truth she thought Jon would have brought her over sooner if Father and Robb hadn't talked him down, she knew he liked the girl and wanted to see her not just safe but in person.

“She’ll want to be over soon you know, from what little you describe she sounds willful.”

“Aye she is.”

Arya saw the smile cross Jon's lips.

“And if that's true then what.”

“...then I will cross that bridge when I come to it.

—-------------

The movement south was slow, very slow. If not for the size of the procession, the need to keep pace with the wheelhouse, or the damn thing constantly breaking down, then for the fact that the king constantly wished to stop to either hunt, drink, or eat at every opportunity he got or really whenever the fancy struck him. Frankly if this was how he acted all day every day then perhaps Arya could feel even the most remote feeling of understanding for the queen's attitude. He didn’t seem a good husband regardless, if his behavior at Winterfell was absolutely any indication than Arya could hardly expect anything but the longest crawl south possible. Several weeks have already passed since departure and already Sansa was insufferable, Father was off with the king making up for lost time, and the prince stayed his distance. His siblings however seemed nice enough, they didn't talk to her much opting to remain in the wheelhouse with the queen and Sansa, but they were never cruel or mean to her, so there was that.

Of course there was Jon and the dire wolves to keep her company. But by now they had been moving so slow they had only reached the neck. And thighs were bound to move slowly through there regardless, if not again for the excess of men then that damn wheelhouse. Honestly Arya had no clue how the thing made it through the neck the first time. Although it was an entertaining thought to imagine the thing sinking into the depths of the neck and watching the queen have to trudge on horseback like the rest of them. It was a funny if not comforting thought that helped Arya through most of the ride on the causeway. Sansa keeping inside the wheelhouse and Jon at her side, perhaps there were worse ways to travel. And by the end of the week they were approaching the approximate area that Jon and Robb had told her that Greywater Watch was. If anything Arya wanted to go to see herself, the famed floating castle of the crannogmen. But she strode on. That was until Jon one evening woke her up by shaking her shoulder as she slept. She was very groggy and red eyed, but Jon had an uncharacteristic look of glee.

“Jon? What's going on?”

“Come with me and be very quiet.”

Arya rolled over gathering her clothes and throwing them on haphazardly telling Nymeria to stay with Ghost. She slinked out of her makeshift bed and followed Jon out through the camp. They weaved through the closely packed tents which were lined up along the causeway packed like rats so that none may be falling into the waters of the neck. But Jon led her through the weave of tents far down the causeway, Arya had no clue how long they walked for truthfully, but it was the dead of night so did it really matter? But the situation only grew more odd when Jon brought her to a small boat, with a pair of oars in them and some food. Jon was the first in the boat, and he quickly brought her down into it. Passing her a torch.

“Light it, and keep quiet as ye can.”

Arya lit the torch and Jon started rowing into the murky waters of the neck. It wasn't Long before the causeway was gone from sight, and they were surrounded by trees and foliage. It was cold, cold and quiet. The whole while on the road they had the company of animals and beasts belonging to the neck to keep them company. The Queen had made quite the fuss about the wretched things that surrounded her and so did Sansa, Arya for her part found it all quite fascinating but spoke little to her opinion. But now, silence like the grave. Only the sound of the oars against the water and the crackle of the torch broke the silence. Jon kept rowing on and on into the neck. It was a Long time before either talked but the look of glee on Jon’s face was undeniable.

“What time is it?”

“Late, very late.”

“How long did you let me sleep for?”

“About two hours. Wanted to make sure everyone else was absolutely asleep before we left.”

“What about the guards? Why were there none about?”

“Timed it to the changing of the guard’s and the new ones were still getting up.”

“Clever.”

Further they rowed into the night. And Arya finally decided to ask the real question.

“Where are we going?”

Jon smiled and stopped rowing for a second. Turning to face her and looking around.

“It occurs to me that you have yet to meet her.”

Arya was confused for a second looking at Jon as if he were deranged. He drags her out of bed in the middle of the night, sneaks her through the camp, and plops her in a boat rowing her to god’s know where just to meet some random woman?

“You're kidding right?”

“No, I am not little sister.”

“You do all of this to introduce me to some girl? Can this not wait until the sun rises at all?”

“No it cannot. She is close enough to meet her right now. But she won't be for too long. She's good at hiding, but I won't have her get any closer, especially not in the daytime.”

Now Arya was really intrigued. It was obvious by now that Jon was ecstatic to see this woman again, and now apparently no one else could know about her? Arya took a bite of the bread that Jon had brought with them and looked around as the boat was stopped against the shore. It was muddy as to be expected, it was the neck after all. But still no animals of any kind, no frogs or lizard lions. Just deathly silence. Jon jumped ashore and helped her out, leading on with the torch.

“You know where you're going?”

“Aye.”

“How? I thought only the crannogmen knew how to move about the neck.”

“Aye they do. But while Robb and I were staying here on our tour, Lord Reed taught us a few things, how to move while here, how to hide properly, I needed to know how to find her.”

“You keep saying her as if I know who you're referring to.”

“Oh you do. It just hasn't occurred to ye yet.”

He led her deeper into the foliage before stopping placing the torch on the ground walking forward. Arya watched a concerned look painted over her features. Jon looked into the darkness of the trees. Before he spoke in a hushed tone.

“Māzigon hen Weirya”

Arya hand heard Jon talk in proper Valyrian yet, she had heard him attempt it on his own several times while learning with maester Luwin, but she had never heard him string together a proper statement, it was kind of funny giver his northern accent which gave the words an odd inflection that she never envisioned the Targaryen's or ancient Valyrians of old using, but here he stood speaking it as if completely natural. Arya was so caught up in her thoughts on the language that the only thing that snapped her out of it was the guttural grumbling sound dead ahead of her. She whipped her head away from Jon to the treeline. Jon moved closer to her.

“She won't harm you. But don't be loud.”

She wanted to ask questions, a thousand of them really, but she never got the chance, all the words left her mouth at the sight of two large red and white eyes staring at her through the darkness. She couldn't move, she was absolutely scared senseless. But Jon stayed close, he held her by the shoulders as the eyes stared at her, they had to belong to what could only be the biggest creature she had ever seen. The air was warm around her as if sitting next to a fire. She wasn't sure when it clicked in her head or if it was a gradual process, but she knew who this was, Jon was right. And here she stood looking at her. Jon spoke again, a little more annoyed.

“Ziry iksos issa mandia ao līs rhaenagon zȳhon.”

Arya hardly registered the words and if she did she wouldn't understand them, but the dragon moved her head into the torch and moonlight. White scales gleaming in the soft glow of night and red marks similarly illuminated by the torch fire. Suddenly all Arya's fear just melted away in a single instant. The dragon should have terrified her to her core as it had behind the trees but in the open light she saw it, her eyes trained on hers. They spoke of a thousand thoughts, deep as the ocean and bearing an incredible intelligence. The dragon knew who and what she was looking at and Arya could only stand in stunned admiration. Jon smiled a toothy grin as he spoke softly again.

“Ao kostagon māzigon kesīr ivestragī zȳhon ūndegon ao ivestragī zȳhon gīmigon ao.”

Arya watched as the dragon moved closer, her neck becoming more exposed as she brought her massive head within a few feet of them, her body still hidden behind the trees. Jon moved over taking off the glove which encased his hand and brushed it along her snout, the dragon's nostrils flaring with all the blazing heat of a forge. But she made a sound of satisfaction, a sound of affection as he did so, the dragon leaning into the touch.

“Konīr konīr, sȳz naejot ūndegon ao arlī.”

“...what are you saying to her?”

“... That I missed her.”

Arya smiled at him, it was nice seeing Jon this affectionate with something other than Ghost. But as he was doing, Jon turned over to her and smirked playfully.

“Go on.”

Arya didn't need another second as she pulled off her gloves striding over a smile on her lips as she put her hand to the dragon's snout without so much as a second thought. She felt the warmth under her fingers against her skin, she had expected it to be hotter than this but no, it was comforting, soothing. Like a warm blanket in a snowstorm. Arya looked up to see the dragon looking down at her snow-white pupils dilated. Comfort radiating off the dragon, and it seemed as if Jon picked up on it. He moved to her.

“You remember her name?”

“You called her Weirya didn't you?”

“Aye.”

Arya looked back at Weirya smiling without restraint or control. It was everything she had hoped to feel in this moment. From the second she realized what was in that box all those years ago she had wanted to see the dragon. She had wanted to fly with it, but for now she was absolutely content to just lay her hand on her head. It was so much more than she had ever expected to get a few years back, now look at her.

“You realize why I took you at night now?”

“Aye… and thank you for bringing me…”

“Well Robb has already met her, Father was there when she came into the world as was Lord Reed, I couldn't leave you out of meeting her. Besides, I think she likes you.”

Arya whipped her head around to Jon, a surprised look on her face.

“Really?”

“Aye.”

“How can you tell?”

Jon raised an eyebrow to her, and she got the message quickly, his bond. How else could he be so in-tuned with her? Frankly it wasn't too surprising an explanation but a comforting one all the same.

“... Can I ride her?”

“Arya.”

“Please.”

Her voice was full of hope and Jon was looking at her with an expression of measured exasperation.

“I can't fly her so close to the camp. They would hear her. They would see her. And then-”

“Then everything would be up.”

“Exactly.”

Arya got the logic but even so she looked back to Weirya.

“It’s just…”

“It's fine Arya. I know you want to. But like everything else.”

“Not yet. That seems to be fathers response to everything, not yet. I get why we have to wait, but what are we waiting for?”

Jon looked at her. Confusion in his glare as if silently wishing she would continue.

“Father says we have to wait for the time to be right. But how will we know when the time is right? When Robert dies? When the Velaryon’s and Celtigar’s come to our side? I don't like waiting for some obscure thing to set off this war.”

Jon had an odd look on his face as he looked at her putting a hand on her shoulder. He spoke quickly, quietly, and softly.

“Perhaps when it all begins, when it all starts you will wish that we could wait longer.”

Arya wanted to respond. Wanted to give some retort, to express her frustration in some way, but that was before the both of them were cut off by a voice in the dark.

“Wise words for someone so young.”

Immediately Jon drew his sword and Arya grabbed his dagger standing beside him as Weirya turned her head a low growl sensing Jon’s apprehension, a light shining in the back of her throat. The voice in the dark was high-pitched childlike. The pair looked into the darkness hoping to catch a glimpse of the voice's owner. Arya spoke first, her voice commanding and direct.

“Who are you?!”

Jon spoke second.

“Come out and state your business, we won't hurt you.”

There was no silence before the disembodied voice responded in a sarcastic and amused tone.

“Arya Stark and Jon Snow… or is it Daeron Targaryen?”

Arya and Jon both went cold. Looking to each other as if begging the other to have some reasonable explanation to this whole situation knowing that neither did. Whoever this was knew their secret, knew things that were meant to stay buried under a shroud of lies for god’s knew how much longer. Now the situation had changed, this was a loose end that had to be dealt with. Slowly Jon and Arya moved towards the general direction of the voice weapons ready to strike. The lack of noise only made the situation worse adding to their combined tension. Arya spoke up again.

“Who are you?! Come out now!”

Still no movement. By now Weirya was beginning to shift her great antlers dragging parts of the tree coverage off exposing more light, her mouth opened to a low roar threatening but quite likely as not to wake the still close camp. But the fire at the back of her throat gave a whole other look to her as she reared her neck. The flames illuminating the trees still revealed nothing. And so the voice spoke again.

“You can drop your weapons, I'm not here to harm you. Quite the opposite really.”

Arya and Jon looked at each other assessing the weight of the words. If this person knew their secret then their warning might have some proper weight to it. Jon looking to Arya lowered his sword and Arya did the same with the dagger. To Weirya Jon spoke softly.

“Lykirī.”

Wirya complied slowly, closing her colossal jaw, the fire darkening into a stream of smoke pushing through her teeth. The voice chuckled.

“Thank you for your consideration, although I think it's fair to warn you, I doubt she would have wanted to hurt me regardless.”

Jon was confused by that line of thinking as was Arya who shared a confused glance. Jon asked.

“And why do you say that?”

“Well because i'm one of the ones who raised her.”

“...Lord Reed raised Weirya.”

“And you think he did it alone?”

Arya was the next to speak.

“So you're a crannogman?”

“HA… Hardly.”

“Then what are you?”

That's when the movement was seen, on a branch in a tree overlooking them a small humanoid figure no bigger than a child, but her look was just wrong. Bark like skin covered by a patching of leaves and vines. Her eyes wide and green, cat like in look, hair a tangled mess of vines, fungus, and flowers. She was an absolutely odd sight. Something almost otherworldly yet something more of this world than either Jon or Arya. It unnerved them both to no end. But she moved down agile and stealthy feet not making a sound as she stepped forward. Her small smile ran across her face. Jon and Arya were somewhere in between scared and curious. That's when the thing spoke.

“I am a friend of Lord Reed, I mean you both no harm.”

Arya spoke with a cautious voice.

“You have a name?”

“I do.”

“Care to give it?”

“...Root.”

“Root?”

“That's what I call myself yes.”

“Ok then Root, what are you?”

“You wouldn't be able to pronounce my kind’s name in your tongue. The first men called us Children of the forest.”

Jon and Arya shared a look of disbelief, but considering the appearance of Root both did not bother retorting or denying, what else could she be. Jon spoke next.

“You said you were here to warn us?”

“I did.”

“And what is this warning?”

Root walked closer, face gone cold and sharp.

“A warning about the true enemy.”

“True enemy?”

“It would seem Lord Reed has yet to fill you in. He really should have before he left.”

“True enemy? Care to explain what you're talking about? Without riddles.”

“...Tell me Jon Snow… what do you know of the long night?”

Jon and Arya looked at each other, then back to Root.

“Enough… why?”

“...your father has been beheading a lot of deserters from the wall has he not?”

“Aye.”

“And what were their reasons for running? When the people you call wildlings run south of the wall what are their reasons for doing so?”

“...what are you saying?”

“...Tell me, why was the wall built?”

It was by now Jon and Arya began to clue into what Root was saying, and neither liked it. Neither wanted to admit to truly believing what she was saying but they kept listening, Arya spoke.

“White Walkers are a myth…”

“Oh then I suppose the wall is a myth then, after all you don't just build a thousand foot wall of ice for no reason.”

“...”

“...From what Lord Reed told me, everyone in your realm thought that dragons were gone. Thought that magic was gone… thought that we were gone…”

“...”

“So… when a dragon stands before you, a child of the forest speaks to you, and dozens of people say the same thing… the dead rise… at what point does one story remain just that… a story?”

Jon and Arya looked at each other, uncomfortable. Jon spoke next.

“Your saying the white walkers are real?”

“Oh far more than that… they are coming… and soon.”

 

“If they are real, then the wall has held them back for all this time… why now?”

“Because they approach now.”

“...you know what goes on beyond the wall?”

“Not for a while, the last I heard from my kin was years ago… but from what I least heard… they were moving south… slowly but surely.”

Arya and Jon wanted to question, to poke holes in the story and logic, but there was an intensity to Roots' look, an expressiveness they hadn't seen in a person. A deathly piercing seriousness.

“Why talk to us about this?”

Root simply gestured with her head and eyes to the hulking head of Weirya. Then back to the pair. Jon and Arya got the picture.

“Because you're a Targaryen. Because you have a dragon. Because you're going to take the throne. Lord Reed should have told you this sooner but here we are.”

“Were going to try to take the throne… but that's no guarantee were going to win.”

“Well then you better win! Because from where I'm standing right now you are in the best position to actually deal with this threat!”

Root stepped forward to the pair of them Weirya moving her head to make room.

“This isn't about a throne, a castle, or a family anymore… this is about the living and the dead… and if you don't bring these seven kingdoms of yours to heel by winter then I fear the worst… and you should too.”

Roots words cut through the both of them as a hot blade cuts through butter. They weren't sure what to make of it all, only that there was an innate feeling of truth to her words. Some inexplicable thing that made this situation seem to fit together, perhaps they were just going mad. But Arya spoke next voice cautiously.

“Do you have any proof of this?”

Root winced and looked down.

“Not on hand no, only the words and knowledge of my kin, I can only ask that you trust my judgment and words…”

Arya was weary of this, sure the circumstances were extraordinary and things did seem to fit together too well, but there was a string of doubt still there perhaps based in logical fact or denial, but it was there. Jon spoke in a voice he rarely used, authoritative and direct.

“If what you say is true then I accept the danger we are in. But even if I believe you, what's to say the rest of the north, let alone the seven kingdoms will believe you? I don't want to believe you, I really don't. But I will heed your warning. And you're going to help.”

“...what could I do?”

“When we leave these lands you will head north, you will go to Winterfell, and you will tell my brother Robb Stark all you have told me, you will alert him to the threat north and then you will make sure to stay in contact with me every step of the way. If you maintain this commitment, we will decide our next move together when the time comes.”

Root looked at Jon then Arya who had a similar steely look on her face. Then she turned back.

“It will be done… You both best hurry, the day will be here soon. And you have a long road ahead.”

With that Root disappeared back into the darkness not to be seen by Jon nor Arya for a long long while. The pair bid their goodbyes to Weirya, Arya rather upset at having barely seen the dragon before moving on back to camp. But as they went no words were spoken between them as they rowed together this time, returning to the causeway and back to their tents. The thoughts and stress of Root’s warning replayed in Aryas mind over and over again, If she was right, if the white walkers were not only real but coming. Then there was little opportunity to wait for the right time anymore, no minute could be wasted anymore. If this was true then everyone better pray that Jon found his way to the throne fast. Or else when winter comes, even dragon fire wouldn't keep them warm.

Notes:

Thank you for the kind words last chapter hope you enjoyed this one, things from here will start picking up. as always comments are welcome.

Chapter 13: Robb IV

Summary:

Robb deals with his mother, brother, and a stranger

Robb IV

Robb rushed down the winding stairs of Winterfell as fast as his legs could carry him. The solid clacking of his boots against the cold stones as he charged on and on through the halls. Sliding on the floor as he turned a sharp corner pushing himself back up running all the while. On the way, servants he passed were immediately alerted to the danger he was rushing too. Fire, a fire on the far side of Winterfell. He had seen it as he sat with his mother and still unconscious brother holding his hand as Catelyn held the other one not daring to leave his side for one reason or another, whether to be there when he woke up after these weeks or if the stranger had come to claim him at long last. The terror that Robb felt for his brother was so miniscule compared to his mothers pure terror which had torn at her soul for all the time she sat there. But now all of that was secondary to the immediate emergency planted before the acting lord of Winterfell. Whatever was going on had to be stopped immediately before damage spread further around Winterfell.

Across the courtyard’s and walkways he charged like a man possessed, Greywind tailing so close behind he could hear the panting and snarling. He had grown so fast in these past few weeks already the size of a hunting hound, and twice as ferocious. The moonlight illuminated their path as they made their way closer to the glowing orange light flickering behind some of the buildings. On the weight of his heel he turned and charged right over through the small crowd of people to the source of the fire. It appeared to be within the broken tower; its rotten interior seemed to have somehow caught fire quickly, the flames could already be seen through its few ground floor windows. Robb needed more information so he rushed around asking who he could about what caused the blaze. He quickly found one of the men coordinating a line of buckets to quench the blaze before things got out of hand more so than they already had.

“What happened?!”

“I-Im sorry M’lord. We're not sure.”

Robb was annoyed at the answer, not necessarily at the man giving the answer but rather the lack of immediate information regarding the cause of the fire. He looked back to the line of small folk with their multitude of buckets dumping them into the blaze one at a time attempting to smother the fire as it crackled and burnt through the wooden beams holding the floors together. The tower seemed to groan as more and more water was dumped into it. Robb wasn't sure how long it went for, the blaze just burnt on and on. Robb eventually came to his senses and began to help where he could. As he was applying water into the tower as well he asked as much as he could to anyone around him.

“Did anyone see anything? A lantern falling, a child drop their candle while on a walk at night?”

“No m’lord, nothin. We just saw the fire and got to work”

Robb nodded to that explanation, he figured then that this was probably just some freak accident. That was until a servant ran to him fresh out of breath and a wild look in his eye. He spoke with all the composure of a newborn deer and with the panic of a rabbit in their burrow.

“My lord… your mother… and brother.”

Robb felt his blood run ice-cold for a solid second as he moved over grabbing the man by the shoulders staring dead into his beady wide eyes. He spoke with an unparalleled authority in his tone as the messenger tried to catch his breath.

“WHAT IS WRONG?”

“Y-y-your b-brother… an assassin attempted to stab him s-shortly after you had left the room. Y-Your mother grabbed hold of the fiends b-b-lade and your brother's wolf… killed the man.”

“MY MOTHER IS SHE ALRIGHT?”

“I-I I can't say m’lord.”

Immediately Robb ran off again heart in his throat, a new terror gripping him completely superseding his concerns about the fire. The mental images ran through his head as he pushed on back the way he came not caring who or what he ran into. Bursting through door after door slamming them into the walls as he charged through the halls he had run through not an hour earlier. He could only hope that his mother was ok before Summer had dispatched the assassin proper. Up the stairs again boots returning to the hard stone and now just a mad dash down the hall towards his brother's door. With all the remaining speed he could muster he charged in almost breaking the door down onto the floor, the scene before him was utterly horrifyingly shocking. In bed Bran remained still as a statue with Summer laying over his body muzzle bloody whining softly. On the floor was the broken bloody remains of what Robb could only assume to be the assassin that had attempted to strip his brother of his life. And finally slumped in the corner, hands cut deep, and bleeding profusely staring at Bran was his mother, she looked exhausted and pale about to drop down at any second.

Robb rushed over cradling his mother in his arms as she muttered incoherent words under her breath, eyes never leaving Bran’s body. Maester Luwin rushed in not a few seconds later and took stock of the situation no less shocked than Robb. Quickly he tended to Catelyn binding her deep wounds as best he could and despite her protests she was taken from Bran’s side and led away to the maesters chambers so that her wounds could properly be addressed with all the skill they required. Robb rushed to his brother's side to check on him. Still breathing, still asleep. He turned to Summer who looked just as pained and tired as his brother and mother, running a hand along his coat Robb smiled.

“Thank you… thank you for keeping watch over him.”

Summer gave a small whine as Robb gave a glance to the remains of the assassin. Rage rolling within his chest at the carcass. He had felt hate many times before, but looking at the once lanky crudely featured man in a puddle of his own blood and fluid on the floor, the man who had tried to sneak into a crippled child’s room to gut him as he lay quiet. And then to twist the dagger and try to silence his grieving mother. He wanted to drag the corpse out and give it to the kennel master’s for them to chop him up and feed him to the dogs at that very second. Moving over to inspect the wounds summer had so graciously provided the man, a deep violent series of gashes covered his pale thin neck, arteries and flesh ripped from the skin. As he looked upon the would be assassin his eyes fell lower to the fiends hand sprawled out over the floor, loosely held in his hand was the blade intended presumably for his brother's heart. Robb grabbed the blade inspecting it closely. And Robb's brow furrowed, taking a seat on a stool as Summer cleaned her muzzle, Robb held the blade to the light of a candle. It was a gorgeous blade, slender and sharp, a slight curve to it with an oddly ornate handle, base of what looked like black bone trimmed with gold a ruby set where the blade met the handle. This was gorgeous… far too gorgeous. This was not the blade of a common assassin or even a sellsword. Then Robb noticed the coloring and pattern of the blade, it brought to mind two other blades he had seen. The coloring and patterns resembled those on Ice and Dark-Sister. That's when he connected the dots. The blade was Valyerian Steel.

—------------------

Robb was hardly seen around the castle in the following days, he had taken up watch over Bran as his mother healed from her wounds. The stitches were in and the cuts were bandaged, she was finally catching up on some sorely needed sleep which she had refused herself to take ever since Bran was taken to bed. And when she did wake she was eating and drinking in a far more normal capacity than she was while at Bran’s bedside. Furthermore she was beginning to speak again, occasionally still but more so than she was previously. Mostly questions about father, Sansa, Arya, and Rickon generally keeping their concern in mind as well now. Whatever had happened that night, horrid as it may have been had seemingly knocked her out of whatever grief wrought stupor she fell into and had remained in for the past weeks. It would be a while before she was back to how she was before but she was returning slowly.

That still hardly calmed Robbs nerves in regards to Bran himself now that the attempt on his life was well and passed. Guards had been tripled and the staff thoroughly interrogated for all they could manage to find just short of torture. What had appeared to happen was a newer stable hand that had been brought into the castle not a few months back had been seen acting rather odd in the days following Bran’s fall. Many saw the shift in attitude and behavior about a week after the event had transpired. Seemingly on the night of the attempt or at least as far as Robb could gather the man had hid within the stables while the castle went to bed and had set a candle loosely on a patch of hay in the broken tower knowing few would think to look in there for obvious safety reasons. Once the fire had grown and gathered enough attention the assailant had moved into the great keep, waited for Robb to take the bait and investigate the fire, which he had done. And then enter the supposedly empty room and cut Bran’s throat or any number of awful execution methods, but Catelyn had been there, thankfully.

Robb was upset at himself for a number of reasons regarding this whole event. How quickly he had run to the immediate threat taking the assassin's bait perfectly. How he left his mother to fight tooth and nail for not only her own life but his brothers as well, along with the fact that she would have lost that fight had Summer not been as quick as he was. Robb felt it all a failure on his own end of things, he had run to take care of something else and left his family. His oath at the weirwood came to mind again ‘none of his kin should suffer unneeded harm’ well now how did that feel in comparison. Robb sulked for a while over this alone. He had made that oath and now was failing it. And he wouldn't let it happen again. The only thing that broke his thoughts of melancholy on occasion was his suspicions and thoughts about the dagger. It was often he would look at it for hours on end admiring and hating the gorgeous thing. He kept thinking, who could give this man such a weapon? Who could possibly give it?

It had been the topic of much debate with ser Rodrik when Robb had decided to leave the room on those scarce occasions. And Cassel had only confirmed his suspicions regarding the man's acquisition of the blade and the weapons craftsmanship in general. It was Valyrian steel and of damn fine make even in comparison to Ice. The handle turned out to be dragon bone and it was trimmed solid gold with a real ruby in its hilt. It was infinitely confusing to the pair as to how a cutthroat like this could find this blade let alone use it. The man could have sold it off himself and probably been set for life all things considered, no need to kill Bran for a reward at that point. That alone was unnervingly suspicious, maester Luwin had made the observation that if this was the case then not only was the blade given to the assassin, but it must have been given by someone with enough power and backing to make the man follow through with the deed and not sell it off for their own gain. And to Rodrik that meant a reward greater than Valyrian steel in gold. Which meant that someone extremely powerful wanted Bran dead for one reason or another.

The situation was now too suspicious and critical to let lay any longer than necessary. So Robb, Luwin, Cassel, Theon, and Catelyn once she was up were gathered in the godswood for a much needed conversation. As such when Lady Stark was on her feet again and moving about, the five entered the sacred grounds of the godswood, Catelyn walking ahead of the others turning around standing on the roots of the weirwood. It carried an odd symbolic weight to it. Robb felt that if a woman of the seven would state the importance of an issue on the symbol of the old gods then the matter had to be of dire consequence in some capacity. And so it was. Catelyn's voice was strained and concerned all at once an underlying feeling of fear to her words as she looked around again to ensure the fives' privacy.

“What I am about to tell you must remain between us. Do you all understand this?”

Robb and Theon nodded surely as did Luwin and Cassel who stood opposite the younger boys looking up to Lady Stark as she spoke from the roots of the tree.

“I don't think Bran fell from that tower… I think he was thrown.”

The concern rippled through all gathered, but sadly not shock or even surprise. Or at least not through Robb. At this point he had suspected there was more going on here than Bran losing his place on the tower's side and plummeting by accident. Elsewise how to explain the assassination attempt. Robb listened as Luwin spoke next softly and confidently.

“The boy was always sure footed before, there would be no reason that he dropped now so drastically and suddenly.”

Catelyn nodded to the maester. She had known her son’s capacity and skill in climbing despite her frustration with the habit, Bran was good, very good at what he did and no one in Winterfell would even bet on the chance of Bran Stark slipping while climbing. It sounded inane but the confidence held in his skill was damn near absolute, hence why it was such a shock when he did fall. So especially now foul play was looking all the more like a legitimate possibility. Catelyn spoke again.

“Someone tried to kill him twice… why? Why try to murder an innocent child unless he saw something he was not meant to see.”

Robb and Theon nodded. But it was Theon who broke the short silence.

“What do you think he saw my lady?”

Catelyn shot a glance to Theon pulling from her coat a few strands of golden blonde hair. She passed them to Robb who in turn showed them to Theon. Both quickly got a sense of what she was saying although Theon perhaps a bit slower than Robb who had been suspecting something like this.

“Earlier today I went to the broken tower to investigate the damage left by the fire. When I reached the upper floor I was looking around and noticed a large section of plants and foliage cleared roughly ripped from the walls. On the ground I found the strands of hair.”

Suddenly there was a new angle to consider. Robb had assumed the fire was started in the broken tower to get the eyes as far from the great keep as possible but now with this added there was even more suspicion added on. Had the fire been intentional for more than one reason? Perhaps to attempt a burning of all remaining evidence. Either way Robb was growing both more angry and suspicious.

“Mother, what are you suggesting?”

“I am suggesting that the Lannisters on their visit here were caught by Bran on accident, and whatever he bore witness to was enough for them to attempt to take his life not once but twice. We already have reason to suspect their loyalty to the crown.”

Now Theon was more intrigued and Robb was seething inwardly at the accusation out of agreement. And he walked forward, dagger in hand.

“There's more than that Mother. The blade the killer used. It's far too fine a weapon for someone of his stature to use. The blade is Valyerian steel and the handle dragon bone. Someone gave it to him, and that someone had to be powerful enough to ensure the man would not just sell it and reap the rewards for himself as opposed to doing the Job. Lannister gold might have insured his loyalty if not fear of Lord Tywin.”

Theon smiled and stood next to Robb speaking confidently.

“If it's war they want then I'll stand by you.”

Then he was abruptly cut off by Luwin.

“Is there going to be a battle in the godswood? Hmm?... Too easily words of war become acts of war young greyjoy.”

“Now is hardly the time for pretty words, old man. They have attempted to take Lord Stark’s son from this world. That requires a response.”

“On what notion? We have a fine dagger, golden hair, and suspicion to back our claims. How would that look against the power of the Lannisters, the power of the crown? Lord Tywin is not a man to be provoked, especially not now. We must ascertain the truth first, and Lord Stark must be informed of this.”

Catelyn spoke again.

“There is more on the matter, a few days before Lord Stark left for the capital we received a raven from Lysa Arryn saying that the Lannisterd had a hand in the death of Jon Arryn.”

That was new and only made the situation and feelings worse for all in the area. This was another intensely vile and dangerous accusation to make on the part of the Starks. But even if it was true, how could they prove it from here?

“All things considered I do not trust a raven with this information. It must be told to Lord Stark in person.”

“Let me go mother.”

“NO. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell… I will go myself.”

“Mother ya can't.”

“I must…”

Rodrik spoke softly

“I'll send Howel with a squad of guards to escort you.”

“A large party attracts unwanted attention, I do not wish the Lannisters to know I'm coming.”

“Then at least let me accompany you, my lady. The king's road can be a dangerous place for a woman alone.”

Luwin agreed with the sentiment and Catelyn seemed to accept the idea as she acquiesced.

“What about Bran?”

Cat looked to Robb with a saddened expression

“I have prayed to the seven every night for more than a month now… his life is in their hands and yours.”

Robb wanted to protest further at that instant, this was far too dangerous for his liking in all clear honesty. If the Lannisters were behind Bran’s two close encounters with death and another plot so closely tied with the crown then there was something far fouler than any of them expected afoot. Whatever information Bran had access to or whatever knowledge he held, whatever he had seen was more than enough to warrant his death in the eyes of the Lannisters, and not just that but assured silence at all costs. So to now declare your intention to travel south right into the jaws of the enemy with this sensitive of information was worrying for way too many sensible reasons.

“Mother I must protest, I feel this is a mistake for you to make.”

Catelyn looked to Robb then back to Cassel, Luwin, and Theon. She stood stoic and silent for a few minutes before waving her hand to them asking them silently to leave her and Robb alone for a while and they did comply. Robb moved to his mothers side in the meanwhile standing on the roots of the weirwood with her overlooking the clam and still reflecting pool a low mist hanging in the air as they spoke beneath the red leaves of the tree.

“Mother, I know you feel the ne-”

“Feel the need!? Robb, your father must know of this and I intend to deliver the message personally. I will risk no chances with this endeavor and you will accept that. Bran will need you here when he wakes up and you must see to both the running and preparation of the north. We do not have the time to wait and hope for the best.”

“But do you not see the dangers here? If the Lannisters catch wind of what you're doing they will get suspicious, then what? Our troubles will become worse and our peril graver.”

“I am more than aware and scared of the dangers that face me on this journey which is why I ask that you trust me to follow through on it safely. I will return with a better knowledge of the situation and with the comfort of knowing that your father can better prepare for the Lannisters' plots and tricks, whatever they are doing behind the throne cannot be allowed to stand much less if it threatens the lives of my children!”

“Mother, I would like to warn you against acting rashly here. Especially now.”

“Rashly!? My son has been thrown from a tower and almost had their heart pierced in the night by a sick cutthroat!! I feel as if im acting with the right amount of urgency under these conditions!!”

“Mother I must remind you of the lengths Lord Tywin will go to in response to an insult to his house. Everyone remembers the rains of Castamere for good reason. If we provoke him now that might send the North and Riverlands to war if he feels the slight is serious enough.”

It was by no means an unreasonable conclusion to make considering Tywin Lannisters reputation, far from it in fact. If he wiped out two houses for not returning on their debts alone then what would he do to a house that accuses his family of such incredible crimes, especially with what amounted to circumstantial evidence at best. Because in truth that was all they had, Luwin was right. They had hair, a dagger, a letter and some very suspicious circumstances, but that was it. Nothing definitive at all much less anything that could have a case built upon it. Conjecture would not stand in front of the king's justice. And for that insult alone Tywin Lannister would see them all hang come winter. And Robb was hardly willing to risk that especially given the added issue of the plot.

That had fallen by the waist side these past few days as Robb grieved and toiled alongside his mother at the state of Bran. but now that mother was going south it returned to the forefront of his mind if not temporarily. The entire plot still needed time to mature, not much more time but time still. Troops needed to be strengthened with more able bodies, ships still needed to be built and those that were finished needed to take to the seas. And above all allies still needed to be scouted out hence the entire reason that father and Jon had gone to the capital in the first place so that they could better graph their potential support amongst the other lords. But all of that maneuvering, all that planning would die if the Lannisters caught them off guard with some story of avenging a slight dished out by the Starks to justify their war. It was a risk that no one could afford right now and Robb was aware of that.

“Mother if you intend to do this you must promise to not act rashly or without immediate justification. We cannot have the Lannisters bearing down on us. Not now.”

Catelyn nodded her head to that at least, taking in her son’s words apparently and kissing his cheek before going off to pack her things for the journey ahead. It would be a long one and she had to move fast after all. But the pit in Robbs gut did not leave, it just lingered.

—-------------------

Robb remained in the godswood for a long time after his confrontation with his mother. He had bid her farewell but had come right back wishing for some peace and solace. He took a lonely seat on one of the weirwood roots, laying his head back allowing himself to drift into sleep for a while clutching his furs to keep warm as possible. It was dark so the temperature was dropping fast. But he had no clue for how long he was there in that state under the tree, hours, minutes, seconds. It didn't really matter because his sleep was not allowed to make it to its natural conclusion. Rather Robb woke up in a flash grasping for his sword at the sound of branches breaking nearby. He rose to his feet bringing his sword into a guard protecting the center of his body from any attacks incoming, even though none came from his sides or front and with his back to the tree he had no threats from there. Rather he let his eyes adjust to the dark waking up realizing a branch probably fell or an animal had woke him up. That was until his vision became clear, and by the reflecting pool in the night stood what looked to be a child.

Looking on her however, Robb soon came to realize that this was no child of the staff who cared for his family or the castle. This wasnt even a human child. The thing unnerved Robb to no end as he kept his sword raised poised to strike or defend. The thing had bark like skin covered by a patching of leaves and vines. Her eyes wide and green, cat like in look, hair a tangled mess of vines, fungus, and flowers. She was an absolutely odd sight. Something almost otherworldly yet something more of this world than anything Robb had seen in his life. He moved closer as the thing looked to him eyes glinting in the moonlight as the mist of the godswood hung over them both. The thing was unmoving and unnervingly quiet but it soon spoke in a high pitched but low and careful toned voice. Its tone is obviously aware not to wake the rest of the castle.

“Your godswood is lovely… I had half expected something smaller but this does the god’s respect. You should be proud.”

Robb was at an absolute loss of words at this point given the thing in front of him. He held his sword high and moved forward slowly, boots crunching on the fallen leaves that lay scattered about the yard. But the thing seemed unamused, giving a sly smile.

“Your brother and sister had much the same reaction I hope you know.”

“What did you do to them!?”

“Nothing Lord Stark. I just found the similarities funny is all.”

Robb wanted to begin berating the thing with questions, what was it, how did it know Jon and Arya, what was it doing here. All good questions but he kept it to one at a time.

“What are you?”

The thing turned on its heel walking over, odd eyes calm and relaxed.

“Well if you're so insistent on knowing you can call me by my name first.”

“And what is your name then?”

“Root. You can call me that.”

“Ok then Root… what are ye?”

“Quick to the point like your brother and sister… very well, you wouldn't want to try to call my kind in its proper tongue. You'd know me as a child of the forest… so to speak.”

Robb’s eyes widened but his sword remained up and pointed. If this thing was a child of the forest then in all honesty he wasn't sure what to make of it. Those were creatures of old Nan’s stories, nothing more, if they had existed they would be long gone. This had to be some joke. Some form of elaborate disguise in some effort to fool him… right? Granted looking at the thing in front of him he wasn't sure how false this could be. Root, unamused with his incoherent babbling simply took his sword by the point and moved it to the ground with her fingers eyebrow raised.

“I hardly think you're a fine host Lord Stark, normally a host does not point a blade at their guests.”

“Well I apologise but normally a guest introduces themselves at the gate with an announcement of their arrival, they don't just hang about in the godswood for the host to sleep and wake them!”

“Ok fair enough, my presence could have been better announced.”

“Better announced? How did you get in here in the first place?”

“I scaled the walls a few hours ago. It was surprisingly easy, perhaps you should consider posting more guards.”

The thing smirked again, so it had a sense of humor and a mouth to match, Robb rolled his eyes internally at that revelation. He hardly wanted to deal with a smart mouth right now. But he pressed on regardless. Robb refocused on learning what he could, he needed to know the purpose of her visit so naturally he asked that next calmly and inquisitively.

“Fine then Root… why are you here? What business do you come upon?”

Root dropped the sarcasm for a second cat like eyes going into a contemplative stare as if trying to figure out how to word her upcoming statements.

“I'm here on the request of your brother.”

“Jon?”

“Yes… when I met with him and your sister.”

“Which sister?”

“Arya.”

Robb was growing more interested in what she had to say with each word. Slowly lowering his sword as she spoke.

“Why?”

“Why what Lord Stark? Why did I talk to them or why did your brother send me?”

“...Both I suppose.”

“...Very well, I spoke with them to give them a warning.”

Robb immediately grew concerned again at that statement, hand tightly clutching his sword again as he looked into Root's wide eyes, trying to ascertain the extent to which she was lying and finding nothing but truth. He nodded his head for her to continue.

“And as for why your brother sent me to talk to you… he wished me to warn you as to what I told him.”

Jon was generally very proactive when it came to a major problem. He wanted to get it fixed and done with as soon as possible and did not cut corners. If he felt the need to warn him of something Robb would expect his brother to inform him by raven, but this situation was so beyond normal that Robb could hardly make something of the situation. So he continued his questions.

“Why? Why would he not just send a raven? Why send you?”

“Because the warning I gave him he barely believed. He hardly thought I was telling the truth and not just insane.”

“Why would that matter?”

“Because when a child of the forest warns you of a looming danger it adds quite a bit of weight to the warning does it not?”

Robb would agree with the logic if he wasn't already engrossed with the absurdity of the situation.

“Especially if that warning is supernatural.”

Now Robb was totally hooked. He looked at Root confused and curious speaking quietly as he jabbed the sword into the ground letting his hand rest on the pommel.

“...What exactly did you warn my brother about?”

“The true enemy.”

Robb was quiet for a second but Root spoke on.

“I am well aware of your plot Lord Stark. How you intend to restore your brother to what your people would call his rightful place.”

“How do you know about that?”

“Lord Reed has confided in me for years, i've known longer than you probably have.”

“You know Lord Reed?”

“Yes I do. We are rather close, one could say.”

Leave it to Howland Reed to have secrets of this magnitude hiding away in the neck. Robb would have to have a long conversation with him should he return. But for now he maintained his composure not bothering to let the thoughts of Lord Reed's secrets divert him from the topic at hand.

“How much do you know… of our plot?”

“All of it, the story of your brother's birth, the issues you face, the dragon.”

Robb shot Root a dangerous look.

“You misunderstand Lord Stark, I wish not to tell anyone, in fact I wish to help.”

“Help?”

“Yes I suppose so.”

Robb tapped the pommel of his sword looking at Root who was leaning against the trunk of the weirwood.

“This true enemy you spoke of… they were the reason Jon sent you to me?”

Root's mood coldened but she nodded.

“Yes… they are.”

“And who is the true enemy?”

“...The Others…”

Robb blinked a few times at the response, it hadn't been the one he expected but he quickly found his composure again and spoke almost dismissively.

“The others? As in the White Walkers?”

“Yes Lord Stark, the same.”

“I thought they were a myth?”

“As I said to your brother and sister, you assumed my kind was a myth, and if the others were a myth why do you have the wall? To keep out those you call wildlings? Do you really need such protection from them?”

Root stepped closer to Robb an intense look in her eye.

“Or was it built to hold back something far more dangerous? You tell me Lord Stark.”

Robb wanted to answer no but again the absurdity of the situation was ringing his head like a bell. He had grown up on the tales of the others, the long night and why the wall was built. But he never thought of them more than stories made to spook him. But here he was faced with the living representation of one such story telling him to beware another. It unnerved him, and in that unnerved state he began to lean towards acceptance.

“I-I um..”

Root walked right up to him glaring into his soul.

“Trust me when I say, that wall was built for a good reason. And what lies beyond is trying to get through it.”

“Even if what you say is true the wall has held them back all this time… why now?”

“I'm not sure why now. But from what I last heard… their host grows ever stronger, and they wish to bring winter on all that lies south of that wall.”

“...”

“Your brother to his credit seemed to take my words seriously, and as such he sent me to you for the same reasons. Hear this Lord Stark… your wall can't stand forever… they will try to find a way through and when they do… you can fill in the rest. Listen to your brother when he warns you.”

“...Why help us?”

“Because you have the dragon… your blood of the first men… you and your brother would understand the dire peril we are all in. If I could bring this up to anyone… it would be you.”

Robb contemplated the words, took them as they were for what they were, a dire and urgent warning. And he thought back to his visit to castle black, the stories Benjen had told him, the words Root adding another layer of danger to it all. Robb turned back to her.

“If what you say is true… then how long do we have?”

“A few years possibly.”

“That's hardly enough time to prepare.”

“You'll have to make it work. If you need your brother on this iron throne you must act fast.”

The two shared a look, and Robb spoke.

“Very well but I will have you do this. You will tell me everything you know, and you will stay with me as long as you can. Should you be right, I don't want you gone when I need you. Until further notice you may stay here in the godswood. Winterfell is yours.”

Root was surprised at the offer of hospitality and accepted. But as Robb left for the night to his bed he sat on his bed head braced in his hands as he thought. First Bran, then mother, now this. Everything was coming to a head, and Robb knew in that moment, something soon had to give.

Notes:

Thank you so much for the kind words last chapter and I hope you enjoyed this one, as always comments are always welcome.

Chapter 14: Jon V

Summary:

Jon while on the kingsroad finds something, hurts someone, and admits something.

Jon V

The days had been long on the road ever since leaving the neck which was really surprising considering how slow they moved through there. But now that they were moving through the Riverlands at what amounted to a snail's pace even considering their progress through the causeway one could be forgiven for thinking that they were moving at an astonishing rate previously. Ever since making it back into the open country the stops have become more prevalent and the hunts had grown longer. Undoubtedly the king was seizing upon as many opportunities as he could possibly get to hunt anything from stag to bore to rabbit with Ned. Admittedly if it wasn't for the news he had received in the neck Jon wouldn't have been too upset about this, in fact he might have been one of the few people in the caravan to be fine with the constant stops should that have been the case. It was his first time out of the north in his young life and he was happy to see what the rest of Westeros had to offer, the lush greens of the riverlands had been such a gorgeous sight from the duller colors of his homeland.

As such he would have wanted to make the most of this opportunity and taken as many of the experiences, sites, and landmarks as he could before moving on. That's why he would have been okay with the prevalent stops, chances to get up off the horse, look around and take in everything he was seeing as he was going, chances to relax and hang out with Arya. She had seemed to more easily stow away in the back of her mind the news they had received a few weeks ago now. Although Jon was sure she didn't forget, he was sure that she was trying to focus on other things while she could before everything inevitably went heads up when the plot and war started in earnest. It had been obvious she was doing this when she began to make new friends around the small folk of the camp, most notably the butcher's boy named Mycah. Jon had accompanied them on many of their interactions keeping watch over his little sister as he had promised his father. The butcher's boy was a nice kid, wild like Arya and red-haired with blue eyes but very sweet in demeanor.

The boy even had the kindness to sneak them extra cuts of meat when food inevitably came around, and Jon always had to thank him for that. Most days he would find them down by the river banks playing around with sticks whacking them about as if they were knights, and John had to admit he was very amused if not made a little more cheerful by the display. It seemed as if Arya had invited the boy to partake with her, Whether she was attempting to train herself for when she picked up needle or if she was just bored Jon couldn't really tell. And to be quite honest Jon didn't really care, He was just happy to see his little sister happy with someone around here at least other than him.

Sansa spent most days in the Wheelhouse with the queen, the princess and the little prince. Or with the crown prince, Who was still as of right now not held in high regards with Jon, the more they traveled the roads the less and less John ended up liking him. He was arrogant and he was often disrespectful to his servants and guard’s. But it was the little things that threw Jon off, the subtle things. A few nights ago Jon had noticed a fight break out over what appeared to be some debate on the food, things turned violent pretty quick but that wasn't what upset him, he had caught a glimpse of the Crown Prince looking at the fight from the far corner of the camp but even in the light of the fire pit he could see the smile on his face and not just a smile of amusement a smile of some sort of glee.

Jon was never one to take pleasure and violence far from it. You could have fun on the training yard yes but when it came to real physical altercations he wished to end it quickly and quietly as he could, the last thing he needed was bloodshed. The Crown Prince on the other hand seemed to take quite a bit of pleasure in the pain of others. Whether it be through his insults, his mockery, his poorly veiled threats or blatant threats or even when he observed violence from a distance John could see a sadistic glee on his countenance. That's what encouraged him to keep an eye on Sansa more, he knew she wouldn't like him openly standing beside her keeping her away from her supposed love so he took to watching her from a distance generally but being no less vigilant than he was with Arya. He vowed that should he see one slip from the prince, one instance where he might go and harm her he would intervene immediately regardless of the consequences. He knew the queen would have his hide for such an action but frankly if it meant that his sisters were safe he would take that beating.

But as of right now those weren't the thoughts on his mind Sansa was safe back at the camp with their father, his focus right now was on Arya and Mycah, they were staying at the crossroads inn For a few days looking to resupply the caravan before making the push deeper into the Riverlands and then hopefully to the capital, So today the two kids had gone over to the trident to look around and have some fun as they usually did, Jon dutifully accompanied them. It was a nice change of pace to just relax and watch them skip and run along the banks of the river. It was in some ways rather relaxing, the sound of the water flowing next to him as the pair made their way along getting their trousers muddied as they went. It made for an idyllic scene. Eventually the pair had stopped and began digging in the mud or looking into the water. Curious Jon moved closer, his sword and dagger shaking as he walked.

“May I ask what you both are up to?”

“Apologies Lord Snow, we didn't mean to get away from you.”

Jon Laughed at the boy's concern, he had taken to calling Jon by his nickname for formalities sake, or at Aryas insistence, either way Jon found it rather endearing all things considered.

“It's quite alright Mycah.”

“Thank you Lord Snow.”

“But if I might ask again what are ya both up to?”

“Oh umm… Lady Arya said that she wanted to look for some of Prince Rhaegar's rubies.”

There was a sudden shot of emotion through John's heart at that he wasn't sure why, but he felt a quick and sharp feeling of grief pierce his heart like a spear only for it to dissipate in a quick second. The reminder of what happened at this spot those years ago brought a distinctive sorrow to his heart, grief for a multitude of things came to mind, namely never knowing the man who had sired him and mourning a future that never would be. All the while the man who had brought the hammer down on his fathers chest sat not a few miles away drinking and lusting, recounting the battle as a grand tale of war. Jon regained his composure not wanting to worry the poor boy patting him on the shoulder.

“I see, well get on your way then, it's hardly smart to keep my sister waiting.”

“Thank you M’lord.”

The boy ran off to rejoin Arya and Nymeria as Jon lagged behind. He looked into the water of the ford running an ungloved hand through it. He breathed deeply in the early morning sunlight as he did so, feeling it bake his skin as he clutched for something that wasn't there or he didn't realize he reached for, by the time he came to his senses he saw the kids much farther down than he had left them. He shook his head and began to move. Calling out to Arya.

“You know what father says about you running off.”

“I do, and that's why I walked.”

“Now's not the time for jokes, little sister, just try to keep close would you please?”

Arya wanted to protest further but Jon just gave his sister a look. An encouragement to not push their fathers words. And thankfully she conceded, granted not kindly but she kept to her word. But their search would end up taking up the better half of the day up and down the banks. They went over and over and over again. Nymeria often catching scents and losing them or going off to play with Ghost who had also accompanied them. But by lunch time both Arya’s and Mycah’s clothes were utterly caked in mud from the waist down. Jon thankfully had kept most of the messiness to his boots alone.

But he knew father would not appreciate how messy they had gotten in their search; it would almost definitely demand that they scrub the clothes out themselves. Jon knew Arya would not envy that job but what could he really do in all honesty. But as he leaned against a tree allowing the two children to start digging in another part of the ford which they had decided to stop at he allowed his mind to drift off into deep thought. Really about anything that came to mind, the road, the sights, Ghost and Weirya. A smile always came to his lips when he thought of Dany, and a frown when he thought of the long night, it always seemed to rattle him when he did so.

His thoughts were broken by the excited yelling of the young butcher's boy and the unusually mournful look of his sister. Jon, noticing the difference in the two reactions, began to move off the tree and walk over ghost choosing to stay under the shade of the tree obviously not particularly liking the warm southern weather.

“What's going on? Is everything alright?”

Mycah looked at Jon then Arya clearly giddy.

“Go on show him!”

Arya looked rather hesitant but walked up to Jon reaching for his hand and taking it. Putting something hard and cold in it. Jon was confused but he took the item regardless, Arya stepped back Mycah bouncing on his heels. Jon opened his palm to a muddy stone, brushing aside some of the grime with his finger he noticed it shone a beautiful red in the sunlight, a clear stone. A ruby. It was then that Jon realized Arya’s reluctance to show him what she had found, and it hit him as well just what he was holding. Right there in his hand was one of Prince Rhaegar's rubies, one of his fathers rubies.

“Isn't it pretty?”

Jon nodded idly and thankfully Arya got the picture telling Mycah to go back a bit and give her and Jon some alone time. He complied and rushed off, Jon and Arya remained. Jon gave a half hearted laugh.

“Didnt think youd find one.”

“Neither did I…”

“Well… that's…”

Jon tried to come up with some response to her but found the words stuck in his throat. It shouldn’t hurt. He didn’t want it to hurt. But he couldn’t look away from the glinting stone in his hand. Arya walked over and put a hand on his arm, with that Jon could look at her, she looked worried and Jon noticed the small tears rolling out of his eyes over his cheeks.

“I’m sorry Jon… I didn’t mean to.”

”It’s ok… Arya. I don’t mean to concern you.”

“…keep it.”

Jon wanted to protest, wanted to give it back, wanted to chuck it back into the river to let it be lost again. He wasn’t sure what to think of it. But what he did was grasp that ruby tightly in his hand. He held it tight as Arya rejoined Mycah, he held it tight as they walked back to the camp, and he held it tight all night long.

————————

The following morning Arya didn’t push her luck with more ruby hunts. And Jon could tell that she was in some way trying to not make his conflicted feelings on the whole matter any worse. She didn’t want to plague him with more confused grief. And he was thankful for her thoughtfulness and respect, he was grateful as well that they weren’t going to attempt any more hunts. Rather Arya wanted today to attempt something more productive with both Jon and Mycah. Jon had only rolled out of bed that morning when Arya came in quietly, he was feeling much better now having stowed away the ruby in his bag tightly. After a long contemplation he had decided to keep it for himself, an odd piece of memorabilia one could say. Perhaps he would have it put into a necklace or kept away. He wasn’t sure as of yet.

“Are you feeling any better?”

“…Aye. I’m sorry about yesterday… not sure what came over me.”

“It’s alright, I understand.”

Jon smiled to Arya who gave a small smirk back.

“So… what brings you in here at this hour of the morning?”

Arya moved over and grabbed Jons weapons for him as he fashioned his belt into place, sliding them securely against his gut. He ran a hand through his dark curls to straighten them out.

“I wanted to practice some more with you. With the sticks.”

Jon cocked an eyebrow. It was to be expected that Arya would want to try her hand at sword practice yet again. Jon had been acting as what amounted to a master of arms for her during the trip. It was by no means an uncommon dynamic between them but it had unfortunately been paused during his and Robb’s tour of the north. But now that he and Arya were traveling together he was more than happy to return to that state of affairs. Granted he would not have her bring out needle amongst the king's men. So they stuck to sticks. Mycah had joined in when Arya met him and Jon was more than happy to humor the young boy to teach him a thing or two as well. After all, it would help Arya to spar with someone relatively the same size and age as her and on the same relative skill level to practice her moves as opposed to constantly getting her hand whacked by Jon.

As such Jon got out of his small tent and walked with Arya through the camp the crossroads inn a ways down the road hosting the king and father for what amounted to their morning feast. Sansa he knew would be with father right now enjoying their food so he didn’t need to worry about her right now. He adjusted his tunic and followed his excited sister down to the banks of the river a ways away from where they had been yesterday. Mycah had followed shortly after smelling of the meat wagon all the time, not that Jon minded really. Arya had brought training sticks she pilfered from the master at arms in the night a few weeks back, she passed one to Mycah as they ran the wolves following close behind Ghost staying close to Jon and Nymeria with Arya. He ran a hand through Ghost's fur as he trotted along panting all the while. He occasionally took dips in the river to cool off which Jon wished he could sometimes do.

But eventually they found a small spot of grass not dominated by trees close to the running river. It was a quiet spot and the wolves seemed to like it as they got about playing by themselves or waiting by the trees. Jon for his part readied his sword keeping distance between the children who raised their sticks into a guard Jon had taught them a few weeks back. He looked at their stances moving over to adjust Mycah’s.

“Your legs are too close together, and you're holding the blade too tight. You need to allow yourself some flexibility.”

The boy nodded to the advice and followed it as best he could. Which made Jon happy, he was by no means perfect but the willingness to learn was what made the efforts worthwhile at least to him. He stood back ready to continue his lessons as he returned to face the children from a distance. He ran them through some basic swings and strikes. A few blocks and jabs here and there to mix things up. So when he finally got through some basic drills he encouraged the two to practice what they had been taught by sparring. The crack of wood was soft at first as the pair were getting used to the movements, Jon intervening ever so often to sure up their strikes or blocks. But for a while they seemed to get the hang of it, confidence growing naturally as they went. Their moves quickened and Arya began to incorporate some more advanced techniques into her strikes much to Jon’s delight.

Occasionally he would send feelings of happiness and joy through his bond hoping Weirya might get them and that her day would be brightened because of it. He missed her on days like these, he had hardly gotten to speak with her when Root had exposed herself to him and now all he yearned for was another chance to run his hand along her gleaming white scales, to feel the warmth of her fire dance across his fingers again. It was a very sweet thought.

“I think I got the size of it, Lord Snow!”

Arya scoffed and responded.

“Please, you're still holding it all wrong and out of sorts.”

“Oh and how would you know?”

“Because I've been at this way longer than you!”

“I couldn't tell.”

Arya started chasing Mycah around swinging the stick loosely and more playfully just trying to avenge the slight heaped upon her by the butcher's boy, left right up down she swung with the boy giving half hearted blocks and redirects to keep her at bay while he ran around the field of grass. All the while Jon laughed to himself standing in the corner watching the two swing with little to no coordination. It reminded him of when he and Robb were just starting out with wooden blades, more swinging for fun than practice. It was both hilarious and endearing. So Jon let the two run about the grass for a long while, in truth he wasn't sure how long but enough to get them into a semi worn out state. Their breathing growing more labored and strained as they started to slow in their movements. Jon was going to go down and reestablish some sense of order. All off put by Sansa’s voice.

“ARYA?”

That's when they all heard a gross chuckling from the bushes, stumbling down and into the clearing was two people, Sansa dressed well and pretty obviously not having intended to go this far from the camp. And Joffrey. He looked only slightly less put together than Sansa all things considered but he still moved with a regality one would expect from someone of his status. But oddly in his hand he held a dripping water skin, but it wasn't water he was drinking as evident by the small thin red line running down his lips which he wiped off quickly, wine. Immediately Jon moved to ready himself for an uncomfortable encounter, Arya looking on in disgust and Mycah fearful of the prince. Jon positioned himself close to Arya first as Sansa stayed back seemingly confused by the whole situation she had found the three in. Jon looking at the wolves in the trees shook his head trying to signal them to remain calm and out of the way. If something happened now he didn't want them to be hurt because of their actions. So he steeled his face and looked to the crown prince awaiting what he would say. Arya spoke first.

“What are you doing here?”

Joffrey stepped forward into the sunlight, golden hair gleaming as he spoke with a sneer to his voice.

“Your sister? And who are you boy?”

Mycah, looking rather stressed, answered quickly not wanting to mince words with the prince.

“Mycah, M’lord.”

Sansa replied next with an odd disgust to her voice that Jon hadn't heard before.

“He's the butcher's boy.”

“He’s my friend!”

Joffrey looked more amused by the second continuing on.

“A butcher's boy who wants to be a knight eh?”

Joffrey looked at him again and a sick little smile grew across his lips. Drawing his steel blade from its scabbard the fear in the young butcher's boy's eye was clear.

“Pick up your sword then butcher's boy. Let’s see your worth.”

Jon then intervened properly, putting himself between the prince and Mycah not wishing this to escalate any further than it already had.

“Apologies my prince, we will be on our way.”

Joffrey looked Jon up and down, a sneer breaking his smile. He spoke back.

“You're the bastard aren't you? The one who insulted my mother.”

Jon looked confused, in his interactions with the queen he had never thrown a bard or verbal jab her way so he was interested to hear the prince's reasoning.

“The one who sat with Lord Stark's son beneath her gaze as if he were anything but a stain. And now you dare stand in my way as I attempt to answer for this boy’s crime. He was hitting the lady you were sworn to protect. Did you not see that?”

Mycah attempted to retort while Arya stewed with rage grasping her stick tightly, he responded hastily.

“She asked me to M’lord, I was just practicing with Lord Snow an-”

Joffrey cut him off with a quick glance his way.

“I'm your prince… not your lord. And don't call him that, he’s not a lord.”

Jon bristled at the comment but he would deal with that later, he had to defuse the situation first.

“Again my apologies my prince, no insult was meant, and we will be on our way. It was just a stick after all. Not a sword.”

“And you're not a Lord… and he is not a Knight, only a butcher's boy… but you will pick it up regardless. Now stand aside bastard.”

Joffrey was scowling trying to look intimidating and failing which Jon inwardly laughed at. But he stood his ground regardless not moving. Much to Joffrey's annoyance. He turned to Mycah again.

“That was my lady’s sister you were striking di-”

“STOP IT!!”

“ARYA STAY OUT OF THIS!!!”

Jon stood his ground against the prince but made no moves against him yet.

“I wont hurt him… much.”

That's when Arya lost it, swinging her stick right into Joffrey's thigh with a loud harsh crack sending him stumbling. Mycah ran for the woods Sansa started yelling as did Joffrey who began attempting to strike down Arya with the sword with wild wide swings cursing her all the while.

“FILTHY LITTLE BITCH, I'LL GUT YOU, YOU LITTLE CUNT!!!”

Jon within the flash of a second drew his sword, having to act now bringing it through the air intercepting Joffrey’s blade with a loud clang of steel.

“STOP IT STOP IT YOU'RE SPOILING EVERYTHING!!!”

Joffrey was surprised by the fact that Jon actually raised his blade to him, growing only more furious continuing to strike on and on. But Jon was not impressed by the little prince. Far from it actually. His strikes were unbalanced and undisciplined, weak and rage filled. It was honestly pathetic so Jon kept his gaur up on the defensive hoping to wear the prince into submission while Arya held the wolves back all the while Sansa panicked. But Jon, attempting to disarm the prince trying to bring the tantrum to an end, didn't anticipate how weak the boy's guard was. His blade went straight through his guard and right into his ungloved hand scratching it, it wasn't a mortal wound or even a truly deep one by any means. But it was enough to send the child to the ground wailing for his life. Arya jumped to grab the discarded sword and chucked it into the river. Jon was sure Sansa was crying by now as was Joffrey. But Jon did not hold his sword to the boy's throat or anything of the sort, he simply returned his blade to its scabbard and took in the scene. Arya had bolted with the wolves into the woods trying to keep them out of harm's way, as the Lannister guards rushed over they saw Jon standing over the prince clutching his bloody hand. Jon didn't resist as they roughly dragged him off.

—--------------

Jon spent the rest of the day in irons held in a goat pen to act as a makeshift prison. Three Lannister guards were watching over him the entire time. Many sneered at him but frankly he didn't care too much. His main concern was the whereabouts of the children, Arya had not been found just yet and from the sound of it father had not been alerted of his imprisonment. He tried to sleep through experience but no such luck found him. He thought and thought about the encounter with the prince, his terror and sadistic glee only making his stomach twist more. How that boy was the son of Robert Baratheon he had no clue, he really was more lion than stag. But he was rudely broken from his thoughts with a violent yank on the back of his shirt, he was dragged to his feet and pushed forward. The darkness surrounded the crossroads inn as he was marched inside under guard at spear point.

Inside the Inn the entire noble gathering of the caravan was gathered with the center of the room cleared, there stood Arya who took one look at Jon and tried to go to him only to be stopped by the guards. The queen and prince stood by the king who sat on a raised platform overlooking the room, the prince's hand was bandaged tightly with the queen herself glaring daggers at Jon. Then Jon realized what this was, it was his trial. Jon was about to step forward when father burst in his household guard right behind him as he rushed forward he took in the scene and the rage was apparent. Arya rushed to him and he hugged her close, she apologized so many times but father only cared if she was hurt. Jon looked at him as Ned yelled out.

“What is the meaning of this!? Why weren't my children brought to me once they were found!?”

Cersei smugly responded.

“You dare speak to your king that way?”

“QUIET WOMAN.”

Robert's voice boomed across the room as he turned back to Ned.

“Sorry Ned, never meant to frighten the girl or harm the boy, but we need to get this business done with.”

Before Ned could respond the queen spoke again.

“Your daughter and bastard with the butcher's boy attacked my son. Your bastard almost cut his hand off.”

“THAT'S NOT TRUE!! He was threatening to hurt Mycah and tried to hurt me!” Aryas response was direct and immediate, wanting to dispel any lies the queen spouted as quickly as she could.

“Joffrey told us what happened, you and that boy held him down while the bastard tried to strike him down.” The queen’s voice was low and conceded as she spoke off put by Aryas insolence.

“THAT'S NOT WHAT HAPPENED!!!”

“YES IT IS, they struck at me and she threw my sword in the river!”

“LIAR!”

“SHUT UP!!”

“ENOUGH!!” Robert spoke again. “HE TELLS ME ONE THING SHE TELLS ME ANOTHER WHAT AM I TO MAKE OF THIS!?”

“Your grace if we might allow Jon to share his side of the story.” Ned looked to Jon with a nod of acknowledgment. But the queen immediately protested.

“Hardly, the word of a bastard is not to be trusted regardless, and he is the one who savaged my son. I will not allow his lies to poison this conversation.”

“Is he not allowed to speak for himself? To defend his actions, your grace?”

Robert considered Ned’s words for a second before speaking again.

“Bring forth your other daughter first then I’ll consider it. Where is she Ned?”

“She’s asleep, your grace.”

“No she is not.” Cersei smiled as she spoke softly. “Sansa, come forward darling.”

Sansa walked forward tired and scared as she looked at the muddied Jon. What seemed to be a look of sympathy crossed her face, but she walked forward in front of the king.

“Now child, tell me what happened. Tell it all and tell it true. It is a great crime to lie to a king.”

Sansa looked around the room, silent and scared. All eyes fell on her and all held their breath waiting for her words. Jon was tense with what she would say, he really had no indication if she would support him or not. But she eventually did speak.

“I… I don't know. I don't remember, it all happened so quickly… I didn't see.”

Arya, enraged grabbed Sansa's hair pulling it hard.

“LIAR, LIAR, LIAR!!!”

“ARYA STOP!!!” Jon’s yell was answered with a kick in the back of the knee sending him stumbling for a second. Arya was pulled from her sister by Ned only for Robert to establish order. All the while the queen smirked.

“NED, CALM YOUR DAUGHTER… Ok then have the bastard come forth.”

The guards finally made way for Jon as he stepped to the center of the room, chains clattering as he walked, the noblemen and women whispering as he passed. He stepped up with a solid resolve on his face.

“Now boy, tell us your end of things and make it quick.”

Jon considered whether or not he should lie in that moment, he looked to Arya and Sansa, then to the queen and Joffrey. He already made enemies of them at this point regardless of his answer, so he resolved to finish this farce quickly.

“The prince was exchanging words with me and Lady Stark, the butcher's boy had nothing to do with this, words turned to actions fast on the prince's end and he swung his sword. I reached for mine to protect Lady Stark as is my job as her sworn sword. And as I was trying to block a strike of his, his guard slipped and the blade found his hand, there was no intention of anything but defense and I meant not to harm the prince. But if punishment must be dealt, I will take it all.”

Arya looked horrified at what amounted to a confession to keep her and Mycah out of danger, the same went for Sansa and Ned’s reaction. The queen had a sneer on her face obviously thinking she had won the fight, Joffrey looked embarrassed by the recollection. The reaction that surprised Jon was Robert. His look was not one of rage or hate, but of contemplation, he looked to Ned then to Jon again.

“You admit to striking my son?”

“I admit to defending my Lord’s daughter and upholding my oath’s, if that is a crime then yes I am guilty.”

Cersei spoke next. Wanting to take the momentum of the conversation in her favor.

“He admits to it. I want his head.”

Jon felt a flash of fear run through him as Arya yelled in protest held back by Ned alone, seven hell’s she looked as if she would kill the queen there if she could. But she continued on.

“He has struck your son and heir my love, the punishment is only fitting. Joffrey will bear these scars for the rest of his life.”

Robert looked at her then Jon. Then to Joffrey.

“Show me the wound boy.”

Joffrey complied as Robert unwrapped the bandage and immediately looked disappointed, looking up to his eldest child who seemed scared Robert said.

“I've had worse cuts from kitchen knives! And you wish me to send the boy to death over this?”

The queen began to turn red with rage at the king's words, Robert looked to Jon again.

“I won't send you to the chopping block yet. But I will see this slight answered. I Robert of the house Baratheon first of my name, sentence Jon Snow to be flogged.”

Jon was scared still but marginally less so now that he wasn't going to be killed tonight. The reactions of Arya, Sansa, and Father were hardly any kinder. Sansa was white with dread, Ned was still trying to hold back Arya who was screaming in protest as Jon was dragged outside by the Lannister guards still shackled. Mentally he braced himself for what was about to come. He didn't like the thought regardless and he knew it would hurt, it would hurt bad. He knew that if it wasn't properly treated he could die of a resulting infection. And he knew it would bring nothing but pleasure to the queen and prince. But if it was him being whipped to pieces and not Arya, then he was willing to take the pain.

They dragged him back to the goat pen he had been held in hours earlier taking roped and leather bands tying him to the wooden posts arms spread apart to get the full of his back exposed. They removed him of his tunic and shirt, tearing them off as they backed away. Jon strained against the restraints trying to see if they would break. They would not. Jon tried to look behind him and could make out the dozens of forms surrounding him intent on watching the display. Everyone liked a show he reasoned. Robert stepped up a long bullwhip in hand he ran it through his fingers for a second as the crowd stepped back.

Many thoughts ran through Jon’s mind as he waited for the inevitable pain. He tried to focus on something to take his thoughts away. He felt the concern of Wierya latching onto his heart. Perhaps he had been unknowingly sending her his emotions all this time, or maybe she just knew. His thoughts turned to Daenerys, warm smile and silver hair bringing some comfort in tandem with Weiryas growing panic. He hoped she was nowhere near people when the strikes came down. It was quiet now save for Arya’s protests. Jon tightened his grip on the restraints hearing the whip dragging on the ground.

CRACK

The first strike hit him with such speed he scarcely felt it at first, but the pain set in soon after, he could feel the blood run down his back.

CRACK

The second strike was lower, over his spine the gash was. The pain was faster on this one, like a searing flame.

CRACK

CRACK

CRACK

He barely had time to let the analysis of the pain set in with the next strikes. He was feeling dizzy and lightheaded. But the blood flowed all the same.

CRACK

CRACK

CRACK

CRACK

By now he couldn't even feel the blood run down his back. He just tried to dull his senses any way he could, and even though she wasn't anywhere near here he could hear Weirya screaming.

CRACK

The tenth and last lashing was the weakest, he suspected Robert wished to be done with the whole ordeal. But Jon had made no sound the whole while, no whimper or labored breath, total silence the entire time. He was removed of his bindings by the guards who by the king's orders were to not return him to irons. He looked to the queen and prince, both with smiles on their faces as they left satisfied with the display. As did the majority of the crowd along with the king, Sansa walked away unsteady and possibly crying, he couldn't see.. But surprisingly amongst those who stayed, his father and Arya, was Ser Barristan. The old knight was without his helm and the look on his face spoke a thousand words. Chief among them realization and regret. Jon had noticed the looks the knight had directed towards him on the road and now looking at him, he assumed he knew. But Jon couldn't question him as he stumbled forward, the two men grabbing him by the arms keeping him up.

“It hurts…” Jon’s voice was strained and pained as expected.

“You'll be ok son… I'm proud of you.” Ned’s voice was a much needed comfort in this moment as was Arya's presence.

Jon could feel every step as they walked him to the maesters tent who got to work immediately. The wounds were jagged and messy, as were the stitchings that would hold them together. They would scar but he would live. As he languished in the tent Arya was asleep on the floor Ned was gathering a small host of house guards led by Jorey to make sure the Lannisters didn't try anything else. But Barristan was awake with Jon in the tent. He was off his watch so he spent his time with the young man as his breaths remained pained and weak. But the look in his eye and the iron grip he had on the pommel of his sword spoke to his true intentions. He was guarding him. He spoke softly and quietly.

“When you have the chance to look… you really do resemble your father,”

Jon smirked, he got the double meaning. But he still had to ask in a pained voice.

“Will you tell them?”

Barristan shook his head. Looking to him with an intensity in his glare.

“No… I will not break my oath again.”

“...what have I done to deserve such loyalty?”

“...you took the punishment so your family would not. You knew the consequences of striking the prince but you held to your oath regardless.”

Jon smiled to the old knight. But Barristan spoke now in a shaky voice, eyes still fixed on Jon.

“On the trident, I took Robert's pardon… I should have stuck by my oath that day and died with him… but I chose life. And here I sit with his son after I watched him be whipped bloody for staying true to his word.”

“Ser Barristan… I will not have you break your oath to Robert.”

“No… then let me fulfill my oath to Rhaegar.”

The old knight shifted out of his seat moving to a knee. He looked around to make sure they were alone and they were.

“I reswear my oath to house Targaryen, to prince Rhaegar, to stand by and protect his children from all harm, and to see them safe, I swear this by the old gods and the new.”

Jon wanted to protest but he knew the old Knight would not have it, he had sworn his oath, and so Jon reached out and took his armored hand.

“...Then I accept.”

With that Jon fell asleep.

—------------------

Waking up to the bright sun and the most comforting warmth he could imagine he knew where he was. But the pain on his back remained for some reason. Reaching back there he felt the gnawing sting rip through his body so bad he thought he may collapse. Ghost was by his side at least, nuzzling his hand in concern, whining loudly. Jon ran a hand over his head trying to calm him to little avail. He was too hurt to run this time so he walked as carefully as he could up to the hill. Daenerys by the time he was even approaching the hill was already moving down, dressed in black and red moving in the breeze. She seemed happy and her hair had changed again, having been cut even shorter now, barely reaching below her jaw if it weren't kept in a tight braid at the back of her head. Jon had to smile at her, beautiful as ever.

That was before she noticed his extremely pained state. Her look darkened with worry, quickly shifting pace, beginning to run down the hill Ghosts reaction only making her worry worse. Once she got down to him he smiled weakly. She reached out to hug him which he did not deny but the second her hands made it to his back he yelped in pain. Dany moved back, hands remaining on his shoulders a look of concern on her face if not straight panic. She looked him dead in the eyes and he could already see the pure untamed rage growing behind them. She spoke softly but there was no denying the rage in her voice.

“What happened?”

Jon took an uneasy painful breath.

“The crown prince… tried to strike at Arya. I stopped him and cut his hand by mistake.”

Daenerys lip tightened face starting to redden,

“And how did they answer this?”

“Ten lashings… nothing more.”

She closed her eyes, grip tightening on his shoulders as she did. Jon’s own hands had found their way to her sides keeping her close as she grappled with Jon’s words. She took a hand from his shoulder and ran them down his back gently, she could feel the jagged torn flesh even through the fabric Jon wore all the while her lips tightened and her scowl grew more furious. She spoke through gritted teeth.

“Do you remember what I said when you left to go south?”

“Aye…”

“...What did I say?”

“If they hurt me in any way, so much as a cut on the finger, you would honor our family words. And there would be none that will prevent you.”

“Indeed.”

“So… what are you going to say to keep me over here now?”

Jon thought for a second before taking one of her hands in his, brushing her knuckles with his thumb.

“I would ask you to stay safe, to wait for your dragons to be ready. To know that we haven't begun our march. Nor will we for some months.”

“Wait… that's what you tell me? To wait!?”

“I ask that you know I am not alone… this was to protect my sister. And I can live with it.”

“Are you trying to keep me away? Is there something about me that puts you to worry? Do I frighten you?” Her voice was almost at a quiver with emotions, she was angry, pained, and in some ways confused.

“No Daenerys… none of those.” Jon’s voice was by contrast reassuring and trying to keep things straight as he held her hand tightly.

“...Then what?! … Why!?... Why keep me away this long!? I have known you for as long as I can remember, you taught me what I know of our family, you have been there when I needed you, you have made sure my brother didn't break me then… you had people save me from half a world away… WHY CANT I HELP YOU!?” Jon could see the tears rolling down her cheeks as she spoke in frustrated rage. And Jon felt a sense of easiness wash over him. A calm confidence that made the pain go away for a minute as she held his hand tight.

“...Because I wish to give you a home where you won't be hunted for stepping foot on its soil… to kill the assassins and plotters trying to undermine you… to give you a keep so that you might fly our house sigil without fear…” Jon was telling the truth, but Daenerys knew there was something more to his thoughts. And she knew what it was, he knew, but she wanted to hear it. And she would.

“Why…?”

Jon felt a sense of resolve wash over him taking her hand against his heart, its beats slow and steady, but strong, so very strong. She looked him in the eye’s and he gave her the answer she wanted, and needed to hear, and the answer he had wanted to give for years now.

“Because I love you…”

She froze, eyes watery and pained. Jon continued.

“I love you and don't want to see you here while it remains unsafe.”

Daenerys moved close to him, caressing his cheek with her hand. And she spoke not in an enraged voice but one of sadness and strained love.

“I love you too, and as such I won't stand by as you're whipped and beaten by the usurper and his queen.”

“Daenerys.”

“NO… you saved me from a terrible fate… and here I sit while you, your brothers and sisters do our fighting for us… for me. You do not stand alone… you have one dragon, I have three. And I will not wait while you tear the realm and yourself apart just so that I may step in afterwards and reap the rewards bought with blood and death while I did nothing…”

Jon couldn't help but smile at her fire, he had always loved her defiance when it showed through. And so she continued.

“You do not have the numbers to win a war now… so I will help. I will raise my own host, I will sail west, and I will stand with you as we take back what belongs to our family… and you will not keep me here. Am I clear?”

“...Aye. You are.” Jon spoke softly with a smile on his lips.

Daenerys looked at him for a while longer. Then she took his head in her hands. Leaned up, and kissed him. His eyes fluttered shut at the contact of her lips. For a while all pain truly left him replaced by sheer bliss in the moment. He moved his hands to her back as she kept hold of his head. They stayed that way for a long time separating after what felt like an eternity. Jon could barely contemplate what had just happened but he knew he wanted more, so he kissed her this time leaning down to meet her as she ran her fingers through his dark hair. He didn't want anything else in that second, nothing at all but her. When she broke again she was red in the face as was he but she held his face in her hands still as his arms had wrapped around her waist the pair staying close as could be. The wind whipped around them and the sun shined down. The field was alive and they were in love. Daenerys spoke first, breaking the silence.

“I will gather an army, I will come home. And we will take all that we are owed. And we will be there together… I promise you that.”

“It would seem I can't deny you that. Nor will I attempt to ever again.”

She smiled and ran her hand along his back sickening at the feeling of torn flesh beneath his clothes. She looked back to him tracing lines along his neck with her finger sending shivers through his body. She moved close again and kissed him once more as he returned the kiss. They remained like that for a while, the pair just enjoying each other, safe in their romantic bliss. Even as Ghost sat by observing the display, even as the sun beat down on the both of them, even as Eddaron and Weirya began their dance of flight and flame signaling the imminent end of the dream. Jon and Daenerys only indulged in each other, lips never parting as the fields began to fade around them, both wishing for more the last thing they woke up to was the linger of the others lips on their own.

Notes:

Thank you for the kind words last chapter, I hope you enjoy this one, and as always comments are welcome.

Chapter 15: Varys I / Daenerys II

Summary:

Varys recounts the chaos in Essos and plays the game in the capitol. meanwhile Daenerys and Howland discuss their next move home.

Varys I / Daenerys II

So many new songs from across the realm had found their way to his ears. So many new songs had been heard from his little birds in Essos. All the time he had traded in secrets he believed himself the best, and he very well might be. No master of whispers in history, even the notorious bloodraven could match his reach. There were little limits to his influence which is probably why Robert Baratheon had kept him around after Aerys death. But all that had come through this time was just more whispers and gossip, nothing concrete or substantial to make any claims off of. And that was starting to become extremely frustrating, something he seldom felt. This was beyond frustrating even, birds in every city from Braavos to Volantis and no one could provide even the smallest indication, rumor, or gossip on the topic he desired more than anything to be answered. Not since the absolute abominable failure of the wedding almost two to three years ago had he heard anything at all of the whereabouts of the princess Daenerys. Nothing could be found of her, no track in the sand, no scent, nothing. She was just gone.

The day the news had come to him was probably the closest he had ever come to resigning as master of whispers just so that he could charter a ship, sail to Pentos, and meet with Illyrio personally to sort out this madness himself. That letter was probably one of the most rancid things he had ever had the displeasure of reading. From the hastily made and stamped seal speaking to the panic his partner must have felt when he was writing it was present not only in the seal but the writing, sprawled and hasty. Illyrio must have been fearing for his life when he had completed it, the ink had barely had time to dry when it was sent and its contents were so god awful he felt he might have puked when he read it.

‘Spider.

The princess has left our grasp. The Khal has lost an eye for her actions, and the eggs have been stolen. The prince remains and we have returned to the Manse. But it remains too dangerous to send a search party,

Magister.’

The months that followed were critical and full of the wost inconveniences that could be mustered. It seemed as if all the god’s had wished Varys to be undone in a single moment. And he certainly felt that way. All they had remaining was Viserys and that was by no means a good thing. The boy was inconsequential in the game of thrones as of now, seven hell’s maybe even less than worthless, a detriment even. He was unstable, arrogant, and worst of all impatient. He had no sense of strategy, and no inclination that he would ever be able to take the throne even if he could gain an army and successfully march on westeros. There was no world where Viserys became a good ruler in any context, or even make it out of Essos without external support. There was only one thing he could offer and even then it was tenuous. Legitimacy. That was all he had to offer, if he could vouch for another family member and offer his support it might bring over other Targaryen loyalists. But that was a long shot and both Varys and Illyrio were then seriously considering just cutting his throat and dumping him into the harbor. That was until orders came for them to not touch him.

Varys tried to reason with him saying that Viserys might only damage his position more than he would help his claim. That was the basic fact of the matter, even if Viserys could be persuaded to stand along him he would almost certainly attempt something stupid to try and usurp him. This would only cause problems for Aegon. But the boy had been insistent on the fact that his uncle lived. He wished for what remained of his house to move west as a single unit and present a united front against the Baratheons. No matter the risks that existed. Varys had been thoroughly perturbed by the display knowing what he knew. But he acquiesced to his king's demands if not to avoid a lengthy and unnecessary debate. So Viserys lived, all the while Aegon remained safely hidden in the Andalos valley, the golden company there to protect him. When it came to Aegon thatfully things were still going to plan, Illyrio had secured the golden company after a lot of convincing, but once they believed him and his claims they were fiercely loyal. Connington supposedly had done well raising the boy, he was smart and clever. But unfortunately impatient and particularly hungry for glory. Now this was hardly uncommon for a young man, but it would mean that he wished to begin his righteous conquest sooner rather than later. They were still gathering sell swords to supplement their forces. But again the princess had thrown everything into pandemonium.

The plan had been to marry Daenerys to Drogo and for him to give her a son binding the Khalasar to her, and by extension Viserys. Then Aegon would have come down south to meet with them, they would combine their forces and move west together and take the throne. If Viserys proved to be a problem then accidents happen, but the outcome would have hopefully been the same Aegon on the throne. Then everything went to shit, the princess not only escaped but maimed Drogo. Then she had disappeared off the face of the earth and all his little birds could not find her. There was nothing. The eggs being stolen were hardly consequential, but then after Drogo attempted to raid Pentos in a hastily made assault and was subsequently held back by the city walls half his Khalasar abandoned him and he began his hunt for the princess. Which so far had seemingly been unsuccessful. Rumors persisted that he was still prowling between the free cities searching for her with his last stop being in Qohor.

When things had stabilized in Pentos again following Drogo’s attempt to take the city, Illyrio and Varys had begun their own searches for the princess to no avail. The only traces they ever found was the silver mare that the princess was gifted found feeding with two other horses miles down the coast, and the remains of three pyres on a small spit of land in the bay of Pentos. Along with a ship being bought and sailing down the coast a ways by anonymous men, possibly pirates. From what they gathered they figured the princess must have been talking to someone before the wedding. They must have slipped her a weapon and performed an ambush to get her away from the Khal. From there the tracks lead to the beach and out to the ocean. So from there she landed on the island possibly performing last rights to those who had died in the attempt. Maybe even the disappearance of the eggs was connected to this effort; it was said that three were injured in the attempt.

But that was only more worrying and posed more questions than it answered. For starters how did such a plot slip by him and Illyrio? They had eyes on the princess at all times, mail went through them and even then no one wrote to her specifically. How did she acquire the weapon she used to escape? How did she know when to strike? It all pointed to a planned effort, impeccable timing, and secret enough to go unnoticed by him and all their allies. This was no mere kidnapping and that scared Varys to no end. Then the disappearance, he couldn't get over it. There were many plots in Westeros, many of which he had his birds investigate. But something this massive this important had slipped right past him with no indication until he was already moons too late. Whoever had done this was discrete and smart enough to pull this off without any suspicion even rumors being raised around it. Varys had eliminated many of the great houses as suspects, none of them could have attempted this without his knowledge. It could have been a lesser house, but even then something would have come up.

But nothing. And if all that wasn’t enough now there was a new set of problems. Lord Stark had arrived in the capital not a moon ago and was already making waves that any skilled player of the game would be quick to avoid. He was honorable but his commitment blinded him to the nuances of power and the intricacies of the game. He had no mind for schemes and lies were a foreign concept to him. He had set to work in trying to sort out the mess that was the realm, which in truth was particularly Varys own fault, not that he really needed to destabilize the realm as Robert and Baelish had already done a stellar job of that. Drowning in debt and the Lannisters clawing for ever more influence at court it was begging for a war to erupt. And Varys was ready for such an occasion, if it would weaken Westeros in preparation for Aegon. But now lord Stark was seemingly actually putting in the effort to stabilize things to some degree. This could not stand.

And so Varys had tried to get the measure of the northern lord. And his findings were as disappointing as they were unfortunate for him. The loyalty he inspired both with his men and the king was genuinely remarkable. He could actually get Robert up off the throne to talk some small matters over with him if need be. Along with that while he was no good at politics he was good at management, he organized well and took situations of all types seriously. That unfortunately would mean he had to go soon. Things were nearing completion in the east, all that needed to happen was for the war to begin in Westeros and go on from there. But that was not to say lord Stark wasn’t acting suspiciously, far from it, he had seemingly been following along in the footsteps of the late Jon Arryn, visiting many places he did and reading the same books before he died. And Varys had an idea of what was going on, or more accurately what he was looking for, he had suspected the heritage of Joffrey and his siblings for a while but he had never voiced his concerns, that would be a death sentence if the Lannisters found out, he suspected that was the cause of Lord Arryn's death.

Varys had been able to determine what type of poison had killed Jon Arryn had died from no thanks to the grand maester, tears of Lys. Slow and dreadful way to go really, painful to the point of hallucinations, and so hard to trace, one drop in water and you're a dead man none the wiser. It was also extremely expensive so whoever had poisoned him was wealthy enough to pull it off. Again the Lannisters came to mind. Then there had been the business with lord Stark’s son. His fall had devastated his father so he had heard. But with the way Lord Stark moves about there may be more to the story than he thought. And that was to say nothing of the children he had brought down from the north to court.

Sansa was every bit a noble lady but with the unfortunate loss of being betrothed to Joffrey. Varys honestly felt terrible for the young girl who was still naive enough to think of the little horror as a gallant prince. Arya had taken up swordsman lessons with a Braavosi water dancer Lord Stark had chartered, she was wild and often brought chaos to court. Then there was the bastard Jon. He often stayed away from the light of court keeping his sisters safe. He seemed a kind boy and despite his seemingly dense exterior which had earned him the nickname ‘the knower of nothing’ with the nobleman and women, Varys noticed he could be particularly sharp if need be. But as of now he was inconsequential little better than a sell sword.

But that didn't mean the boy was unaware of what his father was researching. He was joined by the hip to lord stark all things considered. He was by his side whenever he could spare. It was clear that Lord Stark held the boy in high regard, perhaps there was something Varys was missing about him, but it was hardly a matter right now. First and foremost he had to deal with Lord Stark, which would most likely be easy enough given how quick he was to trust or at minimum investigate the whims and worries brought to him by any man high or low born, it was admirable to be sure, but foolish and useful if employed correctly, and now it presented an opportunity.

Varys rising from his seat and adjusting his robes moved to the door of his chambers stepping out into the halls of the Red-Keep, all these doors and walkways he knew by heart now having lived in them these past decades. But his destination was more obvious than most, the tower of the hand, standing apart from maegor's holdfast and close to the great hall it rose up on its own connected only by the ground to the architecture around it. Varys had walked up its spiraling steps more times than he cared to admit and found it dreadful every single time. But for his cause he would. Up the grey steps he rose the red brick around him with the occasional window offering some light aside from candles casting their orange glow on the walls. Eventually he reached the top to a small room out front the office of the hand the conjoined chambers accessed through a different door. There stood two Stark Guardsmen and Jory the captain of Lord Stark’s guard. He approached, nodding his head to the guards speaking softly.

“My most sincere apologies but I require a moment with the hand.”

Jory nodded his head having seen Varys around more than enough to know he wasn't a physical threat knocking on the door a few times only for a gruff voice inside to answer.

“Enter.”

And so Varys stepped into the office. Lord Stark was at work as usual writing letters and going through them all the same. He raised his head to Varys, setting aside his work for a moment.

“Lord Varys, what can I do for you?”

“A few moments of your time would suffice my lord. There are matters I must relay to you.”

“Very well.”

Varys, having gone through the ceremonial pomp moved to the windows of the office shutting them and the shutters. He started off with some small talk to loosen Lord Stark's lips a bit.

“How is your son my lord?”

Stark’s face was grim for a moment, a look of repressed pain plastered across it.

“He’ll never walk again.”

Varys nodded solemnly empathizing with the lord and continued.

“But his mind is sound?”

“...So they say.”

“A blessing then… I suffered an early mutilation myself.”

He spoke as he closed the door to the office ensuring privacy or as much as he could get.

“Some doors close forever, others open in the most unexpected places. May I?”

Lord Stark nodded as Varys took a seat opposite Lord Stark, hands resting in his lap. Now he begun.

“If the wrong ears heard what I am about to tell you off comes to my head. And who would mourn poor Varys then? North or South they sing no songs for spiders… But there are things you must know. You are the King's hand, and the King is a fool.”

That made Lord Stark look up at him with a level of concern, if he didn't have his attention before he certainly had it now.

“Your friend I know but a fool, and doomed unless you save him.”

Varys contemplated to himself for a moment the theatrics that one puts into the game of thrones, his life long before as a mummer had come into play more times than he care to admit but there was something so odd about watching men work themselves into knots over the simplest lie, you can change things if only you listen to me. It was an odd set of circumstances to be sure. Lord Stark responded in kind.

“I've been in the capital month, why have you waited so long to tell me?”

Varys inwardly chuckled but outwardly trained his expression and leaned into the conversation more.

“Because I didn't trust you.”

“...So why do you trust me now?”

“The queen is not the only one who has been watching you closely, my lord. There are few men of honor in the capital, you are one of them. In some strange way I like to think myself as another, strange as that may seem.”

“...What sort of doom does the king face?”

“The same sort as Jon Arryn.”

That made Lord Stark stall in all expressions, it seems as if he did know something.

“The tears of Lys they call it, a rare and costly thing. As clear and tasteless as water it leaves no trace.”

Lord Stark rose from his seat looking around the room as he began to pace.

“Who gave it to him?”

“Some dear friend no doubt but which one? There were many, Lord Arryn was a kind and trusting man. But there was one boy, all he was he owed to Lord Arryn.”

“His squire ser hugh?”

Varys recollected the young boy, he seemed a fine lad but his untimely end on the tourney field was most unexpected and unfortunate, perhaps he knew more.

“Pity what happened to him, just when his life seemed to be going so nicely.”

“If Ser Hugh poisoned him… who paid Ser Hugh?”

“Someone who could afford it.”

“Jon was a man of peace, he was hand for seventeen years. Why kill him?”

“...He started asking questions, my lord.”

Varys left shortly after allowing Lord Stark to stew in his thoughts alone. He returned to his own chambers feeling confident that the seed was planted and now Lord Stark would start poking around more than he already was. It was an ugly business this game but there was always an opportunity to further your goals.

—------------------------
Daenerys II

Silent and still as stone she stood keeping balance on a small canoe carved from a tree trunk. She had gotten good at keeping her balance standing up in the thing while on the water. She had learned much from those she traveled with in all truth. These past moons, if not years, had made her well acquainted with the lifestyle of the crannogmen. She had seldom ever heard of them ever before but now she paddled alongside them. It had been a rough journey since her escape and since her dragons hatched. Once they had left the bay of Pentos they sailed south as far and fast as they could, hardly stopping for a moment. The only major port they landed in was Lys and even then Daenerys blended in amongst the predominantly Valyrian looks of the island city. They stocked up on enough food to continue their voyage hearing little of what was going on but what they did gather was that Drogo had taken his injury harshly. He had rampaged across Essos in a mad hunt for her but thankfully most of his Khalasar had abandoned him after Pentos.

The guilt of knowing that she was directly responsible for this rampage and the definite loss of life pained her. She tried to ignore it but it gnawed at her constantly. Lord Reed had been very helpful in managing her guilt, it seemed as if he had many demons of his own to reckon with as well. They often confided in each other, they found comfort in each other's words and presence. Lord Reed often recounted how he missed his children Jojen and Meera. It was obvious he loved them and had great pride in them. She often recounted her experiences with Viserys on the streets of Braavos and his slow descent to what he became. But every time she spoke she walked away from the conversation feeling better than when she walked in. She had also taken the time to get to know some of the other men she traveled with, many of them just small folk answering their lord's call to action. They were loyal and devoted almost to a fault. And frankly it was nice to be around people that did not just praise her for her status but learned about her and respected her.

But moving from Lys they had not seen any sign of civilization until they reached Volantis, where they had scrapped the ship for all its useful parts. The ropes, the iron, any good wood that remained. They sold the rest from there. That's when they fashioned canoe’s from the trees that surrounded Volantis and paddled up the Volena river right into the large marshes that were miles north of the city. Several weeks into their journey upriver they stopped and began to settle down. The plan was to hide out for a while and let the dragons grow far from the eyes of civilization in much the same way Lord Reed had said he did with Wierya. The crannogmen were at home in the marshes, the way they used the land and the resources given astounded Daenerys. Lashing logs together to create rafts for houses and bridges to create a floating village of sorts. Boiling the water straight from the swamps to drink and so much food that was taken right from beneath the village. Her diet had been that of royalty in the manse of Illyrio and that of a beggar in the streets of Braavos. Here she did not go hungry, nor did she have an excess of variety, it was filling and fresh.

It wasn't long before the fine fabric she had worn initially began to wear out, so the crannogmen fashioned her attire in their style, leathers and rough tunics were her attire now. And from there it wasn't long before she began asking more questions, about Westeros, the neck, the North. All of it fascinated her to no end. A completely new and separate perspective than she had been given. Jon had spoken much of the north in their dreams but now she got a real taste of it, and she liked it. It wasn't long before Lord Reed began taking her out onto the water, showing her how to hunt fish and frogs. She learned how to start a fire on her own, how to swim properly, maintain her knife, and use a bow. She began to go out herself some days rowing and hunting on her own when she needed some time to herself. Mud often coated her hair now when she paddled. But she made sure to keep up with what lessons she could manage with Lord Reed.

They had taught her to survive plain and simple. And so she was doing today. After learning of what happened on the kingsroad she had woke up in a fury and stormed to a canoe, picked up the oar, and left to be by herself for a while. She didn't go far from the village for only a day or two. She sat with herself for a while with a thousand feelings swirling in her. Some would say this was dangerous but she knew she was never alone, not with her children around. But there she swayed in the boat, eying a fish clutching her three pronged frog spear lining up for a shot. Slowly waiting for the fish to come closer she thrust quickly and precisely, spearing it through the body. Bringing it up she killed it fast with her bronze knife and put it to the side paddling back to her campsite. It was small but enough. She took the time to light the fire herself, roasting the fish after gutting it.

As she bit into it she heard a shrill cry overhead, looking up to see a large flash of gold and cream overhead. Rhaellon quickly flew past having spotted something that obviously caught her attention. A small blast of gold and white fire creating steam as she bit down dragging out a large crocodile by the looks of it. Quickly following his sister, Rheagal swooped down biting into anything that hung out her mouth. Eddaron had landed close to the campsite staying close to Daenerys. He always liked it when Denerys was close. He had been problematic for a while, almost killing several crannogmen at several points when they got too close. He had even tried to bite Daenerys at one point. When she had asked Lord Reed about this behavior he was stumped. Weirya had been aggressive with those she didn't trust but not to this degree, but then again Weirya was often alone without any other dragons so perhaps that was a factor in this. Eddaron had calmed down a bit in recent months but everyone was still cautious especially given their size.

He was getting to the point where Daenerys could consider riding him if only for a short while. Almost, but not just yet. She still had other things to consider. The more she sat the more she grew impatient with her situation. She considered the state she was in, where she was, and what was happening across the sea. Robert still lived, Jon had yet to declare himself. And she was without an army. Long hours she spent thinking about that last point. She had dragons, that was it. How could she grow her forces? The most obvious answer was with sellswords but they needed money of wish she had none. She did not wish to threaten an army into submission with her dragons, loyalty was not won that way. So what was she to do? She picked at her frog spear lost in thought.

Can't buy, wont threaten. Where did that leave her?

It was at this point Eddaron started hissing at some foliage, quickly snapping out of her thoughts she readied the spear whipping around only to see Lord Reed walking out. She calmed immediately but still felt the aggression radiating from Eddaron, the rage grasping her heart as she put a hand on his black snout.

“Lykiri Eddaron.”

That seemed to calm him for a moment as Lord Reed walked over adding a log to Daenerys' fire. He squatted down tending to it as it crackled. He shot a glance to the princess patting the ground next to him asking her to sit. And she did comply, they stayed in silence for a minute until he spoke.

“Are you feeling any better?”

“...Hardly.”

“What ails you princess?”

“...we cant act as of yet.”

“Why can we not act?”

“Because my children are not yet grown, and we have no army to sail west with.”

“Correct on both. How do you wish to remedy these blights?”

“My children are almost ready. That will be times doing alone, perhaps a few more moons then we may call them grown.”

“And your forces? I would think that a much harder question to answer, no?”

“Indeed…”

“And how do you see yourself remedying it?”

“...what options are available to us?”

Howland moved to face her totally.

“You have three dragons, all almost grown. You have no gold, and I assume you do not wish to threaten those you wish to fight for you. And I doubt you wish to buy a slave army”

Daenerys scowled at the idea. She had been surrounded by the infamous unsullied while at Illyrios manse and she had quickly become disgusted by the lives of these people. Taken young and mutilated, beaten into submission, and forced to fight. Broadly speaking she hated slavery with a passion but this was a particularly serious hatred she held. So no she would never use slaves or buy slaves to achieve her goals. That’s when she began thinking, perhaps it would be enough to just bring the dragons and support Jon that way, four dragons total would be a game changer regardless. But that didn’t mean they were invincible, they could be killed and that still didn’t change the fact their forces as of now were simply not enough. No, she needed to bring support.

“So princess, what is your idea?”

She thought hard and long, she wished to do right by too many people, she wished to help Jon but not hurt others or at least those who did not deserve it on the way there. But that's when it came to her suddenly as a flash of lightning and twice as exhilarating if she was being frankly honest. It would take time certainly to perform the idea she was thinking of and it would by no means be easy. But it was better than any idea brought before her up to that point. So she shifted on her weight again looking at Lord Reed, a flame in her chest reflected in her violet eyes as she spoke directly to him.

“Then I will convince them to follow me west.”

“Convince who princess?”

“I will convince the beaten and oppressed to follow me west Lord Reed.”

It was then that Howland understood what she was saying, and rather than upset or off put by the idea he seemed genuinely intrigued by it. And much to her delight might even agree to it.

“You wish to liberate the slaves.”

Daenerys wasted no time in her response and answered quickly.

“Could it work?”

He thought about it for a very very long time. He thought of every single complication every single way this could go wrong every single way this could go right he thought extensively about it. And no amount of thinking changed the ultimate truth of the matter of which they faced; they had no money, they had no power aside from the three dragons. The Loyalty of sell swords could only be bought and even then their loyalty would not go beyond what they were paid. Asking them to sail over to Westeros would require an immense amount of money behind them which again they did not have. But winning the Loyalty of those you freed now that was a different story entirely. That was not only thinkable but in some weird way plausible. Howland adjusted some of the wood in the fire poking it with a stick of his own he glared into it for a while continuing to think of the possibilities this might be able to yield it would be a rough road in order to get there that much was beyond doubt then there would be the matter of actually transporting a force over the sea. But he smiled inwardly at the thought because he knew hell he even wanted this to work and he felt that it could. so he looked up from the fire turning his head over his shoulder to look at the princess Once More this time a small smile etched on his lips between his beard he spoke softly and directly to her saying.

“I do think it could work.”

She smiled at that statement. Confirmation of her desires, confirmation that perhaps once the dragons were grown enough they could finally start moving. They could finally begin their end of the plot at long last. So now the question turned to the relatively more simple: how would they go about doing this? First and foremost was the obvious notion that hung between the two of them the fact that they would have to travel further east. Daenerys bristled at the idea it was the last thing she wanted to do to go even further away from the land of her birth further away from those who were going to help her and her family. but the unfortunate truth remains that if they intended to go through with this idea they would have to go where the slave market was largest and only three cities yielded the amount that they would need to move west. They had long heard tales from the people of Volantis during their brief stay about the wealth of the Cities within Slaver's bay. Bought and paid for with human suffering alone, she would not let this stand for much longer. They considered where to start initially, Astapor was the training grounds for the Unsullied widely regarded as some of the fiercest infantrymen in the world, they would be the first to convince, if they could get them on side then that would provide them a good foundation for the rest of their forces if not just a solid force in general. Then they would have to turn north towards Yunkai, from there they would begin the next part of their plan.

The pair of them realize that they could not simply just leave once everything was done, before they left for Westeros they had to ensure that some form of stability would resume once they had departed. they could not simply give these people hope and a chance at a better life only to leave them abandoned in the dust afterwards, that's when Lord Reed had recommended the idea of training up a large portion of this newly freed population to defend themselves. Assuming that they could get the Unsullied and successfully march on all the cities then in the months preparing to depart they would take portions of this new population and have the Unsullied train them. A self sufficient defense force would at least be a start. And then came in the other part of that agreement that being when the time came and the ships were ready they would make an offer to the newly freed and armed populations of the cities much like they would ask the unsullied they would ask this new army of freedmen to sail with them and fight, not a massive portion of the population, the most optimistic estimate they had was some 10,000 if that maybe six was a better estimate but it might just be enough to turn the tides if need be. along with that if they did in fact manage to claim quite a bit of gold from these cities as they went along they would maybe be able to bolster their forces with some actual sell swords if need be. And by that time the dragons would be full grown ready to fly and ready to fight.

But if they intended to go this way, if they intended to bring an army of freed slaves over the narrow sea to fight with the Starks and Tullys, they would have to move fast. Moreover, they probably have to start moving now. So the pair remained around the Fireside for a bit longer simply talking about whatever came to mind afterwards. However sometimes there would be a look in Howland's eyes, a moment of speculation or contemplation, something going through his mind.

“Is there something more you wish to discuss, my lord?”

Helen turned his attention to the Princess once again this time his eyes held a sense of seriousness to them some unspoken dread that he carried. So He adjusted the fire one more time before speaking in a hushed tone.

“There is one more thing I must consider before we prepare to leave within the next moons.”

“That being?”

“In Volantis, there is a temple. Dedicated to a god of fire. R'hllor they call him, the lord of light.”

“And what makes them of interest to you my lord?”

“The god which they worship, the stories which they follow, they bear resemblance to some of the tales we have in the north. Especially one.”

“That one being?”

Lord Reed thought for a few seconds, he was obviously trying to figure out how he would word his next statement; he was attempting to find a way to make it sound less crazy than it appeared. so he stood up moved over to the water looking out amongst the vast swamps that they now resided in and spoke.

“What do you know of the Long Night princess?”

“Admittedly not much, I was told it was just a story to frighten children and northern superstition.”

“And do we seem superstitious to you princess?”

“...Not without cause my lord.”

“Good. Because I have reason to believe those superstitions will be answered sooner rather than later. And you will have a part to play.”

She considered Lord Reed's words very carefully this time. He had always been truthful forthcoming and while meaning in his intentions every time he offered advice or told something to her. and she had no reason to believe he was doing anything else this time although she was very confused by what he might have been saying. She would as she always had hear him out to the end.

“And you feel this lord of light and his followers might be of use?”

“If the stories that surround them are true, and if tales of their magic are also true. Then yes I do think they may be of help in the trials to come.”

Daenerys got comfortable once more as she prepared to hear Lord read out on all his stories once more but one thing was for certain as they eventually returned to the small floating village their people had made. they had a very long road ahead of them but even then to Daenerys home never seemed closer.

Notes:

Thank you for the time and kind words last chapter I hope you enjoyed this one, sorry if its incredibly info heavy. As always comments are welcome.

Chapter 16: Robb V / Arya IV

Summary:

Robb receives distressing news from the south and Arya learns too much too fast.

Robb V

It had been way too early in the morning when Theon had shaken him awake and got him out of bed. The grogginess he had felt in that moment had been absolutely unparalleled by anything else he had experienced in his life; it was shortly after he had learned that it was about midnight. He had thrown on some quick attire in order to make himself presentable in any miniscule way that he could before being dragged out of the solar and down to the great hall where set maester Luwin. And he looked grim. The single fire from the hearth cast a calm orange light dancing across the gray walls of Winterfell, it was by this light alone that Robb sat down at the head of the high table, and in this light that Theon would walk over with two letters, both seals unbroken. One seal a blue wax bearing the sigil of house Tully, the other seal a striking crimson red with the sigil of the Lion of House Lannister, Immediately he was wide awake and cracking open the letters as he sprawled them out on the desk. He looked at each of them and began to read.

‘To my dearest nephew,

It is with incredible urgency and fear that I write to you now begging your aid. It would appear that my daughter, your mother, has provoked the ire of Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock. As of currently he gathers his host within the Westerlands and has sent Ser Gregor Clegane To torch the Riverlands for all it's worth. We are attempting to raise our own host and I have already called my banners, but we require assistance. I would ask that you honor our bond as family and call your banners to march with us.

With urgency, Lord Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.’

Immediately alarm was cast over Robb's face along with a feeling of extreme frustration and disappointment. That's when he turned to the other letter.

‘To the acting Lord of Winterfell,

The Lady Catelyn Stark has seen fit to unjustly and without authority take custody of my son Tyrion Lannister. Her reasons are both unfounded and preposterous in their nature and content. As such I will respond in kind, I am calling my banners and raising my forces so that I might remind your mother that Lannister's pay their debts. I recommend for your own good that you remain out of this conflict lest you wish us to turn our attention northward once we have finished burning Riverrun and house Tully. Consider your options carefully.

Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord paramount of the Westerlands, and Warden of the West.’

Robb sat back in his chair bracing his head in his hands as he reeled and attempted to grapple with the situation that had now wretched him awake. He clutched at his skin until his knuckles were white grasping at his auburn hair. Mother had done the exact thing he warned her not to do when she first left for the capital. Perhaps she might have learned something that lent more Credence to their claims, and they had initially thought maybe her investigation had been somewhat more successful, but he had no word from father with regard to the matter. Perhaps she was coming back to tell him personally when she seized on an opportunity or at least what she felt was an opportunity.

But it didn't matter now it was done. She had provoked the Lannister's. She had taken one of their own as a prisoner, and now he didn't even know where she was. Was she heading back to Winterfell? Was she at Riverrun? Was she headed perhaps to the Veil? In a few moments the careful balance that had been set in place for years now was upset and now everything was teetering on a knife's edge back and forth back and forth uncertain of where things would fall.

Moreover, another thought kept ringing through Robb's head. It was too soon. It was all too soon they were not ready for a conflict, they were not ready for a fight. They had no hope of matching anyone in the field as yet, at least not in absolute pitched battle. At least from Robb's understanding the plan had been to wait at least a year or two more maybe less but just enough for the Manderly ships to be completed and for the north to truly bring allies into the fold. But now all of that was out the window in the flash of an instant. The Westerlands were already marching on what was probably as of this instant they're only real ally, and now they were requesting that the North come to their aid for legitimate reasons. Put simply his hands were now tied, it was either fight now while they still had allies and the legitimate cause perhaps win the war and then return to waiting or not answer his uncle's call and potentially lose the riverlands entirely in any future conflict they started. The truth was obvious there was only one real response here.

“Maester Luwin, have the scribes start writing letters for all the ravens we have as of now. Call the Banners. And be ready to march south by the end of the third week of the moon.”

Luwin nodded in solemn response as he quickly made his way off to the Ravens chamber to begin readying the birds for flight. Robb spent a long time after that just looking at the letters coming to terms with the situation his mother had put them in. He was angry, he was upset, he was disappointed and he was afraid. Theon for his part however seemed much the opposite of the young Lord looking at him with confusion.

“You think you're not ready for this?”

“No… something else entirely.”

“Care to explain?”

“Not now.”

Robb felt no pleasure in brushing off Theon like this, especially considering that his friend had noticed him growing far more stressed now that the weight of being Lord of Winterfell bearing down on his shoulders almost constantly in addition to him keeping Theon in the dark about the plot. At several points now he had genuinely considered telling Theon everything, spilling the secret alleviating some form of weight from his heart. But every time he thought that he would have to consistently remind himself that no he simply couldn't tell him not, yet they couldn't afford the secret slipping out now and if anyone that he could tell was going to let anything slip it would probably be him. God’s knew that he couldn't have Jon's identity slipping out into the hands of some random tavern wench because Theon got drunk in Winter Town one night. In addition to that Robb knew by this point But it would only be a matter of time before Theon found out the same as all the other Northern Lords, River Lords, seven hells pretty much the entirety of Westeros learned of the secret the North had been hiding this entire time. But not just yet.

“Theon, get some rest. We will have much to do in the morning.”

Theon nodded his head as he moved back to his chambers. Robb walked alone back to his own. It was in his own room that he once again braced his head in his hands. He tried to reason with it all he tried to make sense of the impossible situation that had just been laid before him. He even found himself cursing his own mother at a certain point for her reckless actions. He had told her directly and clearly not to provoke the Lannister's, and she goes and does this. Capturing one of them on circumstantial evidence alone or at least what he's still assumed was circumstantial evidence and Truth he had no way of knowing if she had come across anything new or had been told anything new by some trusted source. As of right now he figured that she might have just been acting rashly in the moment, which was an all Truth by no means out of character for her especially when it came down to the matters of her own family which Robb could not blame her for.

And then there was still the matter of his own family still in the capital, his father, brother and sisters essentially within arms reach of the Lannister's whose family head was now actively warning him not to get involved in a conflict that his mother had started. There was no way that this ended well for any of them down there. He had received word regarding what happened on the road to Jon. The pure rage and disgust he felt upon reading that letter alone was unrivaled to a horrendous degree, and it was only days later that even more concerning news had come from the neck by means of a personal messenger on horseback. From one of Howland Reed’s more trusted men came news of Weirya, and it was not good by any measure of the imagination. He had been told that somewhere close or as he figured probably on the night of Jon’s punishment, Weirya had lashed out in a fit of fire and fury unlike anything the crannogmen had seen before. It was said that her fire burned so bright and so hot you could see it for miles even through the trees of the neck. She had apparently burnt down almost an acre of swampland that night alone.

And then only a few short weeks later had the same man came rushing back to deliver even more disturbing news on the topic. Weirya had always been known to roam the neck on long flights and occasionally fly past the Fever river over the Saltspear and some of the southern Barrowlands. But now she had apparently stopped flying over there all together. She had begun moving closer to Greywater watch, she now flew over the Flint Cliffs and one even reported following her close to the Cape of Eagles. That had put the fear of the gods in Robb Stark. If she was flying by the Cape of Eagles that meant she had gone past The Twins, that meant she was moving generally closer to Seagard. The tracker had assured him that she stayed away from the Twins and the towns that dotted the coast only flying by night before returning to the Neck, but that didn't calm Robb in the slightest. Far from it, it terrified him more than most things. Because it means one simple thing, one simple dreadful thing. She was moving south.

Whatever had happened that night on the road had obviously spurred something within the Dragon. Robb could remember the last time that she was acting like this; it was only shortly after they had told Jon his true parentage that he had been told Weirya was slowly making her way North. Thankfully, they had managed to stop her from going too far when Jon had finally met with her in person. Their hunch that she had simply wanted to meet with him or at least check in on him had supposedly turned out to be correct. But this time they had no such luxury of Jon being in the immediate area in order to quell her anger. And even back then she had not moved this far this fast. Considering the damage she had wrought on the area she was in when Jon was flogged, Robb shuttered to think what would happen if she made it to the capital. When Robb had seen Jon with Weirya, even he could pick up on the dragons' affection for his brother. He probably understood it better now that he had Greywind by his side, he would rend the person who harmed him limb from limb. So in some way he could empathize with Weirya, but that didn't change the scary nature of this situation.

The brutal truth was they had no way of controlling her; only Jon could do that. And if Jon suffered any more harm in the capital… Robb paled at the idea as he looked into the flicker of a lone candle illuminating his room, greywind curled up in his lap as he stroked the direwolves head lovingly. He continued to think of what would happen if more pain came to his brother. If Weirya simply got impatient with waiting or felt the need to intervene. If she decided to fly south, all seven Hells would break loose. And there was not a damn thing Robb could do to stop it. And now he was marching to war against the Lannisters far earlier than he expected to. And Father wasn't here to lead them, only he was.

That thought alone horrified him to no end. Robb had known he had had a taste for military tactics for a while now, But that still didn't quell his fears about actually leading an army on the battlefield. And to be fair, how could he not be terrified? Yes he had been in fights before, yes he had even taken on a few wildlings with Jon, but he had never tasted war before. The songs and tales never spoke of the fear, the dread, the terror one felt when truly confronted with the notion. They Only ever spoke of the Glamorous exploits in great battles, the heroes that were made from these conflicts. He had once believed in these notions himself; he had longed for glory too, and still did in some ways. But he found himself shaking at the idea of it all now. He remembered once, when he was much younger, he had asked his father if he was ever scared during the rebellion.

“Aye, all the time.” His father had responded.

Naturally Robb wanted to dig deeper.

“Why?”

“Because I might not have ever seen you or your mother again.”

“You thought you were going to die?”

“Aye, I was always afraid of that.”

“But mother always said you were brave.”

“Course I was, but I was also scared.”

That statement had truly puzzled Robb, it seemed to contradict everything else he had ever been told or at least everything else he had heard.

“Can you be both scared and brave?”

Father had looked down at him and smiled. He had picked him up, setting him on his leg as he made Robb look at him trying to ensure that he truly understood what he was about to say.

“It's the only time a man can be brave. You can be a good fighter and still fall, a man on the battlefield without fear is a fool.”

Rob had taken those words to sleep with him that night, and now they only came back to haunt him as he sat here again. In truth there was a small part of him despite his involvement in this plot that had wished that maybe perhaps he wouldn't have to lead the bannerman of the North, perhaps he would fight in a battle or two, but it would be father who was leading them. But here he stood calling them himself to follow him South. And in truth he didn't know how to truly feel about this anymore. Exhilarated, sick, horrified. Perhaps all three. But he continued to study himself on his father's words like a crutch. He was young, inexperienced, and frankly he had little clue what he was actually doing despite all the lessons father had given him. Funnily enough now that he actually had a situation in which he could use them they seem to flutter out of his mind like butterflies. But on and on his father's words repeated in his head.

And after a while he began to feel at ease with himself in some small capacity. Amidst the fear, relief was starting to show. Some unspoken tension finally cut off its coil. This was it perhaps this was the moment they had been waiting for, it was too early, and they were absolutely unprepared yes but at the same time it was happening. What other option did they have now but to fight. As much as he would have liked to, Robb couldn't waste time thinking about the alternative scenarios that could have been. The possibilities of what might have happened had his mother not gone and done this. His mother had acted, and now he would accept the consequences. He would lead the men of the North south, he would answer his uncle's call and bring Aid to his family, and when Jon and father joined him he would stand by them in the war to come. He would fulfill his oath.

And it was at this point much to even his own surprise another voice filled his head other than his father's, the voice of maester Aemon. His words in his solar at the wall addressed him as much as Jon.

“Kill the boy and let the man be born.”

Kill the boy and let the man be both brave and afraid.

Resolve swelled within the young Lord's chest. As he quickly ushered Greywind off of him moving down to look beneath his bed as he dragged out a large crate. He quickly brought it out into the center of the room, opening it up. Therein lay Dark Sister. Still wrapped in the leathers Aemon had put it in at the wall. Robb unwrapped it running a revenant hand along its scabbard before picking it up and drawing it. The Valyrian steel dragged along the leather of the scabbard making the blade sing in an ethereal ringing tone. He held it within both his hands as he looked at it. Eventually fastening the scabbard to his belt and sliding the sword back in before talking to himself.

“I hope you don't mind me holding on to this for a while Jon.”

—---------------
Arya IV

She woke up sore again, as she always did these days. Some new bruise or strained muscle. Occasionally a scratch or two. All courtesy of her new instructor. Every day, some strike to her hand or arm would accompany her to bed and would wake her up. Every week a smaller number of wounds would join the previous ones though. And to her that was more exciting than anything, simply because it meant one thing. Progress. She was getting better with every passing lesson. The wooden swords became lighter and easier to swing every time she picked them up. And she would be knocked in the hand less and less every time.

It was a good feeling to know you're growing better at something as you go along. To know that your efforts were not for nothing. To feel the progress you made as you strive for something. Arya was truly grateful that she got this opportunity, more so that her father encouraged it, after all he had gone out of his way to bring her a teacher. Jon was good, but there were limits to his knowledge, his way of fighting relying on strength just didn't work for Arya. But with Syrio, who emphasized quick and precise movements, Arya adjusted to it much better.

But in truth, that was the only truly good thing that had come from residing in the capital. On that front she was much more in line with Jon, that is to say they hated it. And she especially hated it. She had been taken down here for two reasons. One being the cover reason, or what she assumed might have been her father's reason, to introduce her to court life hoping to temper her wild side and find her a good match with a powerful family, which she wouldn't allow if she could help it. And then there was the second reason to help and support the plot in any way she could.

Which admittedly wasn't much, at least not in any obvious way. She was far too young to deal with lords and ladies directly, not that any of them would have liked to interact with her to begin with. But that allowed her some unseen advantages. Under Syrio’s instruction she had taken to chasing cats, Syrio had said that all swordsmen should study cats. Quiet, light on their feet, and quick. That's what she needed to be. But it was this that offered her the perfect reason to get into the more unsavory areas in the Red-Keep. She chased the cats down into the dungeons, through every hall, and almost every room. Over the course of the months she and her family resided in the capital, she learned everything she could about the castle.

In addition to that, she was getting damn good at hiding. Finding places she could cram into and how to stay in the shadows as people walked by. She was starting to listen in on all she could. Idle chatter at first, learning to drown out noise and focus. She was starting to realize the extent of conversation in the court. It was simple things at first, the results of the hands tourney a few months earlier. Then she started listening to the snide insults at hers and Jon’s expense, the bastard and the dog, the knower of nothing, one day she had heard one of Cersei's ladies in waiting speak of how they should skin the direwolves for their furs.

She had told father of the threat, and subsequently he had moved the Dire wolves into the kingswood for them to hunt freely. And in truth Arya was happy that they were no longer being confined to the godswood, they were far too big now, and it was going to be a problem sooner or later, Arya, Jon, and Sansa made sure to visit them often for a few hours or more. It was one of the few times that she might have said that she enjoyed Sansa’s company. While her sister was blissfully stupid, Lady was not, and she enjoyed the graceful wolf’s company.

But it was thanks to that incident that she realized what she could do. So she started pushing her luck when she wasn't training with Syrio or talking with Jon. She would sometimes snoop through papers if the feeling came to her, initially just to laugh at some members of court. She would occasionally pick a lock or two to get into an area she wasn't meant to be, an armory, servants quarters, or even royal quarters once or twice. She had even made the daring move to sneak into the queen's chambers while she was out one day, she had made sure to bring some horse droppings from the stables hiding them in several corners of the room to stink it up, as well as dumping her wine out the window.

As far as she was concerned this was nowhere near enough for what she did to Jon on the road. And in some way she still felt a vile anger towards her father for standing by and doing absolutely nothing while her brother was taking a punishment for her actions. And in some way she still blamed herself for striking Joffrey in the first place. Mycha hadn't even made it back alive, he was run down and killed by the hound. The mere memory of that day made Arya feel like puking. So much and so many hurt for her mistakes. Since then, she had tempered her more aggressive impulses or at least as much as she could, she made sure she relayed her disappointment in her father clearly when she could in private. And she made sure to steer clear of the royal family if she could help it.

But she would strike where she could quietly and subtly, slipping in and out, leaving no trace. Almost as if no one had come and gone. And she was happy to do it.

But her smaller investigations had revealed some things that her father was looking into himself with much less subtly. It had started when she noticed him looking into the late Jon Arryn's death by asking around. How blunt he was in his delivery was off-putting, but it seemed as if little was amiss. Then he began going through Kings Landing. To odd locations, brothels, taverns, and a blacksmith's shop. Word was he was talking to people, specific people that Jon Arryn had also spoken to before his passing. That was only made more interesting by his request to see a book detailing the lineages of the great houses.

She had made sure to ask Jon about this, but he had little to offer, father had not taken with him after all, but a name that had come up in conversation was Tobho Mott. With a little digging she learned that he was a master armorer with a forge in the city. Arya at this point was far too curious not to do a little poking of her own. If her father was keeping something from her, she would find out. So that's what she was going to do today. She got up, got dressed, and was sure to dress in common clothes to blend in better, Needle she kept hidden under a stolen cloak. She moved out of her room and went to find Jon.

He was where he often hid away, the godswood. It was one of the few places that he could find some genuine quiet amongst the halls of the castle. She recounted the day they arrived at kings landing. His wounds had only barely healed, and he was not in the most talkative mood. When they had approached the Red Keep Arya wasn't sure what to expect. But once they had entered she stayed close to Jon, the ridicule was ever present, they walked the halls past the courtiers and guards. And she could feel the sense of surrealism that Jon was likely experiencing.

But when they laid eyes on the Iron Throne, both their breaths left them. No one was in the room at the time. Just them. And as if their subconscious drove them they walked ahead through the room approaching it. She remembered Jon looking at the tall twisted form of the thing, the thousand blades cold and sharp. The look in his eyes had been a mix of bewilderment and disgust. But he never touched it nor stepped any closer. He simply looked at it. And in that moment Arya would have given anything to know what was going through his head.

But since then he steered clear of the hall. And as such she found him sitting under the weirwood.

“Good morning little sister.”

“Get your things, we need to investigate something.”

Immediately Jon gave her a weary glance.

“What have you found this time?”

“Father is looking into something and not telling us.”

“Did the thought occur to you that it might be for a good reason?”

“Reason or not, it would put me at ease knowing what he was up to. Making sure he won't be hurt for it.”

“Really? This has nothing to do with you spiting him for what happened at the crossroads?”

“... Maybe a little.”

Jon braced his face in his hand.

“And just where did you think you were going?”

“Blacksmiths shop.”

“... That's it?”

“Aye. It's owned by a man named Tobho Mott. Have you heard of him?”

Jon thought for a minute or two before relaying what he had heard.

“Not much, just that he is good at what he does.”

“Then what's the harm in looking?”

“I don't think your understanding that this might be dangerous.”

“Maybe. I just want to ask a question or two. Besides, if you try to stop me I'll just find a way to go anyway.”

Jon pinched his nose

“... Fine if you're going to do something stupid again, at least let me be there to get you out of it.”

Arya winced at the way Jon phrased his words, she didn't want more harm to come to him because of her actions. But again this could be risking fathers life. And as much as she wanted to put him in his place for what happened with Jon on the road she didn't wish to see him dead any time soon.

And as such she quickly gathered her items and followed Jon to get his own, they knew better than to roam the streets of the capital unarmed. They left through the gates of the keep under disguise and entered into the squalor of kings landing. And to say the least the conditions were appalling. It was easy to turn a blind eye to the city from Aegon's high hill, but down here you noticed the stains and cracks in the walls of houses, the people sitting in the alleyways coughing and scratching at their necks. Or the mud seeping through the cobblestones of the street, the oppressive smell around every bend. It was disgusting, to put it bluntly. And Jon felt the same it seemed, everywhere he looked was a new horror to witness.

And the walk, minimal as it may have been, was not particularly or mercifully short either. Everywhere they were passing through had some large crowd of people going about their daily life or seeing some form of Street side entertainment in order to pass the time. But only pushed deeper and deeper into the streets of King's land until finally reaching their destination after a while. The shop itself was quite impressive if the pair were being honest. They should have expected as much, especially given the fact that the man claimed to be able to work Valyrian steel, something not many could do, even amongst the ranks of the best smiths in Westeros.

But once inside and passed all the displays of various swords, axes and polearms that Mott was displaying for sale they quickly found the man. He was an older man but clearly well off and finely toned despite his age, perks of the trade Arya supposed. And he quickly noticed the pairs they entered in obviously not doing anything particularly important at the moment. So he stepped forward hands behind his back as he addressed what he might have assumed were new patrons to his establishment.

“Good afternoon, how may I help you both?” He spoke with a calm and professional tone, obviously no stranger to walk in patrons. But Arya spoke first much to the smiths' intrigue.

“We just had a few questions if you don't mind.”

“Not at all, what do you need to know?”

“The hand of the king came here some weeks ago, yes?”

“Yes he did.”

“Could you tell us why?”

Mott took a second seemingly to recollect the events of their fathers visit before speaking.

“Just came by, same as the hand before him, asking about my apprentice.”

“Your apprentice?”

“Yes, came by and asked some questions to him, and left.”

Jon and Arya shared a look before she spoke again.

“Can we talk to him then?”

Mott, perhaps a little suspicious, tilted his head, and considered. For a second Arya was scared she might have pushed too far, but Mott gave a nod and called out.

“GENDRY!!”

Letting out a breath she released the tension in her shoulders and saw Jon move his fingers from his swords pommel. But her attention was again diverted by the young man who walked over to greet them. He couldn't have been older than Robb, but he was certainly more muscular, furthermore the boy was tall or at least tall for his age. As for his eyes and hairs he had a pair of dark blue eyes and thick black hair. He seemed a sullen lad but by no means brash or unkind, if anything despite his appearance he came off as rather shy. But there was something about him, in an odd way he almost looked like Lord Renly just with a far more square jaw. But Arya brushed those thoughts aside for now focusing on the task at hand. Jon spoke first.

“Gendry was it?”

“Yes sir.”

“You were visited by the hand of the king a few weeks ago, yes?”

“Yes, he came talking to my master and wanted to ask me a few questions.” Jon moved on his heels before continuing his questions.

“What did he ask about?”

“He asked about my talks with Lord Arryn.”

That intrigued Arya a bit more. She then asked.

“Do you feel alright with telling us what you told them?”

Gendry thought for a short while before turning to her.

“Lord Stark just wanted to know what I had told Lord Arryn, and what he wanted to know was about my mother.”

“Go on.” Jon’s voice was stern and direct as it often was but inquisitive.

“First he asked me how I liked it here, if I was being treated well. Then he started asking questions about my mother. What she looked like.”

Arya quirked an eyebrow intrigued by the line of questioning. She then decided to continue.

“And what did you say?”

“... I told them both that I remember little… She was beautiful or at least I think she was. She used to sing to me. And she had yellow hair.” He spoke with a somberness to his voice, it was obvious the memory pained him.

Jon and Arya shared a look of sympathy, and Jon spoke again.

“Sorry.”

“Nothing you need to apologize for.”

“But that was the extent of the questions?”

“Yes. Afterward they both left shortly after, although the hand did take a long look at me for some reason.”

“Huh…”

Jon looked around the shop before looking at the blades.

“Are any of these yours?”

Gendry nodded, picking up a long dagger. It was an excellent piece of craftsmanship. Arya could see that from here. Jon spoke again.

“How much you want for it?”

“Twenty silver stags seems fine to me.”

Jon nodded his head laying down thirty as he put the dagger in his belt.

“Thank you for your time Gendry.”

The boy nodded and returned to work. The pair bid Mott farewell, and they returned to the Red Keep.

“Satisfied?”

“Hardly, nothing seemed off about him.”

“Aye. But obviously there was something that caught both his and Lord Arryn’s attention.”

“Clearly… I'll talk to him about it later.”

“You sure that's wise?”

“Hardly. But you'll be there with me.”

Jon shook his head at her much to Arya's surprise.

“Why not?”

“Father has entrusted me with negotiating a trade deal with the Celtigar’s and Velaryon’s.”

Arya immediately understood and grew worried on the spot. This was it. The moment that Jon would begin his walk out of the shadows of secrecy. And into the nest of vipers. An escape route had been in place for months if things went belly up for whatever reason, a lone Manderly ship which any of them could call on and escape with. But it still was nerve wracking to do this anyway.

“How far are you going?”

“Only a little into the kingswood, they will be told to meet me there. Far from any spies.”

“Are you sure they will agree?”

“To fight with us?”

“Arya nodded.”

“...not at all.”

The words hung over her as she listened to him, and he was unfortunately right. They had no way of determining if they would actually come to their aid or if they would just sell them out on the spot, in which case Arya shuttered to think of the fallout that would occur. But as always she kept her head held high. But shortly after the pair split ways Arya was called over by a Stark guardsman.

“My lady Arya, your father requests your immediate presence.”

“Why what's wrong?”

“He refused to say m’lady.”

Normally she would bristle at the title, but she had other things to worry about right now. She quickly made her way to the tower of the hand ascending its stairs as the sun began to set over the horizon. The candles lit the way up as she ascended to the door where the guards parted to let her in. Immediately her mood was soured by the presence of Sansa who she had seen little of in her time in the capital or since the incident on the road. But she sat there lady like as ever, hands folded neatly in her lap adorned in a blue dress in the southern style.

Father moved over limping on a cane as he was still recovering from his injury. When the news of mothers actions reached the capital there was an uproar amongst the Lannister’s, Tywin had called his banners and was marching on the Riverlands. Initially the plotters were panicked by the development, things were made worse when Ser Jaime Lannister attacked father when he was investigating another brothel, resulting in him getting speared through the leg. All seemed to be going to hell but thankfully Robert decided to go on a hunt shortly after. He would be gone for a small while which afforded father critical time to neutralize the situation with Tywin best he could. For a moment the hope prevailed that they wouldn't need to go to war just yet.

Robert was still on his hunt and father was still acting regent. But nothing could have prepared both sisters for what they heard next.

“I'm sending you both back to Winterfell with Jon.”

The words hit both like a ram, they had no clue what father was doing here. Sansa was the first to cry out in protest.

“What!?”

“Listen-”

“What about Joffrey!?”

Arya ended up blurting the first thing that came to mind out of her mouth without regard for her sister's mixed priorities.

“Are you dying because of your leg!? Is that why you're sending us away!?”

Father had an incredulous look cross his face.

“What? No!”

Sansa spoke again, a more desperate tone commanding her voice.

“Please father, please don't!”

Arya for once actually spoke with her sister on the same side. Desperation filling her tone as well as she protested the choice.

“You can't, I've got my lessons with Syrio! I'm finally getting good!”

But father just sighed looking down then back up amidst the protests and opposition.

“This isn't a punishment. I want you back in Winterfell for your own safety.”

Arya again blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Can we take Syrio with us? And what about Jon and his negotiations?”

Sansa piped up again, this time her voice more annoyed with Arya's comments but desperation still being the primary emotion behind her voice as a whole.

“Who cares about your stupid dancing lessons, or Jon’s negotiations, I can't go! I'm supposed to marry prince Joffrey, I love him, and I'm meant to be his queen and have his babies!!”

Father blinked at the statement, Arya needed a second also to take in the absurdity if not obsession of her sister's words. If she hadn't been askew to this whole situation before, the statement only confirmed to Arya that she had indeed gone off the deep end.

“Seven hells…”

Father regaining his bearings after that punch of a sentence spoke softly.

“When you're old enough I'll make you a match with someone worthy of you. Someone who's brave, strong, and gentle.”

His words fell on deaf ears, but even then Arya perked up at the phrasing with father implying that Joffrey wasn't worthy of Sansa.

“I don't want someone who's brave, strong, and gentle, I want him!”

Arya couldn't help but laugh at her sister's crazed ranting.

“He will be the greatest king who ever was, a golden lion, and I'll give him sons with beautiful blonde hair.”

Arya retorted quickly, tired of the constant lion pageantry that surrounded the prince.

“The lion isn't his sigil idiot, he's a stag like his father.”

Sansa retorted quickly and ferociously.

“He is not, he is nothing like that drunk old king.”

Arya in that moment wanted to spill the beans to Sansa, rub in her face that hopefully come next winter there wouldn't even be a stag on the throne. But her satisfaction was abruptly cut off when she saw the look on her fathers face. A sense of realization, he had figured out something, and something big by the looks of it. Something was wrong and she could feel it.

“... Go on, girls pack your things.”

“But I-”

“NOW!”

Sansa left first in a huff, but Arya stayed, she knew something was wrong, and she was determined to find out what. She stayed in her seat as father kept his eye on her.

“Arya, did you no-”

“What's going on?”

“Nothing of your concern.”

“I find that hard to believe. You've learned something about the prince haven't you.”

Fathers face was about to retort when she resumed her onslaught.

“Does it have to do with Gendry?”

Fathers face twisted again to surprise.

“How do you-?”

“I followed your trail, and I'm not leaving until I know what's going on.”

Father looked ready to yell, but he made sure to close the door before reaching for a book. It seemed to detail the houses of Westeros and their traits not unlike the one she had poured hours over in her and Robb’s attempt to discover who Daeron was. So when father opened the book to the Bareathons she was well versed in their traits already. Black of hair and blue of eyes, seven hells it was even the case for Rhaenys Targaryen. So when father finally reached Joffrey she listened.

“Gold of hair, Green of eyes.”

Wait…

Arya put two and two together then and there.

There's no way…

“Father?”

He looked shook at the revelation, the candlelight casting shadows over his face as it all came together.

“The seed is strong…”

“What?”

“Those were Jon Arryn’s last words…”

“I don't understand where does Gendry fit into this?”

“He’s one of Robert's Bastards…”

Arya froze as suddenly things became clearer for her.

“Lord Arryn was investigating the king's bastards then.” Her voice was worried and contemplative at once as she began to understand the roles everyone played in this.

“Aye…”

Arya began to visualize all three of the children in her mind, and all came up the same. None of them shared any features with the king, not in look nor temperament. They weren't his.

“The father… who's the father?”

Arya thought about her fathers questions as she put her sneaking and eves dropping to good use. Rumors she had brushed aside initially, all centered around the queen. But one that she remembered stuck out, the king slayer visiting her late one night at the hour of the wolf and not leaving until the morning, the only person who knew was a cleaning girl and her sister who she had picked up on the story from during idle chatter. But it was more than anything else they had.

“The king slayer?”

Fathers face grew more tense as he put the pieces to use. But as he did, Arya started thinking. And in some sick way she found a positive in all this. The king had no legitimate children. This could be used.

“We leave tomorrow, the second Jon is done with his meeting we find him and leave for Whiteharbor.”

Arya agreed, there was no time to waste. They needed to leave as soon as they could. This entire situation was far too risky to draw out.

“What do we do?”

“Tomorrow I will leave a letter to Robert stating my resignation, we will leave early in the morning and find Jon. We will talk with the Celtigar’s and Velaryon’s and leave from there.”

Arya nodded as she listened to her father.

“What about Syrio?”

“We can offer to take him with us, but that's hardly our concern as of now.”

She was about to retort again when there was a fast and desperate knock on the door.

“Enter.”

In walked a muddy messenger out of breath and tired. He held in his hand a pair of letters. Curious father asked.

“What is the meaning of this?”

The messenger only held out a letter to him. Father took it, it was unsealed and hastily written. But whatever it said made him go deathly pale. He looked to the messenger.

“… Is this true?”

The man simply nodded his head. Arya in turn grabbed the paper, surprisingly to no resistance. She opened it and gave it a once over.

‘To the lord hand,

The king is dead. Gored by a wild boar. His wounds were too extreme to get him to help, and he perished shortly after. The retinue returns with his body tonight.’

Arya went ghostly white as well.

He was dead.

She didn't even have time to reckon with the consequences of the information or how this would change things before father was already reading the second letter. And it seemed as if it was seldom any better. Arya the first chance she got grabbed a hold of it and read it quickly as the last.

‘To Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell,

I appreciate your support and respect your devotion to the righteous cause before us. I will be landing on the morrow and I expect you ready by then.

Lord Stannis Baratheon.’

The Dread immediately settled in her stomach again as she read the contents of both letters over and over and over again, almost hoping they would change, but they never did. In just a matter of seconds everything had come crumbling down all around them and there was no easy way out.

“If the king is dead then…”

“Joffrey is king…”

Arya looked to her father.

“What do we do?”

“Jon will have already left for the meeting by now. But he should be back early. You and Sansa will pack your things. And I will swear false fealty before Joffrey to grant us safety, I'll have to find out what Stannis is expecting of me…”

Arya nodded her head as father took her by the shoulders and knelt down to meet her in the eye so that she got what he was saying clearly.

“You listen to me, if something goes wrong, find Jon. If Ser Barristan is back, you can trust him. If you find Syrio, tell him of all that has happened, and he can protect you. But you will not leave behind Sansa under any circumstances, do you understand Arya?”

Arya shook her head furiously at her father's words, taking in everything he had to say in that moment she was beyond terrified of tomorrow. She had no clue of what was going to happen. But her Father held her by the shoulders, still keeping her steady. She was almost shaking with the enormity of the past few minutes, trying to level herself as best she could in the face of all this news.

“If worse comes to worst Arya, you run… as fast and far as you can. Do you understand me? Fast and far.”

Arya nodded her head as she quietly. The messenger had left a while ago, and it was just them in the room as she held close to her father.

He placed a small kiss on her forehead before patting her shoulder.

“Now go, pack your things, and get to sleep. Wake up early as the sun tomorrow and be ready to move. Find Syrio, I’ll deal with Stannis and Joffrey. Ok?”

She nodded again.

“Arya… remember your oath.”

She thought back to hers, Robb’s, and Jon’s oath under the weirwood tree all those years ago. And she held onto that memory like a warm blanket. Some semblance of comfort as she walked to her chambers before closing and locking the door. Furiously packing all she could and not falling asleep for a long time after that. And even then she clutched Needle close as she slept.

Notes:

As always thanks for the kind words last chapter, and I hope you enjoyed this one. As always comments are welcome.

Chapter 17: Jon VI / Daenerys III

Summary:

Jon meets with old allies, and Daenerys questions the lord of light

Jon VI

The packing was swift and painless enough, just some clothes for the morning, his weapons, and a single horse. It was hardly a king's hunt worth of supplies, but it would do for his purposes. He wasn't staying for long, just the night in the Kingswood. He had argued for it in the first place after all, not wanting to draw eyes by leaving too early in the morning and everyone knew that the Starks would visit their wolves anyway, was it too unbelievable that he fell asleep with them after going out for too long?

So he gathered his items and secured his belt. It was close to sunset by the time he departed his room gear in tow. Walking through the halls of the Red Keep eventually making it to the first courtyard past the gardens and trees many of them exotically sourced, it was such a decadent display of wealth and Jon for his part just found it gaudy and ridiculous. He thought to himself how he might like it to look, something far more minimal definitely, some nice flowers but more trees for shade, it was always too hot in the south.

Furthermore, Jon had other opinions on the castle. The more he stayed here the more he found things he did not like or wanted to nitpick. The color of it all threw him off having lived in the greys and whites of Winterfell all his life. And then there was the sprawl of court that he quickly grew to not like. So much insulting and veiled threats over the pettiest of reasons, he couldn't believe that he was going to need to put up with it all once he took the throne. It had been an odd thought in truth.

If he took the throne this would be his home, he would reside here for the majority of his days. In some way it unsettled him to no end. For the longest while he had always envisioned himself ruling from Winterfell but when he had first laid eyes on the Iron Throne its twisting monstrous form rising from the floor like a cruse straight out of the seven hells, he realized where he would be sitting for his life once the plot was completed. He would have to get used to the idea, so far from the comforting cold snows.

But should everything happen as planned he might be able to make the place feel more at home once all was said and done. Give it a northern flare, he already wanted to expand the godswood from its current state, it was ceremonial if not just decorative, it was no place to truly worship the old gods. He wanted to build out where he could, perhaps redo a variety of smaller details around the castle. It was a lot to consider especially now, but it was fun, something to pass the time. Something to focus on that was not stressful.

Thankfully though it would seem that this short moment away from the capital city would also provide some much-needed personal relief for him. Just a chance to step away from everyone and all the talking, the scheming, the insults, and just relax amongst the wolves for a night. It was quite bloody idyllic if he really thought about it. He chuckled to himself in his mind thinking about it, just dropping everything running into the forest to live amongst the animals. But unfortunately he had responsibilities, and he had a family to protect. There would be no escape for him.

But in all honesty the stresses of court had been inconsequential to the absolute horror that he had experienced a few nights ago. He had been having another one of his Warg dreams again, but not with Ghost, although those were becoming more frequent the larger he grew. No it was Weirya this time. Normally he might rejoice at the shared presence he experienced with his dragon every so often. But it was the location that scared him more than anything, not her actions. He remembered flying over Lake, an island of weirwood trees below him in the Moonlight.

When he had woken up to it earlier this morning he had been absolutely pale and sweating, she was on the Isle of faces. Jon had known that she had grown violently impatient since the incident on the road, but he had thought himself strong enough or capable of calming her through their bond. He had told father as such when he inquired about the possible consequences of that event which Jon himself had many mixed feelings about. But it still absolutely freaked him out. He had sent a command to her earlier this morning through their bond telling her to remain where she was if not go back, and she seemed to at least comply to stay where she was hidden on the island.

But it still didn't change the almost violent insistence that he often felt through their bond clutching his heart. It was almost as if she was asking to help him in some way to check in on him once again like she had attempted to do so in the North all those years ago, but this time however he felt that there was a distinctive difference in her approach. She had clearly felt strongly enough to come all the way down from the neck. Jon sighed as he rubbed his face, he had a feeling that, or she was telling him this would be the last time they were separated.

Weirya was a loving dragon, odd as that sounded for such a being, he could tell from the moment he set eyes on her back in the depth of the neck with Robb and Howland Reed that she in some way, an almost human way, seemed to feel love deeply. She loved him, and she seemed to love the people that he loved as well. When Robb had seen her with him, he could even then tell that she was also in some odd way caring for his brother as well, the same went for Arya. She was a deeply affectionate creature, and Jon would have it no other way. But that affection came with a price.

And he feared he was now beginning to realize just how expensive it was. He would talk to father the second he got back, this needed to be dealt with before Weirya burnt down the capital and half the kingswood just to check on him. He could hold her for now, but not forever. And from what he had heard about Lady Stark’s choice with Tyrion, he knew that they were on borrowed time as it was. Something had to give, and soon. Hopefully by then though they would all be gone from the capital. Everything was in a state of precarious balance with the certainty of going over the edge on the visible horizon, almost literally.

But here he was walking away from it all into the woods to spend the night alone just to talk. It seemed In an odd sort of way almost completely selfish to Simply ignore these problems at least for a night, even if that was a drastic reduction of what he was actually doing. He had a job to do, and he would do it well, even then the thought of actually exposing himself was stomach churning to say the least. In some odd way, this meeting that was going to transpire early the next morning would be the test as to whether or not this plot could go forward. They had been tested on his and Robb’s tour of the North, they had been tested when Robert had arrived at Winterfell, they had been tested on the Kingsroad. Now they would be tested again.

With a resigned breath he took his steps outside the Red Keep, regards paid him little mind as he walked past, they knew the routine by now along with the fact that his father had requested they always let him pass for whatever reason. He acquired himself a horse at the lower stables and left through the river gate, catching a small ferry across the blackwater rush to the opposite end of the river. From there it was a short ride to get to the edge of the forest. And once there he rode along the dirt path to the designated meeting spot, a small clearing marked clearly by several large stones arranged in a broad circle.

Jon dismounted there, tying the horse's reins to a nearby tree. He quickly removed all his equipment and supplies from the saddlebags, laying out a very small tent as well as some food he had made sure to pack before leaving. But he made sure to leave a change of respectable clothes still safely kept within the bag, even if they would smell a bit like horse in the morning.

Once his miniature camp was set up, he quickly sought about getting himself some kindling and dried leaves to start a fire. Striking a flint and iron together, he lit the pile until eventually it began glowing a flickering orange. Eventually he added logs to the flame and soon enough he had a fire and was cooking himself some late dinner. From there he drank some water from his water skin and dined on cooked salted meat and some potatoes he had taken from the kitchen in the morning before he had gone to the godswood to enjoy the silence.

It wasn't long sitting down before the sun had set completely for the night, the vibrant reds and oranges of the sunset cast through the trees like a fog of light died and went dark within the hour. Jon sat to himself eating his bit of meat, simply soaking in the eerie quiet. The lone fire crackle to keep him company. And he began to think about tomorrow. How he would break the news and relay the story of his life to two lords who had never met him or for that case might not even care in the end.

He couldn't be bogged down by such thoughts, legitimate as they may be. So he resigned to wait within the prison of his own mind and the silence of the cold night. But even so, his mind kept returning to the meeting. Perhaps the best way to prove his heritage would be to simply grab a flaming log and just hold it. Prove he was unburnt, and the rest of the tale might be easier to follow from there. Or at least that's what he was hoping to achieve with this meeting. He just hoped that it would be enough.

But it wasn't long before the silence was broken by the sound of rustling foliage up ahead. The light of the fire did not extend past the bush, but Jon knew something was there, and he got the feeling something big was there. Instinctively he reached for his sword, ready to defend himself. If it was a boar he knew he would be in trouble. But thankfully out trotted Ghost silent as the grave. Jon dropped his sword, moving over cradling the wolf's head in his hands, hugging him tight as Ghost licked at his face as if he hadn't seen him in weeks.

Following close out of the brush was Nymeria and Lady, the three likely stuck together out here, pack that they were. So where one went they all went, and Jon couldn't be happier to have the company, frankly they were more appealing than the vast majority of people. So Jon gave similar scratches of affection to Nymeria who practically demanded them the second he got within an inch of her, and then a few pets to the far better behaved Lady who leaned into them with a demure grace. He always laughed at the differences between his sisters' wolves.

One so gentle and sweet you'd swear they were a newborn puppy, and the other might as well have been wild if not for Arya’s sternness. But they roamed together. He found a blissful irony in that, despite the differences of sisters, the pack stayed together, always. But Jon had noticed oddly enough how much sweeter and attentive Lady had been with him when the siblings came to visit. Ever since the incident on the road, occasionally Lady would trot over and brush up against him. And once while they were visiting he swore he saw Sansa send Lady over to him directly.

He wasn't sure if it was a misinterpreted command or just Lady being kind, but a part of him wanted it to be Sansa’s version of an apology or care following the flogging. As if sending Lady in her stead. If that was the case, one part of him was almost insulted that she had her wolf do the apology for her so she did not break this southern lady image she held so dear. But the other part was happy to know that she still cared in some way for him despite the Septa's teachings.

Perhaps he would ask her later when all was said and done. But for now he was happy to let Lady check on him. Eventually the wolves grew sleepy the same as him, Lady and Nymeria sleeping close to one another and Jon off to their side, he would be safe as he could be this night, dragon amongst wolves or not he was one of their own and felt security in that simple truth. So he in turn closed his eyes looking out his small tent at the wolves who surrounded the dying fire now naught but red embers.

—----------------

Awake, he wandered the kingswood at night, the cold of the night keeping him at a much more comfortable temperature than he would have otherwise experienced this far south. The heat was just unnecessarily excessive, so when night came he would run and hunt. Quiet as always, he moved close to the camp, the others fast asleep while he alone remained vigilant. So he lingered on the edge of the camp moving in lazy circles quiet as death fur catching the silver moonlight with an odd ethereal glow. Around and around he circled when the stench caught in his nose.

Awful it was, bloated and rotting, with the faint scent of wine mixed with the blood. Along with that were the scents of people, multiple, and their horses too. The scent was coming downwind ahead of them, and they were close, so naturally he moved in their direction, intent on investigating and determining if they were a threat. Quickly, he ran through the forest towards the road, being sure to stay hidden amongst the trees so that no one panicked further or worse. But he heard the horses charging ahead in the dead of the night, not stopping.

He lay in wait for them to cross his view and soon enough they did, house guards of the Baratheons and a few what seemed to be kings guard charged ahead between them a massive bundle of cloth stretched between them on branches hastily assembled into a stretcher of sorts for carrying the load. Upon further smelling, the bundle reeked of death, blood and stink surrounded it. He could even see the blood dripping on the road as the horses rode on and on down the road. He decided to follow as best he could as to get a better understanding of what was going on.

Through the trees he weaved as if he had done it a thousand times before and would a thousand times again, paws striking the ground like hammers on the dirt. Following the horses proved more difficult than he anticipated, in truth, they were fast already and being spurred on with the most fervent aggression. Eventually he couldn't keep up, seven hells he couldn't even hear them. But whatever was happening with them was by no means good or well-meaning. So he pulled off his pursuit and returned through the trees and bushes back to camp.

And so he returned to patrolling, all the way until the sun rose.

—------------

Jon woke well into the morning, he wasn't sure how long he had slept for or what had transpired otherwise. But he rubbed his face and stood up. Nymeria and Lady were awake and sitting in the shade of a large oak tree off to his side, seemingly content to lay on their bellies. Ghost was moving around the camp, seemingly tired. Jon moved over to brush his fingers along his head, comforting him. The warg dream had hardly settled his nerves. He didn't know what they were doing, but he felt it didn't bode well.

But he would be starting his meeting soon. So he pushed aside his worries and moved to his horse. Opening the saddlebag and getting out his fresh clothes, they were simple enough, his usual attire of a wool undershirt, a leather tunic to go over, riding pants and leather boots. And over it all, cloak resting over his shoulder. He had washed himself in a nearby creek before putting on the attire and secured his sword and the dagger he had bought from gendry on his person. He felt ready by now.

So once all was said and done he disassembled the camp, stowed away the tent, and discarded anything he did not need to the forest foliage not to be seen. Then he gathered the remaining wood he collected last night, intent on starting a fire. All it took was a few strikes of the flint against the iron, and it was going again, smoke rising into the sky. Once that was done he gathered the wolves to sit ready under the tree, they wouldn't leave him for some reason, so he allowed them to stay. All was set, all was ready, and he heard the sound of horses coming his way, not a lot of them but certainly enough to make him nervous.

Down the road came ten horses, on them eight had guards split evenly between two types of armor. Both had banners on pikes as they rode. One of them was white with red crabs dotting its space, the other a sea green banner with a silver seahorse. Celtigar and Velaryon. The guards moved around the two last figures, both on horses and adorned in armor, a rather distinctive contrast to his own attire today. But the pair dismounted and walked forward, one almost hovling over, obviously advanced in age, the other with a more vigorous stride to his movement.

One was on the older side with white hair and wrinkled skin, he wasn't a particularly tall man either. Furthermore, he carried a very sour disposition in addition to a trove of jewels and gold rings. An obvious display of the man's wealth. His opposite however stood tall and confident, he also had white hair but not of age rather that of Valyria, his attire was armor of silver with portions of sea green adding some striking color to his form without being tacky. But moreover, he had a very handsome look to his face. Jon for his part stood in front of them attentively and respectful but stern and authoritative. He would have to pull off quite the balance to secure their loyalty. The younger man stepped forward, hands resting at his side with a simple smile on his face as he assessed Jon. And funnily enough the man froze, face scrunching in some odd look of confusion, as if he was seeing something he couldn't identify. But the older man stepped close as well. Jon took a breath and spoke.

“Good morning, my lords, I trust the ride was easy?” He spoke in a respectful but formal tone, he wanted to present himself in a professional light first and foremost to lure them in, perhaps get them to like him before they were told the truth.

“The winds and roads were kind, thank you for asking.” The younger of the two men was the one to speak first, still looking upon Jon with an air of confusion.

“I am glad to hear it, my lord’s and I do apologize for the remoteness of this meeting.” Jon continued with the courtesies.

“Not at all, it's a refreshment to speak outside of the city for once. And as for introductions, I am Monford Velaryon, and this to my side is Ardrian Celtigar.”

Adrian nodded his head, the sour expression not leaving his face. But he walked forward all the same jewels and trinkets clattering with each step. Jon led both into the forest away from the road, the guards staying close by, but Jon made sure that they were out of earshot before he began his talking. Eventually they found the fire with the wolves.

Both lords were instantly on guard with the presence of the three direwolves who seemed to take little interest in the lords. Jon smirked looking over, putting his hand out ushering them both to relax.

“Calm yourselves my lord’s, they will not harm you.”

“Sir this is most inappropriate! Is this how lord Stark treats with the south? Through bastards and beasts!?” The old lord was obviously rather unhappy with the meeting situation and frankly Jon expected as much. Hopefully those thoughts would turn momentarily but for now he put up with the old lords complaining preparing a response, only for Monford to speak first.

“Oh calm yourself lord Celtigar, if lord Stark see’s it worthy to send his bastard son to treat with us then we must assume he is up to the task until proven otherwise, besides if half of what we have heard about ‘lord Snow’ is true, then perhaps we are in for an efficient meeting.” Monford shot a quirked eyebrow and slight smile at Jon.

“Stories of me and my brother's travels have reached you then I assume?”

“Quite, heard of your managing of Mormont and Manderly trade and accounts have helped their coffers quite a bit. So I hope it's not too much to assume that we will be talking with someone bearing some form of competence.” Monford again grinned while Celtigar kept his eyes on the wolves who had made no sign of interest towards the old man.

“You would have such faith in a bastard?” Jon asked the question more jokingly than anything, making sure to afflict his voice so it came off as humor. To which, and much to his own relief, Monford chuckled.

“My brother Aurane, bastard as well. But the most crafty and cunning sod I will ever meet. And witty to boot. If my brother has taught me anything, it's to see the worth in those the realm deems worthless.” At that Monford and Jon shared a small smile, an acknowledgement of understanding. And it seemed to Jon that so far the talks were off to a good start. Then lord Celtigar broke the brief moment.

“If we are to treat, then let us do so, I have little desire to stay amongst these animals.” He said still eyeing the wolves. With that Jon and Monford rolled their eyes and moved close to the fire to begin their conversation.

For a little while they talked about the basics of Lord Stark's proposal, the combination of Celtigar, Manderly, and Velaryon ships coordinating routes and supplies to strengthen ties with Essos and the North selling off lumber and wool in exchange for Braavosi, Pentosi, and Myrish goods. And in exchange for the services described the North would ensure that both houses received a starting share of 3 percent of all profits each from both ends. This sounded small but considering the fact that they were talking about a trade deal which would support the entire North it was quite the generous offer. That more than anything had caught lord Celtigars attention, the old man's avarice showing now through his smile, his tune had quickly changed after that, much to Jon and Monford’s unsurprised amusement.

“Well I must say Lord Snow I might have been too hasty in my assessment of your tact, I think this will be most beneficial to all parties involved.” Cletigar gave a grin, shaking Jon’s hand as did Monford. The talks had been good, and they both seemed to be on board, and now that Celtigar had changed his tune Jon knew it was now time.

Jon steadied himself as he cleared his throat to get the pair's attention.

“My lords if I may, there is still one topic to be discussed. And I will need you to remain open with your judgments.” Jon said with a sternness and the authority he so rarely used. And it caught the lords off guard, but both seemed intrigued, especially Monford who nodded, giving his consent to let Jon continue his speech.

“My lords, I must ask how many ships do your houses command?” The question was simple and inconspicuous admittedly, but necessary for his progression into revealing his secret.

“House Velaryon commands some one hundred twenty.”

“And Celtigar some seventy”

Both their responses were at surface level strictly informative, but Jon continued to pry deeper into the question.

“If I might ask why are your fleets so reduced in number?” Now Jon saw the both of their faces start to tighten and sour, it was clear that the topic was contentious to some level for the both of them, it was Celtigar who responded first.

“For supporting the Targaryen's during the rebellion Robert sought to punish our houses, place restrictions on our fleets and watched us closely so that we got few ideas.” Jon nodded his head to the man in understanding and acknowledging Monford’s similar reaction.

“Before I go any further I have to know, why did you support the Mad King? He burned my grandfather and uncle alive for daring to demand an answer on what Rhaegar had done with Lyanna Stark, he was a true maniac, and you supported him… Why?” The question was just as much for Jon’s own peace of mind as it was to transition into the reveal. And it was Monford who spoke, breaking the silence.

“... You are right, and it is your right to detest the Mad King for his actions. But we had only done as we had ever wished to do, uphold our oaths…” Monford had a look of caution when saying that, as if it was some lame excuse for his family's actions in supporting the tyrant as did lord Celtigar. But Jon nodded his head.

“... Then for whom did you uphold your oath for?”

“If not Aerys then for Rhaegar… that was what I thought until it came to my attention, what he had done to Lady Stark… I had known him from boyhood, he was my friend. I could never see him doing such a thing… I suppose it makes you realize how little you truly know of a person in the end…” Monford spoke in a guilty tone, a somber tone. Even Celtigar seemed off put by his words pointing his eyes to the ground. Shame cast over them like a blanket. And on seeing that Jon made his move.

“I would think that too… If I didn't know the truth.”

That made both of the lords freeze, Monford looking up and meeting Jon’s eyes. Confusion surrounded the lord as he grappled with Jon’s words, he tried to reason with the statement but could get no thoughts out as words.

“Lord Monford, did Rhaegar seem like the kind of man who would capture and rape a woman because he fancied her?” The question hit the lords like a hammer, but while lord Celtigar was too shocked at the topic to speak Monford thought.

“I never saw that breed of malice in him. I knew him as a boy and man and I never could believe it until the realm did. He was too gentle in his younger years and older years.” Monfords voice was tinged with a recollective guilt and nostalgic pain.

“So what if I informed you that your observations were correct?” Celtigar and Monford captured Jon in their glare.

“What are you saying?” Celtigar’s words were filled with suspicion and a strand of anger, but Jon persisted.

“That prince Rhaegar did not take Lyanna Stark against her will. He loved her, married her, and ran away with her.” The statement seemed to silence the world. The two lords looking at Jon their expressions painted with the most wild of shock. They were quiet for a while, Monford running through memories in his mind, Celtigar breaking the silence.

“And how do you know this?” His tone was venomous, as if Jon had confessed to some great crime, which in fairness he did to some extent given Robert's hatred of Rhaegar and obsession with Lyanna. But he stayed firm. He walked to the fire.

The lords kept their eyes on him as he did so. He removed anything covering his hands as he reached down. His fingers grasping a log consumed in blazing fire. The lords moved to help him at his apparent insanity. He lifted the log still covered in fire, its tongues and peaks catching in his gray eyes reflecting the most beautiful of dances.

And he did not scream, he did not drop it, he did not burn.

He simply let it sit in his hand for a while eventually turning to see the lord’s almost reverent shock. He simply said in a calm if not amused tone.

“A son should know their parents' story… should they not?”

Both lords looked with open mouths. Their expressions wild and reverent. Celtigar spoke again softer this time.

“... Who are you?”

Jon waited a second before speaking.

“My name is Daeron Targaryen, third of his name, trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.” He held the flaming log all the while. He waited for the lord's next words. And it was Monford who spoke.

“Lady Stark… we were told…”

“My mother died birthing me… Lord Eddard Stark promised her that he would protect me, he raised me as his bastard, and I learned of my parentage only recently.” His words were somber but direct, they needed to hear this, to hear him.

“You mean to stake your claim?” Celtigars voice had lost all malice now just pure amazed shock.

“I do. And I would see the old alliances return. I would see the houses of old Valyria stand as one again.” He kept his eye on the lords as he spoke, Monford seemed to be connecting every dot at once as he took in Jon’s appearance, his mouth still wide open as he stood there.

“I will not force you both to follow me if that is your decision, but I would be honored to have you with me. What say you?”

The lords after a minute of standing looked to each other, then back to Jon. Monford reached for his sword prompting Jon to grasp for his own. He almost drew it when the lord of Driftmark fell to a knee planting his weapon firmly into the earth, his head low. The tension left Jon there as he saw lord Celtigar draw an axe from his side planting it in the ground same as Monford.

“I Monford of the House Velaryon, master of Driftmark and lord of the tides, hereby pledge my fealty to Daeron of the house Targaryen, third of his name, and heir to the Iron Throne.”

Jon felt the breath leave his body at that, he turned to look at lord Celtigar.

“I Ardrian of the house Celtigar, the red crab, hereby pledge my fealty to Daeron of the house Targaryen, third of his name, and heir to the Iron Throne.”

The feeling within Jon was indescribable, some mix of honor and pride, but above all relief. Relief that all had gone to plan. He positioned himself between the lords and spoke.

“Then rise my lords.”

And they did so once again, the three houses united once again.

—-----------------

It was a short while before the three returned to the horses. Celtigar was the first out of the foliage, but Monford and Jon walked side by side, the lord of Driftmark inspecting his features.

“God’s above, it's easy to see now.” Monford spoke with utter astonishment.

“What is?” Jon asked Inquisitively.

“Rhaegar, you got his look.”

“Do I now?” He asked Jokingly.

“Absolutely.” He took hold of his chin playfully, shaking it in his hand. “That's your fathers, alright. But your hair and color, I have to assume that's all your mothers.” He and Jon laughed.

“Growing up, I was always told that I was the spitting image of Lord Stark.”

“At first glance I could assume the same, you have to know what to look for to see it, but make no mistake you got much more of your father in you than you think. Seven hells you're pretty as him, I'll give you that.”

Jon lurched back at the comment. “Pretty?”

“Oh absolutely, Rhaegar was quite frankly prettier than most ladies in Westeros, seems you got that too.”

Jon just blinked and walked forward while Monford laughed.

“So, what's your plan?”

“As of now we have the North, and we can count on the Riverlands, but that's it. We were hoping to secure an alliance with the Reach and possibly Dorne.”

Monford stiffened at the mention of Dorne, “Don't get your hopes up there, regardless of whether or not your mother and father loved each other he still cast aside Ellia if what you say is true. It will be the greatest insult in the world, and you being the product of that insult… temper your expectations.”

Jon nodded to the logic, it was in all likeness true. Maybe he could pull something off, but he was more than aware that Dorne was a long shot in terms of alliances, at least not without some extreme concessions. So he resolved to work with them later.

He and Monford walked and talked a bit longer until they reached the horses. They were about to part ways for now when a rider bearing the Velaryon sigil rushed down the road, panic spread across his face as he held in his hand a clutched note. Swiftly, Monford grabbed it as the man fell from the saddle to the ground. He helped the man up against a tree reading the note. Jon had seen a dozen expressions from Monford today, but this was a new one, pure objective horror. He watched his face go white as he turned his head to Jon.

He moved over, passing the note to him. As he read the note, his expression quickly turned the same as Monfords. His knuckles went white as he grasped the paper within his hand; he didn't want to believe that this could be happening right now. But if this was to be believed, then it was if he was in the middle of the woods. His breathing quickened excessively, and his heart started to beat faster than it ever had. Monford had now steady Jon. He tried to stay standing and quickly regained his bearings. Monford looked at him. And Jon spoke.

“I have to… I-I have to-”

“Your grace, you must breathe. Do you have a way out?”

Jon nodded his head, remembering the escape ship in the harbor.

“How long have you had it?”

“F-few weeks now.”

Monford shook his head.

“Assume it has been discovered. Gather your family, get them to a place called Old Inn on Eel ally, it's on Visenya's hill, I will have men ready my ship to escort you all out come nightfall. Please be swift.”

Jon nodded in fury, rage beginning to overtake the shock. Monford called out to the men.

“GET THE FASTEST HORSE NOW!!!”

A gray mare was brought over, Jon leaping on. Monford gave a nod to him as he charged off towards the capital, he had no time to lose.

—-------------------

Daenerys III

It had been a long arduous process hiding away in the swamps, far from civilization amongst the same few faces every single day. Having to hunt and care for yourself constantly even with the support of those around you was far more of a struggle and strain than Daenerys had ever thought it would be. She felt fairly confident that no other Targaryen in the future would ever have the experiences she has had here. In an odd sort of way it was extremely surreal finally being done with it all. Returning to paved streets and silks once more.

She knew it would be dangerous to return now, but In fairness it would be dangerous to return in any circumstance. She had to come back now, and she had to lend her support as quickly as she could. She needed an army now. But even then, even after almost two or so years in hiding, she was still somehow rushing her movements. She found it odd that you could wait a seemingly endless series of years and still never be ready for something. It was in all honesty rather infuriating, if not just maddeningly frustrating. But she had made her choice.

They had begun their pack up only a few weeks ago, they had disassembled their small floating village bit by bit and returned the resources to the earth and river, a symbolic thank you of sorts for the land's hospitality, or that’s what Daenerys gathered from the crannogmen who surrounded her. Next came the packing of the boats, they carried little in truth, just some clothing and camping supplies and of course their weapons. Frog spears, knives, and bows, few if any actual swords. It was after that they tackled the issue of the dragons. And it was a necessary discussion.

They were not yet rideable, much less adults. But they were big, too big to hide in the cities or on their persons. People would see them if they got too close and if that happened uproar would rise and all hope of any secrecy would be murdered then and there. Thankfully they were more than capable of defending her and her companions on their own, so there was little to no threat of them succumbing to an assassin or being stolen, both her and Howland were more than satisfied with that fact alone, that would at least make them feel somewhat safer than they did before.

But then there was the other issue that Howland consistently brought up for very good reason. That being her dragons were constantly close to her, almost obsessively close. They rarely left her for long or strayed too far. The only exception to this was when Eddaron had been oddly aggressive if not rebellious. For a while he would go far from the village, far from her. They always could find him thankfully, but it was still alarming at the time. But the same was not true for either of his siblings who had remained close as could be to her with intense frequency.

And considering that they were headed for Volantis, going right into the heart of the city supposedly to the edge of its infamous black walls, they couldn't afford to have them flying in. What's more, Howland had reminded her of the temperament difference between her dragons and Jon’s. Apparently Weirya had always been a rather patient creature, reserved to wait for upwards of thirteen years just to meet Jon after having been with him at birth. Honestly she marveled at the dragon's restraint, few if any had that kind of self-control. Her dragons however had no such reservations or patience. It worried her to no end what would happen if something should go wrong on the streets, whether or not they would burn everything down.

So the dilemma was obvious. And the solution one would call flimsy at best. That being, wait for the dragons to fall asleep and make their visit in the dead of night, and fast as they could. All they really needed to do was get to the temple of R'hllor, so Lord Reed could ask his questions, buy a ship to Astapor and go on from there. Besides, she didn't want to stay in Volantis regardless, the excess of slavery disgusted her enough to where she simply wanted to be out of the place as quickly as she could. Frankly if she and Jon managed to claim the throne she might come back to liberate everyone here. But she had no means of doing it now. But she would eventually.

Once all was done, they sat in their boats and started paddling down the river Volaena, back the way they had come those years ago. And thankfully to her satisfaction, all who had arrived were still with her, all twenty-nine who had been with her as her dragons hatched had remained steadfast and loyal, she took comfort in that. The people who had looked out for her, who had taught her much of what she now knew, would remain with her. And Lord Reed was still with her as well. With this entourage alone, she felt confident enough to take Westeros herself. And quite frankly, she might even make a habit of visiting the neck once all was done. The years had been rough and long, but well worth it.

But as she paddled in the boat she shared with Lord Reed the pair began talking as they often did, and today they discussed something that had been on Daenerys’ mind for a while now since leaving the village.

“When you cast the remains of our home into the waters, you gave thanks.” She spoke in a soft tone as her paddle carved through the water.

“We did princess.”

“Who were you giving thanks to?”

Howland turned his head to her so he could speak directly as he wanted.

“Who do you think we gave thanks to?”

“...your old gods?”

“Aye, princess.”

Daenerys had asked about the old gods a long time ago when she was getting used to the lives the crannogmen lived, she quickly grew fascinated with it thereafter. Viserys had always told her that the beliefs of the north were those of savages and tree fuckers. Then again, what did he really know of Westeros at all in the end. No, the ways of the north, the old ways as Lord Reed and Jon called them, were strange but by no means savage she had come to realize. They needed no grand monuments or temples, they had no holy texts nor priests, the closest things they had to ceremonies were weddings. That, and oaths before a heart tree. She had heard from Lord Reed that Jon with his brother and sister had taken one such oath years ago. She knew that they saw their gods not in stone statues or flames but in the carved faces of the weirwood trees and within the earth, water, and air surrounding them. A million spirits, ever vigilant.

“You wish to repay the gods for their gifts then?”

“Precisely. We understand that the land on which we live is far older than us, and will be here far longer than us, so we make use of what it gives us then we return it, that is one of our tenants in the neck.” Howland smiled at her as he responded.

“Are there any other tenants the old god’s demand of their followers?”

“Not many, our worship is in quiet and contemplation within the heart tree's view, our gods do not speak to us directly, and if they do then they do so for the most dire reasons.”

“... Is there nothing else the people of the north live by?”

“I can name one.” Daenerys leaned in as he spoke now turned to face her completely.

“It is our belief that when a man is to be put to death, the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.” His voice was clear and gruff, but it conveyed a certain understanding warmth, in some way she could imagine him talking like this to one of his children Jojen or Meera. And it made her feel whole to think he would speak to her the same way.

“Why is that?” Her tone was filled with an equal sense of curiosity and attention. Lord Reed made sure to keep her attention, as if he was trying to drill this into her.

“The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die.”

“...” Daenerys kept quiet for a minute, she had heard the saying once or twice but never picked up on its meaning, but hearing it in full, to know what it meant carried a certain gravity that she could not escape or ignore. There was some odd simple truth to the idea, easy to hear, but she knew instinctively that it would be all the harder to follow through on. The sense of obligation and duty in it was, to put it simply, grounding for her.

“... I think that if we are to do as you expect, you might want to hold on to that teaching closer than the others you have been given. Anyone can kill but few can deliver justice.” With that he turned back to rowing down the way again letting her think on her own for a short while.

It was the truth. She wanted to do good in this world, and she wanted to help people as much as she wanted to go home, to make sure none suffer as she did or worse. She wanted to ensure the happiness of those she ruled and protected. But the truth was that the line between justice and atrocity was a surprisingly thin one. And she was about to walk it as an acrobat walks a line over a pit. She would need to keep herself in check in any way she could, lest she follow in the footsteps of her more sinful ancestors.

So the pair rowed in silence along the river for the next few days, neither speaking to each other but not out of a sense of animosity or disrespect rather one of comfortable silence. They stopped only occasionally along the river banks in order to resupply and catch some fish for dinners. All the while the dragons flew and hung overhead keeping watch as vigilant guardians of their mother and those she deemed close to her. Frankly they were lucky few people if any ever came along this particular river, there were no Volantis tributaries along the Volaena thanks in large part of the swamp and marshy conditions that surrounded it, you would need to be a fool of some kind to attempt to navigate these waters without getting bogged down or caught by the various forms of hostile wildlife. Well a fool or a Crannogman.

But all that would be behind them soon enough, once their business in volantis was complete, and they had acquired a ship enough for the twenty-nine of them they would be gone from this part of Essos possibly for the rest of their lives. Again that was if she didn't decide to come back at a later date to finish the job. But the words of Lord Reed kept playing in her head over and over again throughout the entirety of the multiple day journey they had left. She would simply lay awake and think as the currents of the river dragged them down ever further south. And the strangest thought came to her one night, a thought that enraged her and in some way made her feel guilty. If she were to ever see her brother again, and if he tried to return her to the frightened and hurt little girl she once was, would she pass judgment on him?

—-------------

It was only a few days later that they eventually reached the point where the rivers merged. From that point on it was only about three days to reach the outer limits of the city. They had come ashore a couple miles up north of Volantis. They made sure to hide the dragons far enough away to where they couldn't be seen or noticed off the sides of the roads with Daenerys specifically making sure that they listen to her while she attempted to sit them down, although there was much resistance on that command.

In fact, it was actually rather frustrating getting them to even stay out of sight of the roads. She stayed with them until they had fallen asleep and until the sun had gone down. That was when they made their move towards the city. Daenerys donned a disguise of a thick cloak to hide her Valyrian features, tying her hair back into a tight braid to keep it from falling out around the hood. Lord Reed traveled with her in the dead of night just to make sure she was safe with half of the Crannogmen watching her from the shadows as they had done back in Pentos. Sneaking into the city on their small boats they quickly disembarked from the harbor and began walking the streets of Volantis.

The jobs between the men were simple. Some of them would go find a ship, some would sell off all they had managed to keep on them to make sure they had some money to afford travel, and the last of them would watch her and Lord Reed as they made their way towards the city's infamous Black Walls. Their destination was clear, easy and obvious to see. Anyone would be able to see the temple from the harbor. Walking through the various streets of the city brought them ever closer to their destination but even as she did, she could see within the late night squalor just what kind of city they were in.

She had been told that in Volantis slaves would be marked with tattoos on their faces. Some would represent trades they had been trained in, some would just be there for decoration, but every single slave in Volantis had one. And as they walked ever closer to the temple she saw a lot of ink. It was said that in volantis for every one free man there are five slaves. Walking the streets now she truly believed that, if anything she thought it was a bit of an underestimation in truth. And if this was the city at night she shuddered to imagine what it would be in the day.

All the while she wanted to look away, she wanted to try and focus on other things surrounding her: the excellence of the architecture that surrounded her, the late night performers putting on their shows to jeers, laughter, and cries. But she couldn't see anything else, wherever she turned, every alley she looked in, every gutter on the road, there was a tattooed man, woman, or child. The rage simmered within her as she continued to walk with Lord Reed. And much to her satisfaction it seemed Lord Reed was just as put off with it as she was. She could at least take comfort in the fact that she wasn't the only one who seemed to see the horrendous injustice and suffering that surrounded her at every single turn.

And yet they pushed on ever further until finally reaching the foot of the Temple of the Lord of Light. And if not for the immensity of the entire structure she would think it was a horrendous looking thing. Its twisted form is a collection of pillars, steps, buttresses, bridges, domes, and towers which flowed into one another all coated in paints of red, yellow, gold, and orange. Anyone looking upon it might immediately think that it had been some dark magic that built this structure and kept it together. Fire made stone by the look of it. And then there were the masses of slave soldiers that surrounded its outer doors, they seemed to number a thousand all with tattooed heads of blazing fire. The Fiery Hand they were called, fanatically devoted to the lord of light as were most of his followers, it still did not ease the disgust she felt in her core at their situation.

But even then she and Lord read ascended the stairs towards the great Gates as the soldiers oddly enough put up no resistance to their approach. They watched them with cold glares but none of them made a move to strike nor stop them. And her feeling of apprehension was made even worse by the fact that the great doors to the temple were left open. Not so much to where anyone would think that it was open but rather just big enough for them to fit through. She was already concerned with the implications of that, but Lord Reed stood by her side giving her a small confident nod. All she could hope right now is that they wouldn't be here for too long.

Walking into the landing of the temple they were immediately surrounded by great black halls, seemingly burnt from generations of flames cascading and licking down its sides. If anything it was a pretty scary contrast to what was on the outside, being so vibrant and alive in its coloring to something that seemed more out of a nightmare than anywhere someone would want to worship a god. Then there was the main chamber which seemed to be a cylindrical room extending all the way to the top of the tower. At the top of the room she can faintly see the outlines of some stained-glass windows. Red orange yellow, the colors of flames, same as outside. She had to assume that in the sunlight the glass would cast quite the show of light down onto the floor. But in the dead of night they stood cold and dim.

And finally within the center of the room was a great brazier, within it a roaring fire was alive and well, in fact it was the only source of light in the entire room. And by its side was a singular man, he bore the same face tattoos as many of the slaves she had seen walking the streets, but his robes were that of a bloody crimson red. He was a tall and slender man with a lipless mouth, white as snow skin under his multitudes of tattoos. He looked to the pair, taking his attention away from the flames. His mouth curving into what might have been a smile as he stepped down. He bowed low before rising up.

“Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, and Howland of house Reed. It is an honor to make your acquaintance at long last.” As he spoke she took notice of his particularly high-pitched voice with an underlying hint of satisfaction to his words.

“You knew we were coming?” She asked curious and worried as to how he knew their names.

“Worry not, your secret is safe, the lord of light has seen fit to inform me of your arrival long before you came.” He continued to speak with a particularly self-satisfied tone, the kind of tone that one only speaks with him, they've been proven right, if anything Daenerys found it a little bit cocky and annoying.

“Do you know why we are here then?” Lord Reed spoke in an inquisitive tone.

“The Lord of Light has not seen fit to inform me on such matters as of now, but I suppose you are willing to do just that.”

Daenerys looked to Lord Reed who continued to speak.

“In the North we speak of the Long Night, we faced it thousands of years ago. And we believe it comes again soon. I hear that your god speaks of a similar doom to befall the world. It seems to me that our gods share an enemy.” Lord Reed spoke in an authoritative and worried voice, Daenerys had been told the tale of the long night back a few months ago and she had come to accept Lord Reed's concern over it, she didn't want it to be real, in fact she hoped it wasn't. But the way he described it. The concern and horror in his voice when he recounted, what his friend as he called them, had told them. She found it hard to believe that there wasn't something out there that was making this man who she knew to be upright, honest, and brave quiver in fear. And that made her worry more than anything.

“...You say you believe it comes again soon, for what reason do you believe this?” The priest had an inquisitive look about him more than anything. As if he was trying to determine whether or not this was an elaborate joke or something he should truly take seriously, Daenerys for her part let Howland do the talking at least for now.

“ I have spoken with someone who shares not only our interests but the interests of my gods. And I do not seek to deceive you, merely warn you.”

“...You must understand that this is a rather… immense claim. I would require more than the words of a friend you know if I am to act in my lord's name.” His tone seemed to carry a genuine suspicion of Lord Reed's claims which in all honesty was rather fair given what his claims entailed. But that's when Daenerys spoke up.

“Is this not something you can see in your flames? You claim that your lord saw fit to tell you of our arrival, perhaps he will tell you more now?”

The priest raised an eyebrow to Daenerys, seemingly about to retort her comment, probably saying that he does not command whether or not his god sends him such visions. but he seemed more curious now to actually try it. So he stepped away from the two and returned to the brazier.

He peered into the fires for what she assumed was minutes perhaps second, she couldn't really tell the difference of time within the room. All she and Lord Reed did was wait in silence for him to finish. But when he stepped away from the brazier the both of them could see the concerned yet amazed expression within his eyes, whether or not the Lord of Light was real or not he had obviously seen something within those fires. As such he walked down the steps again to meet with them as he turned to Lord Reed first.

“It would seem that perhaps my lord sees some merit in your worries.”

“So you believe us then?”

“No, not yet.” Daenerys was confused at the statement.

“No? Then what did you see in the fire?”

“I saw a winter snow, violent and fierce, swirling beyond a great wall. And I saw three weapons of Blazing light. I then saw the visage of five dragons, and six riders to mount them. All plunging into the storm.”

The prophecy was as concerning as it was confusing. Daenerys had no clue what he could really mean by any of it, but it seemed reasonable at least to her that this winter snow could be what Howland was referring to. And from a quick glance at his face, he seemed to think the same thing.

“I will send an emissary to the wall, they will determine if your claims are worthy of our Lord's attention, at which point I will write to you to inform you of our choice whether or not to intervene. Now go, I suspect you have work to do” With that the priest return to the brazier, back to his visions and incantations,

—-----------

The walk back to the docks was quite the same as it had been on the way here, but once they were out of earshot of anyone they could see Daenerys began talking.

“Was that all you wished to hear?”

“No, I had hoped to perhaps elicit more of a response.”

“It hardly seemed that way, my lord.”

“Well, I couldn't exactly demand they all go west to deal with this… No, this was not anywhere close to what I wished to happen.”

“Indeed. I was hoping to see movement, and instead we walk away with a prophecy… What do you make of it?”

“Make of what princess?”

“The prophecy? You often said that your son has visions, I should think that if anyone is qualified to interpret his words it would be you.” Her statement was made out of genuine confidence in his ability, although she only needed one look at Lord Reed's face to determine that she wasn't going to find his answer satisfying.

“Prophecy is a fickle and dangerous thing, princess, even Jojen's gift is hard to interpret. Sometimes it is as clear as day, such was the one that foretold the birth of your children, others not so much. And I do believe that this one, foretelling as it may be, is hardly one to be taken at surface level, princess.”

“So I am to ignore it?”

“No, you are to understand it, yet not be consumed by it.”

“That seems a fine line to walk.”

“Such is the nature of prophecy.”

She left the debate there for the night, not wanting to dwell too much on it. They regrouped with the others, who had thankfully found more success in their endeavors than they had. They had sold off all the fish goods and leathers they had managed to acquire over the past few years, and purchased a small ship for them to use.

They returned outside the city walls until morning, taking sleep while they could. When the morning came the dragons rose from their slumber and took to the skies making their way east of Volantis, eventually stopping off along the coast. The two parties met up once more and the ship they had bought was waiting for them. Once on board, she was quickly shown to her personal quarters, and the second she laid down on the bed she felt an extreme wave of bliss fall over her. It had been years since she had slept in an actual feather bed, and she swore nothing would compare.

But as she laid down the ship began to move, her dragons could be seen flying around circling the ship. She looked out the window at them and the prophecy rang in her head again, five dragons, six riders. Whatever that meant, she doubted it would be good. And so were her thoughts for the next few days as the ship moved down the coast, its destination, Astapor. And so would begin her work, the real work.

Notes:

Thank you for the kind words last chapter, I hope you enjoyed this one, comments are always welcome.

Chapter 18: Ned IV / Arya V

Summary:

Ned sees Joffrey and Stannis come to blows, and Arya flees the Red Keep to witness something horrible.

Ned IV

The morning had roused him from his sleep as early as he could possibly rise, the sun was barely even over the horizon when he got out of bed and began equipping his leathers. He put on his boots he put on his belts he secured the brooch of the hand of the king securely to his chest. Although he knew that this would be the last day he would ever have to wear the wretched thing, he still wore it out of formality. He had to look the part if he was expected to be believed in his sincerity.

Quite frankly he had come to the more than obvious conclusion that he had hated this position. Never in his life had he been so stressed so often for so long, early mornings, late nights, and so many issues of governance that he swore he would hurl himself from the Red Keeps balconies before he had to read another letter detailing loans taken from Tywin Lannister. All of it would be over today. All of it would be over soon enough. That being said however it was by no means going to be as easy as walking out the gates.

The plan he had devised last night after he sent Arya away was simple and swift. As he had said that night he would go to Joffrey, bend the knee and swear false fealty before him. Where then he would resign as hand of the king, find his daughters and Jon, and from there on they would make their way to Winterfell once more. From there they could coordinate with Robb, and then decide what they would do regarding Jon’s secret based on the success of his meetings with the Celtigar’s and Velaryons. Simple, swift, and easily kept secret.

Sure there would be those who would now question his famous honor for going back on an oath of fealty to Joffrey, but at the same time so long as his children were safe and they were out of the city he really didn't care what people thought of it at this point. Moreover, he figured that most would probably understand the situation he was in and would still probably flock to their cause given the fact that Joffrey and his siblings were bastards regardless. They had no stable claim to the throne and were a means to an end for Tywin to get his blood on the throne.

Truth be told he was still reeling from the shock of the Revelation himself but at the same time there was a small part of him that was oddly relieved. It was a selfish thought he admitted but the fact that these children were bastards did soothe his conscience a bit with regard to Robert. Despite everything he had been through, Lyanna, Jon, and the plot, there was a small part of him that had initially hoped that perhaps it would never come to war. That perhaps he wouldn't have to betray his best friend. The man he had grown up with and saw as a brother for the longest time.

There was no question in his mind as to who he would have supported if Robert had ever found out the truth. He would always support his family, he would always support his sister and her dying wish, he would always support his son. He had almost lost sight of that when he was mulling over letting Jon go through with taking the black and going to the wall. And he was thankful now that Robb and Arya had discovered Jon’s secret when they did and set him straight. But that didn't mean he was in any way happy about going behind his best friend's back like this.

For years, he played the loyal lord and the good friend, and in the end he was all that and the man's closest advisor. He trusted him with everything he had regardless of what he had chosen. It would have stung to betray that trust anyway he went. He loved Robert he really did, but in the end he loved his family, he loved Jon, and he loved Lyanna more than Robert.

But now Robert was dead, killed by a wild boar who left him open from hips to chest. He didn't even get a chance to say goodbye. The last talk between the two had been when he was recovering from his fight outside the brothel, and in that moment he had seen only frustration in his old friends eyes, frustrations with him and his quarreling with the Lannister's or perhaps Cersei's comments leading him to backhand her across the face. Robert had always been a brute but he had no memory of him acting like that towards any of the women he slept with.

In some way he felt an intense disgust at his friend, and despite all she had done and all she had said, some sympathy for the queen. But he supposed it mattered little now anyway, with any luck he would be gone from the city by nightfall, and he would never have to interact or speak with the queen ever again or at least not until Jon came into power. His escape routes and plans were in place and had been in place for a while; he knew them well and so did his children. It was time.

He grabbed hold of his Cane as he pushed himself onto his feet, the wound in his leg throbbing with dull pain as he moved along the room. It was getting better but he was in no way ready to fight or run. So he hoveled his way over around the room making sure everything he needed was packed. He already had some of his own house guards moved down to the port where they could safely escort them onto the hidden manually ship and send them up north. And he was about to leave the room when a knock came at the door.

Ned's head turned to the door as he eyed it suspiciously. No one came to his office at this time in the morning. He quickly grabbed a dagger that he kept on his person as he held it within his hand keeping its blade on a table.

“Enter.”

Opening the door and walking in much to his relief and confusion was no Lannister guard, no Gold Cloak but Renly Baratheon. His dark hair was messy, and his eyes obviously tired but he stood and spoke Within unusual if not paranoid vigor. It was obvious he had not only been up for much longer than he should have but was very nervous. Ned slid the dagger back into its Scabbard knowing that the younger of the Baratheon brothers would not do him any harm or at least he hoped he wouldn't. And he let him speak.

“Lord Stark if I may have but a moment of your time, there are matters I wish to discuss.” His voice was shaky and tense. He could even see some sweat beginning to drip down his forehead as he spoke.

“Lord Renly… why have you come so early this morning?” He asked with a direct and suspicious tone.

“I trust you have heard of my brother's passing?”

“I have… I'm sorry for your loss, he was a good friend of mine.” He spoke in a genuine sincerity, he did feel awful for Renly, but there was an underlying suspicion to his words. And Renly seemed to notice.

“Lord Stark, I am not here to harm you, your suspicions are best served with others. Rather I am here to make you an offer.” Now that caught his attention, he had known Renly to be a generally forthcoming man, and a good man. But even he knew that the youngest of the Baratheon brothers was far more conniving relative to his other brothers. The chances were that whatever he was about to say next probably didn't mix well with Ned's true intentions.

“I assume you intend to bend the knee to Joffrey?” Ned decided at that point to stick with his lie and feign false servitude for now.

“Aye, he is the king's son and heir. Why would I not?”

“Because you know what he is.” The young Lord's words cut him right off in the middle of his thoughts on what to respond with next. And the notion that really new as well that Joffrey and his siblings were bastards. Moreover, the fact or at least suspicion that Renly was aware that Ned knew was concerning to no small degree. And it seemed that Renly picked up on that fact.

“My Lord, I'm not sure I understand the accusation you are making.”

“But I think you do, and I think that you intend to flee the city as soon as you can, a wise move. I have already sworn my false allegiance and I am leaving within the hour.”

“... Why are you here?” Now Ned's suspicion was all but confirmed, Renly was obviously up to something and it seemed as if perhaps he wanted to drag Ned down into his scheme. Curious as to what Renly had to say, Ned would listen.

“Because I would ask for your allegiance.” Renly was unsure in this question; it was obvious by the way he shifted his weight on his feet and avoided immediate eye contact. That or he was continuously eyeing around the room to see if anyone was watching or listening through a window or a door. But Ned's concern with the statement was palpable.

“I'm not sure what you mean my lord.”

Renly adjusted his stance, he stood as tall as he could, puffing out his chest just a bit and stealing himself to look Ned in the eyes.

“I wish for you to support my claim.”

Ned was silent for a few seconds upon hearing that blinking a couple of times trying to process what he had just heard.

“Your claim? To the throne?” Ned asked incredulously.

“Yes.”

It was at that point that Ned began laughing to himself quietly at first but slowly rising into a deep belly chuckle. He spoke with his dying laughter lacing his words.

“Renly for all your faults I never took you for a traitor to your own family.”

Renly for his part looked increasingly offended at Lord Stark's mockery, but before he could even respond Ned spoke again.

“And tell me Renly, how would you do this?”

“I'm Roberts broth-”

“Youngest brother. Stannis comes before you, it's his right if Joffrey is a bastard as you say he is.” Ned's response was quick and efficient but even then Renly persisted in his arguments.

“ So instead of Joffrey and Cersei you would sit Stannis on the throne!? You certainly have odd notions about what makes someone fit to rule.”

“Stannis is your older brother Renly!”

“This isn't about the line of succession! That didn't matter to you during the rebellion, why should it now!?” Renly's temper was now beginning to actively flare and in some way it actually put Ned off. He had never seen him like this. But soon after his outburst he took a few deep breaths and proceeded on with his reasoning in a much more leveled tone.

“Lord Stark ask yourself what is truly best for the realm. What's best for its people… We all know what Stannis is. Unyielding, blind to nuance, cold to all, a heretic. He inspires no love and little loyalty, he’s not a king… I am.”

Once Renly had finished Ned considered his words and he was right about a lot of it. While he didn't agree that Stannis inspired no love or loyalty, even he could admit that his unyielding iron personality would not be conducive to ruling the realm, he was a man who didn't cut corners but at the same time even Ned knew that sometimes in ruling you would have to make concessions. Perhaps in another life he might have supported Stannis's claim, but he had made up his mind years ago, and was done entertaining this farce. But he needed to know one more thing before he ended this discussion.

“And tell me Renly, who do you think would support your claim?”

It was at that statement Renly reared up a confident grin beginning to spread across his face.

“The Tyrell’s will declared for me, I have already negotiated a marriage with Lord Tyrell's daughter Margaery. Stannis may take the throne today but he won't hold it for long. I ask that you consider my offer and bring the North and Riverlands into the fold with the Reach and Stormlands.”

Ned froze at that moment. Suddenly all the humor that he had been finding in this situation, this seemingly immature attempt at a brother trying to undermine his kin suddenly carried a genuine threat to it. Suddenly Renly had turned from Robert's youngest brother to what might be the most dangerous contender for the throne on military strength alone. He had without even knowing it had completely usurped Jon's best chance at a military alliance out from under him.

All of a sudden Ned saw a massive portion of the plan going up in flames right before his eyes. He had to think of something fast, some way to rectify this, some way to pull this out from the deep end before things got even worse. Because if the Reach was bound to Renly through marriage then in terms of the other kingdoms left to ally with there was only Dorne and the Vale. And Ned didn't like their chances with either of them, they needed the Reach. Quickly Ned saw to getting Renly out of his way before anything else could transpire.

“I will consider your offer my lord but I make no promises. Now if you would please leave me, and get on that horse of yours to flee.”

Renly nodded his head unsure, taking one last look at Lord Stark before swiftly leaving the tower of the hand supposedly to flee the city before his brother came looking for him. Second, he was out of sight. Ned quickly moved over to his desk as fast as he could grab the piece of paper and dabbed a quill in ink and began writing frantically.

‘To the Lord Mace Tyrell,

I implore you with all haste, fury, and desperation to stay your daughter's marriage to Renly Baratheon. For soon another opportunity might present itself, one that yields far greater yield to your house.

Eddard Stark.’

Fast as he could manage he rushed down the stairs of the Tower of the hand finding one of his household guards before shoving the letter hastily sealed into his hand.

“Make your way to the ravens and see that this gets sent to Highgarden as fast as it can, GO NOW!!!”

The guard, confused and rather afraid, bolted as fast as he could towards the Raven Kennels. Ned for his part was left cursing to himself within his head as he stood amongst the pillars of the Red Keep. Why did he wait so long, now he could only hope that not only did this raven with this hastily written message arrive at Highgarden fast enough, but then would the Tyrell's would consider it? It was his only hope at this point.

But it was then that fate finally decided it had waited long enough. A singular man dressed in fine attire made their way over to Lord Stark. He put his hands behind his back and in a calm measured voice said the dreaded words.

“My Lord Hand, the king wishes to see you.”

Ned simply nodded his head and turned to walk with the man his household guards at his side. They moved to the great hall. Ned took in a breath and entered.

—------------

Ned walked into an absolute spectacle within the great hall around him at every corner behind pillars on the walkway and even by the doors; they were people, but not the denizens of the court he had grown used to seeing. No, what he saw now was armed troops, mostly Lannister and gold cloaks. In front of him, a small walkway was cleared for him and his small retinue of household guards so that he might approach the steps of the iron throne. Its twisted form standing out amongst the decadence of the great hall, the Baratheon blacks and golds were a stark if not disturbing contrast to the pillar of horrid metal that stood at the end of the hallway.

But Ned walked forward all the same. He couldn't help however but notice the smirks on some of the city watch men's faces as he passed his own retinue of guards, seemingly off put by the excess of armed personnel within the room. He could only assume that this might be in preparation for Stannis, perhaps they were expecting a brawl to break out if he did indeed know of Joffrey and his siblings' bastardry. But hopefully by then, Ned would be out of the room and already on his way to the stables with Atya and Sansa to meet up with Jon.

Thankfully, there was at least one friendly face within the room. Ser Barristan was at the far end of the steps, close to a door leading into the castle. Ned shared a glance with him, despite his eyes being hidden under his helm, he knew that the old knight was with him. But as for the rest, he was all too concerned with them. He had come to learn that Robert's Kingsguard was apparently totally morally bankrupt, save Selmy. So he would not trust nor test them with anything as of now.

Upon reaching the end of the walkway, an announcer began to speak.

“Hail to King Joffrey of the house Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

Ned and his guards bent their knees before him, still keeping his weight on his cane. Joffrey spoke in his usual snide and venomous voice.

“Rise Lord Stark.”

Ned did as such ascending to his feet to look up the throne, seeing the boy staring down like a vulture on a branch. In some way, being at the child's mercy was to a degree frightening. Memories of his brother and father came to mind again. It was in this room, probably on this spot they burned before the mad king. And Ned was not inclined to follow their fate. Joffrey spoke then.

“Lord Stark… you have served my Father as his hand for a few months now. Yet in that time you have done little to aid the realm, bickered with my mother, and engaged in combat with one of my Kingsguard. And lest we forget how your daughter and bastard savaged me on the road. You cannot tell me that this reflects well on your position as hand of the king.”

Ned weathered the barrage of slights and insults not against just him but also his children. However, there was another small part of him that was actually rather relieved that he was receiving this beratement. If he intended to resign his hands of the king, then perhaps he wouldn't even need to be so formal about it. It already seemed as if Joffrey hadn't been impressed with his work under Robert. So perhaps he was attempting to discredit any reasonable accomplishments he had made while he was here, and he knew that there were a few. And simply kick him out from the position without the need to beg. So as such, Ned played along.

“Your words ring true your grace, I admit, my role as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North suited me far better than as your father's hand.”

“... So you question my father's judgment in selecting you?”

Ned picked up on the bait and didn't bite.

“Never your grace, rather, I overestimated myself and found that I was lacking.”

Joffrey seemed to revel in his apparent groveling for mercy, gaining some sort of sick pleasure out of seeing him denounce himself. But once again, it didn't matter to Ned, so long as he could make it out of the city.

“Tell me, Lord Stark, what would you have me do with you?”

“Your grace, I humbly ask that you remove me as hand of the king, and allow me to resume my duties as warden of the north.”

On the surface, it was a very reasonable request. Even if they questioned his capabilities as hand, no one could question his capabilities as Warden of the North. He had dutifully served the realm under that position and it would not only be easy but politically convenient for Joffrey to send him back North. Even if Robb was moving south at a fast pace, Ned could simply just say that he would quell his son and return north.

“Your proposal sounds reasonable, and I might accept… if not for your vile treason.”

What…

Let's face grew tight as he looked up at the young boy sitting upon the throne, his expression was that of growing malice as if a mask was beginning to slip off his face revealing something heinous. He looked over to the side of the throne to see Cersei sitting upon a small stool, and she was smiling. Smug as usual but with a hint of satisfaction. And as Ned looked around he noticed Barristan’s seemingly confused movements while the rest of the Kingsguard remained stoic. Ned attempted to respond.

“Your grace i-”

“Spare your false courtesies Lord Stark… we know of your plot.”

Ned's blood for a quick second ran absolutely ice-cold, for a second he wondered how they had managed to find out about Jon. But Pycelle broke the silence first,

“Let it be known to all, that the Lord Eddard Stark has been conspiring with Stannis Baratheon to usurp the rightful heir King Joffrey from his throne, on the basis of rumors and unfounded accusations.”

Ned breathed a sigh of relief, all the tension in his body leaving for a quick second at the realization that they knew nothing of Jon. He was still safe. But then the realization of what was said actually registered with him and immediately he became alarmed once more. Quickly attempting to respond in order to figure out what was actually going on here his voice came out frantic and panicked.

“By whose information did you come by this lie?”

Cersei smirked and spoke in a melodic but venomous voice.

“Lord Petyr Baelish was most kind and forthcoming in your treason. Providing us your correspondence with Stannis.”

Ned's eyes white and quickly as he scans the room and off in the corner by one of the exit doors there stood Littlefinger. Painted on his face was the slightest smirk he had ever seen on a man, satisfaction made flesh one would say. He stepped forward out of the darkness into the light as the eyes of the room turned to him. He then began to speak, his soft sly voice carrying surprisingly well.

“Indeed I confess to gathering the hand's secret letters, and dispatching your hidden men.”

“What men!?”

“The men promised to Stannis, the men you were hiding within the brothels of the city, the men that you told your wife to gather and send South when you visited her in secret months ago. Lord Baelish told us everything, he played witness to your treasonous conversations with your wife, and has given us the locations you hid your men in. That's what you were doing in the brothel the day that you and my brother fought, you were checking in with your host.”

Ned was absolutely lost for words in that moment, he was attempting to piece together everything the queen and Lord Baelish were saying. But all he could manage was objective shock even his household guard seemed confused by the accusations. But the king and queen simply glared and smirked. He attempted to come up with a response opening his mouth only for Joffrey to cut him off.

“Save your breath traitor, your fellow conspirator will be here shortly, and we will know the truth then.”

Ned looked around desperately for any possible way of an escape route if not for him then at least for his men but he saw every single exit guarded with gold cloaks or Lannister men. He looked behind him to see all the great doors of the hall were relatively unguarded; there were still too many soldiers in front of them in order to make it. And it was then that it truly set in for Ned, he was trapped.

That's when the doors to the Great Hall broke open.

Just as Joffrey had said, in walked Stannis Baratheon. His Visage grim and determined with a sword in his hand flanked by at least 30 men of his own guard. He was armored already save for the head, his personal sigil of the flaming heart with his house’s stag painted on his chest plate. But his look turned to confusion and shock as his eyes fell on Ned.

“Stark, where are your men!?”

Before Ned could protest his Innocence Joffrey yelled down the hall.

“Uncle, come to follow through on your treason!?”

Stannis's glare turned over to Joffrey, his eyes a light with a blazing fury which seemed to put the little boy into a state of fear himself.

“It's hardly treason when I'm claiming my birthright from the hands of a bastard born of incest!!” He yelled with an excess of fury and rage.

“You dare hurl these unfounded vile lies at your king!?!” Joffrey's voice was well beyond a retching squeal at this point listening to Stannis' accusations.

“I do, and I demand you step on that throne and yield it to its rightful owner!!”

Cersei spoke up next while Ned remained lost in the chaos.

“You can possibly win Lord Stannis, you have not the numbers.”

“Do I not?”

Stannis turned to the head of the room, eyes landing on Janos Slynt, captain of the gold cloaks before speaking in a commanding and direct tone.

“Captain Slynt, I command you to follow through on your promise to me and dispatch all traitorous forces within Kings Landing and to take Joffrey Waters and the queen hostage!”

All it took was one nod from Slynt, one nod. And everything went to hell.

The gold cloaks took their spears and rammed them through Ned’s men first, they fell quickly and screaming in pain as they did.

Following Ned’s men came Stannis’ rear, the city watch moving to block the exit killed anyone who ran. Only one man made it out, a Velaryon man who seemed to bolt to a horse paper in hand, two gold cloaks perused him.

But now the combat was under way entirely, Stannis’ men moving to protect him only to meet Lannister swords. Stannis himself had drawn a blade and began swinging like a man possessed, impeccable footwork matched with vigorous strength saw several gold cloaks killed quickly.

Ned tried to reach for his dagger seeing the Kingsguard watching, but they were too focused on Stannis and his rampage to notice Ned give a nod to Barristan. Who in turn, being at the far end of the formation stowed away through a side door into the castle. He knew his job, Ned took comfort in that. Shortly after however a few of the other Kingsguard left as well.

But that's when he felt hands grab him tight and the cold metal of a blade press to his throat. A sly voice giving away the man’s identity.

“I am sorry about this, I can't imagine Cat being too happy with any of this.”

Ned's rage boiled inside him although he could do nothing to express it. He couldn't fight with his leg, he couldn't run either, and he had a knife pressed to his throat. There was no immediate way out of this situation that didn't end with him dead or worse.

That's when he turned his eyes to see the remainder of Stannis' men. Of the initial 30 that had entered the room only three now stood; the rest sprawled across the floor, puncture wounds from spears dotting their bodies or slashes from swords across their faces. But Stannis still stood, Stannis still fought, sword in hand he swung slicing man after man, blows screeching across his armor, spears breaking on his chest plate. Even when the remainder of his guard fell and he was now sweating and panting with exhaustion he fought on. It was admirable, at least to Ned.

But it was not to last.

Eventually he was grabbed and forced to his knees. Joffrey ordered him dragged forward. He rose from the throne with a crossbow in hand.

“I will give you one last chance uncle, declare your treason and I may let you live.”

Stannis glared at him, gaze not breaking.

“You are no kin of mine, nor will I kiss your ass and beg for mercy before the ill spawned likes of you, kill me here then, and be done with it.” His voice defiant as ever.

Joffrey smiling to himself raised the crossbow aiming it at Stannis, he loosed the crossbow only for the bolt to fly right into his chest plate and bounce harmlessly off onto the floor with a loud clatter, Stannis continued to glare. Joffrey realizing his error readied the crossbow again for another shot, once loaded he aimed again and loosed once more. This bolt also did not find its mark deflecting off a shoulder plate and once again clattering to the floor. For a third time Joffrey ready the crossbow, once again he loosed the bolt this time managing to hit Stannis in his shoulder where his armor plates met. Yet there was no cry of pain, there was no groan of anguish, there was nothing but grim determined silence and a glare that would frighten death.

Joffrey simultaneously frightened and embarrassed simply cast the crossbow aside feigning boredom.

“Ser Ilyn… I have had my fun, dispatch him.”

Ilyn Payne walked over with a knife and slit his throat then and there. But even as the blood ran down his throat, his gaze never left Joffrey. He kept his eyes open, boring into the boy's soul as the light of life faded from his eyes, even once the guards let him go he remained in that position needing to be kicked down to break his gaze.

And so passed Stannis Baratheon from this world.

—--------------------

Ned by now had been taken in irons and walked from the throne room, the last thing he heard was Joffrey's command that a stage be assembled on the steps of the great Sept of Baelor for his own confession to be held at noon.

But before he could be taken to a cell he was approached by Cersei who had oddly enough a look of concern. Ned simply glared.

“What could you possibly want?” His voice was laced with a barely restricted rage.

“To offer you a deal, a chance at life.” She responded with her voice snide and conniving. Ned raised an eyebrow and ushered her to go on.

“Speak your peace.”

“My son wishes for you to announce your treason in front of the entire city, you will be brought up before the stairs of the great Sept, and you will pronounce yourself a traitor to the realm and declare my son the rightful king. You will also implore your son to seize his reckless march south to face my father and for him to return home. In exchange your children will live and you will be sent to the wall to live out your days and exile. Arya and Sansa will remain here and be well taken care of until they come of age.”

“And what of Jon?”

She soured at the mention of him.

“We will find him a position worthy of his talents.”

Ned chuckled to himself not believing her for a second. But she only glared at him.

“You should have known it would end this way, Lord Stark. Justice must be served.”

Ned now looked her in the eyes.

“This is justice to you?”

“... Justice is what we make of it, a tool to be used and turned to suit our purposes, you never learned that. That was your mistake.”

“I've made many mistakes in my life… but that's not one of them.”

“Oh but it is… among many others.”

Ned raised an eyebrow to that statement.

“Such as?”

“The first rule… when you play the Game of Thrones you win or you die.”

With that she walked away down the hall. Ned was left in a state of numbness after that being taken to a singular cell for the next few hours. He thought to himself for a long time in the darkness about Cersei's offer. But he had also noticed something on the way out from the throne room and on the way down. Barristan was missing. He had not returned to the king's side, and to Ned that meant one thing.

And if that one thing was in fact true, then his decision was obvious. He closed his eyes, and spoke to himself.

“Cat, Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Jon, Benjen, Brandon, Father, Mother… Lyanna… Forgive me for what I am to do.”

—--------

Arya V

Arya had awoken in a violent panic this morning. She had been up late last night, panicking trying to get herself to sleep while clutching a needle close to her body, only for her to wake up far too late in the morning. Rushing out the door she had grabbed her sword in anything else she could carry on her to try and find Syrio. Around every single haul she checked, perhaps also hoping to find her sister while she was at it to try and get her to safety with them. It didn't help that they slept in different wings of the castle, which unfortunately was by her own choice.

By now her father should have been swearing his false oath of loyalty to Joffrey so that they could get out as quickly as they could. Jon would still be in the forest speaking with the Celtigar’s and Velaryon’s so he thankfully wouldn't be in the castle in case something went wrong. But on and on she ran past the servants, some of them trying to call to her to see why she was so frantic, others trying to call out the fact that she had a weapon on her person. But she didn't care to answer.

Trying to find the spot where she and Syrio usually trained had proved oddly more difficult today than on past days. Perhaps it was just her frantic state throwing her off as she attempted to navigate the halls of the Red Keep. But thankfully if not mercifully, she found the room. Bursting in through the door She looked around the room for her instructor. And her eyes fell upon him as he was resting against one of the walls bearing in his hands two wooden swords. A small smile across his face as he looked upon his student.

“Your late boy.” He spoke with an unmatched charisma walking over with a stride that spoke to his skills. Measured, precise, and flowing. The perfect movements of a water dancer. But Arya had no time for his quips and jokes.

Arya was frantic, wide-eyed, and panting. And Syrio took notice of it as he walked forward, his expression falling to concern as he did.

“What is wrong child?” His voice now laced with worry as the swords fell idle by his side.

“We need to go. Now!” Her voice came out as almost a yell or plea. Syrio descending to put a hand on her shoulder.

“Steady yourself child, and tell me, why must we go?” His voice though heavily accented was warm and comforting, Arya began to breathe a bit easier now listening to her instructor but she was no less alarmed.

“Father found something out last night, and it could get us killed, we have to go now!” Her voice rang out again.

“What did he learn?” His voice was equal parts concerned and curious, but before Arya could speak they heard the sound of armored steps down the hall. Arya reached for Needle only to be stayed by Syrio’s hand as he turned, pushing her behind him. He held the wooden training sword firmly with a relaxed wrist. From one of the side halls walked five men, four Lannister guards with a man in white armor.

He raised his visor to reveal a man with rusty red hair and a beard, a dour face to match. Ser Meryn Trant. He stepped forward, hands resting on his sword as he did so, speaking with a sour voice.

“Lady Arya Stark, your father requires your presence, come with us.”

Immediately Syrio and Arya were suspicious. With her teacher voicing his concerns first.

“And why is it that Lord Eddard is sending Lannister men in place of his own? I wonder.” His voice was as accusing as it was amused. Arya clutched Needle's hilt as he spoke.

“Mind your place dancing master, this is no concern of yours.” Meryn began to step forward when Arya drew Needle much to the surprise of the Lannister guards who had obviously not expected her to be armed. Syrio only gave her a glance, not one of disappointment but as if to say ‘watch yourself’

“My father wouldn't send you, and I don't have to go with you if I don't want to…” Her response was smug as it was defiant, but Trant only laughed.

“Take her.” The Lannister guards drew their weapons as they approached, only for Syrio to speak again.

“Tell me, are you men or snakes that you would threaten a child?” The nearest Lannister guard spoke first his voice deep and gruff.

“Get out of the way dancer.” Syrio merely raised an eyebrow.

The second the man got too close to her, Arya saw a flash of wooden brown as Syrio proceeded to strike the man once in the neck, transitioning his next strike on a downward arc to the back of his knee, and one more strike following that to the head denting the man's helm. It was so fast and fluid it was barely perceptible. She looked in shock as did the others in the room.

“I am Syrio Forel, and you will be speaking to me with more respect…”

Trant out of patience simply said “Kill the Braavosi… and bind the girl” he stepped back as the remaining three guards walked ahead, swords drawn.

“Arya child, we will not be dancing today, run to your sister and brother…”

The Guards Advanced only to be met with a flurry of blows. The first man to close received a strike straight to the front of the neck causing him to stumble back coughing, from there Syrio delivered a strong jab in between the plates of another man's armor seemingly dislocating his sword arm with a sickening crunch, after that he provided another strike to the man he had struck in the neck taking out his knee in a singular thrust sending him sprawling to the ground. Finally, for the third man Syrio swept him office feet, sending him onto his back where he proceeded to strike the man's now completely exposed face.

The whole ordeal only took a few seconds of real time, and it was in that moment Arya realized that she was by no means truly getting good at water dancing, not if this was the standard she was actually up against. Syrio moved gracefully to face off against Trant now who was seemingly unmoved by the absolute display of skill drawing his sword

“Be gone now Arya…”

“... Come with me… RUN!” her voice was panicked as she spoke desperate.

“... The first sword of Braavos does not run…”

Trant struck first with several strong blows trying to put Syrio off balance, but no such luck. He adjusted his stance answering each strike with a block, his moves flowing like water. But as he tried to strike Trant he was met with a solid block which broke his training sword on contact sending the top blade clattering to the ground. Syrio glared at Trant.

“... What do we say to the god of death?”

Arya in a shaky voice spoke full of fear “... Not today…”

As Trant was about to line up another strike and Arya was about to run, all were caught off guard by a gleaming flash of silver swinging down in a wide arc. The next thing that Arya saw was a flash of red mist and Meryn Trant’s head flying to the side of the room separated from his neck in one clean strike.

The pair stepped back in total shock as they looked to the figure behind Trant’s falling torso, another kingsguard in all white armor, but his face exposed with no helm. An old man with a white beard and hair, but moving and breathing like a man a quarter of his age, fierce and determined, Ser Barristan.

Arya was filled with relief as Barristan nodded to the both of them, Syrio looking back to face her.

“As I said child… not today.”

Syrio turned to Selmy, his voice strict and clear.

“Ser Barristan, what is the meaning of all this?”

“Lord Stark attempted to swear false fealty before Joffrey, but it would seem that Lord Baelish has been planning with the queen and prince to frame him for treason. Lord Stannis arrived shortly after only for the city watch to turn on him. I managed to make it out before the chaos got worse.”

Arya was put into a state of absolute shock, the worst had come to pass.

“What about Sansa and Jon!?” She asked with concern evident in her voice.

“I tried to find your sister but the Lannister's got to her first, she is confined to her room. We have no hope of getting her out this instant. Jon has not been seen.”

“He must be returning from his meeting… WE HAVE TO FIND HIM!!!”

“We will child, I swear to you… Ser Barristan, where would Lord Snow return from?”

“He was in the Kingswood last, so he would be returning through the mud gate… but we can't make it there without being seen-” Arya cut him off at that.

“The tunnels… I could get us there unseen!”

“You're sure you can do it child?”

“Positive…”

“Then lead the way boy.” Syrio said as he picked up Trants sword.

Arya quickly led the group through the halls of the red keep towards the closest entrance to one of its secret passages that she could remember, it was a small one hidden behind a statue but easily accessible to them. She made sure to grab a torch before entering the darkness of the keeps passageways, meanwhile Barristan began to dispose of his Kingsguard armor so as to not draw any more attention to them as he needed to being left and only his under armor consisting of chain mail and gambeson.

Occasionally they passed by a small exit to one of the tunnels where they could hear the sounds of battle going on in the courtyards of the castle. Arya figured that it was Stannis's men being butchered by those they thought they would have as friends, they thought wrong. But the three of them continued their mad dash through the tunnels until eventually they came out close to the main gate of the castle. They quickly snuck their way out into the streets of King's Landing after that, working their way through the streets all the way over to the River Gate.

Thankfully none of the city watch noticed them as they left, likely preoccupied with the slaughter. When they did manage to make it to the gate they were blessed with even more fortune, probably to offset the horror that was happening within the walls of the castle. Because charging through the gate like a man possessed astride a gray mare was Jon. As he turned to face the castle he immediately locked eyes with Arya. Dismounting and rushing over he quickly enveloped her in a hug as she reciprocated the gesture. But he pulled back to look her in the eyes.

“What's going on? I received a message saying everything went wrong!?” His voice was frantic as her but she spoke all the same.

“Fathers been framed for treason. Conspiring with Stannis to remove Joffrey!”

“Where’s Sansa?”

“Captured in her room. Jon, we have to get them back!!”

“We will but we have to get to safety first.”

“To the ship?”

“No, if this is a planned ordeal then we should assume our escape route has been discovered as well.”

“Then to where?”

“Old Inn on Eel ally, Monford Velaryon will have men there to keep us safe until we can leave.”

Arya nodded to her brother with Barristand and Syrio seeming to agree. Arya then remembered something, or rather someone.

“Gendry!”

Jon looked confused. “What about him?”

“He's one of Roberts bastard son’s!! If Joffrey is king now, then he’s in danger! We have to get him out!!”

Jon looked at her considering the proposal before looking at Selmy.

“Ser Barristan, you will go to the smith Tobho Mott and tell him that Lord Stark wishes to take Gendry Waters into his service, explain to him what's happening on the way to Old Inn, we will meet you there.”

Selmy nodded his head before moving into the streets as fast as he could. Syrio, Jon and Arya began their own walk to the Inn.

—-----------

It wasn't the longest walk they had ever taken, then again, in the past few weeks the group had grown accustomed to traveling within the streets of King's Landing. But this time it carried such a different tension with it, a constant fear of every gold cloak they happen to come across despite their more inconspicuous route. They decided to stick to the back alleys and smaller streets rather than take the most direct route to the inn.

And thankfully they had found it only after a few hours and it was as Monford had told Jon. Small and quiet with a few armed personnel around who Jon approached and talked to. Arya couldn't hear what he told them, but whatever it was, it made them nod their heads and usher the three inside. They quickly found their rooms and took the time to sit down, Arya's hand never leaving Needle, and the same went for Jon with his sword. Only Syrio seemed the most relaxed of them and even he was peering out the single window to the street below keeping watch as well as he could.

It was getting close to noon when Jon and Syrio saw Selmy returning with a very confused Gendry. They quickly brought the young smith into the room and Arya saw the suspicion etched on his face.

“What's going on? I heard that there was some trouble and I-”

“Was in danger, yes it's true, same for all of us.” Arya's voice was annoyed and enraged at the same time, which seemed to quiet Gendry. She knew that he was probably as scared as they all were, cramped in a small room in a strange inn, under the protection of strangers who could sell them out at any time. It was a genuinely scary concept, but it was their situation now. Alone and under the enemy's nose, with no friendly forces within twenty miles in any direction you could point.

Jon moved over to Gendry placing a hand on his shoulder leading him to a chair.

“I'll make this easy and straight forward for you, the reason Lord Stark and Lord Arryn came to talk to you was because you're Robert Baratheon's bastard son. Robert died last night, or so I'm told, and now Joffrey sits the throne. Which puts you in danger same as us.” Jon's voice was calm and reassuring despite the weight of the words he spoke in that instance, Gendry looked like he had just taken a punch to the face, and after he took a few seconds to regain his bearings he spoke.

“... I don't understand… Why am I here, then? Why am I in danger? What does prince Joffrey give a shit if I exist?”

Before Jon could speak Arya answered for him, her voice angry and filled with the most intense malice a person could muster.

“Because Joffrey is a bastard as well, born of incest between the queen and her brother, the kingslayer.”

Both Gendry and Jon looked at Arya, the shock plastered on both their faces evident and clear for all the world to see, whatever Jon had been told with regard to what had happened within the castle he certainly hadn't been told that Joffrey was a bastard of incest. Gendry just looked mortified at the concept, while Ser Barristan hung his head low in shame and disappointment, Syrio kept his watch on the window, never leaving for a second, but Arya could tell that he got an odd kick out of the thought. But she couldn't give a shit what the others thought right now, all she wanted to do in this instant was return to the Red Keep and drag Sansa and Father out to run home back to Winterfell.

And indeed she would need to discuss that with her fellow conspirators, so she did.

“We have to get Father and Sansa out of there.” She spoke with authority and it seemed as if the others in the room save Gendry who was once again lost in the confusion agreed with her.

“They have your father? Wait, who exactly are y-” Gendry was cut off when Arya spoke again.

“Lord Stark is my father, idiot. My name is Arya Stark.” She gave him a glare as the poor smith was again thrown for a loop, he looked around to the others in the room expecting more, and he certainly got more.

“Ser Barristan Selmy at your service.” Barristan bowed his head as Gendry turned to the next person he could see.

“Syrio Forel, although I doubt you know me.” And Gendry finally turned to Jon.

“You can call me Jon for now. But introductions aside, let's return to the important issue of saving Father and Sansa.” Jon turned his focus to Selmy.

“Ser Barristan, what do you know of my Sister and Father's whereabouts?”

“Not much unfortunately, I know that Lady Sansa was confined to her quarters the last I saw her, your Father was in the midst of the chaos in the throne room. But I doubt they killed him. He is worth more to them alive than dead.” His response was measured and devoid of lies. The truth was that the situation was dire.

“... We have a ship, Monford Velaryon, will be waiting for us when we can leave. With any luck, the Lannister's are still expecting us to use our old route to try and trap us. We will deny them that victory. Ser Barristan, do you think they will hurt Father?” Jon asked, a genuine concern etched into his voice.

“I do not think so, while the accusations against your father are fierce and devastating, the results of the fact that your brother is currently marching south with the force of the north at his back. If Joffrey is smart, then he will keep your lord father alive long enough to quell the north back into submission.”

Jon and Arya nodded their heads to that. It was the sound move to make, after all, and it bought them time to figure out how to get them out.

“So, how do we get them out of the Red keep?” Asked Jon.

“We can sneak back in through the tunnels and work our way to the cells and Sansa’s room at nightfall. From there, we can sneak back out and run to the docks together to flee.” Arya spoke again in a direct tone. But Jon raised an eyebrow to her statement.

“How do you know the tunnels that well?”

“Chasing cats…” The response got a laugh out of Syrio and a smirk out of Jon, which did make her feel better admittedly. It was good to have even a single moment of levity. But then Jon looked around to those who surrounded him, he got up and closed the door, locking it. Arya and the others looked at him with concern.

“There's something else, isn't there?”

Jon nodded his head as he looked to them all.

“Arya, it's about her…”

Arya went cold for the briefest of seconds, as the others just looked confused.

“What about her?” Arya asked quickly.

“... She's coming, and fast. I'm not sure how long it will take, but chances are she could be here by tomorrow. I'm trying to keep her calm and away before we can get them but I'm not sure how long I can wait.”

“Can't you force her to stay?”

“Not for much longer, I can perhaps keep her there for a day, maybe two. But one way or another, she's coming to protect us.”

“I thought she was patient!?”

“... I think she's all out of patience now…”

Arya ran her hands through her hair as she began to panic, as much as she would love to see Weirya burn down the entirety of the Red Keep and all the Lannister's in it, she knew that if the dragon came now before they even had father or Sansa then the situation would quickly grow from bad to worse. There were so many ways that could mess up everything for them. If it did come to a full-scale battle perhaps John could Mount her and begin attacking selected targets, maybe. But it was also possible that the remaining Lannister's could find them, hold them at sword point and force him to heal. Even if not the collateral damage to the city around them would be beyond devastating. It would surely turn the city against them and kill their cause then and there.

Weirya coming soon was a problem, which meant that they had to get Sansa and father out of the Red Keep tonight, there was no time to wait around and plan any more. There were no exceptions to this. They had to do this now. Or at least within the next few hours if they wanted to have a shot of being out of the city by nightfall. Arya braced herself against the bed in the room trying to come to terms with the situation as it actively grew worse and worse in front of her very eyes. Jon was just as stressed too, pacing around the room. But that's when the both of them were broken out of their thoughts by Gendry’s questioning.

“I'm sorry, but who are you talking about?”

Arya was about to come up with another verbal jab to quell the blacksmith's questioning, especially on this topic as she absolutely did not want anyone else right now while they were in the city to know the fact that Jon had a dragon. It's not that you didn't trust the people in this room, it was more the fact that she didn't trust if there was anyone behind that door. She was just too paranoid at this point to let a secret like that slip. And it seemed that John was the same way, the pair were about to respond when Syrio tapped on the wall to get everyone's attention.

He was still looking out the window down onto the street below his vigilance never ceasing but he turned his head to look at them all, and on his face was plastered concern. He began to speak, his Braavosi accent enhancing his distress at whatever he was seeing.

“Perhaps it would be best to forget of the woman, and to turn that concern to the streets.”

Arya immediately moved to the window to see a massive crowd moving down the street towards the center of the city. Intrigued by the mass movement Arya cracked open one of the windows of the end so that she could listen in. Once again her training herself to focus on specific conversations amidst the mass of a crowd turned out to be rather useful as she began to gather pieces of information from the idol or louder chatter of some of the people down below. But amongst all of it some words kept coming up again and again. Trial, treason, hand, and traitor. Suddenly she put it together given the context of the day. She closed the window and turned to Ser Barristan.

“I thought you said they wouldn't execute him?”

Ser Barristan was quiet for a second only to have his eyes grow wide.

“I thought they wouldn't…”

Jon and Arya shared a look before the both of them got up and bolted to the door. They didn't even hear the protests of the others as they ran. They couldn't care, they didn't care. Right now all they could do was run, and run fast.

—--------------------

They didn't know how many people they had shoved, trampled or pushed aside in order to get ahead as fast as they could. Arya for her part honestly didn't care how many people they had to get through; she didn't care how many people they had to step on in order to make it to the place as fast as they could. Pushing on street after street moving with the crowd like a river they made their way down the street of sisters through the muck and grime. Jon held her hand the whole way through, determined at least not to see her lost amidst the sea of bodies.

Eventually they made it to where the crowd had been gathering. The great Sept of Baelor stood tall and proud in the midday sun, the gold topping at seven domed towers shining like a second set of sons casting their light down onto the heaps of the masses below them. The statues of the Gods of the seven surrounded the courtyard outside. One of which Arya climbed to gain a much better view of whatever was supposed to transpire. Jon was tall enough to see on his own what had been prepared. And it made both their bodies run cold as ice.

Atop the stairs ascending up to the Sept they could see would look to be a very hastily built platform, a stage. Behind which flew the banners of who they could only assume was Joffrey, the golden Lannister lion reared up on its hind legs to face the black stag of house Baratheon facing right back, the fields separated between red and yellow. The banners fluttered in the wind as Arya could see a few men beginning to step onto the platform. All of them adorned in white armor. The Kingsguard.

Arya could then see Cersei walk up dressed in green silks and gold jewelry looking resplendent in the dazzling light of the sun, framed against the Sept. She looked gorgeous, almost holy in her presence. It made Arya sick. Following her was much to Arya and Jon’s shock and horror Sansa, she was dressed in good clothes as well but nothing as resplendent as the queen, her face was red and she was obviously frightened to be up there, they could tell by the way she walked, dragging her feet trying to delay her moment on the stand. Then came Joffrey, dressed in Lannister red silks and adorning the stag antler crown of Robert Baratheon. The look on his face was composed and dignified which just made Arya want to scream that he was just a monster prancing about in finery. But she stayed her tongue for now.

But it didn't last as after only a few minutes the roar of the crowd rose up upon the side of the spectacle they had all come to see. Stepping onto the platform, hands bound behind his back, his hair a mess and his clothes now dirtied, was Eddard Stark. Arya immediately grabbed Jon’s shoulder as he grasped her hand tight, he was afraid too. She was beyond afraid by now, she was mortified. And remained so as she watched father move to Sansa who looked ready to cry in the same fear she felt. She saw him lean down to plant a kiss on her forehead and to whisper something in her ear. And whatever it was steeled Sansa for a brief second.

Father moved away from Sansa to step onto the fore of the platform overlooking the massive crowd. The panic within Arya grew ever more violent as she watched her father take the stand. She clutched Jon's hand even tighter, mind racing with ways that they could get him out of this somehow. She knew that they could figure out something they had always figured out something before, whenever she got in trouble back at Winterfell Jon and her found a way out of it, whenever she got lost in the wolf's wood Jon would find her, they could do anything together. Surely they could figure out a way to get father off of that stand. Her mind raced with possibilities, first they would have to fight through the crowd to get to the stage itself, then they would have to get the Kingsguard distracted somehow. Weirya maybe? No she was too far and while fast, couldn't be here in the minutes they had. They could rush the stage just the two of them and face off with the five remaining Kingsguard, she had Needle and he had a sword. Then they would run and-

Her thoughts were silenced by Jon’s gaze which she now noticed was not just cold but horrified. She followed his eyes to see what he was looking at. Father. He was looking right at them. Under his beard there was a grim look on his face. As he shook his head… slowly but surely, subtly but sternly. She felt herself being pulled from the statue's base as Jon’s arms wrapped around her and held her close. She wanted to scream and protest, put up a fight and get her brother to do the same, but Jon kept his eyes to father. Through the crowd she could make him out on the stand as the wretched beast parading in human flesh they called Joffrey began to speak, his voice haughty and high.

“My people, it is with great regret that I come before you today. This morning my father King Robert Baratheon, first of his name. Died in his sleep from a boar attack.”

The crowd reared up in horror and shock, all the while Jon and Arya kept their eyes locked with father.

“And this morning upon being named your rightful king, my father's brother, my uncle Lord Stannis Baratheon attempted to usurp me and take the throne for his own. I barely survived the battle, having my traitorous uncle put to the sword as he deserved. But within his plot he had another helping him, my father's former hand, Lord Eddard Stark!”

The crowd roared and fury as they begin shouting years and names, northern dog, snow fucker, false warden. But Arya and Jon kept quiet with their gazes locked onto him.

“But it would seem that my bride Sansa Stark, and my mother would have me be merciful to the traitor, they would have me send him to the wall where he would serve the realm in permanent exile, stripped of all names, lands and titles.”

Joffrey turned to father.

“Confess your treason and I will pass righteous judgment!”

Father kept their gaze as long as he could, breaking it with a small smile on his lips. He stood proud and tall in the sunlight moving as far forward on the platform as he could manage. As he spoke.

“I am a man of my family. All my life I have loved my family, all my life I have only wanted to see them safe and happy. And I am a man of duty, a man of service. All my life I have only ever loved, protected, and served the one true king”

As he said that his sight fell back to the two of them as Arya could feel Jon’s tears rolling down his cheek into her hair. She didn't even notice that she was also crying. Father continued.

“I have had my failings on all, but I will have no one question my commitment to those principles!”

Cersei and Sansa looked to be growing ever more concerned, Joffrey however was looking more and more bored, so he spoke.

“Lord Stark, will you confess to your treason!?”

Father returned his attention to the crowd taking a deep breath. Jon had described him putting a man to death, his quiet commitment, his stoic yet solemn breaths, in that moment she knew what it looked like.

“I cannot, and I will not. For I have committed no treason! Merely learned the truth!”

Cersei’s eyes flashed with horror, as did Arya and Jon’s. Arya under her breath started muttering.

“No, no no no no…”

Before the queen could protest, father reared up. And the quiet wolf proclaimed with all his might so that the world might hear him.

“JOFFREY IS A BASTARD BORN OF INCEST!!!! WITH NO CLAIM TO THE THRONE!!!!”

“NO!!!” Arya screamed as all hell broke loose in the crowd. She tried to run for the stage only to be restrained by Jon, she kicked and screamed fighting his grasp scratching and slapping only for him to hold her tighter.

“NO LITTLE SISTER!!! LOOK AT ME, YOU HEAR ME!? LOOK AT ME!!”

“WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING NOW!!!”

Jon held her tight as she saw two Kingsguard drag father back from the edge of the platform, him straining against their pull, all the while Sansa screamed in panic and Cersei attempted to regain control of Joffrey who was red with rage screaming.

“SER ILYN, BRING ME HIS HEAD!!!”

Arya strained harder the sounds of the crowd drowning her screams to everyone but Jon.

“WE HAVE TO STOP THEM WE HAVE TO!!!”

“LOOK AT ME!!”

“JON THEIR GOING TO KILL HIM!!!”

“LOOK AT ME!!!”

“DAERON PLEASE!!!”

She pleaded tears in her eyes, voice horse screaming as she and Jon saw father brought to his knees on the executioner's block. Ilyn Payne drawing Ice from its scabbard showing it off as some toy to be gawked at. Sansa was being restrained as well as Cersei attempted to reason with Joffrey who was too busy glaring at father to care. Only for father to say his last words.

“Listen here, you've already lost. Your reign will be short and sick, and you will find no joy at its end…”

Joffrey was floored by fathers words, even Ilyn Payne halting for a second.

“If I am to die today then so be it, I kept my oaths, I kept my vows… the ones that mattered anyway, I die with my honor…”

Arya could only listen as could Jon whose tears flowed like a river. As did hers as she didn't look at Jon, she watched as her father spoke one last time.

“And know this alone… Winter is coming…”

Father turned his head to face her and Jon, the quiet wolf's gray eyes ablaze with fury.

“With Fire and Blood…”

Arya held close to Jon as they watched Ice rise into the sunlight, father lowered his head with a smile on his lips. Sansa screamed, Jon cried, and Arya watched as the sword fell down in a single motion. The sound of the metal didn't even register with her, she heard not the screaming of the crowd, the flap of birds wings, or Daeron’s voice. As her fathers head fell to the ground.

And so passed Eddard Stark from this world.

Notes:

Thank you for the kind words last chapter, hope you enjoyed this one, as always comments are welcome.

Chapter 19: Jon VII

Summary:

In the aftermath of Ned's death Jon makes moves.

Jon VII

No word describing hate, anger, or disgust could encompass the vile wrenching emotion that Jon was currently feeling. No words of comfort in this moment could bring him any joy, and there would certainly be no satisfaction in any simple pleasure. He felt numb in mind, body and soul, exhausted, scared and sad beyond all words. Even against the straining of his sister and his arms and the roar of the crowd, Jon could only watch as the events transpired. He and his sister stood within that crowd two small beacons of mourning and sadness amidst an ocean of hate, confusion, and contempt.

He held her so close to the point where he could feel her tears seeping through his clothes. She had seen his head fall down, and then she had turned her head to him. Burying her face within his gut, hoping against everything that this was just some horrible dream and she might wake up very soon to see her father smiling down on her once more. In some way Jon wanted the exact same thing, to open his eyes back at Winterfell, wake up and see him at the head of the table breaking his fast with his family.

But he knew that no dream could mask this pain. And nothing would dull it. But even through all the pain he stood Resolute he stood tall as he watched them walk over to his father's beheaded corpse and kick it onto the stage. He watched as Ilyn Payne lifted his fathers head in his hands as an announcer cried out for all to hear.

“BEHOLD THE HEAD OF A TRAITOR!!!”

Joffrey seemed all too gleeful at the sight, smiling a wide white toothy grin as if he got a desperate thrill from all of this from seeing Jon’s father butchered for a crime he didn't commit. Sansa had fainted, that was the only comfort Jon could take in any of this, that his sister didn't have to see the display they made of their father's corpse. The news of the crowd screaming for his death or at the news he had so bluntly hammered out in front of them all. But amidst the sea of hatred, even Jon could see the islands. Those few small folks who are not caught up in the bloodlust but rather in their father's last words. Some of them whispering to each other with hushed tones.

He watched as more of these people began to show up within the crowd, as more people began to take in their father's words. And it seems the queen caught went to this as well as shortly thereafter she dragged her son away from the stage with the Kingsguard in tow dragging Sansa limply behind. It was obvious where they were going, right back to the safety of the Red Keep. They obviously suspected that something was beginning to brew amongst the small folk, and they would not be here to see its dire consequences.

Once the stage was cleared Jon finally started to move with Arya. But even walking away from the sight of the murder brought no relief to either of them. Up and down the street, town criers continue to ring their bells amidst the masses of people returning to their daily lives, screaming in raspy voices or high-pitched voices the same news up and down all day for hours.

“The traitor Eddard Stark has been executed!!!”

Jon tried to cover Arya’s ears, wishing to spare her just that little bit more pain. He knew it wouldn't work but it was all he could do in this very instant. Try to provide some comfort to the sister he still had with him. They walked back up the street of sisters amidst the crowd moving with them as they had done to get down here although with far less shoving in frantic running, lacking the hope, minimal as it was, that they had had initially when they had run out of Old Inn. Now all they could do was walk, walk and hope no one found them. Frankly, John didn't trust even that all too much. Eyes were everywhere in this city.

He knew they had only a small window of time to truly leave the city unscathed. Or to leave making sure that none of the small folk got hurt in the process. Because one way or another if they didn't leave soon perhaps within the day things would come to a head around this city once more. And no one but them knew it. Jon focusing on his bond, Weiryas emotions flowing through him as his dragon felt his pain once more. Feelings of concern, fear, and grief ran through to her all those miles away. And Weirya responded, she seemingly tried to comfort him, but he just wanted to take that feeling and give it to Arya.

But then came the next set of emotions. The ones he did fear. Not just from Weirya but himself, he and his dragon began to feel in total unison one thing. One pure, violent, raw emotion that would almost certainly see this city burned to ashes if he let it rage out of control. But at the same time he knew that he had to feel it at some point, and if now wasn't the appropriate time to feel it then he had no clue when it would be.

Rage.

A pure flaming rage.

He didn't know that anyone could ever feel like this. He had never truly understood the depths of hatred before this. He had been flogged on the road bloody and he hadn't felt like this, Robb had almost died in the woods to wildlings and he hadn't felt like this, he had heard now Daenerys was hurt by her brother and that was the closest thing he could relate to this. But now he wanted nothing more than to watch Joffrey and his mother burn in Weirya’s flames. He wanted them dead, he wanted them to hurt like this, he wanted them to know how horrid they were.

He wanted Fire and Blood.

And one look at his sister told him that she craved the exact same thing. They wanted to see the golden lion of Lannister and its ill spawned wretch die in the most agonizing way possible. Their eyes met for a second the hate reflected in the both of them as they walked hand in hand back to their hiding spot far from the eyes of the court and castle. They had things to discuss with their friends.

Jon was the first to see Old Inn again, the Velaryon men nodding to him with a mournful sadness. They obviously had heard what had happened up the street a ways. And they gave their sympathies, Arya didnt care, Jon thanked them. His voice was weak and strained as if he would break at any moment. And in all truth it was very likely that he might. A deep sorrowful melancholy head cascaded about his heart by now, the rage flickering for only a second at the condolences provided by the thoughtful men sent to guard him and his family.

They made it up the stairs towards their small room shortly after opening the door to find their small party in a despondent state. One of the town criers must have come by and they must have heard what had happened, Jon could see Ser Barristan with a grim distant look on his face, Syrio immediately turned his attention to Arya shooting her a pain yet mournful look. Gendry's look was that of absolute shock and horror, the gravity of the entire situation just now just setting in for the poor young Smith the danger that they now found themselves in was absolutely unmatched in his life. In some way Jon felt guilty in a way for dragging him into this on Arya’s word but he realized that she was right, if Joffrey acted this way over insults and slights and mentions of treason Jon knew that he probably wouldn't stand for bastards of his father.

Jon sat down taking the strain off his legs for a moment as they all sat in silence. Arya stood all the same, Syrio hugging her to try and keep her steady in the face of all this horror she was being subjected to today. From waking up and gaining allies to watching his father die, Jon hated today with all his being, he figured that it was probably the worst day of his existence. He braced his head in his hands as Selmy moved over to sit next to him, an arm over his shoulder as he silently cried until he had no more tears to give. The world had taken them all from him. But eventually he looked back to his fellow outcasts and rogues in the eyes of Joffrey. Jon took a deep breath and stood.

“Lord Eddard Stark is dead… murdered…”

All eyes in the room turned to him as he spoke. All sounds in the room seemed to die as he spoke, his voice was icy cold but gaining its rigid authority.

“And Sansa remains in the Red Keep… we won't let this stand, I won't let this stand.”

He looked at Arya.

“We're getting her out of there, today.” His voice carried a commanding undertone to it as he spoke. He was making sure that everyone knew this was a command, nothing less. Ser Barristan spoke next.

“How are we to do that?”

Jon listening to his words considered the options, he thought to himself for a small while before turning once again to his sister who seemed ready to speak her own mind at this point.

“I can get us in through the tunnels and passageways, I know the way to her chambers, and I can pick the lock if need be.”

Then Gendry spoke up, and while uninformed about the majority of the situations' context he caught on pretty quickly as to what they were doing and the problems that might arise.

“Wouldn't there be guards?”

“Aye. There would be, and if need be we will kill them.” Arya's response was venomous and fierce but by no means incorrect, they would kill them, they would kill everyone in that wretched place to get Sansa back.

Selmy once again spoke up, his voice filled with concern and worry.

“I must protest you both going alone on this endeavor. I would ask that I accompany you.”

Jon turned his attention to Selmy.

“Forel will accompany us back into the castle. I have another task for you and Gendry.”

Gendry turned his head up very confused at Jon’s statement obviously not expecting to be drawn in on this conversation.

“Me? What you want me to do?”

Jon split his focus between them as he spoke again.

“You will both go with the men who guard us now, to lord Monford Velaryon, and you will accompany him to the spot I met with him today. He will know where to go. There you will make sure me and my sisters Dire wolves are brought back to our escape ship safe and sound. Ser Barristan I trust none other with such a task. Please.” His voice was both authoritative and pleading at once.

Selmy raised his eyebrow to Jon unsure of the command, Gendry looked more worried by the second but before he had the chance to voice his many concerns Selmy spoke.

“I beg your forgiveness, but will they heed my commands? I have seldom been near them.”

“Trust me when I say this Ser Barristan, they will know. But if you are that worried then take this, and let them smell it. They will know then” He then pulled off a chunk of loose fabric on his shirt passing to the old knight who nodded in acknowledgment.

Syrio then took his leave of Arya's side to address Jon directly.

“I will see you and your sister kept safe, but I do not say it will be easy.”

Jon turned to face him as well.

“No, this was never going to be easy. But my sister remains locked up with monsters who will do her the worst harm anyone could inflict. And I will not leave my family to that fate. I have already failed my oath once… never again.”

The group packed their items shortly after not wishing to linger any longer than they had to within the inn. Selmy and a still nervous Gendry made their way out of the room and down the stairs first linking up with the Velaryon men and explaining their assignment to them, to which the men at arms nodded their heads ushering the pair to follow them out of the inn and back into the still chaotic streets of kings landing. They disappeared as fast as they could, blending into the fray as they moved east to the docks of the city so that they may play their part in this plot.

Jon, Arya, and Syrio took some time to sharpen their blades in silence, the only noise created was that of whetstones dragging on cold steel which sang their eerie songs of pain. Jon had noticed Syrio’s concern with their own moods, he obviously was apprehensive for some other reason than the obvious. And in fairness Jon supposed that he had reason to be wary of them both at the moment, having lost their father and properly enraged. Jon looked to the Braavosi and spoke in a cool and restrained tone.

“Master Syrio, if you have something to say please speak your peace.”

Syrio adjusted his position on the bed which he sat on, he turned to face Jon as Arya continued to sharpen needle never breaking eye contact with the blade, but Jon could tell she was listening in all the same. Syrio began to voice his concerns then.

“In my years of life I have felt many a loss of love, and it is only right that you feel as you do. Yet I worry for your tact.”

“My tact?” Jon’s tone was both incredulous and pointedly sharp. He had an idea of what Syrio was saying but he wasn't too happy to be told right now of all times to essentially calm down.

“Yes, you seek your sister as you should… yet you both seek more than that do you not?”

“Should we not?” Arya’s retort was cold and sharp as well, she never looked away from Needle while she continued to sharpen it to the point where Jon would think it could match Valyrian steel. But Syrio kept his gaze on both of them looking unamused.

“Perhaps, it is your right… but if the object of your hatred comes before you, which will you choose? Your sister… or your vengeance?”

Arya looked up finally, her eyes still red but her glare could kill. Syrio was unfazed.

“If I see Joffrey in the hallway I will kill him.”

“But what if he is not? Would you scour the castle until you find him? Would you abandon your brother and sister to have the chance to end him?” Syrio’s question was direct, despite his accent it lacked its usual swagger and charisma. He wanted them to really consider what they were doing and the lengths they would go to for it. He wanted to know that they would do as they needed and nothing unnecessarily more.

And Jon was forced to breathe and try to think of a response. But his conclusion was as obvious as Arya's. If they had the chance to kill Joffrey he would. But they were there for Sansa. Not to carve a path of bloody murder against the thousand gold cloaks within the city. Much less the hundreds of guards in the castle alone. No, Selmy and Monford would get their wolves and they would get Sansa and flee the capital. Jon was not going to stay in this place a moment longer than he had to and had no grand desire to throw his sister's life away to see Joffrey run through, though the thought was appealing.

Syrio seemed to see Jon’s conclusion as he sheathed his sword at last ready to leave. Arya secured Needle and Jon stowed his own sword as well. The three left the room and entered the streets again themselves, blending into the crowd once more. All the while however Jon knew that should they get out of the castle alive they would need to get as far away as they could as fast as they could. He needed to join Robb and his fight, father was dead and Jon reconciled with one fact. It was time to declare.

He would need to bring Arya and Sansa to the safety of their forces camp as fast as he could as well, he had no doubt as to Monford and Selmy’s loyalty and capacity to guard his sisters, but the truth was that they were not fast enough. The last he had heard of the situation in the Riverlands was that Jaime Lannister was laying siege to Riverrun. Robb would seek to end that first, so that's where they would go. Jon knew that horses would take too long. No he had something far better than a horse regardless.

As they walked down the streets Jon focused. The bond tied around his heart like a rope began to flow with emotions, but not Weirya’s, his own. He sent his own feelings to her intentionally and firmly allowing them to sail through the land like wind. With them came a desire, a single command. Fly, fly to me. But fly carefully. He would have Sansa by nightfall, and they would be gone from the city on ship by then. He would meet her once they were far enough away. And they would saddle up and fly to Robb.

—------------------

They approached the lowest entrance to the Red Keeps tunnels and passageways close to where Arya and Syrio with Selmy had exited earlier today before they had linked up with Jon. It was a small exit disguised as a side door to a shack bordering on the city walls. One would think it was just a spare door leaned up against the wall left to rot. But Arya pulled it open and slipped inside the dark passageway, Syrio followed next hands by his side glancing over his shoulder to make sure that no one followed them inside. Jon stepped in last, shutting the door behind him and baring it with an idle plank.

The secret hallway was pitch black save for a single torch that Syrio had brought with them for just this purpose. He lit it and exposed the red brick halls they stood in were built as a tall arch for its own support. They were inside the city walls and as such didn't worry the most about being found yet. It was a long while before they saw anything but the red brick arch that stood above them. This entire passage was just one long stretch it seemed, presumably because they were essentially walking the length of the city wall to the keep itself.

But once they had walked what Jon could only assume was a significant distance through the rat infested dark they came to a three-way split in the tunnels each leading in what seemed to be drastically different directions. He was about to voice his concern when Arya bolted for the one on the far right leading to an ascending spiral staircase of sandstone. Jon, on seeing his sister's confidence in her navigation, tried to break the extreme tension of the situation.

“You learned all this chasing cats?”

Arya looked back at him giving a small shrug of her shoulders which for the briefest second brought the barest smile to his lips. And it seemed Syrio noticed, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly as they moved up the stairs. He figured they had to be ascending Aegon's high hill by now, probably somewhere beneath the outer walls of the keep. From here if he was correct in his assumptions, then it should be to the royal chambers, Sansa had been put there as the princes betrothed while Arya had chosen to stay closer to the tower of the hand. Jon had been given a servants quarters unsurprisingly.

But that did bring some confidence to Jon. If Sansa was being confined to her room, and her room was in the royal wing. Or the wing with likely the most entrances to the hidden tunnels out of anywhere else in the keep then it might be easier to get in than they had thought. So onward they walked up and up the stairway until finally they reached an end point. A false wall marked by some offset bricks. Arya pushed on the door opening it into a large dark room.

Its gothic arched ceiling was high giving it an echo. The floor was solid stone brick which would have given their steps a sound had it not been for the fact that they were a master swordsman adept in swift silent movements, a wild wolf who had learned to move silent as the grave, and a prince raised bastard who knew how to stay quiet and out of sight. A strange group if ever there was. They pushed deeper into the room as the walls began to widen, the lights of the torch danced in the darkness as they looked around for a short moment and Jon’s gaze was met by a massive row of sharp black teeth.

He stumbled back the torchlight moving to him as the orange light flickered on the set of teeth. Looking up he saw the massive form of a great black skull. Slender and horned it was, with dozens of dagger length teeth. The thing was excessively massive, and if not for his own dragon Jon would have thought it some elaborate sculpture of iron. But no, this was a dragon skull, though he did not know which one the great bones had belonged to. But Arya moved around grabbing the torch pointing it to more skulls in the room. Jon had to assume that this was where Robert had dumped them when he took power, wishing to see them lost to the tunnels of the castle.

They were strewn about the place with no order or care, left to gather dust amongst one another for all time. His eyes moved about them as they walked on through the hall. He attempted to try and put names to remains as he walked. The largest was obviously Balerion, the second largest Vhagar naturally, then followed by Meraxes. From there things got harder, he figured the next largest was Vermithor, and Silverwing was never found. One of the skulls that caught his eye had a maliciousness about it that could only belong to the infamous blood wyrm Caraxes. But he could not manage to name any of the other ones. The fact that these great beings that had been the key to his family's rise to power now lay clumped together like this saddened him to no end. Despite being animals Jon would never think of them in such a way.

Weirya was so much more than a pet, she was a companion, a friend, in some way family. She was inquisitive and kind, gentle and chirpy, patient and empathetic. She was alive and her own creature. She had an identity of her own. And to see her predecessors stripped of that, of feelings, traits, and even names. It truly pained him. He thought for a moment, if he failed would Weirya end up down here? He glowered at the thought, he had already lost father, he would certainly never lose her. He would not let her become a nameless bone.

Arya had found the end of the hallway by then leading the party up another small set of stairs. And from there down another set of winding halls until they saw a long hall with columns in a line open to the sunlight. Jon and Arya peeked out to look. They noticed beyond the hallways open wall there was a sheer drop down into a deep ditch of earth.

“Where are we?” Jon asked initially unsure what to make of the surroundings and confused. He had long-lost track of their positions relative to the gates.

“That's the dry moat. We're under Maegor’s Holdfast.” Arya was quiet in her response but sure.

“If that's true then Sansa should be above us.”

“Aye, she should.”

“Ok where to from here?”

“There's a corridor at the end of this hall that leads to a ladder going straight up, it should lead us to the interior of the holdfast.”

“Right lets mo-”

Syrio then clasped his hands over both their mouths, shushing them. Jon panicked for a second before listening and realizing what was going on. Footsteps, multiple of them, right above the three of them. In that moment Jon and Arya shut up, with Jon silently thanking all gods that Syrio was with them and as perceptive as he was, having heard footsteps over their talking from a floor down. The gratitude he owed this man was unparalleled.

But that's when he heard the footsteps more clearly. Four people by the sounds of it. And one of them was talking. A high boyish voice that made him reel at its sound, then he recognized it. Joffrey. And Arya did as well. Syrio tightening his grip on Arya just in case she did something rash, and the same went for Jon who in fairness right now, would consider charging up to kill him. But for now they stayed quiet. And they listened as the boy spoke.

“…nd as soon as you've had your blood I'll put a son in you. Mother says that shouldn't be long." His voice was arrogant as ever and somehow even more revolting, but he continued to listen, he noticed the wooden bridge spanning the gap between the holdfast's curtain wall and the building itself although he couldn't see anything above it. But that's when he heard the horrified and broken cry of a young girl ring out across the moat.

“No please no!”

Sansa…

Jon and Arya looked at each other in concern and rage, Sansa was with Joffrey right now right above them. Immediately they looked for ways to ascend up to the next floor to perhaps take them by surprise but no such luck, they would be seen and the walls were sheer. They had no recourse but to listen until they left. They heard Joffrey walk out onto the wooden bridge, they were at such an angle to where they could see them barely. He was still dressed as he was on the stage, all finery and pomp. But he extended his hand pointing to something above him.

“This ones your father… right there…”

Jon and Arya looked to each other again, and only when they looked back did they see the faintest outlines of the pikes mounted in the wall. Rage boiled over in the both of them as they tried to get free of Syrio who held them back somehow, god’s he was strong. He held them back and held them still as they listened to the horror Sansa was being subjected to. Show their fathers severed head on a pike, all for Joffrey's sick amusement. But the next words that were spoken had a hint of impatience to them.

“Look up and see what happens to traitors…”

“... N-no… please no…” Sansa sounded like she was crying, she was in pain and Jon wanted nothing more in that moment, despite their differences and distance, to rush up there and hug her tight. But it was not to be.

“You will look… LOOK!!”

“...”

There was a moment of silence which Jon interpreted to mean that Sansa was in some measure of defiance averting her gaze. Then came Sansa's desperate plea, her voice carrying a hurt and fear Jon had only heard in dying men.

“Please let me go home… I won't do any treason I swear I-”

“Mother says I’m still to marry you, so you will stay here… and obey.”

More silence followed his command.

“...LOOK AT HIM!!!”

They could see Sansa walked up over the bridge, her form ever so barely visible as they saw her move her head up. Jon again wanted to go up and shut her eyes but no such mercy would fate allow today. But Sansa looked for a long time all the while they raged in silence. Sansa spoke again eventually.

“... How long do I have to look?” Her voice might have sounded defeated and broken to anyone else, but Jon could pick up on the subtle rage in her voice, Sansa screamed in panic and anger yes but in true hate, she was quiet and sharp. Then Joffrey, oblivious to her tone, spoke again.

“Until it no longer pleases me… Do you want to see the rest?”

“...if it would please your grace…”

They saw Joffrey point out to the wall again.

“That's your Septa there… I'll tell you what, I'm going to give you a present.”

Jon braced himself for whatever sick depravity he was about to hear fall out of this wretches mouth.

“After I raise my armies, and kill your traitor brother, I'm going to give you his head as well. Perhaps I will offer him the mercy of single combat, and perhaps I will slay him swiftly. But I will give you his head!”

Jon almost laughed, Joffrey fighting Robb. It would be a miracle of all gods if he could land a hit on his brother's breastplate. Let alone kill him. And that's when it struck Jon. He looked up to Joffrey's form on the bridge, skinny and weak, pampered all his life. Jon and Joffrey would come to blows eventually. Be it with armies or ships, and when Jon captured him, and he would take him alive. He now knew just what to do with him. And then breaking his thoughts and even breaking both his and his sisters rage for a moment was Sansa's response.

“... Or maybe he’ll give me yours…”

The response took both by surprise, they had to double take to see if this was truly their sister. But upon confirmation Jon felt a sense of pride welling up within him. Sansa turned to face the momentarily enraged Joffrey no doubt about to whine on how he couldn't be talked to like that, but Sansa’s murderous glare faced him. Jon suspected that only then did Joffrey realize that he might have been in genuine danger. So naturally the boy had to respond in the only way he knew how.

“My mother tells me a king should never strike his lady… Ser Boros”

They heard the sounds of armored steps moving to Sansa, her body being turned around by a set of hands. Two loud smacks were heard across the chasm as Blount backhanded Sansa twice. Yet there were no screams or flinches in her expression. This was the first time she had truly been hit, and she stood tall and defiant in the face of it. Jon’s pride in his sister was overtaken by his rage again.

But then he noticed the way Sansa was looking. She looked not ahead to Joffrey or up to their fathers head. She looked down. Down into the chasm of the dry moat. Then she looked at Joffrey. She took a step forward, then another. Jon and Arya watched as their sister moved closer to the little monster. They figured what she was going to do. If not for that fact that it would surely see her die as well they would have been screaming for her to do it. But as they were about to yell out for her to hold they saw a figure move out taking her by she shoulder and turning her away from Joffrey.

“Here girl.”

The Hound wiped her face. And Joffrey seemingly oblivious to the mortal danger he was just in moved closer to her, leaning in to speak.

“Will you obey now? Or do you need another lesson?”

Sansa remained quiet after he spoke. Defiance not leaving her posture. Joffrey moved past her.

“I will be going on a hunt tonight. I'll find you and your traitor siblings wolves and skin them. Perhaps I'll give you one of their pelts. I'd very much like the white one.”

Jon strained again at the little wretches threat to Ghost. But there was a humor in all of it, as if the direwolves wouldn't gore his throat at the first opportunity.

“... I'll look for you in court. See her back to her chambers.” With that Joffrey left the bridge, his Kingsguard moving Sansa off as well.

Once the three were sure they were alone again Syrio let go at long last. Jon recomposed himself as Syrio breathed, Arya moved to the edge of the open wall and looked up. Jon watched as his sister looked up, her expression cold and enraged at the same time. Jon walked to her and had her move away from the ledge. She spoke softly.

“... This way.”

Jon nodded as Arya took the lead again with Syrio following. But Jon before he left the site took one look himself. One glance up. Fathers head was staring off into the sky, his skin a sick pale color. Flies were feasting on his flesh. Jon forcibly pulled his gaze away from the grim spectacle. He strode with renewed hatred and vigor as he rested his hand on the pommel of his sword picking up speed as he moved back to Syrio and Arya. He was going to get his sister out of this wretched place if it was the last damn thing he did.

—----------------------

Making it to the end of the hallway they got through the small door quickly before finding the ladder that Arya had mentioned. It was a rickety old thing obviously not used in a long while. Burt Arya was the first to start climbing as if she had done this a hundred times already, which in truth by this point was a possibility given her apparent knowledge of the tunnels and pathways. But Syrio went second followed closely by Jon. It was an excruciating climb up to the top of the ladder, in all honesty he wasn't sure how long he went for. It felt like an eternity ascending ever higher into the castle, so by the time he did reach the top he was absolutely knackered.

Arya and Syrio continued ahead Jon watching the Rear until Arya stopped. She investigated the wall they stood by intuitively grabbing hold of an outjutted brick, she turned it as there was a small click. Pulling open the hidden door ever so slightly revealed a room full of weapons. Spears, swords, axes, shields, and some armor. It seems as if they had found their way to a small spare armory, probably for the Kingsguard in case of extreme emergency. But it hardly mattered the function of the room, more importantly it was empty.

Arya stepped out first from the false wall followed by Jon then Syrio. Their feet landed softly on the stone floor as Arya snuck her way over to the door. She opened it just a bit peering through the gap. She observed for a while before turning back to face the both of them, she held up two fingers indicating the guards she saw down the hall. Jon whispered as quietly as he could.

“Kingsguard?”

Arya shook her head. “Lannister.” She whispered back.

Jon nodded. He looked to Syrio for ideas on how to get them away from the door. Syrio just smirked and moved to the door, in his fingers he drew out a small set of coins, five gold dragons by the looks of it. He slipped over to the door and with a flick of his wrist sent the coins flying over the edge of the railing beyond the door to clatter down on the floor below. The three pulled the door back and waited. From within the room they could hear the guards talking.

“Hells was that?”

They heard one guard move to the railing before they spoke again.

“Seven hells, someone left five bloody gold dragons down there!”

“What of it?”

“What of it? That's a month's worth of food for me right there. That's whats of it.”

They heard the eager guard walk down the ways his compatriot was still unsure.

“You don't think it belongs to someone, lord or other?”

“Who gives a shit, all them lords are out hunting dogs in the woods, they aint gonna notice.”

“... Ehh what the hell’s.”

They heard the two guards descend the stairs and Arya peeked out again giving the all clear. The three quietly opened the door walking along the second level balcony to the door Arya said they were guarding. She made quick work of the lock opening the door allowing them all inside. Sansa was curled up on her bed, blankets wet with tears, she was despondent and wrecked. Jon and Arya had never seen her so beaten down, it was frankly disturbing. But she managed the will to speak.

“Does his grace, my beloved Joffrey, require my presence?” She said her face in the blankets away from them. Jon responded only.

“Sorry sister, your prince is not here.”

Sansa whipped her head around to see Arya and Jon, bewilderment and shock of the purest kind plastered her face. She was bruised on her cheeks with a small cut on her lower lip, no doubt the results of Ser Blounts assaults earlier at the bridge. But Sansa’s eyes nonetheless spoke to an immense joy amidst her fathomless surprise. In a shaky voice she said.

“J-Jon… Arya?”

Arya shushed her as Jon got her on her feet. Upon the physical contact and confirmation that she wasn't dreaming she latched onto him so tight he thought he would die, but he wrapped an arm around her as she began to silently cry.

“Come on sister, let's get you out of here.”

She needed no further words of encouragement. She left anything and everything behind only wishing to get out of this awful place for good. Syrio gave confirmation that the guards were still downstairs as they began to move back to the armory. They kept an eye on the two guards below as they did so when they all entered the armory they knew they were safe from behind. But when they turned around all their hearts dropped at the sight of a man, a tall tin man. He looked down at all of them silent as the grave, they all recognized him immediately, Ilyn Payne. The silence lasted a few seconds before Ilyn moved to strike, drawing a dagger.

Jon acting on instinct grabbed a nearby sword and blocked the man's stabbing motion with a loud clash of steel. Arya shut the door immediately barring it with another sword in the slot where a plank would normally be placed. Syrio made sure that Sansa reached the secret door guarding her all the way there. Jon blocked another slash from the mute executioner as he grabbed Jon's sword with his bare hand. He proceeded to backhand him across the face, sending him into a table dazed. From there Jon grabbed the dagger he had bought from Gendry, better suited for close quarters as Payne punched him in the jaw.

As his blood flew out of his mouth they heard the Lannister guards banging on the door yelling.

“HEY WHAT'S GOING ON IN THERE!?”

“OPEN THE DOOR!!”

Payne moved to open it when Jon delivered a punch to the man's neck and tried to stab him through the eye. Payne proceeded to again grab Jon’s hand and attempted to stab him in turn. Jon dropped to a knee avoiding the strike but making himself vulnerable to do so. Payne took advantage of that proceeding to deliver a solid kick to Jon’s chest, sending him to the floor. Desperate he tried to get up as Payne readied another blow intent on likely gutting him and ending this fight. The fear ran through his body as he tried to get up only to see Payne above him.

Bracing himself for what would be a desperate defense he watched as Payne raised his dagger. Only for the sound of steel penetrating flesh to come from him, not Jon. He saw as Payne started to gurgle, blood spilling from his lips as he grasped at a thin blade which had been thrust through his throat. Payne grasping at the blade trying to remove it only fell to the ground on his knees bleeding ever more. The blade was removed after a second allowing the butcher to die there on the cold stone ground grasping at his throat, never making a single sound. Jon looked up to see standing on a table overlooking the dead man was Arya, in her hand blade now red was Needle.

Jon rose to his feet as Arya bolted to the door. The Lannister guards were continuing to bang on the door.

“OPEN UP RIGHT NOW!!”

“OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR!!!”

The sword was starting to bend, and the door was about to give way. Jon was going to run when he looked at Payne's body and on his back he saw it. Immediately he knelt down, his dagger in hand cutting the straps that bound it to the murdering beast. The door continued to give. Arya and Sansa called for him as he continued to cut. Once it was released he pulled the colossal thing from Payne’s back charging to the door, heart pounding in his ears as at the last second the door gave way Jon lept inside, and the secret door was closed. The guards were none the wiser.

As they panicked taking in the sight the group ran down the halls, Jon fastening his take to his back as they went. Arya, wanting to know what Jon had done yelled to him as they made a mad dash down the hall.

“WHAT THE HELLS WAS THAT?”

Jon just looked to her as he smiled, pulling the object out just a bit, enough for her to see the colossal blade of Valyrian steel. Arya’s eyes went wide as they ran.

Ice.

He had taken Ice back.

“You think I would leave it in their hands?”

Arya smiled and they ran deeper into the tunnels.

They had Sansa, they had Ice.

Now they needed to get out of the city.

—-------------

Back the way they came, they ran. Down the ladder they slid and passed the dry moat wall they ran. Sansa had essentially torn up her dress with the swift movements, Syrio eventually cut away a chunk of the skirt to help her move. They made it back to the cellars of the dragon skulls before Arya stopped them.

“Wait wait wait stop.”

Sansa, almost out of breath, spoke up.

“Arya what are you doing we have to go!”

“Child now is not the time to stall.”

“We don't need to go out the way we came. We just need to get to the docks.” She said, explaining her reasoning.

“You know a faster way?” Jon asked, regaining his breath.

Arya thought for a second, her eyes going wide. “THIS WAY!!”

She bolted for Balerions skull running behind it, the group followed fast as she led them to a smaller door. Grabbing a torch again they ran down the narrow passageway again regaining all the speed they could muster, they were loud with their steps yes but they heard no one behind them yet. Jon charged ahead, Ice swaying on his back as he did, Arya was at the head of the group with Syrio and Sansa staying as close as possible with Syrio constantly looking over his shoulder. The passage was narrow forcing them into a single file line. But soon the stench of the sea came into their nostrils, the ocean salt biting at their senses spurring them faster.

They found themselves in a larger network of sea carved caves. Likely far under the Red Keep now. They wasted no time in moving through the jagged terrain, the drip of water accompanying their footsteps now as they charged through sea slick rocks and tide pools. Eventually the light of sunset caught their gazes. Seeing the light they bolted for it as they soon found themselves on the beach at the base of Aegon's high hill. The Red Keep looming above them. They were on sand now, the high tide was coming in which meant that their window of escape by sea was starting. Jon looked down the coast to see the dozens of ships anchored ready or ready to sail.

Jon knew to look for any ship bearing the Velaryon sigil on its flags and sails. They would be leaving soon anyway before Joffrey had time to come down on them with the royal fleet. Jon looking around for a mode of transport saw a few abandoned fishing boats beached ashore a ways down the beach. Jon calling for his family and friends got everyone on their feet again charging to one of the boats.

It wasn't long before they reached the thing. Considering the pace they were running and how short the beach actually was it took less than 10 minutes all things considered getting from the cave entrances down to them. He looked around to see if the boats might have any owners in the immediate area which would cause problems for them thankfully seeing nothing, he assumed that by now they were probably returning to their homes and families coming back with dinner for the night for their children. As such he did feel at least a little guilty about stealing someone's boat. He supposed that when he was crowned king he would find the man and give him a whole galley for this.

Arya and Sansa jumped in the boat first with Arya grabbing the rudder, while John and Syrio pushed the small little rowboat into the water. Jumping in and grabbing one of the oars each they began to paddle past the coastline. The sun was setting fast by now and they intended to make it to the ships by at least the time when the first stars started showing. Sansa kept an eye on the shore and noticed the Red Keep's walls alive with activity. Then they heard the bells. Looks like the alarm had been finally raised, not that it mattered now at least not in this very second. They were rowing away from the shores quickly as they could attempting to make it to the Valeryon ships. But they were together. And to Jon that's what mattered the most in this moment.

Now that they had a moment to finally relax Jon started to feel the pain on his face. The throbbing of his cheeks and nose now that the adrenalin had worn off entirely. Syrio ushered him to take a rest as he took over rowing entirely. That's when Sansa moved over to hug him again. She didn't let go for a single second, hells she was crying in joy. Arya smiled too as she was pulled in by Sansa as well. Jon couldn't remember the last time Sansa was this affectionate with him. A long, long time is what he concluded. But he put a hand on Sansa's shoulder as did Arya. They stayed like that for a long while as Syrio rowed ever further out to the ships. Eventually they found the one they were looking for.

On the far end of the harbor preparing to leave was a gargantuan dromond. Several decks of oars and three great masts with great sails all sea green. Its figurehead is a rearing seahorse of silver. On its stern painted in white to contrast the greens read the words ‘Pride of Driftmark’ Monford Velaryon’s flagship. Syrio pulled their boat alongside the ship as a sailor looked over, calling down.

“Who goes there!?”

Jon responded quickly.

“We have urgent business with Lord Monford, tell him Jon Snow has arrived!”

The sailor laughed.

“Please, as if the lord has dealings with a northern bastard. Why i reck-”

Suddenly a new voice came over the conversion.

“You imbecile, I thought I told you to stow the grain down below, not try to disparage our lord's guests. Make yourself useful and piss off.”

The dejected crew did as such allowing for the man to look over the railing, he had Monford’s Valyrian features but his face was narrower, his eyes a gray green, and he bore rather handsome features. He smiled down at them speaking again.

“Lord Snow, we’ve been waiting for you, we were just about ready to leave without you.”

Jon chuckled at the man's dry humor speaking again.

“And who do I have the honor of addressing?”

The man smiled again.

“Aurane Waters at your service m’lord.”

“Monford’s brother?”

“Ahh, he speaks of me I see.”

“Very highly I might add.”

Aurane smiled down, casting a ladder for them to climb along the side of the ship.

“Welcome aboard your sanctuary Lord Snow.”

The group smiled as Jon sent Sansa and Arya up first followed by Syrio and lastly himself. Once on deck he was given a hand by Aurane who got him upright laughing to himself and patting him on the back. Jon could not be more relieved to be in good company. With Ice on his back he followed Waters up to the quarter deck where Monford walked out onto deck with a concerned smile on his face. He didn't bow to secrecy, but the sentiment was felt by Jon.

“Lord Velaryon, words cannot express my gratitude to you.”

“Then speak no words. You're safe.”

Jon ushered over to his group.

“May I introduce the Lady Sansa Stark, Arya Stark, and Syrio Forel.”

Monford nodded his head to all three of them, Sansa curtsied in response.

“Lord Velaryon, I would ask that some small accommodations be made for my entourage, food specifically please.”

Monford nodded in response and spoke again.

“Oh and something else.”

“Hm?”

Monford smiled as they heard the sound of claws on deck, turning behind them, they saw their direwolves running to them. Sansa was beyond elated.

“LADY!!!” She all but squealed. Lady quickly began licking her as she hugged her tight. The same went for Arya with Nymeria. And Ghost silently trotted over with Jon petting his head lovingly.

“Good boy. Thanks for keeping them safe.”

He nuzzled Ghost's head for a second. That's when he heard another familiar voice.

“It would seem you were correct about your wolves. They are truly magnificent.” Barristan spoke in a calm yet warm voice. Jon looked to see him and Gendry who was keeping his distance from the wolves. Jon moved over and took Gendry's hand shaking it.

“Thank you for the help. And your dagger worked wonders.”

Gendry smiled at him accepting the shake.

“Glad to know my work is being put to good use.”

Jon smiled and ran a hand along Ghost’s pale fur. He turned to Monford.

“What's become of Celtigar?”

“Sailed home to begin raising his forces. He left shortly after our meeting this morning.”

“Good.”

Monford looked at Jon again walking close.

“Where to?”

Jon thought for a second focusing on his bond. He turned to Monford.

“Sail us north along the coast as fast as you can. And be ready to stop at a moment's notice.”

Monford was a little confused by the order but nodded to Aurane still, to which he yelled.

“ALL HANDS MAKE SAIL NORTH. DRUMMERS START THE BEAT!!!”

Below deck drummers started to play out a tune for the rowers to follow, the ship's great oars pulling in the water as the ship moved, its sails set as the Stark’s left Kings Landing behind for now. Jon in the meantime made his way down below deck towards a small room allotted for him. He knew he wouldn't be here for long but it was still nice to have a little bit of privacy especially after the day he had. The pain of fathers execution came back to haunt him once more as he took Ice from his back and drew it out of its scabbard. He could even see his fathers blood on it.

Tears started to fall as the rage began to build again. He got a bucket of water, a whetstone, and a cloth and for the next hour or so he simply stayed in his quarters cleaning Ice, never should this sword have been painted with a Stark’s blood, never. He thought for a while, he supposed there was some odd justice in a Targaryen cleaning the ancestral blade of the Starks, only to remember he was just as much a Stark as well. He cared for that blade like a newborn babe. Gentle strokes and swipes saw fathers blood wash from it drop by drop. Until once more Ice was clean of its greatest injustice.

Once he was done he simply sat in his quarters looking at the blade, until Sansa came in. She was in a new dress, colored Velaryon green with little seahorses sewn into it. Jon smiled as he put Ice into its scabbard again. Sansa walked over sitting next to him. Jon saw the hurt in her eyes as he pulled her into a hug again.

“You ok?” He asked?

“...no”

“...me neither.”

“...you saw it didn't you?”

Jon didn't want to think back to the execution. He wanted to burn the memory forever more but it was still there regardless.

“Yes…”

Sansa sniffled as Jon asked.

“He spoke to you before he… what did he say?”

“... He said that he loved me… that I would be alright in the end… and that you and Arya wouldn't abandon me.”

Jon chuckled to himself.

“He was certainly right about that last one.” Jon began to choke on his emotions again now as Sansa started to cry.

“He’s dead Jon… Father’s dead!!” Her voice was in anguish and he could only do what he did with Arya and hold her tight and hold her close. Sansa and Jon shared tears for a long time until again they had nothing left to give. They hadn't had the chance to simply console in on another. Too much had happened today. Jon lifted her head up to meet his gaze.

“We're going to find Robb and Lady Stark. You won't be away from your family again I promise.” His words were sincere and genuine. Sansa then began to grow red in the face, not with sadness entirely but a rage. The same rage he saw on the bridge.

“... I want them to hurt… hurt like they hurt us…”

“I know… and they will…” His voice carried an equal venom as they sat cradling each other in the cabin. Jon didn't even notice Sansa’s hand white knuckling Ice’s handle. The pair were enraged. And Jon knew that once he told Robb there would be no mercy for the Lannister's, he wouldn't allow it. There was no world now in which Joffrey Waters lived a long life, or died a quick death. That had been shattered when Ned Stark gave his life so that the world would know a lie.

—------------------

It was hours before Jon returned to the deck, and by now it was close to midnight. But Jon had been awake focusing on his bond, Weirya’s emotions comforting him in his rage. But she was close. Within reach. Jon knew it was time. He got dressed and secured Ice to his back once more. Walking to the quarterdeck he found Monford awake looking at the stars, Jon approached him and he turned to face him.

“Good evening, what brings you up here at this hour?”

“My lord, would you stop the ship and ready a boat to go ashore?”

Monford was confused at his orders.

“Pardon?”

“Please lord Velaryon, and if you would bring me a length of your strongest rope.”

Monford before he could get another word in was given a glance by Jon, so he nodded his head.

“ALL ROWERS FULL STOP!!!”

The ship slowly drifted to a halt as the sails were hauled in as well. Jon brought his entourage up top. Aurane Waters, Monford Velaryon, Gendry, Ser Barristan, Syrio, Sansa, and Arya were all loaded into a boat and rowed ashore within the hour. The moon cast a dim light on the beach as they stepped off most holding torches confused as to what Jon was doing. But Arya had a suspicion of what might be going on although she stayed quiet about it. But Gendry was the first to break the silence.

“Ok what's going on here Snow? You drag us out in the middle of the night, make us row ashore. I just want some answers.”

Jon looked back to his small group.

“You'll get them soon enough, I dragged you all out here because I trust you with this secret, short as you'll need to hold it.”

Sansa spoke next. “Jon what's going on?”

“Just relax Sansa, and the same goes for everyone. No one is to panic, no one is to scream, she won't hurt you.”

They were all about to ask more questions when they heard sounds in the treeline ahead, then came a loud hooting sound, throaty and deep. The group backed away, Selmy going to protect Sansa with Syrio guarding Arya who just smirked. Then from the treeline everyone saw it, a pair of crimson red eyes with white pupils. Stepping into the moon and torchlight, Weirya walked on her great wings, her antlers casting odd shadows on the beach. She cried in what Jon knew to be delight, however the rest of his group save Arya stepped back in fear. Many looked ready to scream, some ready to fight, futile as it may have been.

Jon took the opportunity to walk forward as Weirya lowered her head to Jon, nuzzling him with care and affection. Jon leaned into her massive snout planting a little kiss on it as her nostrils flared with heat. Speaking in Valyrian he said.

“Zȳha sȳz naejot ūndegon ao tolī” (It's good to see you too.)

He looked back to the group whose fear upon seeing Weiryas passiveness was slowly turning into shock and childish wonder. Monford in particular looked taken with her. Arya walking ahead approached Weirya as she gave her some scratches on the chin, smiling as she did so. Jon looked to Ser Barristan as the old knight had his mouth open wide before looking at Jon, who simply nodded, confirming a myriad of silent questions. Jon then moved to Sansa walking her over, she was terrified at first, but reassurances from Jon kept her steady.

“Jon I-I… how di-?”

“Hey take it easy, she won't hurt you.”

Weirya moved her head down to Sansa as Jon helped her place a hand on her warm scales. Sansa soon put her other hand on the dragon's snout not believing this was real. But it was. Arya enjoyed seeing Sansa like this, completely mystified. As Weirya got acquainted with Sansa, Jon turned to the others. Gendry who by this point was done with his questions being glossed over and asked the important one.

“Who are you?”

Jon simply stated for all to hear.

“My name is Daeron Targaryen, trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, third of my name, and rightful heir to the iron throne… and I am done hiding.”

Syrio smiled in amusement, Barristan and Monford smiled in pride, Aurane looked about ready to faint, and Gendry stood there slack jawed. Sansa was also floored by the news looking to Jon with a mix of shock and regret on multiple levels. Sansa, likely acting out of instinct, dropped to her knee only for Jon to halt her.

“No sister… not from you… not now.”

She just looked at him with an excess of shock present in all her features. Jon turned to Monford.

“Lord Velaryon, you will sail Ser Barristan, Gendry, and Syrio Forel to Saltpans to await further orders, once there send Ser Barristan with the Dire wolves to Riverrun. And you will send ravens to Claw isle and Driftmark telling them to muster the fleets. And be ready to move at a moment's notice.”

Monford nodded his head before speaking.

“Your grace, I must inform you of something.”

“Speak your peace.”

“On Dragonstone would still reside the Lady Shireen Baratheon, your cousin by lineage… along with one knight that you might wish to meet.”

Jon hadn't even considered the fact that Stannis’s daughter was still on Dragonstone, or that she was technically his kin. She was a child without a father, something he understood all too well. He looked to Lord Monford.

“Send ships to Dragonstone and have Lady Baratheon guarded as a guest and not a prisoner. Let her know I mean no harm. Make her understand that unlike Tywin Lannister, I do not accept the murder of children to secure my reign.”

Selmy and Monford smiled at the sentiment as did Forel.

“And tell me who is this knight I should meet?”

“His name is Davos Seaworth, a lowborn raised to knighthood. I haven't always gotten along with him but I think you will appreciate his counsel.”

“... I'll try to meet with him as soon as I can.”

Monford smiled. Then Barristan spoke up, voicing his concerns.

“Your grace, if I may ask, you have sent us to go to Maidenpool, but not you?”

“Indeed Ser Barristan.”

“Then may I ask what are you to do?”

“I will be escorting my sisters to Riverrun so that we might reunite with my brother and their mother.”

“And you intend to walk there?”

Jon rolled his eyes

“Obviously not Ser Barristan.”

“Then how, your grace?”

Jon simply looked to Weirya, when everyone got the idea, eyes went wide.

“I will go to Riverrun, and with Robb Stark we will begin our war.”

Monford and Selmy nodded although in extreme suspicion.

Jon quickly grabbed the rope he had requested from Monford and tied it around Sansa's and Arya's waists. From there Jon fastened himself to the rope too. He walked with them both as Weirya lowered her body and wing to let them up sensing Jon’s intentions. Once on her back he secured their rope harness to Weirya’s gigantic back spikes creating a seat of sorts to make the ride more comfortable and safer. With this improvised saddle ready Jon mounted Weirya with Sansa and Arya holding on tight as they could. Sansa was terrified and Arya giddy for the first time since the execution today, the thrill of a childhood fantasy coming true superseding her fathers death if only for a bit. Jon called out to his loyal bannermen, friends, and defenders.

“I will meet with you all again soon, Ser Barristan, see to it that the wolves are well-fed.”

“It will be done your grace.” Selmy smiled and nodded.

Jon turned to his sisters.

“Hold on tight.”

Sansa did just that as did Arya in front of Jon although she grabbed hold of two smaller back spikes. Jon leaned over her grabbing hold as well. To Weirya he spoke, his bond with her thrumming with a shared energy.

“Emi iā bōsa ñuhoso naejot jikagon jorrāelagon raqiros” (We have a long way to go dear friend.)

“Īlva lentor jorrāelagon dohaeragon se istiti jiōragon konīr adere” (Our family needs help and we must get there fast)

“Se nyke kivio ao bisa, kesan dōrī henujagon ao arlī” (And I promise you this, I will never leave you again.)

Weirya sent a wave of comfort to him as he spoke to her. Sansa unable to translate and Arya only getting bits and pieces with the fragments she knew.

“Sir sōvegon!!! Se sōvegon adere!!!” (Now fly. And Fly fast)

With that Weirya reared up, her wings spreading as those on the ground watched with amazement. She beat her wings hard as she lifted off the ground. Then again to gain altitude. Higher and higher she rose until they could see the outline of the coast. From there she moved forward, spreading her wings open and beating them to gain speed. The Pride of Driftmark, a resplendent vessel up close, looked little more than a toy from here. Arya was howling with joy as she looked down on the world below her. Sansa was holding tight, but Jon could tell she was looking down as she did.

The cold night air would have been horrendous if not for Weirya’s heat keeping them all warm as they flew. They circled a few times in the moonlight, with the distant lights of King's landing little more than a dot on the coast. Once the ship was moving again did they turn west. Jon knew it would be a long flight, perhaps a day or two non-stop. But all he felt was Weirya’s empathy and care grabbing onto his heart. He knew that she would never let him out of her care again. And to be honest, he didn't want to be gone from her again. At this moment, all he wanted was to fly to Robb and Daenerys and bring them home to Winterfell. He wanted his family back.

So as he watched his sisters fall off to sleep secure in their makeshift saddles and reins, he remained awake to spirit them home, swearing to make his family whole again, and to start planning his war.

Notes:

Thank you for the kind words last chapter, hope you enjoyed this one, as always comments are welcome.

Chapter 20: Robb VI / Jon VIII

Summary:

Robb takes part in his first true battle, and Jon comes through.

Robb VI

The sound of thundering hooves broke the long stilted silence that hung over the Whispering Wood that night, no owls, wolves, or any other animal gave their call or cried their song. All was silent, all was calm, all was ready for deaths imminent visit upon this spot. But that was not to say the woods were empty, no. The few thousand Northmen and riverlands soldiers would disagree vehemently with that. No they lay in wait silent as the grave mounted on horseback or on foot with pikes held ready, like wolves on the hunt, out for blood.

Robb was getting ever more anxious as he waited for the inevitable storm of swords that would soon come thundering into the small clearing they had selected as their battlefield. A gap within the trees divided by a small creek which was shallow enough to let horses move through it with ease, hardly an obstacle. But it was compact, tight and easy to close off, the perfect spot for a trap. And he would need nothing less if he wanted to achieve his goal for this battle. That being the capture of Jaime Lannister, who was leading the siege of Riverrun.

Robb figured that if he could alleviate the siege his grandfather Hoster would be reinvigorated to remain in the fight to beat back the Lannister's from their lands. If he could get the Lannister's off their doorstep then they could call their banners proper and combine their forces to at least pose a numerical challenge to Tywin. From there Robb needed to wait for Jon to discuss his next moves with him. He and father remained in the capital and Robert still sat the throne so he was unsure if he could announce their true intentions yet. But this would be a start.

His plan was risky but if done correctly would yield the results he needed quickly. He had sent a small portion of his forces down the Kingsroad riding hard through the nights stopping only when necessary. He needed speed for this to work, speed and misdirection. Leaving Roose Bolton in charge of this force he tasked him with keeping Tywin's eye off of the siege, letting him think that he rode at the head of his infantry in a mad dash to the crossroads inn in order to get across the trident. But Robb had other plans instead.

No, once he had assembled his force at Moat Calin he had taken notice of two things, one they Frey’s had not called their banners for their liege lords, and two the Mormont force had arrived with their sixty ships. Once his mother had arrived and after a thorough and angry exchange over her actions regarding Tyrion, Robb had laid out his plan to his bannermen. He had thought to cross at the Twins initially with his mother noting that they would almost certainly use this to force some deal out of him, now if the circumstances had been different he might have taken it. But that was until Dacey Mormont had reminded him of their ships.

The same ships that Jon had worked with the Mormonts to build during their tour of the North in order to facilitate trade with the south and for defense against the Ironborn should they be stupid enough to invade. They weren't many in number but they were big. Big enough to ferry just a few thousand men south of the twins and right into the Riverlands. Robb would have to thank his brother for finding the room to afford them. And now for keeping him clear of Walder Frey.

They had spent the time Bolton marched south secretly sailing into Ironman’s Bay on multiple trips to transport his host and landing south of the Twins. From there they began their march through Hag’s Mire which slowed them considerably for a time. But they made it through their forces intact all the same. So they moved to march south camping at Oldstones so that they might scout and investigate the state of the siege. Their outriders had taken the time to shoot down ravens and slaughter scouts to prevent a flow of information between the armies and to ensure that their own stealth was maintained.

And what their own scouts had reported boded well for the Stark host. Jaime was impatient and bored with the siege, he was a man who seemingly craved action instead of sitting in a tent all day. He was hardly one to deny a fight as well, one of his new hobbies according to their scouts was to ride out with contingents of cavalry to hunt down Tully outriders and raiders. It was his only pastime that seemed to get him out and away from the monotony of the siege. Robb was going to use that.

He had sent his Uncle Brynden with a small host of raiders to draw the reckless knight out of his camp. From there they would corner him within the forest and spring their real trap. A three front attack from the north, east, and west to encircle the King Slayer within their lines and take him alive along with removing a few thousand cavalries at the same time. It was an efficient and swift plan, and Robb was hoping it would work to perfection. Greywind was already anxious by his side as he sat atop a horse ready to strike.

In his hand he held his sword, on his belt he had his dagger, and secured tight to the saddle bound with leather and hidden under cloth was Dark Sister, he dared not let the blade out of his immediate reach, he trusted no one else with it, not that anyone else knew he had it. But he knew, and he wanted to make sure it reached his brother by his hand alone. So as the thundering of his uncles horses no doubt followed by the Lannister outriders, came at them, he clutched his own sword tight waiting for the moment.

Ser Brynden charged across the creek with his hundred or so riders with such an excess of speed that they sent river stones flying, he could see Theon beside him bow in hand ready to loose his shots at the Lannister's, as were the archers who hid within the trees. Down the clearing they rode, some near two thousand riders adorned in red golds and a splattering of other colors probably for different Westerland houses that had managed to join the King Slayer. And at the center of the column adorned in total gold armor with a helm resembling a roaring lion was Jaime Lannister.

Astride with Eddard and Torrhen Karstark and Theon Robb waited for the Lannister force to reach the creek, once they were halfway across they would spring the trap, let them think they had caught their prey, and like the wolves of winter that they were, they would fall on them with arrows and steel. Robb took a tentative breath lowering the visor on his helm itself resembling his house's Dire Wolf. Greywind snarling quietly ready to eat. Robb watched as Jaime Lannister rode into the creek with the bulk of his forces. Robb nodded to Theon who blew a single horn.

The sound rang out over the quiet only to be followed by another one, and another. Thats when Theon nodded and loosed his arrow, it found its mark in a horse's rear thigh sending it sprawling to the floor. That was followed by a cloud of arrows from each of the three directions they had positioned themselves in. North, East, West it didn't matter. Arrows flew all the same, right from the trees through the darkness into the sprawl of horses that were now realizing something was wrong. Jaime was still mounted but his riders fell all around him illuminated in the pale moonlight.

Robb held his sword forward, its blade gleaming in the dim light that made it through the trees as he gave a high whistle. Greywind rushed forward, followed by the first group of riders who charged in on horseback when the arrows stopped falling even if only for a moment. Robb rode out with them flanked by the Karstark sons as he crashed with them into the line. His first swings with his sword were precise and well aimed. They found their marks in the necks of his opponents or their horse’s bodies.

A few men tried to strike at him but his personal guard managed to keep them at bay. Greywind was busy biting at some horses legs sending them to the ground for him to finish off their riders goring their throats and watching the blood run through the gaps in their armor to flow with the moonlight creek, a sullen crimson taking over its clear waters. Robb had little time to focus on that as he continued his fight. The eastern and northern flanks had joined the fray as well so Robb gave Theon the signal to finish the job.

With another blow of the horn the east and west flanks closed off the gap towards the back. They now had completely encircled the Lannister riders and got to work in killing as many as they could. The melee was so chaotic that their opponents began to fall off their own horses just to be trampled under them. Spears and swords continued their vicious slaughter well into the next minutes as more and more Lannister soldiers fell to their deaths. Swing after swing he labored on and on until he finally could actually see the Lannister numbers thinning.

Their resistance had been desperate and centered around Jaime likely trying to keep him safe until an escape could be made, but the north offered no such luck for the knight. No he would be leaving here with them and only them. Then Robb felt a strong swing from what looked to be a Lannister knight knock his sword from his hand sending it to the ground. Terrified for a second he reached for his dagger only to have that knocked aside as well with a well aimed blow to the hand. Pushed back front the center he watched as the knight readied another blow only for his horse to be shot through with an arrow courtesy of Theon.

Robb breathed for a second allowing his fear to subside, he was unarmed now but not dead or injured beyond a bruise or broken bone in the hand. That was when he saw Jaime and a small group of what he assumed to be his best riders attempting to carve a bloody path right to him. The Karstarks readied their weapons as Jaime swung his sword in perfect motions, cutting down eight men at arms on his warpath to Robb. All the stories of Jaime's skill with a sword were looking a lot less fantastical now that he saw him in action. And Robb knew he wouldn't last in a one on one fight with him. But he noticed the Karstarks trying to take him on, Robb knowing they wouldn't last resorted to his last option.

Reaching down as charged forward right to the King Slayer intent on keeping his guard safe as they kept him safe he drew the one remaining weapon he held on his person. Dark Sister sang it's hateful song as it dragged along its scabbard Valyrian steel gleaming in the moonlight as Robb moved to intercept a killing blow aimed at Eddard Karstark.

He was shocked at how light the sword was, seemingly it weighed as much as a feather and swung like a small stick in his hand. Though its long blade found its mark against Jaime’s sword. The strike meant for Eddard Karstarks neck was sent sprawling to the side, saved only by the speed at which Dark Sister carved through the air. Robb, seizing the opportunity, plunged the blade through Jaime’s horse’s neck and out the other end. The King Slayer fell to the earth as the Karstarks had been saved by sheer speed and luck.

Jaime trying to get up was pinned down by Greywind who snarled in his face. With that and the realization that he was surrounded, he put his hands in the air and gave up then and there. Greywind let loose a victorious howl which the men of the north joined in on. Meanwhile, Robb slid Dark Sister back into its hiding spot under the blankets of leather which concealed it. He would clean it off once they took Riverrun. Which now was their next destination.

—--------------

The ride over to the Lannister camps surrounding the castle was short, barely thirty minutes. Great Uncle Brynden led the van alongside Rickard Karstark, together they split off to hit the camp on the north bank of the Tumblestone river. They ran through the camp like men possessed, ripping through tents with swords and axes howling all the while like wild wolves. They roused the camp awake within minutes as they began taking torches and tossing them into the tents letting them go up in flames. As the Lannister's tried to gain any semblance of cohesion, more and more of the northern forces poured through into their camp.

Robb took his fraction of forces and forded the Tumblestone river along a shallow crossing that Brynden had pointed out allowing Robb's some two thousand strong to begin their raids on the Lannister camp to the West side of the castle which was waking up considering the masses of torches now shining in the windows and arrow loops of Riverrun. Robb and Greywind again rode at the front of their line, Theon and the Karstarks at his side. Theon loosed several arrows from his horse aiming for horses and men alike. Robb held a torch in his hand tossing it into a large tent allowing it to go up in flames.

Splitting his force two ways, one remained with him in the camp to continue the raid and another to clear out any nearby hamlets which surrounded the castle to make sure no Lannister's in hiding could charge out to counter-attack. Robb grabbed a new sword courtesy of his uncle as he began to slash down at any Lannister troops who dared get close, or Greywind tore their throats out quickly. So on and on through the camp he rode and charged.

Robb rode deep into the camp now actively tossing nearby torches into what he assumed were commanders' tents or any other tents he could find. He continued his raid and began to call out to the castle itself which was almost certainly awake by now.

“MEN OF RIVERRUN!!! COME OUT AND RETAKE YOUR LANDS!!!”

His call to action seemed to have worked in some capacity as shortly after the drawbridge of the castle lowered for hundreds of Tully Pikemen and other river lords to charge out on foot and horse to join Robb’s camp raids. The panicked and desperate defenders tried their best to mount some counter-attack with hastily assembled battle lines of swords and pikes only to be met with arrows and spears.

Robb turned his head to the last bank of the river to the south where the last Lannister camp resided. From there the largest portion of his host fell upon them in full force. Dozens of northern banners fluttered in the moon and firelight as they began the last camp raid for the night. More of the same movements were made, fire to the tents, swords to the bellies of the besieging army caught totally unaware by both the speed of the attack and the three-way collapse they were facing. Some men tried to jump in stolen row boats to escape down river, they were met with Tully archers from within the castle. Others tried to ride away down the roads, northern cavalry caught them. And the last of the infantry were mangled and terrified.

Men ran, men shit themselves, men died. Eventually the three hosts began to converge on Robb’s position intent on assembling together for one last push to drive the lions off the banks of the rivers for good. Robb with Greywind turned to face the southern host which was fording the Red Fork river to cross over and converge on the last holdouts which were fleeing into the night in a desperate run for safety. Many left their armor and weapons behind not wanting to be weighed down with unnecessary weight. Much was abandoned, food, water, clothing, gold and plunder. All now belonging to the victorious North and Riverland hosts.

Once the three hosts rejoined in front of the castle the wait was long and tense. Would the Lannister's try to mount a last stand or would they just flee into the night with only the shirts on their backs and their tails between their legs. But no charge was ever mounted, no desperate rally cry to kill the northern savages, no cries of hatred or rage. Just the scared whimpering of men broken and defeated with no way to recover in a timely manner. No, they just ran and ran far away back to their lords and ladies in the west. Perhaps the ones who escaped would rejoin the main host, a few thousand did make it out, but that didn't change what tonight was.

Victory, a total unequivocal victory.

The northern lords raised their swords high as did the river lords who were holed up in the castle. Greywind let out another victory howl and the drawbridge remained open for the lords to enter Riverrun safely. Robb was tired, beyond exhausted, but filled with pride, he had won. His play had worked, he had sailed south and broken the siege with minimal casualties on his end, giving Tywin Lannister what could only be described as a crushing defeat. He now needed to wait for his bannermen in the east to return to him but that should be soon. Then to decide what to do when Father and Jon got here.

—------------

The next morning was rough for Robb, he was tired and sore with a maester needing to check on his hand for damage. Thankfully it was superficial at best and he would recover within a week or two. Good, he didn't want to be saddled down by an injured hand of all things. So he bound it tight and sat on the edge of the bed allotted to him. It was a good room all things considered, spacious with a view of the river through a glass window. He quite liked the greens of the Riverlands. Then his gaze fell to his war gear haphazardly strewn on the chair across from his room.

But amongst the gear he had removed so quickly last night one object spoke to him. He walked over grabbing the bundled leathers from under his chain mail and plate. Removing all the leather wrappings from the blade he drew Dark Sister from its scabbard. The horse's blood was still on it and had dried out already. Robb shamed himself for his lack of care but he had been too tired to clean it the previous night. So he pulled out a cloth and some oil, proceeding to clean the blade until it shone in the light once more.

It was a gorgeous blade, from the details on its handle, guard, and pommel to the intricate patterns on its dark blade characteristic of Valyrian steel. Light as a feather, so sharp it had cut through the horses flash as if carving a cake. In some way he couldn't believe that he was holding the blade much less that he had used it, probably the first Stark to do so in history.

He had always known that Ice would pass to him one day when father passed, sad as that day would be. But he knew he would receive his family's ancient sword one day. This was something out of left field for him entirely, for the past few years a Stark was in possession of Visenya Targaryen's sword. He chuckled to himself for a second. He knew Arya was going to lose her mind when she learned it had been found. Perhaps Jon would even let her hold it. No, Jon would definitely let her hold it.

Robb smiled to himself content with his brother's consideration for his sister. Gods did he miss Sansa and Arya, he knew that he probably only had a little longer to wait before they came back to him. Father wouldn't risk staying in the capital after all that has happened, Robert being his friend or not. So he had to be ready to step down from the role of lord for a while, that was unless father decided that he was done with it and abdicated. Robb scoffed, as if that would happen in a hundred years. No, Robb would step down when father came back.

Robb realized then that he would also need to deal with Jaime Lannister, he had killed eight of his men and would remain within the dungeons of the castle until Robb could figure out what to do with him. Preferably he and Father would figure it out once they reconvened but that wouldn't be for a while. So Robb would keep him alive for now as leverage against Tywin to keep him from trying anything too horrendous. He would need to keep the old lion at a distance for now until father arrived.

Robb, content with his reasoning, stowed away Dark Sister again hiding it amongst his war gear secure in the knowledge that no one would find it here, much less look for it in the first place. He moved down the halls of the castle intent on his next move. He remembered that he needed to check in on a little project he had commissioned from the smiths. He had been working on it since Oldstones making sure it matched his every specification. For the moment it was put into use it had to be perfect. Down into the yard he marched to find the smiths.

Down in the camp now converted for the Starks and present River lords, Robb made his way to the makeshift forge they had constructed to maintain the weapons. Robb greeted his selected smiths and began his inquiry.

“How's it coming along?”

“Finely my lord. We should be done with it today. But I must ask why you would commission such a work, given its exquisiteness and… implications…” The smith asked with a very serious tone his suspicion, obvious in the way he addressed Robb. But the young lord laughed.

“It's not for me if that's what you're asking. It's for someone close. Just finish it and I’ll see you all paid your weight in gold.”

The smiths accepted his answer, returning to work on his request in earnest. He was ecstatic to know it would be done by the end of the day. Granted he would need to hide it until the time was right but he knew it would floor him when he brought it out. As if he would let anyone else except maybe father or Arya have the honor of what he intended to do with this gift. He smiled to himself requesting a horse to check in on his other companion.

—-----

Charging out from the camp back towards the Whispering Wood away from the battlefield which was still being tended to he rode on a hidden trail with Greywind keeping pace not wishing to see him hurt by anyone or anything out there. Granted he knew that he could handle himself if need be. So when he rode up to the designated meeting spot expecting to see Root laying at the trunk of the tree she described only to find it empathy he was initially concerned. Only to remember who he was dealing with.

“Root come on out, I have no time for your games today.” He spoke in an annoyed but steady tone, for he had done this multiple times now and was never going to find her tendency to hide in the foliage funny.

“As if you expect me to sit out in the open.” Her response was sarcastic and dry as usual which only put Robb off more.

“I’ll never find your habit of wading in the trees out of sight funny I hope you know.”

“Oh you've made it known… many times now”

“And you still do it because?”

“Because it's funny seeing you confused.”

Robb deadpanned as he dismounted his horse, Root sliding out from a hollowed tree trunk walked over to him where he bowed his head in greeting.

“What brings you here today Lord Stark?”

“A question mostly.”

“Care to ask them?”

“ I'm still wondering why you insisted on traveling south with us.”

“Well ever since the dragon's rampage I've grown more concerned with her well-being. I thought that it would be smart of me to check in on her. You have said that your brother will be joining us at some point, yes?”

“Aye he will be. And I'm sure Weirya will follow.”

“Then there's your answer.”

“... Was her rampage really that bad?” Robb had heard scarce little of the night Jon was flogged from Wierya’s perspective. All he knew was that it had been bad. And from Root’s barely contained shudder he figured that was hardly the half of it.

“The scars on the land are bad enough but to have seen it happening… it… I'm not sure how to describe it, fire everywhere in every direction…” The way Root talked reminded Robb of greybeards who had seen far too much of the ways of war. The cold look in her eye telling the young man more than words ever could the horror of the night. Robb did not push the issue further.

“... Your war is upon you, Lord Stark.”

“I would think that the battle gave that away.”

“Yes…”

“... There's something else, isn't there not?”

“... Merely a bad feeling my lord. But to answer your question in earnest, I have a feeling I will be needed soon.”

“What gives you that idea?”

“... A vision of my own… a green dream, I have not had such an experience in many years.”

Robb tilted his head and listened to her intently.

“I saw a dragon… two, actually. One of the deepest cold and the other of the blazing sun. They seemed happy.”

“Is that all you could get?”

“That's all I saw. I'm usually decent at interpreting these dreams but this… I'm not so sure.”

“Well if there are two happy dragons I should hope it bodes well for us.”

“You'd be surprised the old gods' tendencies to make the sad seem appealing.”

“... Why do they not just tell us what they wish? Would it not be easier than our own hasty interpretations?”

“I am not sure Lord Stark. But it is what we are to live with in this life.”

The pair spoke for only a Little while longer after that conversation. Robb eventually returned back to the camp having spent enough time away on his lonesome to clear his head after his talk with Root. He liked to roam around the forest when he could. But that did not stop him from returning to Riverrun. However on the road he started noticing things. Odd things amongst his bannermen. Looks, not of malice or hate but admiration and pride. Looks of reverence.

Normally he would soak up the praise, for he felt it was not entirely undeserved. He had won by all accounts an astounding victory over the Lannister's. If there was ever a time to bask in the glory of War as fickle and false a thing as it was now. But the ways in which some of his bannerman looked at him was concerning to him. He took notice of Lord Umbers' pride more than most. He had been in the raiding party on the south bank during the battle, but he had seen Robb leading from the front bravely.

Robb shook his head again not wishing to give any more thought to the circumstances. He simply wished to return to his chambers and perhaps take a bath. Yet Roots comments about the war being upon them rang ever more true in his mind. He knew that now there would probably be war regardless of what Robert decreed. The Lannister's were too entrenched in power within the court, and Robb had dealt Tywin what could be considered for one of the greatest insults given to the Warden of the West. His son hostage, his army defeated by a boy barely sixteen name days of age. And what's more he would probably continue if Tywin refused to depart the Riverlands. He would not let the old lion sleep easy.

After a long way of walking he eventually had returned to his chambers where he took the time to relax for a quick minute, read a few books and take a bath as he had wanted to. Mother had come in and congratulated him on his victory stating how proud she was of him. It felt good to have that approval even if he always had. She recognized his skill and sat with him to help him work through the struggling emotions that he felt. The guilt over the men he had sent to their graves for simply doing their duty. He hated having to take life like this, but if this was what Lord Tywin wanted he would give it begrudgingly.

Then came and knock on the door from one of the castle servants. He looked particularly distraught in his appearance as he ushered mother and him out the door. Robb was initially going to question further when he saw the gathering of Northern lords at the drawbridge. Robb pushed to the front of the crowd, and the sight which greeted him took his breath away. It was Jon, his dark hair was a mess, his clothes dirty and eyes red. Beside him stood Sansa and Arya in similar conditions. His first instinct was joy upon seeing his siblings. But then he noticed their expressions, and that father wasn't with them.

—----------------------

Jon VIII

Jon had fallen asleep rather early tonight. He had flown with Weirya, Arya, and Sansa all day since leaving the coasts of Blackwater Bay behind in the dead of night. They only stopped when the sun began to set the following day. Weirya finally had grown exhausted. They had landed near the rushing falls on the west side of the God’s eye where Sansa and Arya had found a cave to sleep in that night. Weirya would keep animals and danger away if need be, so Jon let himself fall into the deepest slumber he could ever have.

And he was both thankful and pained when he woke up in the field of grass, the sun was not beating down oppressively on him, it was a perfect temperature as if often was. Ghost was at his side nuzzling him knowing the pain he still felt over fathers death. He would always be grateful to his faithful friend for that. Soon he looked to the hill and saw the oak tree, its branches swaying in the wind with the grass matching its movements. He wanted to feel at peace, he wanted to feel safe here. He tried to. But no such mercy would he receive.

He felt his grief lay over his shoulders like a cloak trying to drag him to the ground. He stood but barely. He did however receive a temporary break from the pain when he saw Daenerys stand on the hill. She looked at him, then began rushing down. He noticed her hair was different again. Cut short still but it was starting to grow out again braided behind her. He couldn't help but smile at her presence alone. In spite of all that had happened yesterday he could at least bask in the mercy that was her presence. Her beauty, her warmth, her love.

He wanted little more in that moment than to grab her and keep her close never to leave the field again. He just wanted her to be near him. So he walked towards her as she ran to him grabbing her skirt to make sure she didn't trip on its black flowing fabric. It clung to her against the wind displaying her figure as she made it down the hill to him at last grabbing him around the body as he wrapped his own arms around her waist holding tight. He soaked in her presence, he soaked in her feelings of relief.

She soon gave some distance between herself and Jon reaching up and planting a kiss on his lips. Which he readily accepted. She embraced him for a time never deepening the kiss but simply enjoying it. Eventually she pulled away face red as was his. But he didn't care. No one could see them, no one could judge them. And he needed more, he had already lost his father, he needed to know the woman he loved so dearly was here and alive. So he kissed her. He let himself for the smallest of seconds be consumed by an unyielding desire to let her know the depths of the passion he felt.

She reciprocated in kind. Once they broke off again Jon held her head close to his chest as he continued to plant smaller kisses on her scalp buried deep in her silver hair. He felt the tears start to flow down his cheeks again as she seemed to feel the water on her head. She pulled away to see his eyes red with grief, his lips quivering in rage and sadness. And upon seeing her face of horror he could no longer take it. All the rage he had felt and repressed over the past two days straining to get out finally broke free like a storm of tears and anguished yellings. He fell to the ground as she moved down with him cradling him in her arms holding him close to her body.

He felt weak, he felt vulnerable, he hadn't felt this sad in his life. His boy wouldn't respond when he tried to stand, he couldn't, he was at that moment broken. Heart and soul. But Daenerys never left him. She held him, she brushed her hand along his hair and face, she made sure he wasn't bearing it alone. She spoke in a soft voice.

“What has happened my love?”

Jon, through his crying, could barely get the words out.

“F-Father… t-th-they… they killed him…”

Daenerys’ grip tightened as she understood what he was saying, he looked up to see her violet eyes flash with fury. His own gray eyes held nothing but the deepest sorrow. He hated to do this, to ruin and defile what had been their place of peace for so long. He wanted to just lay down and hold her close. She spoke softly again but he could pick up on the hate in her voice.

“Robert?”

“… J-Joffrey… Robert is dead.”

Daenerys made no effort to hide the shock on her face, it hadn't been what she was expecting, but she listened all the same.

“T-they framed him… declared him a traitor… b-because he learned the t-truth…”

“What truth?” Her voice was now inquisitive. Jon felt the rage boil over as he spoke.

“Because he was a bastard…. Born of incest… and they killed him to KEEP HIS MOUTH SHUT!!!” he yelled through the tears, through the quiver of his lips, as he clutched a hold of her hand. Daenerys was stunned. Jon continued.

“He was good, he was honest, he was kind, AND THEY KILLED HIM!!!”

His fists were white at this point and he was apoplectic. But she held him still. He never raised his hand nor beat the ground. He couldn't. All he could do was let it all out.

“H-he… he was with me since I was a babe… he took me from my mothers arms and raised me as his own… h-he loved me… and now he’s dead.” he spoke through gritted teeth the words physically pained him to say.

“I am sorry.” She spoke with a soft sincerity.

“I don't want apologies… I want him back… I want my father back…”

She continued to brush his hair with her hand, the soothing motion starting to get through to him through the pain.

“... He died, so the world could know the truth… he died with his honor.”

“Then don't let that sacrifice go to waste.” She spoke in a fiery tone as well, she wanted to see him get back up, he just knew it.

“... I will see Joffrey pay for this… I will see Cersei pay for this… I will see Tywin pay for this…”

“... and what of Tommen and Myrcella?” She asked this with a fear in her voice, scared to hear his answer. But he knew that they were innocent, they had no hand in this. His mind went to his own siblings, he would never forgive himself if Bran, Rickon, Arya, Sansa, or Robb paid for his crimes, it was why he was doing this in the first place.

Then his mind went to his other siblings, Aegon and Rhaenys, those he would never know, and now wished to know. They had been brutalized for his father and grandfather's actions. And he would be damned if he looked upon the bodies of Tommen and Myrcella in the same way Robert did to his siblings.

“Never… I won't murder children for the crimes of their family…”

Daenerys tilted his chin up with her fingers, despite being calloused from living in the wild for years they were still the softest thing he had ever felt. He put his own hand on top of them, closing his eyes.

“... I will be going to Astapor where I intend to free the slaves of their bonds, I will do the same to Yunkai and Meereen, of those freed I will build my army… and I will sail home. And we will be united, we will be together…”

Jon opened his eyes, and Daenerys’ breath hitched, gone was the red of stress and grief, he was still crying but for more reasons than one now. A long silence passed between the two lovers as Ghost stood by watching silently. Jon ran a finger down her cheek. He had no idea what possessed him to say his next words, some force of love or desperation, perhaps something divine. But he said it all the same.

“... I have no interest in stringing along my vassals and allies looking for marriage pacts… I will enter this war with truth and honesty as my father had. And I have no interest in waiting any longer to ask you what I have wished to ask for years now…”

She smiled and simply said.

“Then ask me love… ask me.”

Jon with all his feelings of pain and anguish dying for a moment was left with nothing but love of the rawest kind.

“Princess Daenerys… if you would have me… I would ask for your hand in marriage, to reunite our house, and to rule as one.”

She smiled her violet eyes alight with fire and tears.

“Prince Daeron… you are a fool for believing it was never yours to begin with… I will take your hand in marriage.”

He didn't know what to say, so he didn't. He kissed her, their tears mixing between their lips as all horrors of the world fell away within the bliss the pair had created for themselves. Lost in one another they didn't notice the dragons dance as they remained in each other's embrace. She had held him through his worst and still loved him. He would never stop mourning his father, but she could make it bearable. His love. His queen.

—-------------

When he awoke in the cave he noticed the tear trails on his face, his eyes were sore and his joints stiff from riding all day. And he was ready for another one. He felt an odd mix of grief tearing at his heart and blissful joy of the purest kind. He hadn't wanted to leave the field but he was already here. Sansa was still asleep curled up under a dry patch of rock, her dress torn at its base from her tossing and turning. Arya was awake and outside sitting on a rock. She seemed to be petting Weirya. He could feel his dragons' contentment at the motions leaning into his little sister's touch, almost demanding more.

“Off, hold still you big lizard.” Arya spoke in a joking tone and it seemed Weirya picked up on it giving what might have sounded like a laugh. Arya turned to see Jon standing in the mouth of the cave looking at her with an eyebrow raised.

“I think I found her favorite spot.”

“Have you now?”

“Aye… I think so.”

Jon chuckled and put on his gear, Ice secured to his back once more as he moved to wake Sansa. He pushed her on the shoulder a bit as she stirred awake. She seemed almost confused until the memories of the previous days flooded her mind. She rose to her feet as she straightened out her dress best she could, her eyes were red as his, she wiped them a few times to clear them. He couldn't tell if it was because she was tired or mourning, but he figured it was both, the same as him.

“You sleep well?”

“No… I hardly slept at all.”

Jon nodded his head as Sansa turned to Weirya outside in the sunlight, her white and red scales reflecting beautifully in the sun. Sansa had been getting used to her presence, she had to considering that she was on her back all the previous day and would be for the majority of this day. Weirya had taken to Sansa quickly and well, perhaps she liked how sweet she was or something else. Then again Wirya got along with most people it seemed. Sansa stepped out into the light.

“God’s she’s beautiful.” She spoke with an amazed reverence as she took in the dragons immense presence.

“She really is…” Jon spoke in a similar tone, but he also noticed Sansa wanted to say something, but the words seemed to fail her. So instead she walked up to the dragon putting a hand on her snout as Weirya leaned into the touch. Sansa smiled as did Arya.

Jon was warmed at the sight. He had noticed Sansa’s kinder attitude ever since they had fled Kings Landing. It reminded him of their younger years, before she had learned what a bastard was. And Jon hoped now that perhaps, just maybe, he was getting his sister back, that things might go back to how they were before. She would sit with him and read her stories with him. She would play with him and Robb when the mood took her. He wanted to have that Sansa back. And perhaps he would.

Jon took a few minutes to wash up in the God’s Eye and to get some food for them. Just some rations he had taken from Lord Velaryon, nothing fancy. Eventually they all agreed to get moving again, they wanted to reach Riverrun by nightfall, and it was a ways to go. So they walked up Weirya’s wing to their positions, securing themselves with the rope. Weirya roared and cried in delight as Jon allowed her to take off. She leapt into the sky gaining altitude before beating her wings forward.

They were well above the clouds so no one would easily see them, if anything they passed through as many of them as they could. Arya had a fun time running her hands through them all the while Sansa and Jon got soaked with their moisture. It was surreal in a lot of ways, to be so far off the ground where no man should be. Yet here the three of them were. And Jon was glad he could share this experience with his siblings, he had only flown on Weirya a few times during his stay in the neck. So he would forever savor these moments. Especially with his sisters.

The day surprisingly passed in a blur, they were passing over High Heart when they saw the faint outlines of the Tumblestone and Red Fork river in the far distance. And on the horizon they eventually saw the Whispering Wood. It looked so small from all the way up here, then again everything did. Jon yelling so that he might be heard against the rushing wind.

“WE SHOULD BE CLOSE NOW!!!”

“ARE WE GOING TO LAND IN FRONT OF THE CASTLE!?!” Sansa yelled back in a questioning tone.

“AND SCARE ALL THE CAMP AND CASTLE INTO A FRENZY!?! ABSOLUTELY NOT!!! WE WILL FLY ON FOR ANOTHER FEW HOURS BUT LAND FAR FROM THE CASTLE!!! WE WALK THE REST OF THE WAY!!!”

“I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU WERE DONE HIDING!!?” Arya yelled back the wind breaking her hair out of its braid.

“I DID, BUT WE HAVE TO HANDLE THIS CAREFULLY. IF THE NORTHERN LORDS ACCEPT ME AND THE RIVER LORDS DO THE SAME, THEN WE CAN SHOW HER. BUT I WILL NEITHER SCARE THEM INTO SUBMISSION NOR WHIP THEM INTO A FRENZY AT THE IDEA OF A DRAGON ATTACK!!!”

“... FAIR ENOUGH!!!” He could tell that she was disappointed in his reasoning, good as it was, but it was the right thing to do. No need for unnecessary fear and chaos just because Arya wanted to enter in style.

So Jon guided Weirya a ways away, flying over Riverrun using a cloud as cover to mask their approach. From up here the three could really get a sense of perspective regarding the castle, its three walls forming into a triangle standing in the middle of the rivers with its moat flooded, the internal rivers for fresh water and boat traffic, its separate sept for worship and its small ceremonial godswood. Not to mention its triangular keep. Each corner of the wall topped with a giant drum tower for defense. It was a spectacular castle. And Jon couldn't wait to get his family safe inside. So they flew over.

Jon soon got far enough away to where he felt safe enough to descend.

“OK HOLD ON TIGHT!!!”

He felt Sansa wrap around his waist again as Arya held on for dear life. Weirya tucked in her wings, they all felt their stomachs rise as she started to fall, diving towards the earth astonishingly fast. Jon wrapped an arm around Arya for extra support all the while poor Sansa screamed her lungs out.

“AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

Jon saw the ground approaching ever faster only for Weirya to pull out of the dive with the three siblings holding on to one another for dear life. She opened her wings wide to stall her speed, beating them a few times to slow her down as she eventually stopped right before plowing through the treeline. The three were breathing heavily, Sansa and Jon out of fear, Arya out of excitement. She was the first off as Jon helped Sansa to the ground, she was ghostly pale as was Jon who had to steady himself against a tree to stop shaking, Arya was laughing with a smile on her face.

“You have ruined horses for me.” She said breathlessly, Sansa finally managing to get her bearings moved to Jon’s side.

“So we walk from here?”

“... Aye.”

Before they left Jon petted Weirya again resting his head on her head.

“Kirimvose syt bisa…” (thank you for this)

Weirya gave a hot huff in response, curling up into herself she fell asleep amongst the trees. Jon secured Ice to his back as his sisters began to walk with him down the road to Riverrun. It was quiet for a little while until Jon spoke the cold hard words none of them wanted to think about.

“I will tell Robb and Lady Stark what happened… they need to know.”

“Jon you don't have to-” Sansa’s sentence was cut off by Jon.

“No… I need to do this…”

The girls nodded their heads as Arya took Jon’s hand. It was a lovely afternoon, the sun shining through the foliage of the Whispering Wood to cast lively shadows on the forest floor, the Tumblestone river rushing off to their left as they walked a small forest trail to their destination. They had no clue how long they walked for in the forest nor did they care really, they were just happy to have the silence to walk in. Once they reached the end of the treeline they laid eyes on Riverrun. It was far more imposing from this angle than the sky with its walls projecting the power of House Tully for all to see.

Onward they walked until they reached the camp which fluttered with banners of the river lords and northern lords much to their relief. Walking through the camp across the ford to approach the main entrance of Riverrun drew little attention at first. But as they moved deeper in the eyes that watched them started to multiply, then came the whispers. And it all came to a head when they caught sight of Lord Rickard Karstark who wasted no time at all.

“LORD SNOW!?!” The lord's shock was clear but not with any hint of malice or anger.

“Lord Karstark, it is good to see you again.” Jon sounded exhausted and tired which the gruff lord took note of.

“Gods above what in the seven hell’s happened to you three!? I thought you were with Lord Stark in the capital!?”

“We need to speak to Robb, now… please.” Arya’s voice was laced with pain and worry, both uncommon for her and Karstark knew it. Quickly he cleared a path as the other northern lords gathered around. Karstark sent a messenger to fetch Robb as Jon with his sisters walked onto the drawbridge. Most of the northern lords were clamoring to know what the hell was going on and with them came the river lords that were gathered. Eventually Robb pushed through to the front of the crowd with Lady Stark close behind. Robb looked initially elated to see them as did Lady Stark who Sansa and Arya ran to immediately. Jon felt no pleasure in ripping down this reunion.

“Jon… I, what are you doing here? I thought you were in the Capital!?” Robbs face grew more worried as he saw the look in Jon’s eye.

“Robb… I-” Jon struggled to find the words amidst his own grief, and Robb was getting worried as was lady Stark.

“Jon… What happened?”

Jon took a deep breath and began his explanation.

“About two days ago, I was meeting with the Velaryons and Celtigars, and a messenger came by alerting me of a fight that had broken out in the Red Keep. Lord Stannis Baratheon had tried to claim the throne because the previous night, Robert Baratheon had died.”

The yelling and murmuring was ignited immediately but Robb continued to focus on Jon alone.

“Why did he try to claim the throne ahead of Prince Joffrey?” One of the river lords asked the question in earnest.

“... Because Stannis and Father had found out the truth… Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen are all bastards… born of incest between the queen and the King Slayer.”

Outrage, immediate outrage. Yells and cries of all kinds amidst looks of shock and disgust. Robb looked mortified as did Lady Stark who clutched Arya and Sansa close.

“Stannis didn't make it out of the throne room, he died that day.”

Robb simply looked at Jon, mortified and scared as to the answer to his next question.

“Jon… Where is father?”

All eyes turned to Jon as he gave a forlorn look, the realization setting in on everyone. But he still needed to say it.

“Father was lured into a trap that morning. It seems as if Lord Baelish was forging letters in fathers name to Stannis encouraging him to come over with the promise of a northern host to help him secure the throne. He was taken prisoner.”

Jon had never seen Lady Stark so violently enraged. The mention of Baelish seemed to have put her in an absolute fury. Robb similarly so. But Jon took a deep breath intent on finishing the story.

“Arya was able to escape, Sansa was not. I found her with some loyal men and we hid. While trying to plan our next move we saw a gathering in the streets. A stage had been set up on the steps of the great sept. Father was brought up there with Sansa, Joffrey, the queen, and his Kingsguard. Arya and I were in the crowd trying to figure out a way to get father to safety. But he shook his head to us. He stood there and proclaimed the truth of Joffrey's parentage. And then…” Jon choked on the words. The lords of the north knew what was coming, Robb knew what was coming, Lady Stark knew, he knew. It didn't help.

“... They took his head.”

There was a long silence, a painful silence. No screams of rage or retribution. Everyone was stunned into silence. Lady Stark was now crying, her brother Edmure rushing to her side to comfort her. Robb was destroyed.

“After that we decided to flee. We broke back into the Red Keep and rescued Sansa. We fled with the aid of Monford Velaryon. And we came here as fast as we could, it was two days ago he died.”

The confusion that statement would have otherwise inspired was overtaken by the sheer amount of grief in the air. Robb turned away to find somewhere quiet. The Northern Lords offered their own condolences to Jon, Lady Stark, and his sisters. Once it was done Jon was left alone on the bridge staring into the waters of the moat. He wanted to drown in it for a little while before getting a hold of himself.

Then he heard light footsteps on the bridge behind him, turning around he didn't know who to expect. But even then he was surprised.

Theon Greyjoy.

His usual cocky and annoying attitude was this time replaced with a look of restrained empathy. He moved in place awkwardly as if he didn't know what he was doing before he spoke. And the words surprised him.

“Look, Jon, I know we haven't always gotten along. I won't deny that.”

Jon was surprised at his sincerity which he couldn't remember ever seeing. He was also surprised that he had used his name. Not his bastard surname.

“I don't expect much to change with us now that yer here… but, I am sorry… for you losing yer father. Whatever that's worth.”

Jon was genuinely taken aback by his condolences, a lifetime of animosity between him and Theon wasn't forgotten as he listened to the Ironborn’s words. But for some reason, some force of will, the next words he spoke were even more odd.

“... He was your father as much as he was mine… I'm sorry too.”

Both were dumbfounded by the claim, much less that it was Jon who said it. He could see Theon’s lips moving, trying to come up with some witty or snide comeback that would defuse the situation in his mind and annoy Jon, a reestablishment of the status quo where they would be at each other's throats all the time, bickering. But no such response ever came. Theon just looked at Jon and Jon at Theon. Greyjoy averted his gaze to the floor before walking off into the castle, and Jon swore he could hear the sounds of sobbing as he did so.

Jon waited by himself for a while longer before doing what he needed to do. He moved into the castle grounds and could already hear the sound of steel on wood. He knew Robb would not take this well, he shouldn't take it well, no son should take the murder of their father well. But he needed to be there.

He found Robb in the small godswood of the castle. In his hand a sword, he was beating on a tree with all his might. Chunks of wood were flying everywhere with each strike cutting deep into the wood. He was screaming with each strike, each angry strike. Jon couldn't let him be like this.

“Robb…”

No response, just hacking.

“ROBB.”

He continued his slashing and hacking.

“ROBB!!!”

Finally, he turned to look at Jon. His eyes ablaze with fury.

“WHY DIDN'T YOU DO ANYTHING!?? YOU WERE RIGHT THERE!!!”

“...”

“...YOU COULD HAVE FOUGHT, YOU COULD HAVE RALLIED THE PEOPLE, YOU COULD HAVE CALLED YOUR DRAGON TO BURN THE WHOLE FUCKING CITY DOWN!!!”

“...”

“YOU DID NOTHING!!! YOU WATCHED AS THEY TOOK HIS HEAD, AS THEY TOOK HIM FROM US!!!”

“...”

“HE’S DEAD BECAUSE… because…” Robb couldn't say it, he couldn't bring himself to say it.

Jon looked to his brother, tears flowing from his eyes. He walked over to him, arms wrapping around his brother's back. Robb lay limply in his brother's arms, he sobbed. And Jon held him tight the whole while. He wasn't sure how long they were like that but he did hear Robb’s words.

“I'm gonna kill them… every one of them… I'm going to kill them all…”

Jon nodded his head pulling back. He looked with a blazing fury which matched his brother's rage. He needed to know that he was with him on this.

“We will… I promise you brother we will. We will kill them all.”

Robb nodded his head as Jon snarled, speaking his next words.

“And I swear to you brother… I swear on the old gods and new… Joffrey…”

Robb looked to Jon.

“... Joffrey's yours alone.”

Robb nodded again, grabbing Jon’s hand with his own. The brothers remained in that embrace for hours. Robb boring his soul out and Jon keeping him close.

—----------

Hours later Jon was in his allotted room dressing finely for the night. It was a memorial feast in honor of father. All the lords currently there would be attending. And Jon would be damned if he missed this one. Dressing in his finest clothes he walked down to the courtyard where several great tables were set up. In his hand he carried Ice wrapped to conceal it for now. He had wanted to wait for Robb to calm down before he gave it to him. And as he saw him seated at the great table he figured that he was obviously calm enough to present himself in a lordly manner.

But as he drew closer he noticed something else in Robb’s eyes, determination, resolve, and some form of acceptance. The lords were all gathered here and talking and feasting had begun in earnest. Jon walked forward and stomped his foot on the ground to get everyone's attention. He would do this now.

“My lords, I have something else I must share. After the murder of Lord Stark, when me and Arya Stark snuck back into the Red Keep to rescue Lady Sansa Stark we were faced on our way out with the king's executioner. Ser Ilyn Payne, who had just earlier that day beheaded Lord Stark!!!”

A wrathful cry rang out amongst the lords, but it was silenced by Robb's hand.

“Rest assured my Lord’s, that the bastard is dead! Ran through the throat by Arya Stark!”

This time the cries rang out in cheer and joy. The death of Payne was certain to bring some comfort to the lords at minimum, but the cries and howls were unlike anything he had heard before.

“And on Payne's body I saw something that should never have left the hands of the Starks!”

Jon walked forward removing the leather wraps from ice revealing its scabbard and handle, much to the shock and bewilderment of the lords around him. Robb froze at the sight of the blade, his eyes turning to Jon as the crowd went silent again. Arya and Sansa giving supportive looks to Robb who noticed. Jon stepped up to the table.

“For thousands of years this sword has been passed down through house Stark! And I will be DAMNED if I see that end because I was too scared to grab it!!”

Jon unsheathed the sword allowing the Valyrian steel to shine in the firelight as the lords rose in cheers and cries. Jon took a knee before Robb and presented the blade across the table. His brother took a hand on it and removed it from his grasp. The love, sadness, and thanks in Robb’s eyes could not be described as Jon stepped back away from the table.

“HERE'S TO LORD ROBB STARK OF WINTERFELL!!!” Jon proclaimed before the crowd who threw their fists in the air as a response. From there Jon was about to sit when Robb said.

“No Jon… you stay standing…” he wasn't sure how to identify the tone in his voice, but whatever it was burned like fire. Robb whispered something to a few servants who ran off into the house as Lady Stark rose up to speak.

“Jon Snow… If I may.”

All eyes turned again to the center of the feasting ground, Lady Stark’s voice was strained and resolute. She looked right at Jon who wasn't sure what she was going to say but had few options but to listen.

“Sansa and Arya told me everything from their eyes… your actions at my husbands… your bravery in the bowels of the Red Keep. You could have left Sansa behind and made it back with Arya alone… but you put your life on the line to save my daughter… and to retrieve my husband's sword. You could have left it but you didn't. In the name of House Stark I offer you my thanks, for your commitment and loyalty.”

Jon was taken aback by Lady Stark's words of gratitude which were seldom ever used with him. In some odd way it was nice. But once again the Lords of the north and even the Riverlands were up in arms yelling their cheers and praises, with Lady Dacey Mormont even yelling.

“HERE'S TO LORD SNOW!!!”

Mugs and horns were raised in his honor in that moment, and for a second Jon felt his world spinning. And then froze when he thought of how easily that adoration could come down if they took his heritage the wrong way. But one look at Robb sealed those fears for some inexplicable reason. As those servants finally returned with a few items from Robb’s room wrapped in cloth and leather. And it seemed as if Robb was getting ready to speak when the thunderous voice of Greatjon Umber spoke out first.

“My lords and ladies, I think in spite of the news told to us today that we consider something!”

Jon and Robb looked to the Greatjon as he spoke, and already Jon was concerned where this was going.

“While we were on the field I saw Lord Stark at the head, fearless and bold, taking on the Lannister's as they shit themselves in their beds… and I realized then and there how we continue our fight. I'm not sure about the rest of ye’s but I ain't bendin me knee to an incestuous bastard. Nor will I bow down to some prancin stag who wouldn't know real battle if it fucked em in the arse!”

While the Lords laughed at Umber's remarks Jon was growing more worried as he continued to listen to his talking, but Robb remained resolute.

“We bowed to the dragons! And the dragons are dead! Why should we not rule ourselves again!?”

Oh no…

“There is the only king I intend to bend me knee to! THE KING IN THE NO-”

“NO…”

Everyone turned to look at Robb as he stared down Lord Umber, who seemed rather confused at the rejection.

“My Lo-”

“Lord Umber, I admire your faith in me. But I have no desire to rule. Much less isolate our lands and burn all the bridges with the south that me, my brother, and my father have built these last few years… would you see my father's legacy of prosperity and wealth be shattered because what… you saw me in the fire light? No lord Umber I will not be a king…”

Jon breathed a sigh of relief as did Lady Stark and his sisters by the looks of it. Lord umber returned to his seat as such, dejected and confused, possibly a bit angry. But then Robb continued.

“Besides… I've already sworn myself to a king.”

The hall erupted in murmurs, and argumentative whispers as lord Karstark spoke next.

“You mean to declare for Renly then?”

Robb shook his head to Karstark.

“No I do not. He is an unserious man, with more of a mind for pageantry than politics.”

Then the hall grew more discontent with Karstark continuing.

“Surely you can't intend to declare for Joffrey when this is all over!!!”

“I would rather burn than kiss that little wretches arse…” His voice was laced with venom as he spoke, this only left the seated lords more confused with lady Mormont asking.

“If you don't intend to declare for Renly or Joffrey… who have you sworn yourself too?”

Robb reached down to the items the servant had given him and pulled out the mahogany box. Jon smiled in recollection of it, the thing that had set this all in motion. Robb had taken it all this way safe and sound. He had to admire his brother's dedication at any rate. Sansa and Lady Stark braced themselves for what was about to happen, while Arya was smiling the whole while. Robb spoke again.

“My lords and ladies, I ask that you listen to what I am about to tell you, that you understand what has happened and how we were deceived.”

By now the lords were too intrigued not to listen in. Then Robb began the story of Lyanna and Rhaegar, initially the reactions were to be expected, disgust and hatred. Nothing Jon didn't expect to not happen. It was only natural that they would react in this way. But when Robb broke the common tale and began to talk of the truth, the love his parents had held for one another, the secret wedding, running away together, and when Robb pulled out the documents to prove it. The reactions changed radically, some were outraged calling the actions of his mother a betrayal of the north and warmongering, he couldn't blame them considering the amount of life lost because of his parents choices. Others were more sympathetic to Lyanna, the Mormonts in particular seemed to be of that opinion. But many couldn't figure out what to make of it all, most were stunned into silence over it all.

But when the silence came over the crowd again Robb continued to speak.

“My lords I know how this feels, I was the same way when I first learned of this truth… I couldn't figure out if I should be enraged or disgusted. Sometimes I still don't, but that doesn't change the direction of my choice.”

“And what does that mean my lord, Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen are dead… you can't declare for a dead man.” Lord Karstark who had been unsure what to make of the news spoke up again. His words were not malicious but rather, confused and sad. And the rest of the lords nodded their heads.

“Aye they are dead… But their son isn't.”

The lords and ladies looked up to Robb as he drew out the birth document. He passed it around to the lords as they read over it, eyes going wide as they did. Jon breathed in as they went over it, bracing himself for the moment to come. The lords looked back to Robb who stood stoic and unmoving against the hundreds of eyes on him. Lady Mormont raised her voice amidst the sea of silence.

“You intend to declare for their son?”

“Aye… I do.”

“Pardon me my lord, but why should we even consider giving this dragonspawn a second glance? What do they know of the North? Our ways, our people, our lives?” Lord Umber was proud in his protest yet again thumping his chest as he spoke with vigorous resolve. But Robb only smiled.

“But you have my lord. All of you have, all of you have hosted him in your halls, drank with him, toasted to his health, worked with him to strengthen your houses, he follows the old gods, he knows the old ways. You even praised him for his heroic deeds.”

Jon couldn't help but feel touched by his brother's words of him, all his life he had known that regardless of his status Robb would be there for him, but in this moment he truly felt it. The lords who surrounded him looked dumbfounded as well, looking amongst themselves as if anyone knew more than the other. And then Robb spoke again in a calm, almost amused voice.

“And he’s standing right there….”

Jon and Robb locked gazes with each other as all eyes fell to Jon. He could feel the shock rippling through the air as the Lords of the North started to put the story together. They watched as Jon faced Robb breaking his gaze to take in the surreal scene around him. Many of the Lords who were so adamantly opposed to Robb’s story now seemed equally perplexed as those who had believed him right out. Jon himself wasn't sure how to feel about all of it. His mind was somewhere between blind panic and soul crushing fear. Lord Umber was the first to speak his voice softer and in disbelief.

“Is this true boy?”

“Aye… It is.” His response was clear and easy but carried a weight to it that it seldom had. He was unsure as to whether or not this would be the moment he died, torn apart in a rage fueled frenzy. He hoped that he had built up enough good will with the northern lords by now.

The disbelief hung in the air, no one dared to speak their peace nor anger. There was just a long silence. Jon was praying at this point for something, anything to break it. And Robb obliged. He stood up and walked out from the table Ice in hand as he looked to his bannermen. He spoke loud and he spoke clear.

“My lords, I do not ask you to forgive Rhaegar Targaryen, the North bled for that man’s mistakes. Nor do I wish you to not hold any resentment to my aunt Lyanna now knowing her deeds as well. But I do ask you this…”

Robb looked to Jon as he spoke next, his voice still carrying over the courtyard in the cold night air amidst the flickering light of fire.

“I ask that you see the man before you as not a bastard… but a man of the north. One who I know you have all come to appreciate in the same way you have done to me. Was it not him who saw the fleet of Bear Island rise? Was it not him who helped to see white harbor flow with the goods of Essos? Was it not him who has fought and bled alongside your men and sons against wildling invaders?”

Small aye’s and head nods could be seen and heard from the lords as Robb spoke, his confidence growing as he did.

“WHEN OUR FATHER MY FATHER LOST HIS HEAD UNJUSTLY, WAS IT NOT HIM WHO STAYED BEHIND TO MAKE SURE MY SISTERS FOUND THEIR WAY TO THEIR MOTHERS ARMS AGAIN, AND THIS SWORD BACK TO ITS RIGHTFUL HAND!?” He pointed at Jon with Ice as he spoke moving around the tables amongst his lords.

“Aye!!” Jon could see the rising feelings in their faces, feelings of acknowledgement, some acceptance, and pride.

“MY LORDS! I WILL NOT BOW BEFORE RENLY BARATHEON AND I WILL SEE JOFFREY DEAD BY THE END OF THE YEAR IF I CAN!!! IF WE AREN'T TO SLIDE INTO ISOLATION AND OBSCURITY THEN WHY NOT HAVE ONE OF OUR OWN, BLOOD OF THE FIRST MEN ON THE IRON THRONE!!?”

The nodding of the northern lords was now more visible as Robb moved before Jon.

“THERE IS THE ONLY KING I MEAN TO RAISE MY BANNER FOR!!! NOT SOME PRANCING STAG, NOT SOME FALSE LION, BUT A DRAGON AND A WOLF, MY FAMILY, MY OWN BROTHER!!!”

Jon was speechless as Robb spoke, his brother's commitment and unyielding pride in how words struck him to his core. And Robb smiled.

“SO I ASK ALL YOU LORDS OF THE NORTH… WHAT WOULD YOU RATHER HAVE? ANOTHER SOUTHERN KING WHO WOULD SEE US ON OUR KNEES BECAUSE HE FEELS WE ARE OWED TO HIM? OR A KING OF THE NORTH!?!”

It was then that Robb planted Ice into the ground, bending his knee and lowering his head. Jon felt the tears of joy trickle out from his eyes as his brother undoubtedly smiled as he knelt. Silence for a few seconds followed, then came the voice of Dacey Mormont

“Lord Stark’s words rang harsh tonight, as they should have… But they've also rung true. I don't know about the rest of you lot. But I quite like the lad, and if this is who Lord Stark wishes to support… I have no grief with that.” She smiled as she planted her mace into the ground, bending the knee as well. Then stepping fourth was Smalljon Umber.

“... Lord Snow took a blade to the face to save my skin… I wouldn't stand here if not for his choice… House Umber owes a debt to you, I can't speak for my father but if it were me I'd see that debt repaid. And if he doesn't follow I will.” Smalljon then lowered himself and bent the knee. Then came Rickard Karstark.

“... Lord Robb saved my sons, he has his father's honor in him, and I respect his word more than I do most. And if he vouches for you, if he follows you… I'm inclined to do the same.” Karstark was the next to bend the knee. Then came the words of Lord Glover.

“Lord Karstark speaks true. As does the Lady Mormont and Smalljon, I would follow house Stark through all seven hells if they requested it. I will stand behind house Stark as my family has for thousands of years! … And I will stand behind Daeron Targaryen.” Glover pulled his sword from its sheath holding it to the fire light its flat pointed to Jon. And then came the cry.

“A KING OF THE NORTH!!!” From there the gathering lost its composure entirely, more lords rose up swords in hand cheering and calling with hellish vigor, the chanting rising up into the night sky with the smoke of their fires. Jon was taken aback by it all as the lords of the north bent the knee one by one, Greatjon joining his son as well. Then came the looks from the river lords gathered. Jon locked yes with Hoster Tully who seemed taken aback by the events that had just transpired. And Jon spoke.

“My Lord Tully, I will not force you to commit your banners to this cause, but I would say that if you do, it would mean the world to me. Would you fight with us?”

Hoster looked to Lady Stark, a questioning air about him.

“You vouch for the boy cat?”

Jon looked to Lady Stark and her back to him, a lifetime of cold regards stood between them, she had not been the kindest, she had not been a mother of any kind to him, but her response came out all the same.

“I would father. For my son’s sake, and for my late husbands.”

“...” Hoster looked back to Jon, a slight chuckle leaving his mouth.

“You have seen my grandchildren returned safe, and I would think that Lord Stark passed some of his lessons to you as he did Robb… and now my grandson and daughter vouch for you. I suppose I will take their word for your worth. You'll have house Tully and the Riverlands follow you to your throne.” Hoster bent the knee, followed quickly by Brynden and Edmure, then the other houses of the Riverlands one by one bent their knee. Jon watched on in complete stunned silence. This was it. Their work had paid off.

Jon watched as Robb rose to his feet and called on another one of the castle servants who brought forth a white silk wrap and some long object wrapped in leather. Robb reverently took them in both his hands as he looked at Jon, a smile breaking on his brother's face. He put the leather wrap to the side as he held the silk between his two hands.

“I'm sure some of you noticed my frequent trips to the smiths. And it is for this occasion I did so. Jon… Kneel.”

Jon lowered himself to a knee as Robb began to speak.

“The old kings of winter wore their crowns of iron, the dragon kings wore their crowns of gold. I hope that this does right by both lines.”

Jon was about to ask when he looked up as Robb unveiled the silk wrap. There it was, a crown. Its rim gold and its spokes iron swords in the style of the old kings of winter, decorated upon it was the snarling visage of a dragon and dire wolf. It was simple, it was modest, it was beautiful.

Robb raised the crown into the night sky walking behind Jon as he remained on his knee, the lords all watching. Robb spoke again.

“IN THE SIGHT OF GODS OLD AND NEW, I ROBB OF THE HOUSE STARK, LORD OF WINTERFELL, DO HERE BY CROWN THEE, DAERON OF THE HOUSE’S TARGARYEN AND STARK!!! THIRD OF HIS NAME, KING OF THE ANDALS, THE RHOYNAR, AND TRUE KING OF THE FIRST MEN, PROTECTOR OF THE REALM. AND KING OF THE NORTH!!!”

With that Robb placed the crown onto his head, it slid right down across his head, a perfect fit if ever there was one. Jon looked to Robb’s banner men, now his by extension as he could see smiles on their faces. He looked to his sisters Sansa beaming and Arya with a look of pure pride. Robb then moved to the leather wrapped object picking it up.

“You have returned Ice to my house, your grace, such a gift warrants one in return.” Robb spoke with a smile on his face as he pulled back the wraps of leather letting them fall for good to reveal a sword, long and thin its guard in the shape of dragon wings with a dragon egg as its pommel, Robb drew the blade as it sang amongst the night.

“If I may present to you your grace, the sword of your house and yours by right, I give you Dark Sister.” Robb dropped to his knee as Jon wrapped his fingers around the handle, taking it from his brother's open grasp. It was so light in his hand, something old and sharp. He couldn't describe what he felt at that moment but it was only good. He smiled to Robb, a chuckle leaving his lips. Robb just smiled all the same. Jon took the scabbard and secured it to his belt but he didn't put the blade in. it had been gone for years and only now did it sit in the hands of a Targaryen again. It deserved to be seen. Jon looked to those gathered, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“My Lords… My friends… My family. Much horror has befallen us these past days. We have lost the best of us… to preserve a sinful lie. Lord Stark died with the truth on his lips and he died to make sure everyone knew it! But I feel that I must tell you his final words… on the block looking at me and Arya Stark, he simply said that… Winter is coming… With Fire and Blood…”

Jon took a shaky breath.

“And I will honor those words my lord’s… we will take the throne from the Lannister traitors and their ill made spawn… and we will see Ned Stark avenged!!!” The lords of the north cried in fury and unison, the river lords nodded their heads in agreement.

“And I must tell you of one more secret which I have kept for good reasons. Now that I know your loyalty is made of honor and not fear I may show you our greatest ally.”

The lords of the North and the Riverlands were confused for a second, but not for long. The sound of heavy wing beats broke their thoughts, Jon couldn't help but feel the satisfaction at his companions' eagerness to be close to him again. The wound of Weirya’s wings grew ever closer as the various lords looked around before they looked up. And just in time to see Weirya soar over the castle much to the gasps and shocks of the various lords and ladies gathered, Karstark looked pale as a damn ghost, Brynden Tully took one look at Weirya before a toothy smile broke out across his face.

Weirya made two passes over the castle before landing right on its central keep the stone structure straining to support her weight as she cried out in a strange hooting roar. The lord’s remained shocked, scared, or absolutely bewildered. But their reaction shifted when Weirya lowered her head on her long neck to nuzzle Jon. He returned the affection in kind. The Lords seemingly understanding that not only was Weirya not hostile but rather caring and seemingly protective of Jon they began to realize the true meaning of this.

“My lords, we go to war with not just armies and hope, but with what remains of Old Valyria… This is Weirya. And she will see us to victory…”

The hollars and cries of joy were so extreme that even Weirya pulled her head back at their ferocity. All of a sudden a risky situation seemed more like a total victory with the knowledge of a dragon fighting with them. Jon just smiled.

Over the next few hours feasting went well into the night with Weirya resting on the top of the keep seemingly happy to watch the festivities, she had quickly endured herself to the lords as Greatjon and Rickard Karstark made a game of tossing up whole pigs for her to eat. Which she caught every time roasting them in her mouth with bursts of white and red flame.

Jon had taken a seat at the high table alongside Robb and Lord Hoster who had many thousands of questions for him to answer. Which he did gladly, it was good to finally be out in the open, to bear his birth name with pride and honor, although he would still like to be called Jon by his family. He could not so easily discard that name. But he was given one more surprise before the night was out.

As he was feasting on pork and ale desperate to eat after the day's travel and emotional torment, the courtyard was silenced when Sansa stepped out to the high table. In her hands she held what looked to be a cloth of black silk, her voice was shaky but she spoke.

“Your grace… I would like to apologize… for how I have treated you, my disconnect, and my disregard for your well-being… I-I… I'm sorry for lying… for-”

Jon stepped out hugging her, soothing her shaky voice. He spoke calmly.

“You have not done this sister… I am simply happy to have you back.”

“... I made this for you, I hope it's a start to better things.” She passed the black silk cloth to Jon who unfurled it. He was stunned by her embroidery work, much less how fast she had made something so big. He couldn't help but smile at her creation.

“Sansa I… I love it… Someone get me a banner pole.”

A servant was right over with a remaining discarded Lannister banner, he ripped the gold and red cloth off the pole tossing it up only for Weirya to burn it in a blast of fire garnering cheers from the lords gathered. But Jon put Sansa’s gift on that pole planting it firmly in the ground behind his seat letting it unfurl to reveal her work to all. Gasps and murmurs were heard as Jon looked back.

“Have a hundred of these made, I would see it fly from every flag pole on the Red Keep when this is done.” He said looking back at the gift.

On a black field was the Targaryen dragon of three heads, ferocious as could be, but its color, a pure white. And its heads, instead of the dragons of his house, each head was the dire wolf of house Stark, their furs running down the length of their necks. There it stood behind him, his own sigil. The banner of a Dragon wolf.

Notes:

Thank you for your kind words last chapter I hope you enjoyed this one. also Im going to be at the end of the chapters putting in the current statistics of the armies at play. These will change as we go along.

North/Riverlands: 20,000 - (260 ships)

Westerlands: 40,000 - (120 ships)

As always comments are welcome.

Chapter 21: Arya IV

Summary:

Arya attends Jon's first day of court and reality sets in.

Notes:

Shorter Chapter today as Uni has been kicking my ass. Do enjoy.

Arya VI

It was some short days before the remainder of the Northern army arrived at Riverrun. Naturally they were confused as to what had happened in the adjoining days since the battle of the Green fork. Which had been a defeat, thousands of their host had been lost along with several lords or their sons being taken prisoner. They reasoned it was the price for the victory at Riverrun, it still didn't help regardless of how they framed it. But it was over now and the hosts were reunited after lord Bolton had put his men through an extremely tough march to reach their destination fast enough.

But amidst all the unfortunate news regarding the battle on the green fork, there had been some good news that came in. Upon hearing the relief of the siege surrounding Riverrun several of the scattered river lords had gotten their hosts together at long last intent on making the march. Ser Gregor’s raids had been devastating but now he and his host was with lord Tywin, that is to say not burning and raping the lands on which the lords lived. So they had the small but needed opportunity to ride to Riverrun and combine their forces at long last.

Arya had watched the infantryman and lords walk in in by their dozens over the course of the past few days. In some ways it was quite the sight to see, gleaming lines of steel polearms and armor. Horses as far as you could see. All the many dozens of people who have been taken from their homes or left on their own choice to participate in this conflict for all their multitudes of reasons. She would often find one amongst many as she looked out from her room's window, she would make up names and stories for them. It reminded her that they were people.

And that was just one thing she was doing now anyway. She had been keeping up with her water dancing drills as frequently as she could regardless of whether or not her mother saw it as proper. She had already killed a man and she didn't want to be left defenseless in the middle of a war. She hoped and thought she was getting better now that she had seen Syrio in real action. She wanted to be better than that, she wanted to be able to best anything or anyone who attacked her.

Who knew, maybe if she became adept enough Jon would let her join his Kingsguard one day. God’s wouldn't that be the dream. She had already saved him from Ilyn Payne while he was flat on his back. She didn't know what compelled her to do what she did. Love, revenge, hate, something else entirely, she didn't know nor did she really care. She had dispatched one of her fathers killers, and even if she would never tell another person it, she felt good about it. She knew she shouldn't have, that it was wrong to wish death on someone, but she couldn't bring herself to feel bad for Payne, not him.

But regardless of all that today was looking to be an interesting day in any respect. Now that all the necessary Lords and Ladies were gathered here including the full strength of their host which now numbered some 32,000 with a few more trickling in from the far corners of the Riverlands it was time to actually begin planning their next moves in the war, it was time for everyone to come together and to discuss the next best course of action.

Arya was more than excited about the entire ordeal because as one of the initial plotters Jon had said that she would have quite the role to play. He of course I told her this in confidence and had said little more aside from that but whatever it was she had to think it was something important. She had gone to sleep the other night thinking about whatever it could have been, whatever her brother had in mind for her. From the way he was talking about it, it sounded like something extremely important. She supposedly would find out today one way or another. If he didn't proclaim it out right she was definitely going to twist his arm and tell her.

King or not he was still her brother and she had her ways of getting information out of him whether he wanted to or not. In private, she would never cease tormenting him in an affectionate manner, after all he wouldn't even know about his identity if it weren't for her and Robb, he owed them quite a bit. She chuckled to herself as she sharpened Needle and cleaned it. The tension of the day and the excitement never leaving her alone for even a fraction of a second.

Regardless of all of that she knew that she actually might want to dress to impress today. Because today was going to be Jon’s first day of “court” if you could call what they had right now a royal court to begin with. But she considered it as much, she figured it was more the spirit of the meeting as opposed to the semantics of it. And she knew that Jon would be making quite a few big moves today. And she wouldn't miss that for the world on a silver platter.

Granted she would not dress up in any form of pageantry gown or anything like that. No, today she had to say to go with leathers, what could be considered armor for her and some regard. She would send the message that she would not stand idly by as the war went on. She wanted to be an active participant. She wanted to do something to make sure her brother got where he needed to be, she was no lady, and she absolutely would fight any offer of marriage with tooth and nail. But she was smart, she was fast, she was silent and she could swing a sword, certainly more useful than most.

So she strapped on her attire and she secured Needle to her belt. She ran down and out of her small room in the castle which had been set up close to her brothers and sister, obviously her grandfather wanted them close in case anything bad happened, that or they just didn't want them separated again after they already had been for several months now. It was a lovely sentiment but this was war they were going to have to be separated regardless. She knew the reality of her situation, in all likelihood Jon and Robb would send Sansa back to Winterfell possibly with mother in tow.

She had been missing Bran and Rickon who by all accounts were holding the fort down well. No one regardless would be stupid enough to attack Winterfell right now. And hopefully the world where that came to pass would not be their own. Arya didnt want to return home, not yet. She would demand that she stayed with Jon or helped him in some way until he sat his arse on the world's ugliest chair whether he liked it or not.

—-----------------

The halls of Riverrun were far tighter than the halls of Winterfell, which to be fair was to be expected the castle was drastically smaller than her home. But even then she couldn't help but notice how much more elaborately decorated the place was. Hall's painted in blues and reds matching her mother's house's colors, the various tapestries that hung from the walls as something to look at as you passed by and the windows looking out over the rivers and the courtyards of the castle was definitely contributing to the more open feel the place had.

Winterfell had been cold and harsh, imposing it stood out amongst the landscape with its grand stature and it imposed a sense of visceral authority on all those who looked upon its great walls. It was a fortress fit for a king all things considered. Whereas Riverrun in glaring contrast felt far more relaxed and mellow. From the outside it was still very imposing to anyone who looked on it and it was in fact a strong Castle but at the same time it was simply more comfortable to live in. The landscape around it what's much more vibrant and as such so was the castle itself.

Arya couldn't tell if she hated the aesthetic or found it quite nice. But either way she figured that it wouldn't matter all too much given that they might be moving on from the castle soon enough. Or at least she might be. Jon and Robb might still use the place for their own tactical purposes considering the fact that it was so close to the Westerlands. It was heavily fortified and easy to exert control from, put simply it was the perfect place to launch an invasion into the West. It just had never really been particularly used for that purpose because the Riverlands in almost every war they had been and had been on the defensive.

But not this time, the riverlands have already suffered enough at the hands of the old lion. And it was long since due to that Tywin paid for his crimes. She felt a strange confidence Brewing up within her chest as she thought about it, the idea of her brother's charging across the golden rocky fields of the Westerlands all the way to Casterly Rock, the force of an army behind them to demand the Lannister’s pay their debt to their families. A debt of blood which only blood could pay for. She gripped Needle thinking about it. It was hardly proper of her, but only right.

Then she reckoned that they would turn their eyes to the capital and then it would be all over. The Lions would either be dead or sent back with their tails between the legs or cut off preferably. Those guilty amongst them would see justice right and true. And she would take great satisfaction in seeing Robb presenting Sansa with Joffrey's severed head. Oh, gods what a day that would be. And it would all be crowned off with the moment that she saw her brother ascend up those stairs and take his rightful seat on the Iron Throne.

Then and only then she thought their work would be done. Then and only them would their family be truly safe under Jon’s reign. And from there who knew what the future held for Westeros. And it was fun to think about the changes and reforms her brother might make given his experience in life. He was no cruel death but nor would he ever be. Obviously those who had helped him early on would see incredible reward as he was always one to respect effort made towards him and reciprocate in kind. Perhaps the north would grow stronger than it ever had been becoming truly respected in the eyes of the South beyond just the mud eating and snow fucking savages that they were so often thought of.

So much to think about so much to worry about so much to do before that happened of course but it was still a fun thought. Granted she pushed all her thoughts down on a side as she approached the doors leading out into the courtyard of Riverrun, that's where her brother would begin to host his court. Right of the same tables where her father's memory was drunk to and where Jon was crowned in front of the Lords and for all to see. In some ways it carried an odd symbolism towards it, he wouldn't start his rain surrounded by gaudy furnishings or great pillared halls or even on the top of a throne. But a simple chair at a table outside in the open air, surrounded by his family and bannermen to see him through. It was a good thought and a good start.

Without further delay she opened the doors and stepped out into the sunlight, it was barely morning as the sun had yet to reach its zenith. But it seems that everyone wanted to get an early start as there was little time to delay regardless, which she agreed with wholeheartedly. Better to get ready and moving than to slack off and delay. She walked away down the center of the tables as several lords nodded their heads to her which she returned the gesture to, approaching the far end of the hastily assembled sets of tables she saw both her brothers sitting at the high table.

Jon took the center seat naturally which was somewhat jarring for her to see. Even when he had been accepted to the high table back at Winterfell on his 13th name day he had eventually found himself sitting more towards the far wing of the table away from the immediate view of anyone who entered. He was never seen during his stay at King's Landing either probably eating in his own room or more likely than not eating amongst the castle servants, undoubtedly at the Queen's command.

So to look at him now sitting in the center of the table at the center of attention with Robb off to his side and her grandfather at his other. It was a particularly strange sight, but odd as it may have been she couldn't have been happier with it. She felt the look suited him. Even more so with the current attire he had chosen for his first proper address as the king. She chuckled to herself looking at him. She knew that's probably had some say and how his attire looked for the day, once again her sister had done a good job with what she was given.

He wore most of his usual darker colorings, that much sense Sansa had seen good enough to keep, and they did match his general look. But his clothes now were of a significantly higher quality of cloth, over his chest was a cross belt similar to Robb's, and also like Robb over his shoulders was a great fur cloak. Put simply he looked as if he was a king of winter. That would be if not for the various dragons embroidered into his clothing, white dragons all. But even then they were matched by an equal number of dire wolves.

Amidst all his standard attire came of course the crown Robb had made for him atop his head, which sat perfectly. Then on his waist he carried Dark Sister openly, his family's second sword now his to keep forevermore. Arya had lost her mind when Robb had pulled it out wondering where in the Seven Hell’s he had gotten it from. Which he later explained. And when Arya had been allowed to hold it God’s she felt like screaming in joy. But taking another look at Jon before she took her seat at the high table she saw something else, something that brought a sharp sting of empathy forth. Around Jon’s neck on a leather wrap, hung the last of Rhaegar's rubies which she had found in the muddy banks of the ruby ford. He still had it.

She took a breath before walking over to the table and taking her seat. Like the previous nights before she was positioned right next to her mother and sister. Which was fine by her for now. But once she had gotten her food and was savoring the morning pork sausage she noticed the rest of the lords and ladies had taken their seats. It was time to begin.

Jon stepped up looking around the survey all those gathered, his own personal sigil flapping in the breeze behind him. Sansa had done a superb job with that she had to admit. It was What most would think of his damn near perfect. The only thing she was left wondering was how the hell she had completed it so fast, then again this was Sansa. She could likely weave a table cloth together in a matter of minutes if she wanted to. So how hard could a personalized sigil be?

But her thoughts were broken by Jon’s voice carrying through the courtyard.

“My lords and ladies, I would like to thank you for rising out of your bed’s this early. But it is imperative we address our plans and next course of action. This war started as a call to arms against a warlord. But I think it is safe to say it has become much more than that.”

The lord’s grumbled in agreement, nodding their heads as they listened to their new King's words.

“So it is here and now we must understand what we are trying to do. From here we have but one purpose. Take the Iron Throne. All our actions and moves from here on out must be made in furthering that purpose. And amongst our discussions on that subject we have many more items to discuss today.”

Most of the Lord's nodded in agreement this time as well.

“So to being let us assess our current allies. Between the North and the Riverlands we field some thirty-two thousand. Then with regard to our naval strength we sail some two hundred sixty ships courtesy of the Manderly’s and Mormont’s. And I will have it known amongst all that before we were forced to flee the capital I brokered an alliance with the Velaryons and Celtigar. While their armies are small their fleets have been sworn to us. Between them, we now sail some four hundred and ten ships.”

Arya nodded to her brother's words. It might be small but it was a start. That many ships on the east coast of Westeros would be very helpful when it came time to take King's Landing. If not just to blockade the city to prevent food and resources from flowing into the enemy's hands. And those lords who knew strategy were in agreement on the good that such an alliance would bring.

“Then there is the matter of other alliances.”

Suddenly Jon was cut off by lord Umber who spit on the ground.

“BAH! More southern shite for us to wade through? Your grace I think I speak for all of us here when I say that with the Riverlands, Northern grit and dragon fire will see us through!!”

Then came the cold and calculated voice of the newly arrived lord Bolton.

“Northern grit will hardly last against fifty thousand spears lord Umber… Dragon fire perhaps but not the placid hopes of old men.”

Roose Bolton stood up walking over to the center of the tables and addressed Jon and Robb directly.

“Your grace I mean not to worry nor bring malcontent to your court but from the prisoners we gathered following our engagement with the Lannister's, I have learned quite a bit of vital information.”

Jon and Robb, both intrigued, urged the lord to speak more.

“It would appear that alliances grow scarce these days. According to our sources the Tyrell’s and by extension the Reach seem to be declaring for Renly Baratheon.”

Unsettling and shocked yelling rang out in the yard. And Arya was inclined to agree with the worry that now lay over all of them. But Jon raised his hand allowing silence to fall.

“My lord you relay unfortunate news, but why do you speak as if it is an uncertain alliance?”

Roose raised an eyebrow before speaking again, his cold gaze never leaving Jon who in turn never shrank from the lord of leeches gazes.

“Because your grace, despite supposedly committing their forces to his cause and preparing to march with him, they have yet to marry the lady Margarey to lord Renly. If they were ready to support him entirely, why stay the marriage?”

Jon took in and thought about Bolton's words for a little while before eventually responding.

“You think that they are stalling for some reason?”

Bolton again raised an eyebrow, his lips tightening as he thought for a second.

“I think a lot of things your grace, but what I know is that House Tyrell seems to be worried about this alliance in some way. For what reasons only the god’s know. But what I also know is this, if Renly takes the throne and kills Joffrey, we will be facing him. And between the two of them Renly is much harder to rally support against.”

The lords nodded in agreement, and it was true. Renly was likeable and significantly more popular than his brother ever was. Then the voices were silenced by lord Blackwood.

“Renly may be a pretty man but he is hardly a king. Much less a soldier, all of this is assuming he won't fall in the field of battle or be captured during one. He has the walk and looks about him but hardly the mind for warfare.”

Then came the voice of lord Wayn who rose in response.

“Even if that is true those around him may yet bring him victory, he has good lord’s under him and beside him. Furthermore, he has the largest army, uncontested rule in the Stormlands, and the line of succession backing him. Chances are he is preparing to march on the capital as we speak.”

Murmurs of agreement were exchanged between all the lords gathered when lord Terrick spoke.

“Lord Wayn speaks true, but if we are to believe Lord Bolton as well then we must assume that at minimum the Tyrell’s are weary of Renly’s chances to win, even given their numbers. And what are great armies to the might of a dragon? Do we not remember the field of fire? What did the combined might of the gardener and rock kings mean against Aegon and his sisters in the end? Your grace I submit that we send envoys to Highgarden to try and make them see reason. And remind them which house it was that made them lords paramount in the first place.”

Once again the murmurs and nods returned as they listened to the Lord's words which to be fair had some weight to them. It was worth a try even if it didn't result in an alliance, and after talking with grandfather and Robb, Jon seemed to agree.

“Very well then, we will send personal envoys to Highgarden and ravens too. We will try our hand at an alliance with them even if they don't accept. Furthermore, I would have the same done with Lysa Arryn of the vale.”

The general consensus among that particular notion was agreement as well, mother especially. But great uncle Brynden seemed very concerned with the idea, standing up to address Jon he spoke with a worried tone.

“Your grace I beg your pardon but I would not count on the vale for support either.”

Mother looked to her uncle with an incredulous almost offended look.

“Lysa is my sister and our kin, why would she not answer the call if we give it?”

Brynden averted his gaze to address his niece.

“Because you only saw her for a brief moment, I have been living with her for several years now and what I have seen concerns me as to both her integrity and loyalty.”

Lord Hoster and mother looked to be growing angry with Brynden but Robb spoke first.

“How so great uncle?”

Brynden took a deep breath before relaying his observations.

“Lysa has grown more erratic and overprotective of Robert in these past few years. Furthermore, she wishes to see him sheltered from all the horrors of the world first before all else. As acting regent she has the final say when it comes to the Vale’s participation in this war. And family or not I doubt she will declare for us. I still recommend you send ravens and envoys but I do not expect answers.”

It was a stringent and uncomfortable thing to think about, but with the way he spoke it was likely true as well. So then came the voice of lord Bracken.

“If the Reach is on shaky ground, and the Vale is out of the question, then that just leaves Dorne.”

There was laughing at the mention of Dorne. Lord Vypren speaking in response through a laughing voice.

“You'd have better luck walking across the Narrow sea before you get Dorne to declare for us. As if they will have forgotten the insult that Rhaegar bestowed upon them, which undeserved as it may be, our king represents.”

There was a disturbing silence that came over the courtyard once again at the unfortunate fact of the matter when it came to Dorne. The chances of them getting a proper military alliance with the Martell’s was so negligible it was comical. No they would never be able to get their support in this state. Then once more did lord Wayne speak.

“If that is the case then it would seem we are without allies.”

That was when Jon rose from his seat and spoke in an almost amused tone.

“That is not entirely true my lord. We have one other ally who is working as we speak to raise their host.”

This caught everyone's attention, as they looked to Jon. Some with eyebrows raised, some holding their breath, some with squinted eyes but everyone was paying attention.

“These past years while in hiding I have been in contact with the princess Daenerys Targaryen. And she has agreed to support our cause.”

Eyes went wide on every Lord and Lady as they listened to his words. Some of them were very concerned with the validity of his claims. Others seem particularly intrigued. But it was lord Umber who spoke first asking his questions.

“Your grace, how can we possibly trust that this girl will help us in any way? What if she is just as mad as her father?’

Before the aye’s could rise up Jon answered immediately.

“Because just shy of three years ago I sent Lord Howland Reed to tutor and protect her, and he has assured me that not only is she clear of her father's madness, but loyal to our cause.”

Arya chuckled knowing how Jon had actually been in contact with Daenerys but it was still hilarious to see the lord's reaction to the news. Lord Karstark especially.

“THAT'S WHERE HOWLANDS BEEN? I THOUGHT HE WAS DEAD!!”

Jon laughed.

“No my good lord, simply taking care of my family. And if we cannot trust someone who Howland Reed vouchers for then who can we trust?”

That comment seemed to silence a lot of the naysayers regarding Daenerys's loyalty, but Lord Karstark still had his concerns.

“Be that as it may your grace, what can she provide to our cause?”

Then Jon said out loud the reasoning for the princess hiding away for so long.

“She will bring her own three dragons to our cause.”

Brynden Tully almost choked on his mead as the lords again went quiet, all eyes turning to either Jon or Weirya who was sitting atop the keep. Jon spoke again.

“My lords if we already have an advantage with one dragon… imagine what we could do with four…”

The lord's looks of worry quickly changed at the thought as did Arya, frowns turning slacked jawed and others smiling. Lord Glover spoke next.

“I can't expect such an offer to be made purely out of loyalty. What will be the price we pay for such an immense boon?”

Jon nodded.

“Aye, but the price will be mine alone to bear. I intend to marry the Princess Daenerys Targaryen and seal our union as such. She will bring her army and her dragons and no other price shall be paid.”

The lords took a moment to take in the decision, Robb spitting out his ale as he listened to his brother's words in surprise. Sansa looked star struck. Arya herself was also intensely surprised. But it didn't take long for the lords to realize just how much of a damn bargain this was as some lords began to nod and others looked apprehensive and concerned at the idea of the union. She herself was laughing at Jon’s barely hidden snide smile. Jon spoke again.

“My lords, while this union may help our cause we must still try for alliances of Westeros. Send ravens detailing our aims and desires to every great house and lesser house we can manage. They will fly tonight. Now I have another announcement. Lady Stark, would you please step forward?”

Everyone seemed surprised at Jon’s request considering the pair’s history together. But nonetheless she moved up and bowed before returning to her feet. Jon stood up and spoke.

“Lady Stark, we have not always seen eye to eye on many matters. But I know you love your family more than anything, I think you would understand I bear the same love to my own kin.”

“I would hope you do, your grace.”

“Then it is for that reason I ask this Job of you. I wish you to sail to Essos, to the cities of Astapor and Yunkai, there you will find and meet Princess Daenerys, and you will act as royal envoy to the king and ensure that she and Lord Reed return home safely with their forces when they are ready, furthermore I ask that you relay my marriage proposal.”

Mothers eyes went wide as did several lords around them. It wasn't long before Jon spoke again.

“And I would not be so cruel as to remove you from your daughters days after you have reunited. They are safer with you than anyone else. Hence, I would ask that the Lady Sansa and Arya Stark travel with you. In addition to a hundred swords of both houses Stark and Tully to see you safe.”

Arya was taken aback by Jon’s request. And she immediately knew that this must have been what he was alluding to the past two days. Mother seemed extremely apprehensive to accept the offer, her eyes constantly flicking to Robb. More than likely she didn't want to leave him either, she probably wished to return back North check in on Bran and Rickon. But Arya saw Robb giving a slight nod of his head quietly mouthing the words ‘I'll be fine.’ Arya by now was bouncing in her seat next to Sansa who looked concerned but possibly excited. Arya was desperately hoping mother would say yes. And it seemed she noticed.

“... Your grace I would wish to see my family in Winterfell again. But I understand the weight of your request. I do ask that you send as many as can be spared to keep Winterfell safe.”

“It will be done.”

“Then I will see your kin returned home within the year.”

She looked to Jon who gave her a small wink. For the briefest moment she considered why Jon would actually send mother to do this. Why not another lord why not anyone else. Why was it necessary? Formality perhaps? Maybe he figured that it would speak volumes to treat this like a proper alliance so that anyone who listened in would be aware of how serious this was. Maybe he thought that it was better to send a newer envoy who had been in the midst of this chaos for years now to help Daenerys prepare for the situation she would be stepping into. Or perhaps this could have been Jon’s way of punishing her for prematurely starting a war.

She didn't think Jon would be that vindictive but it was still a possibility. Then there was the decision to send not only her but Sansa with them as well. Surely she would be safer at Winterfell, surely she could help Bran and Rickon more than mother and her. Perhaps he figured that Sansa needed to be with her mother for a longer time than a few days, maybe he figured that Arya could protect her more than house guards could. It could be as simple as that, or something else entirely. But when it came to Arya, she was all too ecstatic.

Out of the three he was sending it was clear to her at least that he trusted her the most. Or that's what she figured at any rate. But in truth she hardly cared why he was sending her.

She was going to Essos!

“Thank you for your acceptance, Lady Stark. Now would Theon Greyjoy step fourth?”

Theon stepped forward a little confused as he reluctantly bowed.

“Theon Greyjoy, you have faithfully served as ward to house Stark for years now. But you have remained doing so as a prisoner.”

Arya noticed Theon ball his fist in anger at that statement. The words were painful to him. But Jon spoke again.

“But for your service in the Battle of Whispering Wood, I see no reason to keep you as such. You are to be released as a prisoner forevermore.”

Greyjoy’s head shot up to look at Jon and Robb who had a sly smile on his lips. But before Theon could say anything Jon continued.

“You may return to the Iron Islands if you so wish, but if not I would ask something of you.”

Theon, now confused again, spoke. “A-and what would that be?”

“I would ask that you ride east with Lady Stark and my Sisters to Saltpans, there you will find Monford Velaryon. From there you will tell him by the king's commands, the both of you are to sail the waters of Blackwater bay raiding shipments going into Kings Landing…”

Arya was taken aback as was Lady Stark. Robb however winked at Theon. He had obviously had a hand in this and Arya could see Jon wasn't all too convinced in his brother. Nor was mother or even Arya in truth, despite how much faith Robb put in him, he was arrogant and far too cocky. Arya was not sure if Greyjoy could rise to meet the challenge. But the enthusiasm that now filled the young man was infectious.

“Aye. It will be done!”

Oh well, at least he wouldn't be around to mess things up with Jon and Robb.

If anything, shipping him off to the ocean away from Jon would at least reduce the animosity the two shared and as such might help Jon and Robb to work together more closely without an excess of bluster being spoken to them by him. Who knew perhaps he could prove himself the Ironborn he always posed himself as. A chance to put his ego to the test and see if he could be all that he wished to be seen as.

Theon excitedly stepped back to his seat, Robb maintaining a fond smile the whole time, Jon on the other hand remained sour in his complexion. Likely hoping that Robb hadn't messed up something for them. But she held her tongue all the same. Following some logistical planning regarding the movement of her, Sansa, mother, and Theon to Saltpans things turned once again to the war effort and other more meticulous details regarding Jon’s new court. Most of the questions being posed by lord Lychester.

“Your grace if I might inquire, what will be the state of your small council going forward?”

It was a reasonable question. They would have to figure it out at some point soon.

“With the council of Lord Hoster Tully I have decided to abstain from naming members of my small council until we have a more thorough understanding of who our allies are and who our enemies are. After all, some positions might be the key in swaying the opinions of certain houses to our cause.”

Lord Lychester nodded his head sitting back down, the topic pivoted to the next steps of the war. Brynden and Robb acting as the de facto commanders helped to educate Jon on their current situation. And it was expectedly tight.

“Between all the lords and infantrymen who have arrived here these past days we have as good a host as we can hope to achieve right now.” Brynden spoke as he looked over a set of maps detailing the Riverlands.

“I thought we could gather more.”

“Would that we could your grace. Unless you're willing to wait some more months to see our forces grow I doubt we will see much improvement.” The Blackfish’s tone was stern and unyielding, a pretty damn good encapsulation of who he was as a person. And he was right. Robb’s army was hastily assembled and even with the majority of the river lord’s supporting their cause bar a few of those who were too busy dealing with Tywin directly, and the Frey’s who still held their support.

It was just their situation. As such Torrhen Karstark and Eddard Karstark would be sent back north with the job of trying to raise a second host from those who were unable to answer Robb’s hasty call to arms. It wouldn't be a lot but it would be better to try. And from there a basic strategy was beginning to take form.

The first strategic aim was to dislodge Tywin from Harrenhal. They needed to get him out of the Riverlands first and foremost. From there things got more difficult and would depend on the movements and results of the inevitable blows the Lannister’s and Baratheon’s would exchange. Some even suggested letting Tywin and Renly fight each other until they were so depleted they could just sweep in afterward. And frankly it might have been their best choice.

They couldn't hope to match Renly in the field without Weirya. And even then she doubted that Jon would want to burn tens of thousands of people alive in any case, although if pushed he might do it. Battle would only wound both sides. Some had offered the thought of asking Renly to bend the knee himself. But frankly put, no one thought that was a likely course of action. He had the strength and he had the influence. And it was a damning line of logic. And even if Jon bent the knee to Renly relinquishing his claim, Weirya would still live and no king in their right mind would let one of their vassals wield that kind of power. No, they needed to defeat him. Maybe not kill him, but they would need him to either bend the knee or submit in some other way.

So for now they were of a like mind to let Tywin deal with Renly while they strengthened their own position raising all the remaining levies they had and possibly forcing the Frey’s to stand by their oaths and commit to the cause. But from here it was hard to tell where the road to victory was, or despite Jon and Robb’s speeches the other night, if there really was one. The situation was young and needed to develop. Perhaps someone's misfortune would yield their victory, or open a door. Or perhaps they would all die by the sword. Maybe that’s why Jon was sending her and Sansa east with mother. In case everything went to hell and they would be all that remained. She hoped it wouldn't come to that.

—-------------------------

The day dragged on from there, more trivial matters were discussed including the arrangement of troops logistics lines, things Arya admittedly turned out not wishing to listen to. Her mind was saddled with all the complications that were to come in the next few months, possibly even years. This would by no means be a quick war if ever there was such a thing. And their position despite their courage was not in any way secure nor even particularly good.

Her mind raced all day with possibilities of how they could possibly win this. Perhaps Jon should follow in the footsteps of his ancestors and simply fly the dragon over to each lord paramount demanding fealty as Aegon did, perhaps burning them if they defied would be the way to go. She knew that he wouldn't like such an answer. He would actively contest it if given the opportunity, he had no extreme lust for blood, thank all the gods who were there. But the war was already afoot. He had exposed Weirya to the lords of two kingdoms and word would now inevitably leak out and find its way all across the world.

He had made his promises and he was not one to break them. Arya reasoned with her returned once again to a room to begin packing up for her long voyage east. At least this time unlike when she was packing to leave Winterfell she did so with significantly more excitement. Even if it was underlined by the potential fact that this might be to keep her out of harm's way in case everything went as bad as it could. She wanted to think that this was Jon placing faith in her to help him with their war effort which she did believe in part was at least some of the motivating factor behind it. Then again two things can be true at once.

She looked out her window once more to see the flocks of ravens flying away presumably with all the messages declaring house Targaryens return to the Seven Kingdoms. Whatever happened next she sincerely hoped that it would turn out for their favor. Perhaps the Tyrell's would abandon Renly although she really doubted it unless he somehow perished, who knew, men die on the field of battle all the time why should a king be any different. Then again the same could go for her own family, the same could quite possibly go for her.

She looked down at Needle on her hip. Once she reunited with Syrio she committed herself to stepping up her water dancing teachings. She needed to be ready, Westeros might be war torn, but Essos by her reckoning would only be relatively safer. They had a destination and a goal, and she would not see her Sister or mother harmed on her watch again. So it was that when she gave her goodbyes to Robb and Jon, her uncles and grandfather, and saddled up on her horse next to Ser Cassel who would be accompanying them on this trip, she clutched Needle tight yet again. And she vowed that she would see Westeros again with her sister, mother, and the princess in tow.

Notes:

Thank you all for the kind words last chapter and for the critiques provided. Hope you enjoyed this one now that we are really getting into the meat of the story.

North/Riverlands: 32,000 - (260 ships + 200 ‘Celtigar + Velaryon’)

Westerlands: 40,000 - (120 ships)

Reach/Stormlands: 80,000 (20,000 from stormlands 60,000 from reach)

Dorne: Undeclared

Vale: Undeclared

Iron Islands: Undeclared

(Note this might not be accurate with the books or show to a T but these are what I personally found to be believable estimates and as such will be using.)

As always comments are welcome.

Chapter 22: Varys II / Tywin I / Olenna I / Benjen I / Oberyn I

Summary:

The whole of Westeros reacts to the return of the House of the Dragon.

Varys II

Wide-eyed and absolutely astonished as he read that letter over and over and over again. When he had first been brought the letter by a simple servant of the red keep who had been very pale-faced when he had handed it over. Varys only shared in his expression of shock the second he saw the three-headed dragon seal upon red wax which closed the letter. That alone put him into a state of shock. A state of shock which he had not felt for many years before now. Nor possibly would ever again.

Aegon was not to use his house's seal for a while longer. At least not until he was sure he had the cell sword numbers at his back so that he might come over and actually make his conquest and stake his claim. And what's worse is that this was by no means a private letter it was sent in through the Ravens kennel not by any of his little birds or by any of his informants. Which made him worry that this wasn't a message from Aegon. Then again who the hell else could possibly be so bold to see whose house Targaryen’s sigil.

Not wishing to waste any more time Varys had opened the letter breaking the seal with no small delay as he had brought it into the light of a window where he could more easily see the writing on it. And needless to say on his first second third and fourth readings of the letter the words he had found written on that paper never ceased to shock him. Truth be told it had taken a few minutes just for him to be able to stand on his own feet without the support of a table nearby.

It read as such.

‘To my esteemed lords and ladies, I hope this message finds you all in good health,

My story is rather odd for my family, and that is saying something considering our heritage. But suffice to say the time has come for you to hear it. Before the rebellion of Robert Baratheon my father Rhaegar Targaryen was said to have kidnapped and raped Lyanna Stark. However, documents copied and sent with each replication of this letter will prove this tale false. For they loved each other, and upon Rhaegar's annulment to Elia Martell married each other in secret.

Lyanna Stark soon fell pregnant with me. And when my father met his end on the trident, my mother in turn died following the labors of birth. My uncle Eddard Stark spirited me away and hid me as his bastard within the walls of Winterfell for most of my years, never informing me as to my true identity until those who I consider my siblings Robb and Arya of the house Stark, discovered this truth and brought it to my attention.

Since that day I have only ever desired the safety of my family and those who helped keep me safe from harm all these years. But it would seem that malicious players desire to see that family ripped asunder and burned for their own gain and to preserve a sinful lie. That prince Joffrey and his siblings are bastards born of incest between the former queen Cersei and the king slayer Ser Jaime Lannister. And following the unlawful execution of my uncle Eddard Stark which I bore witness to, I see no other recourse but to take the Iron Throne to ensure my family and house remain safe.

This will come as a shock to many of you, and many will undoubtedly be disgusted by my father and mothers actions. Of which I do not discourage. For my father and mother pursued each other and the realm bled for it. I do not beg your forgiveness on this front but I do ask that you judge me on my own qualities and flaws and not on those of my father and mother. And as such I shall establish my terms.

Lord Tywin Lannister is to surrender and submit to a trial for his treason regarding the Starks and his role in the murder of Elia Martell, Aegon Targaryen, and Rhaenys Targaryen. His monsters Armory Lorch and Ser Gregor Clegane are to be given to Dorne for their trial. And Joffrey Waters is to relinquish all control and claim over the Iron Throne and bend the knee before house Targaryen, as the same goes for Renly of the house Baratheon.

With us stands the kingdoms of the North and the Riverlands who’s noble lords have signed an adjoined document detailing this letter's validity and truth. And their support in my claim. I hope all you noble lords and ladies will consider and do the same. And as for house Lannister and their ill made spawn I have but two things to say.

You shall not survive long against our dragon.

And winter is coming with fire and blood.

King Daeron Targaryen III.’

Varys had dropped the letter at that point. Stunned beyond all reason. Never in a thousand years could he have ever possibly anticipated this happening. Never did it even cross his mind that this was a possibility. The idea was so excessively outlandish it beggared belief. He had thought he was prepared for most outcomes. And then here this comes like a mace to the back of the head.

He had dismissed the young Jon Snow as inconsequential at best while he was staying within the red keep, hardly better than a sell sword watching over the two daughters of Lord Stark. He had thought the more important players and pieces in the game of thrones to be scheming in the court of the king which to be fair many were. And then he learns that quite possibly the single greatest threat to his and Illyrio’s plans was Meandering the Halls outside his room for several months and he never noticed. Not once did he ever think that Jon Snow could be a Targaryen prince. Because who would? It was insane.

Nothing had given the boy away, not to him at any rate, he had neither the eyes nor coloring of Valyria, he didn't act as a prince, he didn't hold himself as royalty. He had stayed out of sight of the court as a bastard would, he slept with the servants, he quietly sat in the godswood, and he rarely interacted with anyone. Then again such actions for staying out of sight would go a long way to not raising suspicion and getting him found out at any rate.

Then came Ned Stark's execution, a dreadful affair if ever there was one. It was truly saddening to see such a noble Lord die, especially in the pursuit of information he himself had lent him. But they didn't change the fact that it would have been worse had he lived. Aegon's cause was the only one that mattered And Lord Stark acting as a stabilizing figure to the realm was simply something he could not have for long. So when the impertinent little boy decided to cut his head off in front of the city, who was Varys to complain.

And even then Ned Stark's Last Words upon that stage only helped him in the end, destabilizing the realm by exposing Joffrey as a bastard, had been within his wheelhouse of plots for a while now. Well yes this was a bit earlier than he had expected, truth be told he would have liked for the Young boy to rule for at least a few more months perhaps a year or two to truly prove how awful he was and drive the Seven Kingdoms into the ground only making it easier for Aegon to come over, but Varys figured that he could make do with this nonetheless.

But of course there was Ned Stark's final statement which had thrown him for a loop and in all truth put an unsettling feeling in his stomach. His attention was drawn away hours later by the disappearance of Sansa Stark who he only learned a few hours later from his little birds within the city had been spirited away by her bastard brother and sister along with the likes of Syrio Forel and Barristan Selmy. And seemingly on a Velaryon ship which was now sailing northward all but confirming his suspicions.

Initially he was content to let them go, Sansa had suffered more than enough at Joffrey's hands and those past few hours than some did in their lives. And what did he care if a bastard boy managed to get away? Sure he might have liked to keep the sisters around just as bargaining chips for their brother, but it was supposedly a manageable situation. And then a few days later this letter shows up. And suddenly all of those plans are put into a death spiral. Suddenly so many little things, almost inconsequential things were given new meaning and so much now made sense.

Ned Stark's chilling last words were not the ravings of a man in his last few seconds of life, nor were they made out of fear, but rather directed defiance. That was not some statement he thought would sound nice as final words, they were not just some last act of retribution before he met his end, that was a rallying cry. A call to Arms for the little secret he had been hiding all these years to get up and put whatever plot they had concocted into motion. And then he had time to consider what else this could mean, and what else this could explain.

All of a sudden the disappearance of Daenerys Targaryen became significantly more suspicious. Which was saying quite a lot considering how absolutely bizarre the circumstances were surrounding that particular bit of theater in the first place. It had completely thrown his and Illyrio’s initial plans for Viserys out the window forcing them to adapt. Now given this new information he could only assume that the princesses' disappearance years ago must somehow be connected to this Daeron character. And if the two were connected in some way, he was not keen to find out what that would mean for them. And what's worse Daenerys was still missing. He hoped that wouldn't last for long but it was hardly in his power to control.

And what's even worse they had a following already. Daeron had entered the scene with two kingdoms at his back, the North and the Riverlands, while not the most prosperous of the Seven Kingdoms, were certainly two of the most battle tested. The ferocity of the north was legendary and the riverlands incredible castles and versatility in warfare were two boons not to be scoffed at. And if they were allied with the princess Daenerys who knew what they had planned with her. Not only that but just yesterday word had reached his ear of Robb Stark's victory at Riverrun. From what he heard it seems the young wolf had a mind for Warfare, put him with his great uncle the Blackfish and now Daeron had two adept and loyal commanders at his side.

And if what he theorized and heard was true then Ser Barristan Selmy was not far behind. The old knight was beloved by the small folk of the seven kingdoms, despite being at an advanced age his name still carried a plethora of respect with it. And if Selmy put his money behind Daeron then that would lend some serious support from the people. And then there was the issue of the Velaryons, if they were supporting the boy as well then his naval power was looking far more concerning.

And then there was that last statement. ‘You will not survive long against our dragon.’ Considering that supposedly everything else said in that letter was the unadulterated truth backed up by several lords of both the Riverlands and the North, and considering it would have been an odd way to phrase a metaphorical threat. Varys was left wondering to himself whether or not it was possible in the sea of impossibilities he had already been faced with in this one letter, that perhaps Daeron Targaryen had a dragon.

He didn't want to think of it, and reasoned to himself that it was likely a symbolic boast playing to his men's spirit. But if even one of his little birds came to him with even the slightest possible hint even the mere whiff that this dragon was in any way real. Then Varys would take that as his sign to finally after all these years flee the capital. From there he would meet up with Illyrio and explain all he could and the mountain of trouble they were now in. But now he had to tell the queen and king. For which he took a deep breath.

—-----------

He left his chambers strolling at a brisk pace to the great hall whereupon the Iron Throne sat Joffrey who was still in a horrible mood following the Stark’s escape from the city for which several guards had been executed on incompetence. It hardly mattered right now the slew of consequences that would come from such an action. The boy king called him forth.

“Lord Varys, come, I hear you have urgent news. I would hear it.”

Varys breathed in deep before producing the letter and handing it to an announcer who read the letter aloud for those present to hear. And Varys could swear that he had never seen Joffrey more red with anger or the queen for that matter. Put simply he thought the pair would die of rage then and there. Sadly for him neither would. Joffrey seemed to be deciding between wanting to kill someone or to scream in a boyish rage. He chose the latter.

“LIES!!! TREASON!!! SLANDER!!! I WILL NOT BE TOLD TO STEP DOWN FROM MY THRONE BY A SNOW FUCKING BASTARD!!!” His words were so loud and vitriolic Varys swore that he would lose his hearing by the end of the day. Then came the queens quieter but no less enraged voice.

“Lord Varys, how can you possibly know this to be truth?” The queen's voice was little better than a hateful sneer at the announcers words. Varys hadn't thought she would react well but even then this was particularly venomous even for Cersei. But he had to respond eventually.

“The signatures on the adjoining papers and the copies all match those lords who they purport to be, and the documents back up the claim. The timeline fits. It would appear to be true your grace.” And oh how Varys wished that it wasn't true.

“I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS!!! WRITE TO MY GRANDFATHER AND HAVE THE BASTARD BURNED ALIVE. HUNG, DRAWN AND QUARTERED, BEHEADED. JUST KILL HIM!!!” Varys stood his ground even if the court scribes flinched at the outburst. Varys looked to Baelish who seemed to be very amused by this whole situation. Varys braved closer to the Iron Throne as he spoke in a soft tone as to not upset the boy any further lest he die of a heart attack.

“Your grace, I will see to it that my little birds find their way to this Daeron Targaryen, we will know all we need to soon enough and-” Suddenly he was cut off again by Joffrey screaming again pointing right at him.

“DO NOT CALL HIM THAT!!! HE IS A BASTARD AND THAT IS ALL!!!”

“Very well your grace, but rest assured that the Bastard will meet his end swiftly. We do have more pressing matters to attend to with Lord Renly after all.”

Joffrey seemed to calm down at that resting back into the throne, his face draining of its pink red coloring as his breathing steadied. He cleared his throat as he averted his eyes from the various courtiers who only a few seconds ago wandered the halls going about their day. Now all were wearing concerned looks on their faces as they kept their eyes away from the young king. He was not doing himself any favors, that much was true at least.

Glancing around the room his eyes fell on the members of the small council scattered about the hall. Pycelle seemed to be muttering to himself incoherently, the news seemed to have snapped something inside the man and now he wasn't sure what to make of him. Lickspittle he was and old as he may have been Varys was well aware Pycelle was no fool. Or at the least capable of grasping the enormity of the development. Baelish was strained in the face but by no means panicking, he was likely adjusting to the news in some way, whatever it may have been he was certainly caught off guard by the news.

He could only imagine the rage that this would inspire in lord Tywin, when he learned not only of this Daeron Targaryen’s mere existence, but his seemingly unwavering loyalty to house Stark, but also the truth that they had no Starks as prisoners to barter with. They were defenseless and exposed. And now their opponents stood united in their aims of revenge and conquest. The lord of the Rock would be apoplectic.

Joffrey for his part would likely make a flurry of orders that he couldn't hope to see achieved in the aims of Daeron’s murder. But Varys was equally concerned with another critical piece of his plan. His mind went to Dorne as the stress built in his chest. Aegon was far over the seas, Daenerys missing entirely with no leads yet as to where she could be frustrating as it was, Viserys alive and in the care of Illyrio and Jorah Mormont still unstable and growing into more of a problem every day. But then there was the last of them, Varys realized that he might have to send word to Illyrio to accelerate their plans. Because if she learned about this, if she came into contact with Daeron and allied with him. It would spell trouble for their plans all the more. Now he regretted keeping them separate, keeping Aegon a secret, useful as it was. It seemed smart at the time, but now like everything else, it fell apart.

—--------------

Tywin I

The breeze collected within the command tent pushing the fabrics that made its walls out and in with rhythmic motions. The red cloth billowing as it did, its golden tassels dragging on the ground as it did. All annoyances which attempted to mask the severity of the issues presently before him. He had no time for the whims of nature and her ilk. His struggles were of both a tactical and personal nature. He had sent his main host northward in the hopes of heading Robb Stark off on the Kings Road to keep him from pushing over the trident

When their armies met on the banks of the Green Fork he knew he would win the day. He had the numerical advantage and figured the boy would be too green to put up a proper battle line. Only about halfway through the battle as he was watching his opponents movements did he realizer that it wasn't the boy who commanded this host. Their movements were too well practiced and every aspect of the fight spoke to a man with experience, not some northern pup having a go at playing war. It wasn't Robb Stark who led the infantry.

Meanwhile, he later learned from the handful of survivors who had managed to crawl back to him that what the boy had actually done was take a portion of his host west over to Riverrun directly rather than face him in the open field. The infantry force he faced was a diversion led by Roose Bolton to draw him away from the siege as to ensure he wouldn't be able to end the counter-attack. Not that he was in a position to do so regardless. The march would be too long and more likely than not the northern infantry would crash in behind them on the way.

But regardless of that alone the biggest problem of them all was the capture of Jaime. The Stark boy held his son, his legacy hostage. That more than anything was nothing less than a punch in the face. He didn't know how he was brought to his knees only that now the boy had leverage over him. More likely than not he would use him in exchange for his sisters, a trade he would make immediately. But as of now he knew the boy was willing to fight, and capable of winning.

As such he would have to hold off on aunty attacks or assaults aimed at Riverrun. His legacy's survival was at stake and he was not about to risk that in some swift ill-conceived attempt to force the young boy's hand in battle. He was in the stronger position and had the leverage. Then there was Renly who as far as he knew was on his way to gather his host. The Stormlands would be quick to mobilize, and his outriders had come back with reports detailing the Reach was arming itself. Now he was fighting a war on two fronts.

All the while his war council argued amongst themselves.

“It's obvious the Stark boy is less green than we hoped.” Tyrion speaking with his usual immaturity, always stating the blatantly obvious as if it added anything to the conversation.

“I heard that his wolf killed half a dozen men and twice as many horses.” Said lord Kenning, as if such a fantastical story was of any tactical value.

“It matters little, the scouts have confirmed our suspicions, Renly Baratheon is mustering a host. Jaime captured, his army scattered, it's an absolute catastrophe. Perhaps the best choice is to sue for peace.” Kevan being the only one to have anything meaningful to add to the conversation spoke in a calm tone. Then Tyrion shoved a cup off the table and spoke as it shattered on the dirt ground.

“There's your peace dear uncle, Joffrey saw to that when he removed Ned Stark’s head.”

“He told treasonous lies and paid the price for it.” Lord Kenning spoke again.

“Really? It hardly seemed to matter. Word is spreading, and the respect that Ned Stark has amongst the kingdoms will only work against us in the coming months. You’ll have an easier time drinking from that cup than you will bringing Robb Stark to the table now. He is winning if you haven't noticed.”

Before anyone could speak in response, a messenger came in with a letter.

“Raven from Riverrun my lord.”

Tywin nodded to Kevan who took it from the boy's hand who in turn ran off. Peace terms more likely than not, perhaps some wild childish gloating over a single victory. He looked back to Kevan as his brother read over the letter. But he only saw his brother's face growing concerned if not pale. Kevan passed the letter to Tywin as he gave it a quick read over.

At first, he was sure this was some sick joke, a ploy of some kind from children made for some cheap laugh. But when he saw the adjoining documents, the seals, the signatures, all of it. He began to realize that this was by no means false in its convictions. Some of its claims were wild and likely made to inspire a measure of fear in lesser men, such as that one line regarding them not surviving against a dragon, but the rest of the letter seemed genuine in its claims and with proof to back it up.

He cast the letters onto the table stone faced still. All while his bannermen began to tear each other apart over the contents of these letters. Yelling, screaming, and ill made claims denying the letters contents. As much as he wanted to doubt the words on those papers he found himself leaning towards accepting it. Although reluctantly. Either way this just made things more complicated for his forces. If this was true and this boy sought the Iron Throne then he now was faced with two contenders and had to find a way to force both to heel. Not that his war council helped with that.

“This is an outrage, who do these lords think they're fooling!?” Lord Yarwyck yelled out

“Who does this boy think he is!?!” Lord Broom spoke in an incredulous if not offended tone.

“What does it matter, the immediate threat is Renly, we can't afford to get caught up fighting one claimant only to let the other slither their way into the capital.” By now he wasn't even sure who was talking as everyone was too scattered about in their accusations and denials of their situation. All of it became too much to where Tywin slammed his fist onto the table silencing everyone in a matter of seconds.

He was silent as the grave for a short while before he looked to Tyrion, wretched little stump he was. But unfortunately he needed to consider him for what was to come. Jaime was captured and would possibly be dead by the end of the year if he wasn't careful. And Tyrion, spiteful little monster he might be, was a Lannister. Tywin spoke from there.

“Get out all of you…” He watched as his bannermen stood and left and Tyrion was about to go with them. As much as it pained him to say it.

“... Not you…”

He watched as Tyrion moved back in surprise pulling out a chair to sit at. He grabbed himself a pitcher of wine and poured himself yet another glass proceeding to drink half of it before addressing him.

“It would seem we now have a predicament on our hands.”

“We do.”

He breathed in deep before speaking, these next few words were going to be painful. But he saw little else in the way of options at the moment. The situation was too dire.

“You are correct in regards to Eddard Stark. Regardless of the justification surrounding his execution we will bear the consequences. The lords who hold honor in high regard will hate us. Our enemies now have a way to attack us. If he were still alive we might have been able to broker some sort of a peace. Which would have given us time to focus on Renly. But now… madness. Madness and stupidity.”

Tyrion, looking particularly confused and suspicious, spoke again.

“Indeed. But we are not without options, Cersei has sent no raven suggesting that we do not still hold Arya and Sansa Stark, and if that's true then we still have some leverage.”

Tywin looked down at Tyrion before speaking again.

“You spoke to the boy at Winterfell did you not? What do you know of him?”

“... He seemed a sullen and quiet boy, trying to stay out of the light but when I got the chance to speak to him, he turned out to be rather thoughtful, intelligent, and honorable much like his uncle.”

“Good, if he's anything like his uncle he may not be willing to make the choices necessary to gain the upper hand. Furthermore, he will need to assert his authority over his new host. Both will take time. Time we will use to advance while he sulks in Riverrun.”

“Pardon my interruption dear father, but you mean to ignore him?”

“I mean to focus my efforts on the problems at hand. The Targaryen boy is hardly a concern right now and will need time before he can make any moves. Renly Baratheon is our biggest contender as of now and as such we will focus on defeating him first before we knock out the boy.”

“And how do you intend to do that father?”

He scoffed.

“Ser Gregor Clegane will ride out with five hundred riders to set the Riverlands alight from the Gods Eye to Seaguard, that should keep the dragon and wolf on their toes. All the while Kevan and I will gather the remainder of Jaime's host at Harrenhal so that when Renly makes his move we can respond accordingly. And you will go with a host of four thousand to begin fortifying the capital in preparation for Renly.”

Tyrion scoffed.

“Father forgive me but I doubt that my sweet sister will care what I have to say on the matter.”

“She will, as I am naming you hand of the king in my stead.”

Tyrion's mismatched eyes grew wide as he prepared to respond only for Tywin to cut him off.

“You will go to the capital to prepare it for Renly, you will bring that boy king to heel and his mother too, if need be. And if you gather so much as a whiff of treason from any of the rest, Varys, Pycelle, Baelish-”

“Heads, spikes, walls…”

Tywin lifted his head in agreement with his statement. At least he was catching on quickly enough to the measure of his duties.

“Why me? Why not my uncle? Why not anyone else?”

Tywin gritted his teeth in preparation for his response. He hated to even put this word in the context of Tyrion. But this was what his legacy might be reduced to in a matter of months if he wasn't careful with his next steps. He might as well start preparing the fool just in case, a singular opportunity to prove that he could rise above his vices and maladies to achieve anything. Although he doubted it fervently. So he looked over to Tyrion, meeting his gaze and spoke.

“Because you're my son.”

The words were physically painful for him to say they truly were. But if it meant that he would get up out of the chair and actually contribute to the family he would say it. He told him to leave shortly after as he looked at the letters on the table. It was an unfortunate development, something that he hadn't seen coming, but there were worse things to deal with than some Targaryen who thought he had a chance at the throne in this age. It was troubling but with the right moves would be little more than a nuisance.

—--------------

Olenna I

As ever the sun over the Reach was a welcome warmth. Ever present and ever bright. The warm air cascading through the garden was one of the most comforting things she had ever known, even since her youth. It always was like this in the summer, all over the reach. And Highgarden was no different. Despite its gaudy white walls and stones which made up a truly horribly designed keep it was easy to find quiet. That much she would give credit for, but little else. It was otherwise truly and totally if not unnecessarily excessive, too much for the sake of having it.

She recognized this fact long ago and had gotten used to it over time, but it still hardly settled her nerves to know just how big the castle was. But regardless of all that she had long since made a home within these walls. She had lived in them for several decades now and was unlikely to leave them. That is unless she grew bored of them once more decided that she would take her rest elsewhere.

Today was little different, Olenna was sitting by herself alone at a table beneath the shade of a tree in one of the fortified gardens which overlooked the Mander river rushing by below. In the distance rolling hills and grasslands spotted with forests broke up what otherwise would have been a vast excess of green grass. On her small table was situated her morning meal, fresh made tea, a palette of fresh fruits arranged from strawberries, grapes, and oranges mixed with some fresh made muffins which she would have found adequate if not for the sesame seeds the cooks had thrown in for god’s know what reasons. And to top it all off some roses to finish off the decor. Which she found flat appalling.

Roses, everywhere she looked roses and roses. It was as if no other flower existed in the world aside from bloody roses. Not just in the gardens, but on banners, armor, swords, table cloths, dresses, door knockers. Seven hells her damn chamber pot had a bloody golden rose stamped on it, as if it made the shit smell any better. She could hardly stand it all, would it kill Mace to find any other color to decorate with aside from green and gold? And any other image to embroider than a bloody fucking rose?

So to have her morning meal decorated with them as if it made the food taste or look any better was tantamount to ghastly in her view. Nonetheless, she ate it, it would do no good to starve herself out just because her son’s taste in decoration was that creatively bankrupt. She would have to remind him of his wretched tastes the next time she saw him. Which would hopefully not be for a while. The oaf being gone on campaign with Renly was probably one of the better things to happen to her in recent months. It gave her a break from his bumbling at any rate.

So alone she sat and ate brushing the petals to the floor whenever she could before looking out at the river with its small boats going in either direction bustling too and fro with their cargo and goods. It was picturesque all things considered. And would have remained as such if not for the arrival of a swift footed and seemingly very concerned servant. His green and gold doublets caught the light of the sun in its excessive vibrancy while he rushed over seemingly keeping his pace constrained so as to not look like a madman, which he looked like regardless with how wide his eyes were.

“Apologies my lady but it would seem that there has been a development of most dire consequences to-”

She rolled her eyes as he spat out a list of rehearsed if not incoherent string of needless courtesies to her. She spoke with a measure of annoyance that she always addressed those who wasted her time with.

“Oh do shut up and say what it is you need to say.”

“... A letter has arrived by raven from Riverrun.”

Olenna quirked an eyebrow at that. Riverrun? Last she had heard of it, Robb Stark was successful in his breaking of its siege. Clever move on his part but hardly a concern of hers. Perhaps this was him attempting to curry favor with Renly, an alliance, perhaps. No, he would address him directly, perhaps send someone trusted as an envoy. No, this would have been for house Tyrell alone, and that was interesting. So she nodded to the servant as he walked over with the letter stiffly.

“My lady, would it not be proper for me to read it?”

She gave him a single glance.

“Hand me the bloody letter.”

He complied, passing it to her. She took it in her hands moving to break the seal, and that's when her eyes caught sight of it. Not the seal of house Stark, nor even house Tully. What greeted her on that red wax seal was the three-headed dragon of house Targaryen. Immediately she stopped and looked at it, some part of her almost expected this to be some poorly devised joke. A prank from her son or some other fool who thought such an action would be funny. But curiosity won out as she broke the seal on the letter opening it up, inside was a staggering number of documents which she read through.

And at the end of it all she looked them back over, and started laughing. She laughed quietly and from the chest shaking her head as she looked back to the servant boy who seemed to be in some odd transitional state between confused and afraid. Olenna read the letter once again trying to make sure that she wasn't in any way dreaming only for her to continue her fit of laughter. This was by and large the biggest surprise she could have received today. She looked back at the servant boy.

“Make yourself useful and get Willas and Margaery.”

“My lady I-”

“NOW.”

Without another word the servant boy scampered off into the castle to complete his assignment. Olenna meanwhile read the letter over again with a more critical eye this time identifying every detail. She wanted to let no syllable go unchecked, criticized, and thoroughly interpreted. But at the same time she was having trouble not laughing to herself at the absurdity of the situation this letter posed. because as far as she was concerned this was one of the funniest things that could have happened.

Amidst the chaos of a succession crisis, Joffrey killing Stannis Baratheon in a bid likely requested by the queen in order to keep her incestuous relationship with her brother a secret. Only for it to leak out anyway through Renly Baratheon and through the dying words of Ned Stark. All of that now for a hidden Targaryen prince who Ned Stark, NED STARK, the man who supposedly could not tell a lie to save his life, had hid away for nearly sixteen years under the nose of his best friend as his own bastard. Only for him now to show his face and throw his hat in the ring for the Iron Throne.

There was just some odd insane humor to this entire series of events that she could not help but laugh at. And so she did, she laughed and laughed and laughed. She did so for a long while until she felt that every word of this letter was firmly secured in her head. Thankfully she had to wait only a little while longer for the better generation of her family to approach. Margaery was looking gorgeous as ever but in riding clothes.

She was meant to begin her journey to Btterbridge today so that she and Renly could marry her and secure their alliance. Granted there was a major delay in that process when a few days after Ned Stark's execution came a raven to Highgarden bearing the hands seal. It was a hastily written thing. Obviously the man was dead panicked when he wrote it. But whatever his condition was when he was writing it, its contents were both concerning and intriguing all at the same time. She had never expected a letter from Ned Stark in the first place, much less a letter practically begging her son to hold off on the marriage alliance.

Not once did she ever think that the man would ever attempt to influence the marriages of her house. Not necessarily because she thought he would be malicious in his intentions but rather the fact that she simply never believed him to be the kind of man to interfere in matters like this. And in truth he wasn't which made this all the more worrying. Whatever he knew, whatever he had found out was dire enough to where he would beg them to not go through on a planned and set alliance.

Well now the reasoning was all too clear and again it made her laugh. The reasoning being he was hoping to garner an alliance with the Reach. One way or another he was hoping that he could get them to the negotiating table to draw them away from Renly. And he figured Margaery was the key to that alliance. Which to be fair is politically feeble the man might have been he was at least correct on that. Well here they said now with the development in their hands. And now they had to decide what to do with it.

Finally, Willas made his way over hobbling on his cane, the poor lad. Curse to be a cripple the rest of his life because his father wished to force him into the world he wanted far too fast. After that little bit of theater Olenna had made damn sure he wouldn't be able to repeat the same mistakes with her other grandchildren. And thankfully for all of them Willas was by no means a fool or an oaf. By a blessing of all seven gods he was astute and learned, a worthy heir to the Reach. Then again given its last two lord paramounts that was hardly a high bar to reach.

But Willas more than surpassed it, and somehow her fat headed son had managed to produce three other amazingly adept and adjusted grandchildren. That alone was more than enough to renew her faith in the seven, because luck like that could only be divine providence. Garlan and Loras both renowned for their abilities on the field of battle, true emulations of what it means to be a knight of the reach. And lovely Margaery, quite possibly her better in the realm of politics and court intrigue. She was her protégé, and she was proud.

The two siblings sauntered their way over and took seeds next to her around the table. The servant had come back with a small picture of water as he poured two glasses for the newly arrived Lord and Lady only to be brushed off and sent away by Lady Olenna once more when she grew annoyed of him. Both Margaery and Willas turned their attention to her being more than used to her form of communication with the castles many half with servants. And the both of them noticed her state of amusement. Willas spoke first.

“My my grandmother, you seem to be in a bright mood this morning. What has you in such high spirits?”

Willas was always polite when speaking to her, he had learned that at a young age. And even now his voice carried a measured respect and dignity. Olenna chuckled to herself before speaking.

“If you must know, a raven arrived from Riverrun this morning, carrying this.” She held up the letters as Margaery quirked her lip.

“Riverrun? What could Robb Stark need of us?” Her voice was curious if not reserved. But Olenna passed both of them the letters for them to read. Willas was the first to pick up the documents. His demeanor which had initially spoke to his calm and well-tempered nature quickly began to dissolve as he read further and further into the papers, his eyes beginning to go wide as he quickened the pace of his reading. He read the primary document at least twice over and the adjoining documents three times that. When he finally passed the papers off to Margaery he went through the papers she wasn't reading at the moment as if this was some trick.

Quickly Willas looked back up to Olenna, his long brown hair reaching past his shoulders jerking as moved his head. His face covered by a well groomed and trimmed brown beard was alive with shock as he locked his gaze with hers. Margaery still read the letters but Olenna knew she was listening. Willas spoke first in a flurried tone.

“Grandmother sorry for my impropriety but you find this amusing?”

Olenna smiled back.

“Quite.”

Willas looked at her with a cautious look to his complexion as Margaery spoke up.

“Grandmother, are we sure this is authentic?”

Olenna raised an eyebrow.

“Tell me, what do you think?”

Margaery looked at the papers again.

“The signatures appear to be authentic and it would be unreasonably hard to forge that many in the first place, the adjoining seals are matches to their respective houses, and all it would take is another letter from one of these lords to prove its a forgery. All things point to it being… legitimate.”

“Then it is legitimate.” Olenna said bluntly and sternly. It was only natural to question the claim being made, it was ludicrous in its story and scale, but at the same time there was no room for doubt on the matter. As far as she could tell the letter, its joined documents, and its claims were all real. Willas seemed to be the most taken aback by it all. He was genuinely stumped. Margaery was stunned but hardly in the stupor her brother was. And yet Willas spoke first.

“Grandmother… surely this development is not lost on you, we must be clear on how much this changes things for us.”

“How so brother? Renly still has the largest army of all claimants, and we will be ready to march on kings landing when we are wed. Renly will take the throne, and then we may deal with this Targaryen then.”

Olenna listened to her grandchildren as they reasoned through the various possibilities. And there were many. Willas was the next to speak.

“If this was just a conventional conflict then I would agree but… it's something in the letter. He says the Lannisters will not last long against their dragon… I dont think he is being metaphorical.”

Olenna looked at him, giving away no emotion on her face. Margaery spoke again.

“What else could it possibly be? The dragons have been dead for a century. Why should this change now? Because he says so? What if it's just a boast?”

“I would agree with you sweet sister if not for something else. He says that he witnessed Lord Stark's execution. Well Lord Stark was executed the same day Renly fled King's Landing, he was riding hard down the Rose Road for nine days at frightening pace and he is only at bitter bridge. I understand that our forces are to meet him there but that still is nine days of hard travel.”

Margaery nodded along.

“And we all know that Ned Stark took his bastard to court.”

“Obviously it was the topic of gossip for weeks.”

“Precisely, so if this Prince and that Bastard are the same person then it stands to reason that he would have seen the execution as he claims.”

Margaery listened along as Willas held his hand to his mouth.

“Let's assume that he leaves the capital on the night of Lord Stark’s execution. With a good horse you can make it from King’s landing to Riverrun in say twenty days. And that's not accounting for the war currently going on in the region. And yet in a fraction of the time it has taken Renly to get halfway to Highgarden, he has made it to Riverrun and secured the loyalty of both the River lords and the Northern lords.”

Margaery winced as she put the pieces together as well.

“Not only that but he has managed to rally the river lords who on a good day will bog each other down with petty disputes and their rivalries to the point where they can barely muster a host… and this man has the vast majority of them bending the knee in his name… you don't do that without something powerful behind you… I'm not saying he has one, but I do think it is a possibility we should consider very carefully.”

Olenna leaned back as she listened to her grandson's reasoning. It was a set of solid points, granted there were some easy flaws to point out which might have broken his idea. But she didn't speak them as she usually would. Because whether or not Willas was right about there being a dragon, he was surely correct that this changed the game. A Targaryen returning was a bold statement, especially with the house scattered across the world. Now here comes one with not just words and promises, but two kingdoms and a legitimate claim.

That was more than enough for her to pause and consider her options. On the one hand there was Renly, he was well liked and charismatic, he had served as master of laws on Robert's council, but that was the first crack in his claim. He had allowed corruption to fester at court while in the position his talents were not suited to administration, it suggested he had a tolerance for corruption and a tendency for complacency. While granted it would make things easier for them to influence the realm with Renly turning a blind eye and Margaery as queen. But there was a balance to it all, too much influence would make them easy targets, and if corruption went rampant then those actors would seek to belittle their influence, and they would have to fight harder to keep it in the long run.

As for the Targaryen things got complicated. She didn't know them, he was an unforeseen factor. And that made him dangerous. While his supposed movement speed was concerning enough she didn't know what kind of king they would be. She could make those observations with Renly. From the letter alone it seemed as if they had a strong sense of justice and loyalty to their family. They seemed to be altruistically motivated as well seeking the safety of their family above all else. Which did speak to the quality of morality the man possessed. Then again what did she expect from a boy raised by Ned Stark. So perhaps corruption would not thrive under him. It would make things harder if they intended to force their way into power. But perhaps if they played their hand right and joined with him early, then such problems would be mitigated. And if so their hold on power is much more secure in the long run.

But they were already committed to the alliance with Renly, their army having spent the last weeks mobilizing using Tywin's aggression against the Riverlands as a reason to call their banners. Robert's death had only opened the door for them to push forward. But even then they were not entirely done mobilizing, there were still a few thousand levies to gather. And then there was the marriage between Renly and Margaery. That was now looking more problematic given the current situation. They had more than enough to march on the capital within a month or two. But now it seemed as if it would be good to perhaps ease off and keep things open. Olenna turned to Willas.

“Willas tell me. Any news of the northern borders?”

“I do in fact, it would seem that Tywin is sending Stafford Lannister to raise a second army near Lannisport, and a few Lannister outriders were spotted on the north bank of the blackwater rush.”

Perfect.

“Very well then, it would seem that lord Tywin is taking aggressive actions in preparation for Renly’s march to the capital. As we keep his armies fed it would be foolish of us to remain unprotected for the Lannister's to sweep in behind and cut them off wouldn't you?”

Willas raised an eyebrow and nodded along. Margaery smirked.

“Good, I think it would be wise to keep half of our forces to guard the Reach as the rest will travel with Renly to besiege the capital, and it would be wise if Randyll Tarly supervised this home army. Furthermore, I think it would be wise to hold off on the marriage until after Renly has secured the throne. We can't risk dear Margaery traveling the countryside for danger to find her. Of course only if you will listen to your sweet dear grandmother…”

Willas and Margaery knew what she was doing but complied anyway, Margaery looking a little perturbed at the marriage being delayed. A necessary risk. And hardly consequential, even with half their forces uncommitted Renly still fielded some 50,000 of both Reach and Stormlands. More than enough to take the capital, and in the event they won, Margaery would be queen and they would face the Targaryen together. And in the event Renly died in battle then they would take a closer look at this Targaryen. But one thing was beyond doubt. Things were getting more complicated.

—-------------------
Benjen I

The letter lay before him on his desk. It was a small thing written by Jon himself, suppose he figured that he should have known from his own hand as opposed to some scribes recounting what he thought he meant. In a way it brought some warmth to his heart to know that he held him in such high regard. Granted he was still reeling from the fact that Eddard had lied to him all this time, years of watching The lad grow up even expecting he might be tempted to join the watch at some point. Only for this to come out.

Moreover, it was Robb and Arya who had forced his hand to reveal the truth as opposed to Ned thinking that Jon rightfully deserved to know himself. It hurt him to think that Ned might have just let him come up here alone to waste away forever. Him never knowing who he was, what he was, or thinking that it was in the spirit of Lyanna's words in the first place. As if she would ever let a child of her join the watch. It was lunacy. It might have even been a spit in her face should he have considered it.

He laughed to himself thinking that perhaps Lyanna could tell Ned that herself now. Yet it was a thought which left a longing and painful taste in his mouth. Despite how mad he might have been at Ned in that moment it was still painful to know that he was murdered in such a horrid display. He had always wished to be there with him or to preferably be the first one to go of the two. In a sad way he might have even wished to make that the case if he could now.

But it was not to be. Nor could it ever be. No he was resigned to live at the wall forevermore or until the night's watch fell. Which unfortunately looked to be a far more reasonable outlook given what the rangers and he had seen beyond in the lands of always winter. Wildlings were gathering like a storm off in the far reaches of the Frost Fangs, past the Fist of the First men, all with the single and united intention of making their way south. Raids had become more recent over the past few months. It did not bode well for the realms.

Benjen had done what he could to investigate with himself, barely making it back from one such trip after a chance encounter with some Thenns had almost seen him die. Thankfully he had another ranger take the killing blow while he managed to flee away from that valley of death. And in his haste he found his way back to the wall. He had given his reports to the lord commander and had taken his time in returning to his quarters. It was only shortly after his return did Samwell Tarly rush in with the letter.

Sam was a good lad, if not a bit craven. But he was rather adept at reading. He had already blown through the entirety of Castle Black's library in the weeks he's been here. Ser Alliser had taken pretty hard to the poor boy though. Mocking and beating him, that was the sour knight's method of teaching. He had little room for what he considered weakness. And by his standards Sam was very weak. It got to the point where he had to stay by maester Aemon just so that he could avoid the beatings for a day or two.

But it wasn't for that reason that Benjen moved to the old maesters quarters now. No, after reading the letter he now knew that Aemon knew about Jon as well and said nothing to him. He had to answer this one way or another. He wanted to know why. Furthermore, he felt hurt being left out for this long as so many others learned around and before him. With a determined stride he all but charged to the maesters chambers, his boots slamming on the ground the old wood that made up the castle's walkways creaked slowly and loudly below him.

Opening the door to the chamber he looked to see maester Aemon sitting by his fireplace gazing in with sightless eyes. He heard Benjen come in from behind.

“Who’s there?”

“First Ranger Benjen maester.”

Aemon smiled as he turned his head to Benjen smiling.

“First ranger I-”

“I know about Jon.”

Aemon’s smile faded to worry, Benjen breathed and spoke.

“He’s alright… he’s staking his claim…”

Aemon closed his eyes and took another tentative breath.

“It was destined to happen at some point. And the time has come.” Aemon’s voice was soft yet firm at once. He was set in his thoughts. Benjen was holding his tongue at the maesters words trying to think to himself.

“You wish to speak to him…”

Benjen shut his eyes.

“She’s my nephew, my sister's son. I-”

“You wish to help him. To stand by him in the conflicts to come. I understand… but I advise caution my lord…”

“You think I would break my vow?”

“I know you thought of it, perhaps briefly perhaps with great intent. But you thought of it.”

Benjen raised an eyebrow.

“It is only natural to wish that we aid our family, but our oaths do take precedent, much as we wish them not to.”

He hated it, he really did, he wished to travel south to support his nephew. But he had taken an oath. And he would uphold it. Much as he at times regretted it.

“What can we do then?”

“We can and will serve the realm as we always have. Protecting the realms of men.”

Benjen nodded solemnly, so much had come to light today and he wanted little more to act on it. But for now he would do so in the only way he could. But if Jon called, if Robb called, he would most certainly answer, oath or not. But for now he could and would do as he always did. As not a lord, but a watcher on the wall.

—-----------------

Oberyn I

Blinding rage was all he felt in that singular moment. A great roaring fury almost unlike anything he had ever felt before in his life, outdone by a seldom few instances. When news of Elia’s death had reached his ears he swore that he could burn down the entirety of Westeros within the moon, he wanted to see the Lannister's dead, all of them. Indeed, it had become a habit of Oberyn to think about the many deserved and just ways how he would wrench the life out of those monsters who had killed his sister. And there were many.

He had often debated between torture or killing them in the ring of combat. It was a hard choice, to cut them up a thousand times over with the point of a spear and watch the poisons which dripped from his blades eat away slowly at whatever mangled husks remain. Or torture in the darkest depths of Sunspear, to listen to them break and slowly start screaming with the pain. To hear them as they began begging for a mercy that he would never give. To watch them die as helpless as she had. It would be poetic justice, all things considered. But they would confess and die all the same.

That had been his state of mind for years now. It was one of the few things that kept him up at night thinking about how he would do it. How he would administer justice not in the name’s of gods or a king but in the name of someone he loved very dearly. God’s how he missed her, every day since she had left had been a sore pain, and every day since she had died was a searing anguish plagued by the brutality in which she left this world. It was one of the things that brought him to tears of grief.

Doran had seemed to mourn in his own way, he had always liked strong wines but in the days following the news of their sister's death he seemed to partake in that vice all the more. But he was by no means inactive in his rage. Far from it, he loved Ellia the same as him and would do anything to see justice administered for the crimes of the Lannister's. He would never forgive nor forget what they had done, but he was certainly less swift in his ideas of revenge than he would have liked.

But the brothers were one in purpose and belief, that much was true. And Oberyn despite their differences in methods was happy to always know that they wanted the same thing. And would stand with each other to achieve that aim one way or another. If the opportunity arose to get what they wanted early they were in agreement that they would take it. If they could run Clegane through within the year they would celebrate as if they were children. That was what they had generally agreed on.

Then came the letter. It was brought forward by a confused servant to the brothers and their gathered family enjoying their morning meal and given straight to Doran. Initially upset by the rude interruption, all his annoyance had shifted to a confused tension when he saw the unbroken three-headed dragon seal which enclosed the document's many contents. When Doran had read the letter aloud it had silenced everyone at the table who shared looks of pure shock and confusion. The initial protests to the legitimacy of the letter's claims were silenced by its multitudes of adjoined documents and signatures with seals.

Doran looked more surprised than he had in years, he was always a subtle if not quiet man whose image was not helped by his affliction of gout. But in that moment Oberyn swore that his brother would pull or snap a muscle in his face. He looked to his nieces and nephews who all wore similar looks of shock and in some of them awe. Arianne was by and large the most stunned of them, her hands clasped together as she watched her father reread the letter over and over again. Trystane was frozen with his fork in a piece of meat, he could hardly muster a sound from his mouth.

Oberyn was furious as he read the annulment documents. He might have once felt sympathy for Lyanna Stark given what everyone believed had happened, but now with this and the marriage document he felt that sympathy drain away faster than water in the desert sands. And now amidst all this, their child trueborn stakes a claim on what should have been his nephew's right, had he not perished.

It was insulting in the worst possible way. A vile offense that should have been answered with war. Then Doran had read the next of the papers.

‘To Prince Doran of house Martell,

I do not expect these words to bring you any comfort or inspire any love for me. By all rights you would probably want to see me dead for the insult I represent. It's terrible that things should have turned out the way they did. And I would like to state again that I make no claims defending or supporting my parent's actions resulting in my birth. You have every right to hate my father and my mother. And I expect you do.

But I would also have it known that I do not think of myself as your enemy and that regardless of the circumstances of my birth we share a common cause. I wish to see the Lannister’s pay for their crimes the same as you. I wish to see them receive their due justice. And as such I will tell you this here and now. Regardless of your choices with regards to me. Whether or not you will take up arms against me, I will see that you receive in your custody Ser Gregor Clegane, and Armory Lorch. What you do with them will be your choice. But you will have them. In the event I capture Tywin Lannister I will see to it that he pays for his crimes as well.

I ask that you not consider me an enemy or rival. And know that our interests align.

King Daeron Targaryen III’

He let those words hang in the room for a long while, everyone too stunned or afraid to speak. The intensity was so palpable one could feel it.

Oberyn looking over the letters again to affirm their validity brought his head back up again and almost crushed the letter in his hand as his fist tightened in rage and sadness. To know that not only did Elia die in the most cruel and horrible way possible but now to know that she was cast aside by Rhaegar all together at the whims of the Stark girl. It was beyond all doubt the second-worst thing Oberyn had ever heard in his entire life. As if all the god’s had seen fit to descend to point and laugh at him in his toiled grief.

Doran seemed in the same way although he was much more subtle about it not wishing to create an enraged scene in front of his family. But the toil of emotion was writ large across his face all the same. He was reeling in the same pain and forced acceptance of the situation presented in the letter. And all were quiet until Arianne decided that she’d had enough with the melancholy silence, unclasping her hands from one another and turning to face her father, she spoke softly trying to keep things quiet for as long as she could.

“Father… I-I…. What are we to do?” Her voice was shaky and uneasy. Likely unsure if she should be asking such a question at this time, but even so someone had to break the silence. Oberyn did not respond nor did Doran, but Trystane did.

“You ask as if there's something to do.” His response was quiet yet very concerned. The young boy never took his eye off of his father who remained quiet.

“... Well obviously we can't let this go unanswered, one way or another… right?” Arianne’s tone was gaining energy as she became more comfortable in voicing her opinions. Oberyn looked to Doran who seemed to be calming down, his face steadily returning to its normal olive shade. He raised his hand to his gathered family ushering his children to leave. Trystane left without a word, Arianne was more reluctant and would almost definitely be listening in from behind the door. Regardless it left Oberyn and his brother alone. And Oberyn spoke first.

“This is…. This… I.” Oberyn was sharp of tongue, he always had been. Few things ever left him speechless. But this had reduced his words to not but wind. Doran, seemingly of a more level head, spoke to him.

“Insulting, this is an insulting offense brother. Rhaegar broke faith with our house and brought the realm to war for his own desires.” Doran spoke with venom, yet there was a guided malice to his words. Some emphasis on the prince's name which threw off Oberyn.

“So we are in agreement?”

“Agreement in the cause of our rage and agreement in the hurt of this news, without a doubt.” Doran took a drink of some wine before he continued letting it fall down his throat. He held the glass in his hand letting the morning sun shine through it casting beautiful patterns of light onto the long table. Oberyn, confused at his brothers' demeanor, spoke.

“... And yet you have more to say.”

Doran paused, turning to face his brother.

“Oberyn your rage is as justified as my own, that much is beyond dispute. But I ask this, who is your scorn more deserved by? Rhaegar or his son?” The flare of anger that Oberyn felt was palpable as he stood up from the table and walked to the open wall overlooking the summer sea. He braced his hand against the pillar supporting the arched roof as he spoke.

“That boy is the result of this betrayal. His being a reminder of how our sister was cast aside only to die anyway!” Oberyn's rage was reaching its peak as he spoke in an angered whisper through gritted teeth before walking back over.

“Yes, it seems the boy is aware of this, he knew it would be insulting, and yet he sent the letter. He has recognized his parents' mistakes and has shown no support for them. The son does not stand trial for the actions of the father, he had no say in to whom or how he was born. And he speaks to us regardless.”

“... What are you saying brother?”

“I'm saying the boy intrigues me. And with him comes an opportunity. He offers us Elia’s murderers free of alliance and oath. And possibly might be persuaded to give us Lord Lannister yet…”

Oberyn glared at his brother as he spoke.

“You don't intend to declare for this boy do you?!”

Doran shot his brother a glare, it was unusual for his brother who aired to the side of caution and subtly to be so direct in his words and looks.

“You know there is only one person I would ever call my banners for… and I would very much like to hear her say in regards to this matter before I make my choice.”

Oberyn visibly calmed down as his shoulders lowered. His mind went to her, how she would react to this. Doran also calmed down seeing Oberyn resting his hands on the table.

“... She doesn't want it… never has…”

“No she doesn't… But if anyone can determine the boy’s quality and legitimacy… It would be her. All she ever wanted was her family back.”

“... We are her family, ever since they were separated, ever since she was delivered to our halls she has been one of us… We are her family…”

“... Only half of it.”

It was a cold truth to be sure, but a truth nonetheless. He had watched her grow up, watched her learn herself, her talents, her flaws, her loves and hates, and her desires. And it seemed that one desire kept her from truly thinking herself a Martell. Oberyn spoke again, his voice thick with emotion.

“... You think she’ll go?”

“Of course she will. And I doubt we can stop her. But check in on her, I doubt she is faring well.”

Oberyn pressed hand to his brother's shoulder before walking out of the room. He quickly found a horse ready for him as he saddled up and charged out of Sunspear. He knew his destination by heart and from the missing stallion he assumed that she was already there by now. She always went to the water gardens for silence. And Oberyn had to agree with her reasoning.

It was tranquil in a surreal way, the ever present flowing of water and the chirping birds of paradise tended to make all thoughts drift away for a short while. But he figured it would provide no such relief this time. So down the ten-mile stretch of road his horse charged until finally he reached the outer walls encasing the palace inside. Through the gate he rode from harsh desert landscapes to the vibrant and colorful gardens, trees and flowers sprouting from everywhere only kept in place by rigid stone paths leading to the great central palace.

The springs beneath the gardens offered ample pressure to see the water rise high into the air from the fountains and across its many creeks and rivers flowing into pools surrounding the palace. Vines clung to the stonework and petals flew in the soft summer breeze. He would have admired their beauty if not for the conversation he needed to have. So he walked through until he found her usual hiding spot.

In a marble and granite gazebo standing as an island in one of the larger pools she sat. Her dress and feet were wet indicating that she had charged through the water to get here with little care for her attire. She wasn't one to focus too much on such things but she also wasn't one to throw them around in such a manner. She had always taken great care with herself, whether it be in her manners or training. Oberyn had made damn sure that she could defend herself from an early age. Excellent with a spear like him and able to best a few of his sand snakes. She still had a ways to go but she was formidable.

That was partly the impression she gave off as she sat in the shade, her feet in the water looking at the fish swimming by. She had her moments of melancholy like her father but even so she tended to be far more upbeat in these pools. But as he walked closer he could tell that she knew he was there. In a strict tone she spoke, holding back the emotions that were undoubtedly roaring inside her.

“Is it true?”

Oberyn struggled to find the words still dealing with his own thoughts on the matter. So she asked again.

“Is it true?”

“... It would seem so…”

He could hear a scoffing laugh as her head jerked. She focused back on the water kicking her feet in it as Oberyn waded through the water himself to reach her. She spoke again.

“Winterfell… raised a bastard… and only now learning of it all, claiming the throne to protect them from further harm… quite a story don't you think?” She spoke with a dry humor as if trying to distract herself from what she was feeling. It wasn't working.

Oberyn wished to provide some stability but she seemed too focused on her own state of being to be comforted. She continued.

“My grandfather was a mad man, my grandmother a broken woman, my uncle following his father into madness and my aunt disappears. My baby brother dead, my mother murdered… all to learn that my father left her and ran away with another woman… I'd laugh if it wasn't so painful.” her voice grew thicker with emotion as she stared into the waters. She had always taken after Elia in personality for the most part but she carried her father's melancholy and solemn nature when she became upset. But when enraged he knew her to be a dragon, plain and simple. Right now he wasn't sure what she was. And she continued to talk.

“And from it all a singular son…”

She turned to look at Oberyn, her pale violet eyes linking with his black eyes. And through a shaky voice she spoke.

“... A brother of mine yet lives.”

Oberyn sat down next to her as she glared daggers into the water.

“... You still have a claim, we would support yo-”

“How many times must I say it uncle? How many times?”

“It is yours by right.”

“Clearly not, if this Daeron lives…”

“Rhaenys…”

She turned her head to Oberyn as she spoke. Her voice growing angry and fierce.

“That throne is a poison… Some of my family have tamed it… some have succumbed to it. I will not be one of them…”

Her words were clear and sharp, there was no room for misinterpretation. Oberyn spoke next.

“So you would leave it to this Daeron?”

“Perhaps…”

Oberyn did not wish to prolong this meeting with his niece any further so he simply said.

“You wish to meet him…”

Rhaenys nodded her head not looking at him.

“Indeed…”

“Why?”

The thought gave her pause for a brief moment. She looked as if she had a hundred answers but it all came down to one.

“Because I need to know… I need to know if it's true… I need to know what kind of man he is…”

“If it isn't true?”

“I’ll kill him…”

Oberyn nodded. Then asked again.

“And if it is true?”

“... I don't know…” she responded with a far off look as if trying to visualize the encounter. But could not.

Oberyn pushed himself up as he watched the water flow.

“If you're going to meet him then I will be accompanying you. I trust you can accept that much?”

She nodded her head. He knew that she was going to accept, in truth she probably would have asked.

And so Oberyn and Rhaenys returned to Sunspear. The rest of the day was spent packing all they could. Several bags were slung over their shoulders for their trip to the harbor. They would sail north to Saltpans and from there charge with all speed to Riverrun. And then only the Gods knew what would happen. They had picked their fastest ship and hoped that with good winds they would see Riverrun in less than a month, three weeks if lucky given good time and horses, perhaps two.

When Rhaenys walked out with her bags she bid her goodbyes to Doran, Arianne, and Trystane. Walking over to Oberyn armed with a knife and spear. But in her bag she carried something else. Barely poking out of it was what looked like a stone, a deep orange with flecks of purple fading into blue. She looked at Oberyn.

“It will only help our claims, wouldn't do much good to question his validity when I don't look Targaryen myself save my eyes.”

Oberyn nodded, making a note to watch the egg closely. It was precious to her, and he would hate to see her lose it.

And so it was that prince Oberyn Martell would see princess Rhaenys Targaryen meet her supposed brother. For better or worse.

Notes:

Thank you all for the kind words last chapter and for the critiques provided. Hope you enjoyed this one now that we are really getting into the meat of the story.

North/Riverlands: 36,000 - (260 ships + 200 ‘Celtigar + Velaryon’)

Westerlands: 40,000 - (120 ships)

Reach/Stormlands: 80,000 (20,000 from stormlands 60,000 from reach)

Dorne: Undeclared

Vale: Undeclared

Iron Islands: Undeclared

(Note this might not be accurate with the books or show to a T but these are what I personally found to be believable estimates and as such will be using.)

As always comments are welcome.

Chapter 23: Tyrion I / Renly I

Summary:

Tyrion Arrives in Kings landing and Renly realizes the state of his army.

Tyrion I

A week's ride it was to King's Landing from the Green Fork. And unfortunately for him, it was a week he barely had to begin with. Ever since his meeting with father he had been charging with as much haste as he could to make it to the capital. Renly’s host was not likely to meander for long and would undoubtedly be gathering quickly. He had a lot of work to do before the city was in any way prepared for a siege alone, and if it came to a full battle he doubted his skeleton force of four thousand would be able to meet Renly’s rumored eighty thousand.

God’s eighty thousand. The thought was scary enough on its own but facing it would be tantamount to a waking nightmare. A great sea of steel crashed against the city's stone walls, and then it would be decided if the wood of the doors would break and let the onslaught flow in, or if they would be held at bay for some desperate sally attack on the defenders' parts. Tyrion wasn't hopeful in any case, even if he had his doubts in regards to the claims made by the scouts detailing Renly's host. Mainly talking about their size and capacity.

The Reach was said to be able to muster a hundred thousand strong, with some of the more outlandish boasts placing that number up to a hundred and twenty thousand strong. In actuality, he was fairly certain that eighty thousand would be the upper limit of what they could realistically muster and send to war. In truth, you would have said lower if not for the excess of food the reach produced. Regardless of that he had little time in truth to ponder about the logistics of Renly’s force at the moment, he would do that later. Amongst the mountain of other items he needed to get through before that.

The first item would be establishing the state of affairs with Cersei, he would need to know the condition of the two Stark girls and formulate a prisoner exchange with Robb Stark and Daeron Targaryen with the hope of getting Jaime back at the absolute minimum. He would consider that a victory. In truth, he probably should be freaking out about the return of a Targaryen yet funnily enough he was calm in his convictions on that front at least. Which in fairness might have been a result of his own experiences with the boy, and they were confusing to say the least.

When he had first met the boy at Winterfell he was immediately humored by him, sullen and soft-spoken with a distinctive habit of brooding. He was in some way humorous in that regard, he couldn't help but like the bastard. Or at least what he thought was a bastard. Eddard Stark had been rather good at hiding the boy he would say that much, and in fairness the boy favored no Targaryen traits whatsoever or at least not to his eye. Then again if Lyanna Stark was the mother then the justification for his look was reasonable. And at any rate the North and Riverlands believed him.

And he would surely be looking to the other kingdoms for support. As much as he liked the boy Tyrion was a Lannister, and as such was not removed from the danger presented by this boy. One good conversation does not clear him of his family's deeds. They were now in a pitched battle for survival, and at the minimum he would try to see Tommen and Myrcella safe. So to improve their position he would need to take those chances for alliances away from the young Targaryen.

Stormlands and Reach are off the table which leaves Dorne, the Vale, and the Iron Islands. Not a horrible list for potential alliances but each with their own host of problems. While the news might upset the Dornish, Oberyn specifically, Tyrion knew that they would rather stab themselves than come to the aid of the Lannister's. As for the Iron Islands only a fool would trust Balon Greyjoy, he would turn on them given any chance he could manage, if not outright refuse and go rogue. The only thing that kept him in line was his son remaining a hostage. And that boy was in the hands of the Starks.

That just left the Vale, and its major conundrum was, well in truth, a host of minor problems forming into a greater, more annoying whole. For one Ned Stark was loved by many a lord of the vale, he had warded there for his childhood after all. House Royce was fond of him especially. So the support would be unstable at best. Then there was the ever so lovely Lysa Arryn. Gods that woman was something else. In the brief moments he had interacted with her while in captivity and at court he was clued in to the women's mental stability. Or more accurately the lack thereof.

It pained him to think that the fate of this city and indeed to an extent his family might be dependent on that very woman, father was in all likeness furious over the same uncomfortable fact. In some way it was hilarious, but it was mostly just sad in truth. But if there was any hope to come out of the vale it would be that if they didn't declare for Joffrey then they would likely remain neutral in any case. While in captivity he had observed the tension between the sisters, apparently Lysa had named his family and him as the murderers of Jon Arryn.

A complete fantasy in truth, and again exceedingly funny. He had no clue what had happened to Jon Arryn but the circumstances surrounding his death had been strange to say the least. Was he murdered oh almost certainly, and it would appear that the reason he died was now out in the world. Shame for whoever did kill him, such care to be thwarted anyway. But it mattered little, the Lannister's aren't to blame for Jon Arryn’s death and perhaps if Lysa could be convinced of that, she might lend her aid. Whether or not she could be convinced of within a month, two at maximum, was the real test.

Perhaps he could broker a marriage alliance with Dorne, Cersei would rip into him like a wild animal if he tried, she was always protective of her children. But it was an option. Hardly a good one but an option nonetheless. Even so he needed to get prepared for Renly fast. Spurring the horses his host charged the last length of the road down to the capital which had been steadily rising out of the distance as they had moved. The Red Keep loomed over the city, a beacon of power for all to look upon and despair. But all it was right now was a hassle.

A pile of bricks he needed to defend until his father regrouped and destroyed Renly. Even then he wasn't all too confident that he could. He would never admit it but the odds did not favor them. Even the famed Tywin Lannister might not be able to break Renly on the back of sheer military force alone. If they were to win this, they would have to play dirty, very dirty. And that would extend to him as well. He had a month to ready the city, and from there, who knew what would happen.

Through the king's gate his entourage rode up to the Red Keep from there. Once at the keeps colossal gates of black wood slowly creaked open to allow him inside. Astride his horse he trotted in looking down on all those onlookers who whispered. It was a marvelous feeling truly, to be the one in control even if they don't know it yet, to be the one who may decide their position in this castle, to be the one that they had to think twice about insulting now. To be the one who looked down on all below him.

Through the castle he strode now off his steed with several Lannister retainers and mountain tribesmen watching closely. His destination was the throne room, as to be expected. He had no doubt that Joffrey would simply be sitting on the throne pretending to be the king he wished to be but in truth the boy was likely seething at the news given these past few days.

“Ye sure he won't gut ya?” Bronn asked in a joking manner. Tyrion rolled his eyes.

“I'm here on my father's orders, even Joffrey will think twice before incurring his wrath.”

“Wouldn't be too sure of that if I were ye, little lord.” Bronn said with a scrunched face.

Tyrion raised a pale eyebrow to the sellsword's uncertainty. Joffrey was a vicious idiot yes but going against his own grandfather’s wishes would be tantamount to true insanity.

“Your lack of confidence amuses me. I hope you know.”

“Doesn't amuse me. If half of what you've told me is true, then I would have a way out planned and ready.”

Tyrion considered his words for a second.

“...You really do think he is that stupid?”

“Nah, sounds like he's worse than stupid, sounds like he’s a cunt, a violent cunt.”

“How so?”

“Cunts are unpredictable, violent cunts are just the same except they will put a knife in yer throat for glancen at them wrong. Stick a crown on a violent cunt’s head… well then I say yer lookin for a bloodbath.”

Tyrion didn't wish to push the issue further, deciding to focus on the meeting and potential yelling match which lay beyond the doors at the end of the hall. He mentally checked himself and assessed his priorities. First he would relay the news and then wrangle in Cersei, she was in all likelihood going to be the bigger problem between Joffrey and her. Joffrey was a vicious idiot yes but he got bored and could be distracted, or hopefully that was the case. Cersei would take any affront to her power hard and personally. She was never a woman to forget a slight. So it stood to reason that she would need to be dealt with first.

They approached the door as the retainers spread out around the pair to provide some immediate cover against danger. From there the great doors were opened into the throne room and it was worse than Tyrion had expected. That is to say it was quiet. Tyrion had spent a lot of time in the capital before going north, seven hells it was basically his home. Far from his father as he could possibly manage. But he had spent more than enough time in the court of Robert Baratheon to know that a silent court was never a good sign.

It often spoke to tensions amongst the Lord's. That or an excess of fear gripping them. And in this particular case it seemed that it was equal parts both and in no small dosage. Scattered about the room were certainly more than fifty noblemen of varying houses and varying kingdoms. None of them however engaged in idle chatter, none of them engaged in small talk, few if any even had the guts to move. And then there was the room itself which certainly spoke to who Joffrey was.

An excess of iron decorations was exceedingly prominent within the throne room. During the reign of Robert the room had been redesigned from what the Mad King had wished it to be. Which to be fair was absolutely necessary. But this was just ridiculous. Iron bars over the great windows, iron braziers alight with fire, crooked what almost looked like scraps of iron wrapping around the pillars which supported the great ceiling of the throne room. It was excessive, it was gaudy, it was just repulsive to look at. And it seems that Joffrey loved it. Of course, he would. There was no doubt in Tyrion's mind that he had arranged the room in such a way to present the image of a harsh conquering king. But he was no such thing, Robert had been a conqueror and he had not felt the need to do this. This was at its core performative, much like Joffrey.

And the boy himself did not look in a much better shape than the room did in truth. Quite frankly it was almost amusing seeing the little boy on the iron throne.The way he sat leaned over his arms resting on his legs as he looked down at the various courtiers that surrounded him, it spoke to what seemed to be a present paranoia within the boy. And then there was the finery in which he draped himself in, reds and golds exclusively. If they were attempting to present Joffrey as if he was not a Lannister bastard, then Cersei might do good to dress him in his supposed house's colors.

Granted it wouldn't be much but it would be better than this at any rate. Then again perhaps that could be an issue for a later date. Preferably when they didn't have Renly Baratheon bearing down on them. Tyrion walked through the door making his way across the throne room towards the massive dais which held the twisted rising mass of steel and stairs that was the iron throne. The boy king stared down at him with a distinctive yet restrained malice. If not a prevalent confusion.It was clear that none of them knew what Tyrion was doing here, which was fine by him; he had wanted the honor of being able to tell them his purpose and to promptly rub it in Cersei’s face. Gods that would be funny.

So it was to be as he finally made it to the dais and bowed his head promptly. Joffrey spoke once everyone in the room turned their attention to the throne.

“Beloved nephew! What an honor it is to see you again. I must say your bravery and fury was sorely missed on the field of battle.” He smirked to himself knowing the snide remark had landed and Joffrey understood it. Quickly he compensated for his ego's sake.

“Unfortunately uncle I have been tending to my realm. Many things require a king's attention.”

Tyrion barely held back a laugh at the mere notion of Joffrey effectively managing a kingdom, as such he couldn't help himself but to make one more witty jab.

“And what a marvelous job you have done, dear nephew.”

Cersei seemed to understand the insults with a greater clarity than Joffrey sneered at Tyrion. But said nothing before the boy king took the initiative of the conversation.

“Uncle, pardon my bluntness but why have you come? When last I checked I sent no invite of any sort encouraging you to come to my court.”

“Ah yes well, I do believe your hand is welcome to your court.”

Murmurs filled the room as Cersei rose to her feet grasping the attention of the room.

“Father is the hand of the king, not you.”

“Yes, well perhaps then you should read this.”

He extended a sealed letter to grand maester Pycelle who read it aloud to the court in a weak and feeble voice.

“By… Decree of lord Tywin Lannister… lord Tyrion… Lannister… is to serve as acting… hand to the king… until lord Tywin returns from the…. War.” His words were broken by sporadic pauses and stutters but it didn't change the words on that paper. Cersei seemed to be boiling with rage while Joffrey seemed uninterested at best, looking at a crossbow bolt in his fingers. Tyrion for his part soaked in the shock and whispers of the room and the rage of his sister. At that point all the pleasures of wine and women were second to the feeling of glee he had.

“Silence…” Joffrey spoke in a bored tone looking down at Tyrion who smirked still keeping Cersei's enraged face in the corner of his eye. Joffrey spoke again.

“Very well, in accordance with the decree of my hand, Tyrion Lannister shall be my acting hand until further notice. Now tell me uncle, is there any news of the bastard?”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow.

“Bastard your grace?”

“Yes… the northern bastard. Is there any news of them?”

Ah. That's what had the court on edge, Joffrey was obsessed with Daeron Targaryen. Immediately he knew that this would be a problem going forward. The Targaryen was concerning yes, but the threat they needed to prepare for was Renly. And to do that they needed Joffrey moving with them. And he couldn't do that if he was too busy throwing a tantrum over Daeron now could he. So Tyrion cleared his throat and spoke.

“No your grace, regrettably there has been no further news in regards to the Targaryen specifically.”

Joffrey tensed at the name, almost like he had been pricked with a needle. His green eyes flared as he looked down to Tyrion. Speaking in a shaky and furious voice.

“Never call him that, he is no Targaryen… he was always and will always be a bastard… Do you understand?”

Tyrion listened closely to his nephew's words. And struggled to suppress a laugh. It was obvious that this denial of the reality they faced was not made out of any legitimate tactical purpose even if it might have served as such if handled by a better player, but rather made out of a blind desperate gamble to protect his own ego. As if the denial of Daerons legitimacy made it go away. Granted its denial could be perceived as degrading his possible support. But it wasn't being handled in the way and with the tact that such a move would require. Rather it was simply the ravings of an angry if not possibly even jealous young boy. And that hardly made for a good look.

But arguing with the boy would yield few if not unsavory results ultimately. So he resolved to play along.

“No, there has been no word of him your grace. But if we may speak in private for a short moment I assure you there are many things we must see done before too long.”

Joffrey rolled his eyes before getting up and walking down the stairs to the throne.But before Tyrion could address his nephew again Joffrey simply walked past him as his Kingsguard surrounded him and proceeded to follow him. Tyrion, obviously very confused at the immediate gesture, attempted to speak to him only for him to receive a non-committal response.

“Uncle you may address your grievances with my small council I have urgent business to attend to.”

With that the boy king left. As did everyone in the throne room save Cersei who strode over her mood as sour as her face was. She approached him with the full length of her dress dragging behind her as she descended the dais.

“How did you convince father to accept this farce!?”

Ah this argument, in truth it was not something he was unprepared for, far from it, actually. But his apprehension to this discussion was less to do with the topic and more to do with the proximity to his sister. Regardless he breathed deeply and spoke softly, sure that they were alone in the throne room.

“If I was capable of convincing father to do anything I would be king. No, this is something you brought upon yourself, you and your son.”

Cersei scoffed, wearing a smug grin on her face, turning away from him as if to shield herself from the verbal berating that he was about to lay down at her feet. It was one of her more common tactics to simply ignore anything he had to say and go about her day as if she had done nothing wrong. She had done the same since they were children and it was unlikely to change but this needed to be said more than anything. She responded first.

“I do apologize brother but I have done nothing wrong.”

“Exactly right, you have done nothing. Nothing to curb your son's actions in court, nothing to mitigate his more unfortunate decisions.”

Cersei seemed to catch on to where he was going with this and tried to put up some form of defense for herself.

“Ned Stark was a traitor and died a traitor's death.”

“Really? The North and Riverlands hardly seem to care, nor do many for that matter. All you did was give our enemies another reason to hate us. And in the eyes of the lords this little bit of theater will haunt our family for possibly generations.”

Once again her scoff was so loud it echoed through the great hall.

“What good will the anger of bitter old men do for Robb Stark, he is a child.”

“Who has won against our forces and taken Jaime hostage.”

That made Cersei freeze in her place. The worry though not visibly displayed across her face was very much present at those words, he knew that if anything was going to bring her to the negotiating table it would be that.

“Do I have your attention now? Because it is important that you know we are losing the war currently.”

She sneered as he spoke, she didn't want to accept what he was saying even if Jaime was on the line, so again she gave a sarcastic retort.

“What do you know of warfare?”

“Seldom little. But I know that our enemies hate each other only less than they hate us. And perhaps if the king listens to me and follows along, he might just get his uncle Jaime back.”

Cersei stalled before she could smirk. Understanding what Tyrion was saying here and possibly willing to go along if only for their brothers' sake.

“How?”

“Robb Stark and Daeron Targaryen love their sisters. They truly do. As long as we have them both we may hold them at bay from trying anything. Perhaps we can make a prisoner exchange for Jaime.”

He looked to his sister to watch her inevitable smug smirk cross over her face. But instead what he saw was a look of dread and worry. It hit his sister suddenly and it seemed to quell any form of sarcasm or smug arrogance that was once across her face.

“...No we dont…”

Tyrion, confused at her answer, looked up to meet Cersei’s gaze.

“No we don't… what?”

“...Have the Stark girls.”

And just like that a feeling of dreadful panic began to set in over Tyrion. His mismatched eyes went wide as he stared up at his sister who seemed to be quelled and embarrassed. He watched his plans for holding off the host to their north burned away in front of him. If they didn't have the Stark girls then nothing was holding them back from waging total war. He needed to know what had happened.

“What do you mean we don't have them?” He asked, his tone growing more and more worried by the minute.

“Arya escaped before we could grab her. Sansa we had in captivity, then before the night came we found her gone and Ilyn Payne dead.”

Tyrion honestly couldn't believe what he was hearing out of his sister's mouth. The entire situation dumbfounded him to no end.

“Gone!? What did she grow wings and fly away!? We had three Starks and a Targaryen to trade. You cut one's head off and let all the others escape… and you didn't think to tell us!?”

She struggled to find the words somewhere between rage and embarrassment at this situation coming to light now and having to hear it from him. In truth the explanation for why she didn't tell them was probably very simple. Chances are she was too afraid to tell father. There was no greater tactical or logical reason to not tell them, it was extremely detrimental that they didn't know. But she held her tongue all the same. And now she would pay the price, whatever that may be. But it was funny in a macabre manner. To know that Cersei had made things worse for herself by delaying. So Tyrion laughed and spoke again, regaining his bearings to address the real issue at hand.

“Father will be furious, but the Starks and Targaryen's are hardly the worst of our issues. Renly is bearing down on us. We must prepare. Father is gathering his forces at Harrenhal as we speak. We must ready the city as quickly as we can.”

Cersei said nothing more and rushed off enraged and spitefully. Tyrion was left in the throne room, alone. Would it become obvious in this conversation, was that his job would be much harder than he had initially anticipated. And that's saying a lot. Joffrey seemed content to bury his head in the sand when it came to Renly choosing to focus exclusively on the Targaryen. And Cersei seemed to be in a similar state of denial. So as such he would need to find his help elsewhere.

—----------------

It was hours later in the tower of the hand that he would find his silence. He had only gotten a short look at the state of the capital and it was less than satisfactory. It had been less than four weeks since the death of Ned Stark and things had taken a hard turn for the worst it seemed. Joffrey was certainly more akin to Robert in his habits regarding the ruling of his kingdoms. Preferring hunting and feasting to actual governance. And as such the corruption that had lived under Robert would persist under Joffrey. Tyrion needed to sort that out before Renly arrived.

A monstrous if not impossible task in it of itself. And furthermore he had little outside help in preparing. Bronn offered what little he could, but the man was no strategist. He could offer a valuable insight into the nature of a siege every now and again but he was unqualified to help truly prepare for one. That being said the man could definitely find his uses elsewhere within the capital. Which Tyrion would absolutely see to positioning him in within the next few days.

But it was only two days or so after he had arrived when lord Petyr Baelish knocked on his door. He had granted the man his permission to enter the room where he had quickly sat down upon one of the chairs. And interestingly enough the man seemed to have a distinctive air of calm which sat around him. With a warm and friendly tone the man spoke.

“Forgive me my lord's hand, I understand you must be quite busy, but I do hope you might spare some time for me.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow to the Vale lord.Tyrion knew that Littlefinger was a clever man no doubt about it, the man's supposedly legendary gift for finance was well renowned throughout the realm by this point. But even so Tyrion knew it was a fool's errand to trust him in the slightest.The man's meteoric rise from a lordship that was a step above being a commoner, all the way to the position of Master of coin suggested that he had a gift for politics. And any man that has a gift for politics in the capital that having survived this long was definitely not someone worth underestimating.

But as of right now he needed help and he needed anything he could get before Renly bore down on the city. So he nodded his head and spoke.

“Please do Lord Baelish. All help will be graciously appreciated.”

Baelish smiled and spoke softly.

“Well what do you require of me?”

Tyrion thought for a second before responding.

“Well as master of coin I was hoping that you would be able to shed some light on our situation financially. How much can we afford to spend?”

Littlefinger smirked.

“If you're asking for me to find some coin for the defense of this city, I can graciously provide, out of my own pocket if need be.”

Tyrion scoffed inwardly, oh how generous of him. But it was a start. At least it might see some sellswords join their ranks if not pay for the building of catapults and trebuchets.

“The investment is appreciated, but I doubt Renly will capitulate if we only throw gold at him. What we need is alliances. Which we are short for. Dorne likely will watch from the hills as the city burns laughing all the while. The Iron islands won't be able to effectively help us, and the Vale blames us for the death of Jon Arryn, as such won't be keen to help us.”

Baelish gave an uncertain look to Tyrion at the mention of the Vale. Tyrion raised an eyebrow.

“Unless?”

Baelish stroked his goatee as he thought for a second.

“Lysa and me have always had a good correspondence, ever since we were little. And a while ago she sent a private letter confiding her worries to me. She was rather scared you see. For her son as she always was and will be. But it seems to me that her fears in regards to your family might be more fickle than you think.”

“You think she could be persuaded to declare for us?”

Baelish squinted in thought.

“I could sing this song to her, but she would need assurances on the Lannister's' part. To settle her fears. Perhaps a marriage pact.”

Tyrion wanted to laugh.

“And let me guess. You would offer yourself up as a sacrifice?”

“Oh of course not my lord hand. It would be improper for such a lowly lord to ask a lady of her stature for her hand. But perhaps a royal marriage?”

“Myrcella? To Robert Arryn?”

“It might go a long way to silence her fears, and to bring the Vale to our aid.”

Tyrion was suspicious and knew that Cersei would certainly try to fight it, but at the same time it was hardly an awful offer. Bringing the Vale into the fold would provide a strong ally to counter Renly and they were close enough to be of legitimate help. Not only that but if they were to stay after Renly was defeated then they would surround the Starks and Targaryen's on two sides. But then there was the issue of loyalty. The Vale lords were fond of Ned Stark, and to turn on his memory to side with the Lannister's would be a hard sell. But this was a hard situation and they needed the allies.

“Very well, send a raven to Lady Lysa and give her your personal endorsement. Return to me when she responds.”

“It will be done my lord.”

Baelish stood up to leave, opening the door. And then stopping. Turning his head to Tyrion, Baelish spoke again.

“There is something else, my lord.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow and ushered Baelish to continue.

“A day or so prior I heard a rumor from one of my more trusted associates. About the queen. It was said that she was seen speaking to a man of unreputable character. A pyromancer. My associate never heard the contents of their conversation but it seemed to excite the man. Perhaps this is something you might wish to investigate.”

Tyrion nodded his head as Baelish left. He stirred in his state for a while before going to the door himself and speaking to the guard on duty.

“Get Bronn, tell him I require his assistance.”

—---------------

Renly I

Bitterbridge was hardly the optimal place to assemble a massive army.But its proximity to the Rose Road and Highgarden was too convenient to overlook. From here they could make their move up the road right to Kings Landing hopefully by the end of the month. Or that was the optimistic hope more accurately. In truth the army was assembling much slower than he had wished. He had known his force would be big, but at the same time he had truly underestimated just the amount of stress that would go into actually managing to get a force as big as he needed together, much less keep it fed and ready for combat at a given notice.

Garlan was meant to be arriving today with the last thirty thousand of the Reach’s infantry and their cavalry. Which had been arriving sporadically these past few days. Unfortunately it put Renly on edge, the Reach could muster a massive force of infantry but it was their cavalry that they were famed for. All the knights of the Reach bearing down on the gates of King's Landing charging through its streets will be an amazing sight to see. He can practically see it before him. But for now he would remain with his infantrymen and see to the construction of his siege engines.

Which in truth wouldn't be much more than a couple of good battering rams. They wouldn't be able to afford to get anything else across the waters of the Blackwater Rush. And even then that was risky given the fact that they had no true naval power. The Lannister's had a few of the Rredwine family members back in King's Landing as hostages, Which consequently cut out any use of the red wine fleet to him. It was hardly optimal but at the same time he had never intended to host a major naval campaign in the first place. His way was always going to be strength of infantry on the ground.

His force was massive and capable, or so he had been told. Loras had made quite the pastime of talking them up. For in no other kingdom did the title of knight bear such prestige as it did in the Reach. Frankly it was fun to see how passionate he was about his home’s men. He couldn't blame him, and nor did he wish to stop him. Right now all was right in the world and he was content to live in that illusion for as long as he could.

In truth, it felt good to distract himself from the losses he had endured. Well he held no grand affections for either of his brothers, they were at the end of the day still his brothers. Robert had been kind to him all his Youth and had trusted him as a loyal master of laws on his small council; he respected Robert to no end. Stannis was harder to pinpoint. He was cold, he was callous, he was emotionless and would have made a horrible king had he been allowed to take the throne, he would have.

But to his discomfort and sorrow there was still hurt.Even if he had no great love for his brother even if he thought low of him at times if not constantly, Stannis had been the one to watch him most of his life. When father and mother had died Robert was off in the vale warding for Jon Arryn. So it fell to Stannis to care for him. He kept his clothes clean, he taught him to use a sword early on, and during the siege of Storm's End Stannis had given him much of his own portions of food and rations to make sure he stayed alive, even while he watched the skin on his face grow pale and cling to his bones.

It was a somber thought and he really didn't want to be feeling any sort of upset at all this but even so, here he was. Here he said letting the feelings of pain and sadness course through him hoping to get it out of the way as soon as he could. He would have stood against Stannis regardless, and he would not lie when he said that his death had made his path of the throne much easier. But he still at times missed his brother.

But he distracted himself from those thoughts again turning his attention to the Melee which was taking place before him.He had made a habit of coming out of his tent to the camps central grounds where the young knights of the Reach and Stormlands would often do combat against one another to keep their skills sharp. And he would not lie when he said that he quite enjoyed it for a few other reasons too, although he would absolutely never tell Loras that, gods know that he would challenge every single man with a sword around his waist just to keep Renly’s eyes on him. Not that they would ever stray for long.

But today's melee was getting rather impressive especially with the two contenders who were pitched in an intense battle utilizing swords. One of them was some random Reach knight, he couldn't even recognize the sigil on his shield, but the other one bore the sigil of house Tarth, which was strange he had not remembered Lord Tarth sending any sons or even himself to accompany him. But whoever this knight of Tarth was, they were impressing him.

They're finesse with the sword was damn near unparalleled, truly a natural talent. Then there was their size and goodness were they a beast, tall, muscular. They had their face behind a visor on their helm but even so it hardly mattered all things considered. He watched as they swung their sword in wide concentrated arcs proceeding to batter away at the poor Reach knight who was struggling to put up any form of resistance. The battering going from one side of the sword to the other scraping off the plate before finally the Reach knight was sent to the floor by a single strike to the head with the blunted blade.

Down the knight went to little cheer from the crowd. Rather the stunning victory was met with groans of annoyance and contempt. Renly confused as to why such a marvelous performance in battle would not be celebrated by the respectable knights of the Reach and Stormlands decided that he would need to investigate personally stepping out into the open courtyard himself. Quickly a path was cleared for him into the center of the grounds where stood the colossus of a Knight, who needed to look down to meet his gaze. Quite frankly that just impressed Renly more, he was already tall so this was saying quite a bit.

Quickly however upon his arrival the knight dropped to their knee almost in the flash of an eye, obviously not one to think themselves above the rightful king they at least had a solid handle on humility. Which only brought a further smile to Renly's lips. He quickly opened his palm Ushering the lone knight to stand back on their feet so they might address each other properly, you didn't want to be talking to the top of their helm after all.

“Come now, arise and let me know you better.”

The knight rose to their feet placing their hands behind their back.

“You fought with valiance and skill, I have seldom seen such a display. Remove your helm and give me your name.”

The knight removed their steel helm to the gasps of the onlookers, and to his own surprise as well.What greeted him wasn't some great brute of a man like Gregor Clegane. Or even a man at all, rather what greeted his eye was the visage of a woman. Blonde with shoulder-length hair brittle as hay, her face painted with broad and rough features, freckles, teeth prominent and crooked, wide mouth and swollen lips. But her eyes were a cruel contrast to the roughness of her features, a bright and beautiful blue, almost seemed like a joke to put such a gorgeous pair of eyes on a face like that.

But he smirked all the same, and then a name came to mind. Brienne. Yes that was it, Brienne daughter of lord Selwyn Tarth. Then he remembered all the rumors that had been making their way to him. Or more accurately the gossip. Brienne the beauty she was called, of course he now understood that nickname was more of a mocking slight then an actual acknowledgment of her beauty. But even so he was impressed with her. Very impressed.

“You fight well, and you fight fierce.”

Brienne lowered her head in a show of respect.

“Come walk with me, I wish to speak with you.”

Brienne followed along closely behind Renly, they strolled through the camp for a while talking about innocuous things. The state of our fathers lands, what inspired her to take up a sword, and most notably perhaps why she was here. And just like the woman herself really found himself being quite surprised at her motivations for coming all the way out here.

“Your grace, I do not wish to sound selfish or ahead of myself, but my reasons for fighting alongside you goes beyond mere loyalty.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Your grace… if I may ask.”

“You may.”

“I came here with the desire of possibly finding myself in your Kingsguard.”

Renly again chuckled to himself at the ask. Not out of cruelty, Brienne had more than shown her skill with a sword by this point but more so the innate reluctance in which she requested the position. As if she was totally and utterly afraid to ask in the first place. Which wasn't completely unfounded after all there had never been a lady named to the Kingsguard before much less someone who wasn't a knight. But then again really found himself so damn impressed with her that he actually began considering the offer. And it would be a lie to say that he felt no odd sympathy for her. Considering his own nature he knew what it was like to wish to do something and live in such a way that all others would beat and kill you for. So perhaps he could provide that chance.

“My lady Brienne, I would see your wishes fulfilled in an instant, and it would be an honor to do so.”

Her eyes lit up in an instant at his acceptance. And he couldn't help but appreciate the glee she must have been feeling at this very moment. It felt good to provide such a moment to another person, at least he thought it felt good. And as such he sent her on her way to acquire her new gear from The Smiths and to ready herself as the newest member of his, as he called them rainbow guard.

Then came the news from a young man rushing over as quickly as he could. He seemed to be in quite the incredible rush In order to make it over to him but his voice was quickly drawn into a stern and direct tone addressing him with the respect he deserved.

“Your grace news from the road. Garlan Tyrell approaches with the last of our forces from Highgarden and with the last of the assembled lords of the Reach behind him.”

Renly immediately felt both relief and dread creep into his heart upon hearing that. On the one hand it was good that the final host of his force was now finally arriving with Garlan at the head of the host.The man was a capable warrior on par with his brother Loras and could be relied upon as a trusted confidant. With him would be the last 30,000 of his force and then they could begin their march to King's Landing within the month. But on the other hand with them would be traveling Margaery, that was the part he was dreading more than anything about this whole arrangement.

Margaery was by no means a horrible woman, she was by no means an ugly woman, and she was by no means a person that he didn't want to advise him on the road to King's Landing. But the unfortunate necessity of marrying her only filled him with disgust. There was nothing he could do about it, and he tried extensively to do something about it. But he always came up short, he knew he would have to produce an air one way or another that or possibly name Shireen his heir. At least for the time being.

But either way he would have to deal with that at a later date for now he would keep up the courtesies. Greet his bride her brother and bring them into the command tent so that they might begin to discuss their next moves. So he strode over to the other end of the Bitter Bridge to see the small column of dirt pillowing into the air down the road. Strange he would have thought that a force of 30,000 would have created a much greater impact in the air than that.

However, his concerns only grew when the host actually arrived. He had expected a long line of spears, swords and an excess of horses behind Garlan, but all that he saw was what couldn't have been more than a few thousand men. Immediately he knew something was wrong, something was very wrong.He walked over and tent on determining what was going on here. His host was meant to number some 80,000 and as it stood right now they barely managed 50,000. Garlan seemed to notice him approaching quickly but the courtesies remained as the knight bowed before him.

“Your grace it is an honor to be here.” Garlan spoke in a soft and clear voice intent on remaining polite. Renly at the very least had to respect that much about him. But he quickly turned his mind to the actual questions at hand.

“It is an honor to receive you too my good Ser, but I must inquire. I thought the host that you were meant to travel here numbered some odd thirty thousand, primarily cavalry. Yet I see only some… five thousand?”

Garlan scrunched his face in a disappointed frown standing up to speak to Renly.

“Four thousand actually, the last of House Rowan’s levies. Fine men all I assure you.” his voice was thick with mirth as if to dispel his confusion and frankly anger at the current situation. This was not the deal they had struck. And then it only became worse when he noticed that amongst the small entourage, Margaery was not here.

Despite his dread at actually having to marry and consummate that union, it still worried him to see that she wasn't here in the first place. And whether it be physical injury or political machinations it meant that something had gone wrong or something had changed.

“Forgive me but I could have sworn that the Reach had promised sixty thousand to my cause, to support my claim. Yet of all that have arrived we only have thirty now thirty-four thousand total, and all infantry. Surely you must understand that this does not reflect well. And not only that but it would appear that we are missing a rather important noble lady are we not?” His voice was polite and his demeanor and mannerisms were calm and calculated. The last thing he needed was a scene right here right now in front of several Reach Lords. But this was something that had to go answered right this instant lest it spiral out of control. Yet Garlan only smiled and chuckled to himself.

“Forgive me your grace, it seems that our ravens did not make it in time. See a few days ago we received word that Lannister outriders were observing the crossings over the blackwater rush, and that Stafford Lannister has returned to Casterly Rock with the intent of raising a new host. We figured that it would be wise on our part to let half of our forces remain in the Reach to discourage the Westerlands from coming in behind us and cutting our supply lines or burning the Reach as they have the Riverlands. With winter coming we must protect our crops.”

Renly squinted his eyes at the explanation. It made sense and it seemed completely logical that they would make such a move. The threat was real enough and the danger it would pose to not only the Reach but his army's will on the March was certainly not something he wished to overlook and in fact had overlooked until Garlan had mentioned it. But at the same time that's what made it suspicious, Renly still had the manpower to take on the capital even if his numbers were now severely diminished by this decision. But at the same time if he did fail this would allow the Reach to come off of his failure with fewer scars than they would have received otherwise.

Which told him that something had changed in the past few days, what was to stop them from simply providing them all therefore and taking the throne quickly and immediately. No, something had come up, something was now forcing the Tyrell's to reconsider. And that put Renly on edge. If something was putting his staunchest and most powerful ally on edge then it was something that he needed to be viscerally aware of. And it was something that he would actively have to plan around. At this very second he wasn't sure what that specific thing was but he knew it was not good for his cause.

“And what of Lady Margaery? Is she delayed or?”

“Forgive us again, with the outriders and host being summoned we believed it better that she remain behind in Highgarden until the throne is secure, at which point she will travel east to complete our alliance agreement.” Garlan spoke as if making a joke, some funny anecdote to add to the mix of misfortune Renly was suddenly saddled with.

If the missing half of the Tyrell Army wasn't enough to put him on edge then the delay of the marriage pact was certainly setting off alarm bells. Now he knew something was actually wrong, even if he did accept the explanation for keeping behind half of the promised host, which he didn't, the Reach was still safe enough for Margaery to travel. The threat of Lannister outriders shouldn't have been enough to completely shut down her movement towards Bitter Bridge, and Stafford regardless of whether or not he was actually amassing a host wouldn't be ready for at least another few months he estimated. By that point he should be on the iron throne and all would be well.

And that was just the tip of the iceberg apparently, looking amongst the lines of lord's behind him, he noticed that they were all minor lords. Specifically speaking they were missing Randyll Tarly.The man who had been the only commander to give his brother a legitimate defeat. What even then Renly thought was a very overrated feat, Robert had been leading a disorganized force that day and was hardly ready for a battle. It was by no means a proper defeat either way. But it was still optimal to have him on side. And he wasn't here. Truly spectacular.

If he could ascribe a word to this meeting, Renly would say that this was beyond disappointing. More than that this was possibly even insulting. The Tyrell's had completely pulled the rug out from under him, they had cut his support, they had abstained on their marriage alliance, and they had robbed him of a commander he would have needed. If they didn't make up such a large portion of his force he might have actively sought to administer a great deal of justice here, or at least some form of retaliation aside from harsh words and slaps on the wrist.

But the unfortunate fact of the matter was he couldn't do that because the Reach made up the vast majority of his force regardless. Either way he was absolutely depended on them not only for manpower but for food as well. But it still was frustrating to know that his closest allies were actively hedging their bets, who else was in the ring aside from Joffrey he wasn't sure…

Wait.

The Targaryen…

Immediately Renly’s anger was replaced with concern born anew. He remembered the night the letter had come to camp by messenger. He and Loras had been enjoying some wine together within his tent when the messenger had burst in, he had passed the sealed parchment over to Renly who took one look at the three-headed dragon sigil which marked the paper's red wax and immediately felt a great sense of amusement rise through him. Reading the paper only made him laugh as hard as he had remembered laughing in a long time.

He and Loras had spent the whole night thereafter laughing together at the letter's absurd claims. Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen being married seemed real enough as did the legitimacy of their son proven only by the adjoining documents. But it hardly meant anything as Robert had taken the throne for his own, as such the line of succession ran through his family now, not the Targaryen's. Then there was his vitriol over the Lannister's which Renly could respect. But the cream on the cake was the second to last line, The absolutely ludicrous claim that the boy somehow had a dragon. It was all beyond hilarious to him.

But now given the current state of his army and the Tyrell sudden apprehension to their initial Alliance he was starting to become far more wary of the contents of that letter. He quickly came to realize that it didn't matter if he didn't take the letter seriously or even if Loras didn't take the letter seriously. Other people apparently would. The memory of the letter was clouded by the wine he had shared with Loras that night, but now his apprehension was growing. Now he was coming to realize that this would be a real problem.

He realized now that once he had dealt with Joffrey he was going to have to turn his attention to this Targaryen. On its own it shouldn't be that much of a problem, he had the Stormlands and the Reach, he figured that it might be easier to persuade the Vale to rally to him and to convince Dorne to rid themselves of a living insult such as this. He would have the Tully's and Starks capitulate from there and then his reign would be secure when they gave up the Targaryen. But again that was on its own.

Now with the Reach seemingly floundering in their support with a new potential option on the table he realized that the only way he wins is if he gets on the iron throne first. Quickly this had turned from allegedly walk in the park, or at least as equivalent to one as you could get when it came to the topic of war, and had become a mad dash to the finish line which he had to make lest his allies abandon him.

He now had to prove himself the superior choice to put on the throne by virtue of getting there as quickly as he could. Which would mean he would need to begin his march to King's Landing fast, and that meant the whole host of other problems he was now going to have to deal with. He would have to deal with the issues of establishing supply lines on a minute's notice, he might have to cut back on the amount of Siege engines he expected to carry into battle. Seven Hells he might even have to leave a couple of his men behind in order to make it there as quickly as he could, granted he wouldn't do that unless he absolutely needed to. But the thought was bad enough that he was in such a position so quickly.

Moving fast was reckless and dangerous. He was no great military commander. He made no effort to deny that, but even he knew you don't rush something like this. And that's just what he was doing now he had to rush. He had to rush and he didn't want to. So he spoke with Garlan some more trying to alleviate the tension that now hung in the air between the two before scurrying back to his tent looking over his maps.

The plan had been initially to March up to the Kingswood before taking a detour and crossing over the Blackwater Rush so that he could bring his entire host to bear down on the Kings Gate and the Lion gate at the same time.The Hope was that they would split the Defender's attention enough to where they could break through one of the gates and allow the other in quickly afterward. Seven Hells they might have even been able to attack three gates if they had the entirety of the 80,000. But now they didn't, and now they didn't have the time for such a prolonged march across the river. They would need to be quick in their attack

Now what they would need to do is strike the easiest point they could and try to shove all 50,000 through at once. The opinions had swayed in the camp these past few days between laying siege or a full-frontal assault, and the consensus regardless seemed to be frontal assault; they didn't want to wait for Ty when to catch them with their pants down by establishing a long unnecessary siege. But that seemed more a requirement as of now. And unfortunately because of this urgency he ran the risk of getting sloppy.

Even with the added pressure of this news there was still the very legitimate threat of Tywin still looming across the rivers. There was no doubt in his mind that The old lion would be focusing on him first as opposed to the Targaryen boy. Renly still posed the biggest threat with the largest army and was the closest to the capital. Furthermore, there was no doubt in his mind that Tywin would be on the lookout for more allies to bear against him. He wouldn't have been so worried if he had had those extra 30,000 men, specifically the 20,000 cavalry, but now that he didn't he realized he was much more vulnerable than he had initially thought. Because instead of 80,000 now he only had 50,000. And almost all of that host was infantry.

Granted it would matter little when taking the city itself but if it came to the point where he needed to defend himself against a surprise attack from Tywin then he would be in much more trouble than he had initially thought. Especially if Tywin brought cavalry to bear. Renly cursed at what was happening, he would have traded forty thousand of his infantry now for those twenty thousand horses. The odds still favored him. That's what he kept telling himself, but it seemed to be a comfort growing colder and colder the more he thought about it. It was a relief when Loras entered his tent moving over to him and wrapping his arms around his shoulders. It was a nice comfort.

“You've heard the news I assume then?” Renly asked.

“I already had a spirited discussion with my brother about it.”

“It would appear that your family's faith in me is significantly weaker than you proposed.”

“Oh hush, that's just the nerves talking.”

“Is it, because it seems that your family wishes to hedge their bets.”

Loras rolled his eyes amused.

“They wouldn't do that.”

“They wouldn't do that, or you wouldn't do that?”

Loras went silent for a second before responding, not wishing to confirm Renly’s suspicions.

“You still have the strongest host, any way you put it you have the greatest chance to win. Please do not worry yourself too much, my father and brother ride with us as do fifty thousand loyal men. You will sit on the iron throne and you will rule admirably. Now come, let me relieve you of your troubles tonight.”

Renly was pulled from his maps to the bed as he indulged in Loras’ touch. It was intoxicating, it was right. And he knew that he was right. Perhaps he was worrying too much. He probably was. In about a month he would be seated on the Iron throne. It was the truth.

So why even as he lay with his love, did he feel dread?

Notes:

Thank you all for the kind words last chapter and for the critiques provided. Hope you enjoyed this one now that we are really getting into the meat of the story.

North/Riverlands: 38,000 - (260 ships + 200 ‘Celtigar + Velaryon’)

Westerlands: 42,000 - (120 ships)

Reach/Stormlands: 80,000 (20,000 from stormlands 60,000 from reach)

Dorne: Undeclared?

Vale: Undeclared?

Iron Islands: Undeclared

(Note this might not be accurate with the books or show to a T but these are what I personally found to be believable estimates and as such will be using.)

As always comments are welcome.

Chapter 24: Daenerys IV

Summary:

Daenerys takes on Astapor.

Notes:

Hey sorry for the delay in updates, uni finals are a bitch. But hopefully Ill be back to a more frequent update schedule.

Daenerys IV

The long weeks it had taken to sail from Volantis were beyond grueling, they were monotonous to endure. Excessive in their brutality, pain, and exceptional in trying her patience to its thin straying ends. Nothing but waves, the boat lurching back and forth, and the constant bustling of hard wind in the carracks sails. The stench of the sea perpetrated and sunk into every pore of the wood which made up the swaying hulk. She was certain that by the time they landed in Astapor that the stench of the sea would have completely overtaken the stench of the swamps that she had found sticking to herself in the marshes.

And frankly she was disappointed by that notion. Not that she had any specific attachment to the stench itself but rather the familiarity of it.That familiarity which seemed to be slipping through her fingers day after day as they continued to sail eastward. She supposed it was only natural after all, and yet she still found herself incredibly upset and even dismayed at the idea. To leave what you had been calling your home for the last two or so years. That she did think of that small floating village as way more of a home than Illyrio’s manse was. Perhaps as much as the house with the red door.

But now that home was gone, in the most literal sense. Returned to the earth forevermore. And now here she sat on the edge of the bed, within a ship sailing even further away from home than she had anticipated she would ever go. Or indeed ever wished to go. It felt wrong to be stationary for so long hidden away only to now travel further and further. If not for the job she had assigned to herself and if not for the myriad of other reasons keeping them away she would have demanded that they turn around and sail west this very instant.

But she couldn't and more importantly wouldn't do that. Not now, not when she knew what she was to do. Beyond oaths of vengeance and fire she knew what lay before her out there over the waves drawing nearer by the second. Suffering, blood, and pain. Of course the practice of slavery was abhorred by the faith of the seven which she had been brought up in, as well as in the eyes of the old gods which she had learned. But moreover there was some personal element to it beyond the deep and abiding disgust she had at the idea.

She would never claim to have known the life of a slave herself. In her eyes it would be an insult to do so. Yes she had lived on the street as a beggar for a while but even then she had still found her way back to the riches and finery of the nobility. She was always of royal blood. But even so whenever she booked at one of the few Unsullied which Illyrio had posted around his manse or at the multitude of slaves she had seen in Volantis. There was always a small part of her that couldn't help but see herself in that position. Although never with a master cracking a whip at her, but what came to mind was her own brother.

She had watched as he turned into the hateful man who now lived over many years. She had watched his kindness die bit by bit every single day, and in its place a viciousness and hate grew. And it had turned its attention to her many times. He had hit her and slapped her multiple times. He had tried to break her. She never did give in but it was of small comfort. And whenever she saw an enslaved man, and she would see many soon. All those memories came to her, every bruise, and wayward scratch. It was something that she would never wish on another. And the idea that there were societies built up on such cruelties honestly made her want to hurl.

She would see those societies or at least as many as she could manage within her lifetime topple and burn so that something better might come up from the ashes. She would bring that in or at least try to start that. Granted her desires were somewhat tempered by the knowledge that she wouldn't be able to stay to see it stick. Despite her goal she knew she wished to return home more than anything else. Lord Reed and her head disgusted at length what would keep the old rulers of these cities in line once they had gone. They had agreed that training the new freed population to fight for themselves along with the direct and stern connections to Westeros through military alliance would at least keep them at bay for a while.

It still didn't settle her nerves but it was better than nothing. And she supposed that if worse came to worst by the time it happened then she would have four dragons backing her. That was something that could hardly be argued against. Or at least she hoped that no one would be stupid enough to argue against it. She didn't want to burn people alive, but if they made themselves her enemy she would. With remorse yes, but not with hesitation. And she knew that if this happened she wouldn't be alone. And that brought her a genuine joy. A true and pure joy.

There were few things as intoxicating and soothing as knowing you dont stand alone in this world. It was one of the things that got her through her later years with Viserys, her time with Jon and his support. Had she been alone with just her brother she wasn't sure if she would have stayed strong. And then came Howland Reed into her life. He was truly special to her. She had made no grand declaration of it but she had the sense that he was aware. He was a protector, he was an advisor, he was a teacher, and he was a source of comfort. How she would describe that relationship she wasn't sure but she not only enjoyed it, she didn't want to imagine her life without it.

She smiled to herself as she dragged the whetstone on her bronze knife, the metallic ringing like a sweet familiar song. It was a tune she had heard a thousand times and she found it beautiful, like her own personal instrument. He own protection. Granted she had become very handy with a frog spear, but she always would consider herself fond of a knife above all else. Especially this one. So she cared for it as well as she could, she sharpened it herself, cleaned it herself, and trained with it herself. And she had a feeling that she might need it soon enough considering their destination.

She wasn't sure how things would transpire when they reached Astapor but she knew it would get bloody. It would get bloody and it would do so fast. She would need to be ready for that. And that meant keeping her blades sharp, and her eyes keen. And of course there was the other issue at play. Or rather possible issues at play. Her dragons. They had grown larger in the weeks they sailed and were now of riding size or at least that's what lord Reed said. And he had been generally correct with regards to her children so far. But that wasn't it.

They had frequently been a source of issues in those weeks, they had forced the ship to sail close to the coast so that they could easily feed and rest, which in turn had the adverse effect of slowing their rate of travel dramatically. Then there was their trip around the ruins of Valyria. Daenerys, despite her heritage and curiosity, desperately wanted to steer clear of the ruins as much as possible. As did the ship's crew, however her dragons had other ideas. Eddaron seemed to take to the ruins quickly, often resting within the fog and smoke which emanated from the shore constantly. There was a point where he had gone missing for a total of five days. All the while they had remained anchored there.

There had even been another point of worry when on the fourth night of Eddaron’s disappearance, she had been woken up by lord Reed and taken up top. Sailing out of the fog illuminated by yellow lanterns was a ship. A long ship by the looks of it although it was hard to make out. But there was a sense of dread which followed in the ship's wake. Thankfully it hadn't seen them and turned west in the opposite direction of them. No one spoke until the next morning after that, and thankfully Eddaron returned soon after which had prompted them to move on as fast as they could.

But all in all the frequent stops had added weeks to their journey, weeks they had not intended to waste. In truth, they should have arrived in Astapor much earlier. Regardless it was the hand they had been dealt and they would play it to the best they could. She didn't like that the trip had taken this long, she had hoped to be with more than her personal protectors by now, so she figured that this meeting in Astapor would have to go quickly. Granted she would have to endure a considerable amount of discomfort in the process. That is to say, playing along.

She had a vague idea of how this would happen, yes. But she couldn't be certain. Who could. Regardless she sheathed her knife and left her quarters. Through the lower decks she moved ascending up to the top deck. The wind tosses her hair back within an instant as the sun casts its warmth down on her face. It was an oppressive heat and dry air like that she had known in Pentos. The cooler air of the marshes had helped her to survive what would have been an excess of heat but now she had no such protection. Her skin had taken a deeper tan than normal from her walks on the deck. As had lord Reeds once pale complexion.

She quickly found the lord standing on the prow of the ship looking ahead on the horizon. They had long since entered Slavers Bay and as such the mountains on the Ghiscari coast. They had rounded the cape into the bay not three days past. He had been constantly observant since then. Not that they were in any danger regardless with her children keeping watch. But he felt it better to make sure there were no complications regardless. He didn't trust these shores. Unsurprisingly.

But upon seeing him she ascended the ladder and took up a position next to him as he leaned on the ship's railing. He smirked at her presence, a fondness taking over his determined gaze as he looked at her. His dusty blonde hair tied back into a ponytail, and his beard was trimmed again. Granted she could see some silver hairs beginning to show in there. He turned his body to face her proper before speaking in a gruff tone but warm in his mood.

“It would seem you have finally awoken.”

“Indeed.”

He looked back out to the coastline and to the distance.

“We should be there by the end of the day.”

“Will we?”

“Aye. I think I can see the city from here.”

“Truly?”

She looked out in the same direction as lord Reed. In the far distance she could see it, a small line of red in the sand. Not some dune or rock formation. But the red brick walls of Astapor. It was too far to make out any details yet but she already did not like the look of the city.

“What do you know of it my lord? The city?”

“Hardly anything. It would seem we're going in blind. The only thing I know is an old rhyme.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

"Bricks and blood built Astapor, and bricks and blood her people."

Daenerys tilted her head not getting the metaphor immediately.

“If I remember right, it's meant to signify the blood that went into its walls were those of its people, or more rather its slaves. A grisly old thing.”

She cringed at the saying. It was hardly something she wished to hear. Much less think about the truth it must have been based on in the first place. Regardless, the ship pushed on towards the city. Over the course of the day she stood with Lord Reed as the red city grew out of the distance. Images and traits of its look became clearer with every passing second. The stepped pyramids lined the coast offering safe harbor beyond a great sea gate. Atop which stood the great and terrible visage of a beast. It bore the image of a woman's head and torso, a bat's wings, eagle's legs, and a scorpion's tail. Gilded it was, so that it shone against the sunlight. It was a dreadful looking thing.

—----------------

The ship slid past the harbor gates into the docks as the deck hands moved off of the ship securing it to the wooden posts of the piers. She waited as the crew lowered a gang plank down to the docks as the crannogmen dispersed looking for threats along the dock. All the while Daenerys stood close to lord Reed, her knife dangling from her belt as Howland readied a frog spear and sword on his belt, one of the few steel swords they actually had possession of anymore. She looked at him calmly but sternly.

“Are you ready princess?” Howland asked in a concerned tone.

“How can one ever truly be ready for a situation such as this?”

“Some might say yes, some might say no… but what do you say?”

She thought about it for a brief moment before turning to face lord Reed.

“I will see this through, ready or not it hardly matters, we are here. We must move today and no later. So I will say this. Come midnight tonight, I will have my army.” Her voice carried authority. A proper regality. She turned from lord Reed walking to her room and back up after a short while to walk down the gangplank donned in a red silk dress, trimmed with black fabrics in the shapes of scales. The embodiment of her house. Following at her side was lord Reed who had taken to wearing a more formal attire, his leathers remained but he looked more a Westerosi lord than ever she had known. On his shoulder a badge bearing the curled lizard lion. His house sigil.

The pair walked down the docks to the city's gates, dozens of soldiers guarded its red walls but surprisingly fewer than they had first expected. In fact, for how massive the city was it was surprisingly sparse in population. She wasn't sure why it was so, but it was the way of things. But much like volantis the people she did see were vastly made up of slaves. She saw more freedmen and masters, yes but not nearly enough to make her comfortable with this place. And among that the people were of an odd sort too.

Those who she thought might have been native to the city were of olive skin, broad noses, dark eyes, and varying red or dark hair. Supposedly the looks of old Ghiscari. However, the slaves were of many complexions. Different hues of skin and hair although they did not bear the excessive tattoos she had seen on the slaves in Volantis. They seemed to be In a worse way at least to her eyes, however. The colors around their necks were far more accentuated than they were in Volantis. Many were walked by her in chain gangs tied at their necks or hands to prevent an excess of movement. And the sound of whips was constant everywhere she turned as they walked down the streets. It was revolting.

But she and the Lord persisted throughout the streets of the city. Down dozens of winding corridors Alleyways paths and streets they eventually made it to the Plaza of Pride.The center of not only the city but the center of its slave market as well. At the far end of the plaza stood a great stepped pyramid some 400 ft High all of red brick; among its Terraces a variety of plants from trees to Vines and flowers grew, water flowing between them. If not for what the city represented she would have found it beyond beautiful. Lord Reed stepped forward.

“Allow me to go ahead princess. I will establish your presence and acquire you for a meeting.”

Daenerys nodded to lord Reed as he moved forward ascending the steps of the pyramid. In the meantime she watched around as the slavers and Masters went about their business in the plaza square. She didn't even bother attempting to stomach her disgust for the actions going on around her, thankfully neither did any of her protectors. It was small comfort to know that she wasn't the only one seeing the Injustice and insanity in the actions that were happening around her. Small comfort but comfort nonetheless.

Eventually however Howland returned down the steps of the pyramid rejoining the host with a small entourage following him closely. He seemed rather perturbed by the person following him, a short, fat man with a short oiled beard, he had sunken almost smokey eyes which seemed to peer into her very soul although she made no immediate look giving that away. He dressed in fine silks and brightly colored silks at that. She can make the guess that he must have been some wealthy elite, a noble of the city, perhaps. A slave master to be sure no doubt about it lay in her mind as to the validity of that fact.

But perhaps it was the person who walked with him that caught her attention more. A girl, and a young girl at that, her skin was dark and it's complexion, possibly from the Summer Isles or maybe even somewhere else but certainly south. She had a round face, and thick dark hair. But her eyes took all the attention, her irises seemingly made of molten gold shone in the sunlight more than anything else. It was a distinctive glare that much was certain. Although she got the feeling it was in no way malicious just very intriguing.

Lord Reed stepped forward nodding his head.

“May I present to you princess his excellency the good master Kraznys mo Nakloz, he will be the one we shall speak to on our purchase.” Lord Reed spoke with an air of disgust in his tone when he introduced the supposedly good master. The fat master simply smiled before speaking in Valyrian.

“Sīr bisa iksos se beggar līve? Skoros does ziry pendagon naejot jiōragon hen īlva?” (So this is the beggar whore? What does she think to get from us?)

Daenerys was fully aware of what the man was saying she had grown up with, Valyrian as expected of a princess of house Targaryen. And as such she was able to quickly pick up on the man's insults which she had no intention of answering right now. If she had learned anything with Lord Reed in these past few years it was that sometimes it was best to be unassuming. To be quiet as the hunter before they lose their bow on their prey. But what truly took her off by surprise again was the young girl's response. She spoke in Westerosi, and it became clear in that moment that the young girl was an interpreter, surprising for how young she seemed to be but Daenerys paid attention all the same.

“The good master Kraznys mo Nakloz, says that he welcomes you to Astapor. And he would inquire about your desires.”

Daenerys raised an eyebrow to the young girl before speaking calmly.

“I am Daenerys Stormborn of house Targaryen, and I am in need of an army. I have heard tales of the Unsullied and their prowess on the battlefield. I wish to see them and make my judgments as to their quality.”

The young girl Seemingly translated quickly to the master and much again to Daenerys' surprise her Valyrian was perfect. Every syllable and consonant was spoken with an effortless efficiency that related all she needed in those short words. And even in that case she also noticed the girl was smart. She knew better than to translate the master's words directly, rather adjust it to where it seemed more kind. It showed Daenerys that she was aware of social conventions and how to effectively and efficiently word a response. In short, she knew how to cover for these masters. However, the master simply chuckled at the translation.

“Se aspo jaelagon's naejot sindigon? Nyke ȳdra daor pendagon ziry sindigon mēre hae nykeā līve.” (The bitch wants to buy? I don't think she could buy one as a whore.)

The young girl again translated the insult to something more mannerful.

“The good master Kraznys mo Nakloz, says that he doubts you might be able to afford any of the Unsullied.”

“You may tell him that I have all which I need to pay in full and ready.”

The young girl once again translated for the master who rolled his eyes taking a long look up and down Daenerys's form as he chuckled again.

“Ziry kostagon ūndegon zirȳ, mērī kesrio syt nyke raqagon se obar hen zȳhon naejos.” (She can see them, only because I like the curve of her tits.)

Daenerys struggled to resist an immediate and frankly ruthless response to such an insult but she maintained it all the same especially with a look from Lord Reed stealing her nerves. The young girl again translated.

“The good master Kraznys mo Nakloz, says that he will show you the unsullied because he is generous.”

Daenerys and Lord Reed shared a look both knowing that this was a lie, even Howland who didn't speak a lick of Valyrian who could tell by the supposed good Masters body language that he was reluctant to show off his so-called product to her. But nevertheless they followed him down the plaza over to the great pyramid and around its base. To the far back of the building they were taken towards a large pit, more than likely a fighting pit. Down within it stood dozens upon dozens of men, fighting men. In gleaming bronze armor and shields. Looking down on them Daenerys observed.

They were impressive. There was no doubt about that fact but at the same time beyond the capabilities of their marshal prowess Daenerys could only feel disgust at this. For every excellent swing of a sword or jab of a spear she saw 10 men being whipped. For every perfect formation she saw one beating with a club. She saw men being treated as animals, and it took all her willpower to not look over to the master which stood next to her and toss him down the pit to watch his skull break on the sands below them.

The master began speaking in Valyrian, his words filled with slights and insults to the point where Daenerys had to tune him out and focus on the girl's words alone.

“The unsullied are trained from boyhood, they are trained day and night with little food and water so that they can fight off little rations. They will stand until they drop, such is their obedience.”

Daenerys listened, ushering the girl to go on as a small group of unsullied were brought up from the pits to stand before them. They stood in rank file shields close and no unnecessary space between them, their spears lined perfectly with their square shields. They were of varying complexions although the majority bore the Ghiscari look. The girl spoke again.

“They begin their drills at dawn and will continue till dusk, they train until they have mastered the short sword, the shield, and the three spears. Few survive this rigorous training, but they fear nothing.”

The disgust only mounted further resulting in a small bit of bile working its way up her throat. Lord Reed was the next to speak.

“Everyone fears death, all men of all creeds.”

The girl exchanged hasty words with the master who simply sneered and spoke again in Valyrian. Seemingly he was now moving past insulting Daenerys and moved on to lord Reed and even the young girl after she asked for clarification on an order. But the man walked down still speaking Valyrian as he approached one of the unsullied who stepped forward at his call.

“The good master Kraznys mo Nakloz, says that the unsullied are not men, death means nothing to them. He asks that you consider this demonstration when considering your offer.”

“Surely there is no need for such a display.”

She watched as the master laughed while he pulled a dagger from the unsullied’s belt proceeding to strip the man of his breastplate. He took the knife and carved away at the man's nipple, removing it entirely. The soldier made no cry of pain or movement, he stood still as a statue in the face of the pain. And the depression that Daenerys felt was extreme in its magnitude as was the same with lord Reed. The master tossed the torn flesh aside before returning to the princess' hands still bloody. The master spoke all the while. And the girl in turn translated.

“The good master Kraznys mo Nakloz, says that men need not nipples.”

Daenerys remained stone faced all the while but beneath the silks of her dress she gripped her bronze knife tightly. The master spoke again and the girl translated.

“To win his shield an unsullied must-go to the slave markets and find a newborn, he must kill the child before its mothers eyes, this way we are certain that there is no weakness left in them.”

She bit her tongue again to the point she thought it might now start bleeding. She had to say something at this point,

“You kill a baby in front of its mother?” she spoke in an offended tone.

The girl and the master spoke with the man seemingly unaffected by the blatant barbarity of the practices he subjected these men and women to.

“The good master Kraznys mo Nakloz, says that if it settles you in any way, that a silver mark is paid to the slaves’ owner when they are taken from this world.” Even the girl had a look of despair, subtle as it was. Lord Reed spoke next.

“How many are available to buy?”

After a short conversion between the girl and the master she spoke again.

“Eight thousand are ready to fight.”

Lord Reed shared a glance with Daenerys before returning his gaze to the unsullied in the pits below. The sun by now was dropping beneath the horizon as the master waved off the troops on display before speaking his final words and the girl dutifully and respectfully translated.

“The good master Kraznys mo Nakloz, says that you have until tomorrow to make your decision. There are many other buyers eager to purchase.”

With that the pair returned back to the ship for the night accompanied by their fellow crannogmen. Daenerys for her part went right into her quarters and shut the door wishing to not dwell on the events of the day for much longer for she was in such a state of disgust to discuss it, even with Lord Reed for a little while. She tossed the knife's blade into her table idly as she sat in silence with the flickering candlelight to keep her awake for now. That was until she heard a knock at the door. She bid the person enter and thankfully it was Lord Reed. He walked into the room with a pitcher and two cups.

“Good evening my lord, what is it that you require?”

“I simply wish to share a drink with you.”

Daenerys smiled softly and pulled over another small chair in the corner of the room allowing him to sit. Which he probably did, pouring them both a small cup of wine.

“You are mortified with what we have seen today.”

“...I am…”

“Good. You should only ever be when faced with horrors such as that.”

She nodded and took a drink of the wine letting it flow down her throat warming her chest before she spoke again.

“What possess men to treat others in such a manner? Who could ever see this as the natural state of the world? The right state of the world?”

Lord Reed shook his head.

“Perhaps it's how they were raised, perhaps it's vendetta? Perhaps it's not for any reason other than gold. The truth is that we will never know what these men think of their profession. It's sad but it is true. But we have the chance to rectify these decisions regardless of their motivation. Our plan still stands if I remember correctly.”

“It still stands.”

“How do you wish us to help you?”

Daenerys thought for a small second before turning back to Lord Reed, a fire burning within her eyes as she spoke.

“I wish for you to stay close to me and make sure that none seek to stab me in the back while I'm not looking. I will need to focus on my children to ensure that they do not bring harm to those who do not deserve it. But I do make a request my lord… that master… Kraznys… you will take him alive and bring him to me, understood?”

“It will be done.”

With that the pair drank for a small while longer before settling to bed. Tomorrow would be the day. The day Astapor fell.

—-------------------

The following morning was seldom different from the previous. She dressed well again, weapons hidden on her person as did Lord Reed. The pair returned down to the plaza where they ascended the great pyramid once again. And as they ascended they entered a short conversation assured in the fact that they were alone. After all there were no guards standing by on the steps leading up the pyramid in fact there were very few immediate guards at all.

She supposed that it was overconfidence on the part of the masters who felt safe within their walls.As if the greater majority of their population wasn't people they would needlessly slash and beat on a daily basis simply for the most minor of disobedience. In some ways she found it rather humorous the Comfort they lived in. however she would find it even more humorous when she took that comfort from them and burned it away. Now that was going to be a series of moments she would enjoy thoroughly. But until that point there was a small bit more time to spare.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Lord Reed when he lay a hand on her shoulder whispering to her ear.

“You know what you must do?”

“We have discussed it at length my lord. I am prepared to commit to the ruse until the time is right. And I will take my pleasure in its end.”

“And you know the cost of this ruse? What it will signify to the world when word reaches Westeros?”

“I am prepared to bear the consequences, my lord. I could not remain hidden nor keep my children secret forever.”

Lord Reed nodded his head to her in acknowledgment.They both know the consequences of this little plot of theirs. They had been aware for the longest time though that they would eventually have to resurface and make their presence known. And as much as Lord Reed would have liked to keep her and her children secret for the longest possible time, he trusted her enough to let her go forward with this decision. It might not have been the plan he would have thought of but he would follow along all the same. And Daenerys had to find some form of respect in that commitment.

“Very well princess. But I will warn you. Yesterday at the demonstration, you almost lost yourself.”

“As if I should not spare a man any pain for a needless and cruel demonstration? I can't understand how any buyer would wish such treatment on them.”

“Maybe so princess but despite how well you composed yourself previously or yourself in that moment, it only takes one moment for us to be thrown into the pits with them. For the moment, quell the dragon. Stay the fire. Be the lizard lion waiting in the waters. Watch your prey quietly and unassumingly, and only when they stray too close to the water strike. Channel the anger into cunning. And then you will have your fire.”

Daenerys nodded her head to Lord Reed who posed his sturdy and steadfast wisdom upon her. And of course she knew she would have to act in such a way he didn't need to remind her of it. But then again in a strange sense it felt good to be reminded of it, it was not out of condescension he made his claims but rather out of genuine courtesy. Not a command but reassurance.

“You speak well, Lord Reed. And I would thank you for your steadfast loyalty at this moment.”

“No thanks is necessary princess. It is my duty and more importantly my choice to serve you the best I can. I humbly hope that my words will be enough.”

“...They have always been enough.”

The pair ascended the steps and took a glancing look at each other, their eyes meeting on their equal height. And between them, they shared a small smile. A slight turn of the lips on both their ends but even if that was true it carried within them a thousand words of admiration and appreciation.They held onto that moment as they continued to ascend upwards over higher to the top of the pyramid. Neither wishing to let the warmth of the moment go.

However, of course it did come to an end once they reached the summit and sitting within chairs was a small group of the supposed good masters. At the center sat Kraznys in a small stool, his fat drooping around Its seat as he crossed his arms with a disgusting and snide smirk. The young girl was there too, sitting to the man's side. Her piercing gaze had not yet left her eyes.

Quickly the Masters began talking amongst themselves as she came forward. Immediately Daenerys wanted to break character at the words they spoke. She listened to the various jokes and comments alluding to her figure. A couple of them talking about how fine she would look in a pleasure house. Her demeanor held only barely as she finished her walk forward and addressed them head on. The young girl was the first to speak translating for Kraznys as he very crudely told the young girl to greet her.

“The good master Kraznys mo Nakloz, says that he is pleased you have arrived so early to discuss the terms of your purchase. The good master Kraznys mo Nakloz will now hear your offer.”

Daenerys inhaled as she prepared to speak before opening her eyes.

“I will have them all. Every one of your ready eight thousand and those in training too.”

The young girl went quiet as she translated for the masters who also seemed to be initially shocked by the offer before turning into laughter. Kraznys spoke first, his voice strained by laughter.

“Se līve naejot sindigon zirȳ ry? Ziry drējī pendagon zȳhon orvorta iksos bona?” (The whore wants to buy them all!? Does she truly think her cunt is worth that!?)

The young girl quickly covered and translated.

“The good master Kraznys mo Nakloz, says that you will not be able to afford this, he asks if you are sure this is what you want?”

“Yes, all eight thousand and those in training too.”

“Sesīr lī isse gūrēñare!? lo pōnta ropagon kessi shame Astapor daor bona ziry could sindigon zirȳ.” (Even those in training!? If they fall they will shame Astapor not that she could buy them.)

“The good master Kraznys mo Nakloz, says that if they fall in battle they will shame Astapor.”

“I will have them all or take none. Many will fall in battle and I will need the new ones to pick up their fallen spears.”

She listened as the girl translated once more and once again the masters spoke. They rambled on for a long while about how much she could actually afford with her ship and even by selling those loyal guardians who surrounded her into slavery themselves. Needless to say it was hardly worth anything at least in the master's eyes. And as such she tuned them out for the largest part. But eventually the young girl translated for them with a very sanitized and very simplified version of what they were talking about.

“The good masters say that with your ship you could buy one hundred. What little goods you have could buy twenty. And those who surround you… grotesque as they are, would be able to acquire you ten. They ask how you then intend to pay for the remaining 7870 trained unsullied?”

She took a breath coming to terms with what she was about to do and the ramifications that it would incur. But she felt confident in the plans of validity.

“...I have dragons…ready to fight. I will give you one for all of them.”

The young girl looked shocked immediately upon her saying that. she quickly translated for the Masters who seem to be in a state of collective disbelief and denial. But before any of them could make any snide remarks or jokes Daenerys tugged on her bond with Eddaron. It wasn't long into their conversation that they heard the sound of great wings beating in the distance before flying overhead from behind them atop the pyramid and circling the city, which is now gathered in the streets almost in a state of panic. They all saw the massive visage of Eddaron circling the city like a winged shadow. Many in the streets were frightened. Many in awe. But the masters atop the pyramid had different looks entirely.

If the nearest had to describe what she saw in those men's eyes and faces that day, she would say that within all of them were two vices. Greed and lust. Truly she thought that these were the two things that drove these men above all else so why should they see such an emblem of power and strength as anything different. The lust for power and the greed to keep it all to their own. It took only one look at her son to send them scurrying for offers. But she spoke again before they could get far.

“I will have all of them, every single one. In exchange, you may have him, for he obeys my beck and call, he heeds my commands. And none shall ever approach the walls of Astapor so long as he breathes. Do we have a deal?”

There was no need for the girl to translate the master's words following her offer.

“DONE!”

Daenerys prepared to turn away, however she stopped for a brief second turning her eyes back to the girl who stood by idly. She waited for a second before speaking.

“I'll have her as well.”

The shock over the young girl's face was evident however the lust and greed within the Master's never dampened. He simply nodded his head pushing the girl to Daenerys’ side and walking back to his seat.

“You will assemble them within the plaza. There you will receive your prize and me my army. Gather them within the next four hours no less.”

The entourage turned and began their walk back down the pyramid quickly after. The young girl stayed close to her side, likely out of forced habit. But Daenerys didn't mind all things considered, in fact she welcomed it.After all there was much she needed to know about this young girl. She initiated the conversation.

“Tell me, child what is your name?”

The young girl quickly raised an eyebrow to Daenerys before responding in a monotone and calm voice.

“This one's name is Missandei master.”

Daenerys squirmed at the mention of the word master so she quickly said about righting that particular term.

“Rȳbagon bisa sir, iksā daor longer naejot yne brōzā āeksio iā dohaeragon nyke hen hen mirros yn aōha own kessa. Nyke release ao hen aōha belm Missandei.” (Hear this now, you are no longer to call me master or serve me out of anything but your own will. I release you from your chains Missandei.)

Missandei looked stunned in that moment as if expecting to be mocked or hit for any number of reasons. But Daenerys only smiled at the young girl. She ushered her closer to her side and Missandei complied.

“I-I do not understand…”

“You do not understand what?”

“I… you speak Valyrian?”

“I am a Targaryen, of course I do.”

“Then why not correct the-”

“Because I have plans for them.”

Missandei nodded, not wishing to push the topic further but still asked questions of her.

“Why free me?’

“Many reasons, many I will explain when it is safe to do so. But for now I will give you one. I would ask that no one in my service is made to do so because I own them. And so I would ask the same of you. I would ask that you consider serving me as a handmaiden and interpreter for as long as you wish. Would that be acceptable?”

Missandei considered the offer for a moment before turning her golden eyes, now squinted into a more determined glare.

“This one would like to do so.”

Daenerys smiled before turning to Howland.

“Lord Reed, see to it that Missandei is provided with good clothes, food, and water until the time comes for the transaction. She is to be treated well and is to be respected.”

Howland lowered his head.

“It will be done princess.”

—------------

It was a short while longer before Daenerys made her way to the plaza of punishment. She and her entourage were armed and ready, having sharpened their blades and repaired as much of their leather armor as they could. Missandei was now removed of the bright-colored rags she had worn earlier in exchange for a silk gown of gold and bronze matching her eyes. She stood close to Daenerys as the masters approached, behind them all eight thousand of the unsullied stood ready and alert. Between their rows passed men with whips and guards armed in bronze. The masters approached quickly eager to get their supposed reward out of her.

Daenerys stepped forward in her silk dress flowing in the late day breeze. She was resolute in her visage, as if the dragon lords of old Valyria had come once again, and indeed in some way they had. Her hands were at her side, one of them clutching the still hidden bronze knife which again lay between the folds of her dress. She eyed each and every single one of the masters as they approached her, many of them with their hands together some with their hands on their engorged bellies. All of them smug.

She watched as they looked around eagerly for the arrival of her child. And she had no intention of letting this drag out for any longer, not that she really wanted it to regardless. She focused on her bond with Eddaron calling him down from the skies. He had not strayed far from the city ever since his flyover. But even then it still took a few seconds. The Masters were only held at bay by the distant sounds of his wings and roars as he flew over. He beat his wings overhead casting gusts of wind down into the plaza before landing on his legs gripping into the red brick ground.

Daenerys ran a hand along his snout taking in his size. While he was rideable he was by no means a large adult. But even so it seemed enough to say the desires of the masters who stood before her. Eddaron walked forward bearing his fangs at the masters. Although they didn't seem to notice whatsoever at the blatant display of aggression her son was showing. Granted it was beneficial that they didn't as it would mean they would easily fall into the trap she was laying. She didn't wait any longer after that so she spoke to Missandei.

“Tell them that I would have my army first.”

She quickly translated for the masters who without much hesitation urged Kraznys to walk forward. In his hands was a nine-tailed whip with a handle of gold. It was a gaudy ugly thing to behold. But she grabbed it all the same just for now. And once it was in her hand she looked over at the masters and asked a singular question.

“Is it done?”

Missandei translated both Daenerys' question and the master's response.

“It is done, you hold the harpy's fingers. The unsullied are yours. They demand their end of the bargain now.”

Daenerys looked up to her son, his red eye focusing down on her form as she nodded her head signaling through their bond to have him take a few steps forward. Eddaron compiled as the masters walked forward. She in the meanwhile turned back to the unsullied as they stood ready, their bronze spiked helms glinting in the light of the late day. She turned to Missandei.

“Do they know the Westerosi tongue?”

“They do not.”

“What do they know then?”

“They speak the language of old Ghiscari and some among them Valyrian.”

“Can you translate then?”

She nodded her head.

“Tell them to form up.”

She complied translating her words for the troops, they obeyed immediately gathering together in tight rows.

“Forward march.”

Once again the pattern repeated as the unsullied marched forward in lock step.

“Stop them.”

And again they complied with an utterly unnatural obedience. Never should a person, a living breathing man, have that type of organization. Never should they move in total unsettling unison. It was like watching the sun move across the sky, predictable in all its motions. Never out of place. It was soulless. And the rage built up within her again. Only growing by the second.

That's when she heard the disgruntled sounds from those behind her. Eddaron was growling and snarling at the slightest movement from the masters all eagerly clamoring to grab and pull at him. They truly had no idea how to control him aside from whips and shouting. Treating him as they treated everyone else who had ever served them. A slave, that's all her son was to them, that's all he would ever have been to them. It was at this point she felt relief that the dragon lords of old Valyria tied these wondrous beings to a select few. For if anyone could have them. Then the world might have been reduced to ash millennia ago.

It was a long time however before the masters turned their attention back to her, obviously extremely upset. Lord Reed and the crannogmen quickly formed up around Daenerys protecting her with spears and knives. All the while the masters continued to rage and insult her.

“Ivestragon se aspo zirȳla dyni rȳbagon!!” (Tell the bitch her beast won't listen!!)

Daenerys looked to Lord Reed who simply nodded his head. It was time.

She turned fully to the masters before declaring proudly.

“Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor!” (A dragon is not a slave!)

Missandei and lord Reed smirked as the master’s faces all turned to a mix of shock and abject horror. Many of them beginning to back away looking back to Eddaron. Kraznys spoke first.

“Ao ȳdragon Valyrīha!?” (You speak Valyrian!?)

Daenerys walked up to Eddaron’s side still holding the whip.

“Iksan Daenērys Jelmāzmo hen Targārien Lentor. Iksā iā mittys naejot pendagon bona nyke daor gīmigon ñuha ēngos” (I am Daenerys Stormborn of house Targaryen. You are a fool to think that I would not know my mothers tongue.)

Immediately the fear overtook all the Masters present as they began clamoring for their nearby guards to rush forward and kill her on the spot. Many of them declared that the deal was off, some even had the moronic gall to try and command Eddaron to attack her. She honestly couldn't help but laugh at those ones. She on the other hand turned back to Missandei.

“Order them to go through the city, kill every single slave master and owner in Astapor. Tell them to strike the chains off every slave they see, but to harm no woman nor child.”

Missandei gave the orders as the unsullied quickly turned their spears on those masters who surrounded them. All guards who tried to put up a fight found themselves quickly and brutally put to death by spearpoint. Those masters closest to Eddaron were about to meet the same fate when Daenerys called out to Lord Reed.

“Remember my commands my lord.”

Lord Reed nodded his head before turning over to a couple of his compatriots as they walked over to the small group of masters. Most of them had been pushed aside right into the spear points which were now being drilled and buried into them. But Kraznys was dealt with by Lord Reed personally. He took his frog spear and jammed it into the fat man's knees. From there he was brought to the ground and held alive by several crannogmen spears. And Lord Reed held him with a knife to his throat. Daenerys walked overconfident in her stride. She looked down on the vulgar man. She spoke in a fiery voice.

“Emā mazvēttan aōha oktion va se ōdres hen tolie. Sir eminna ao urnēbagon ziry zālagon” (You have built your city on the pain of others. Now I will have you watch it burn.)

She looked back to Eddaron as his red eyes calmed. She reached out laying a hand on his black scaled snout. He seemed to know what she was asking to do as he lowered his wing. She walked along his side dragging her hand along his warm onyx black scales before walking up the wing. She lowered herself between a pair of his back spikes gripping another two tightly. She had never done this before, but she did as she felt was right. Eddaron relaying his satisfaction through their bond. She breathed deeply and spoke softly.

“Sōvegon”

Eddaron spread his black wings before beating them. The air gathered beneath them as they ascended quickly into the skies above. She didn't think she would feel as exhilarated as she was now, and yet here she was atop his back. For the briefest of moments she forgot about what she was about to do; she forgot about the horrors going on beneath her and about the vengeance that was spreading through the streets of Astapor like a wildfire.

No right now all she could focus on was the wind rushing through her silver hair as the sun began to dip lower and lower on the horizon. Once they were at a satisfactory height she began to pull on the two spikes which she held tight. Perhaps it was her intentions singing through their bond or perhaps it was genuine responsiveness. Either way he moved in the direction she wished. The joy rang through their bond wrapping around her enraged heart like a damp soothing cloth. Was this how her ancestors felt? To be so high above the earth? She wanted never to leave the sky.

It was a short while however before she looked back down on the city below her. She could see the small host of guards rallying on the walls. They seemed to be guarding some of the few remaining masters who were trying to escape the city. Now that was something she simply couldn't allow to happen. She stopped her ascension and gripped the spikes tightly. Eddaron looked down at the earth with her. She pushed forward on those spikes. And her exhilaration grew as they stopped rising but started dropping. They dived down.

Down and down they fell gathering speed as they went. It was a cataclysmic drop downward. The wind rushed by her ears screaming as they fell, Eddaron roared in a blazing fury. She could feel the heat of his scales growing greater and greater by the very second. Their eyes remained locked on that singular position on the walls. She inhaled deep breath and spoke. A cold malice prevailed over most of her tone only supplemented by an intense rage, and perhaps a little guilt.

“Dracarys…”

Opening his mouth Eddaron did not scream or roar. But instead let out a great torrent of black fire tipped with a bloody red. It was a terrible thing to witness from atop his back but it was gone all the same in the matter of seconds when he pulled out of the dive. She looked back to see where the wall had one spin now replaced by a black flaming ruin of char and brick. Quickly she turned over the harbor as the wind billowing from underneath his wings was caught in a variety of fishing boat sails as they all scrambled to get further away into the waters of the bay. Again she hit the wall this time lengthwise.

She continued on and on charring the bay side walls of the city trying to leave the city itself alone. She knew the unsullied would manage that. And thankfully the ruinous slaughter didn't need to last long. There were few guards in the city to begin with and many of the towers were crumbling. She did however need to focus her efforts on two spots in particular. The first of which was the fighting pits. She let loose Eddaron’s flames into the pits allowing the fires to turn the sand in the pit to molten glass, the stone itself melted and fell in on itself turning the pit into a pool of molten slag.

The next Target of her interest was the great pyramid upon which she met the masters. Again she ascended High into the sky before coming down on it in a fiery rain. She melted the pavilion which sat atop the pyramid first allowing the liquid rock to run down the stairs in a slow ooze. Next she went down each of the great steps burning the gardens one by one. The water within them and flowing between them evaporated in mere seconds. And again once it was done.

She flew her son to the final point of interest soon after. By now the unsullied had taken the vast majority of the city as many of the now freed slaves were gathering in the plazas and streets. She had not burned a single house nor granary. But there was the last thing she needed to see burn. Above the harbor gate, sat the great gilded statue of the harpy. It didn't take long for her to give the orders upon getting close enough. And Eddaron was all too eager to comply.

“Dracarys!”

He opened his mouth letting forward one last great stream of black fire aimed at the harpies's legs. The statue gave way very shortly after quickly beginning to melt under the extreme heat of her son's breath. It began as a simple tilt to the left, before more of the feet began to run in great streams down into the water creating hissing globs of molten stone which soon sank to the bottom of the sea. And shortly thereafter in one small final drop. The statue itself turned to the left and fell down into the ocean waters breaking on impact. And there it's sank down never to be seen again.

She turned her son back over to the plaza of pain savoring the small quick ride as she went. She didn't bother to observe the selective damage she had inflicted. She didn't care to. She had harmed no one other than those she had wanted to harm. Those who had deserved it. She embraced the moment as her son beat his wings a few times more and dropped back into the center of the plaza. She stood atop his back as all around her slaves, now free, gathered to watch what was about to happen. And ahead of her on the ground she saw Lord Howland Reed bearing what looked to be the proudest smile a man could ever have worn.

He walked over, helping her down off Eddarons back as Rhaegal and Rhaellon flew overhead. She walked with Lord Reed to the still imprisoned and straining Kraznys who was begging for mercy, trying to offer anything and everything he could. Honestly she couldn't care for the man's pathetic pleas. Nor did she have the time to. She looked down to the sniveling man before her, she had thought to burn the man in dragon fire. But all it took was one look to Lord Reed for her to silence those thoughts. The man trusted her with many things, his secrets and her own, he trusted her with his life, and she wanted to honor that trust, to let him know that she heard his lessons. So she spoke.

“Lord Reed… bring me a sword… a sharp sword…”

Howland simply reached for his belt and drew out of a scabbard his own long sword. He held it with both hands one on the blade one on the handle as he presented it to Daenerys. She tentatively wrapped her fingers around the handle of the sword lifting it into her own hands. She held it tight as she looked to the two crannogmen holding Kraznys hostage.

“Lower his head.”

They complied, forcing the man's head downward. She walked to his side, her dress fraying in the wind as the crannogmen nodded their heads respectfully. She put the blade of the sword to the ground resting her hands on the pommel before speaking in Valyrian.

“Isse se brōzi hen mirre lī emā ōdrikagon, tolvie riña emā pyghagon, tolvie kepa emā dīnagon naejot morghon, tolvie muña emā vēttan urnēbagon se morghon hen zirȳla riña, nyke Daenērys hen Targārien Lentor, sentence ao naejot morghūljagon” (In the name of all those you have hurt, every child you have beat, every father you have put to death, every mother you have made watch the death of her child, I Daenerys of the house Targaryen, sentence you to die.)

Kraznys tried to barter for his life further, trying to slip out of this judgment in any way he could.

Daenerys simply raised the sword over her head and brought it down in one fluid motion. She expected much more resistance than she got. The blade sliced through his neck in one single motion. His head dropped to the ground. And there was silence in the plaza. But only for a little while. Until Daenerys turned to the crowd.

“Se āeksia ilagon morghe. Pōja ossēntan ilagon morghe. Iksā dāez, dāez vali se ābrar. Dōrī kessa ao gīmigon ōdres hae bisa arlī, nyke kivio ao. Yn nyke would epagon mirros hen ao. Kesan sagon jāre jelmor, naejot dāez se oktion hen Yunkai se Mīrīn hae eman Astapor. Nyke epagon bona syt mirre lī qilōni jaelagon naejot ūndegon buzdari's vēttan dāez māzigon lēda nyke. Se nyke epagon bona lī hēnka vali naejot sail endia lēda nyke naejot gūrogon iā dēmalion hen ñuha lentor! syt skore kesan tepagon ao lyks! qilōni kessa memēbagon lēda nyke!?”

(The masters lay dead. Their hired killers lay dead. You are free, free men and women. Never will you know pain like this again, I promise you. But I would ask something of you. I will be going north, to free the city of Yunkai and Meereen as I have Astapor. I ask that for all those who wish to see slave's made free come with me. And I ask that those same men to sail west with me to take a throne stolen from my family! For which I will give you peace! Who will march with me!?)

There was silence for a long moment as both Daenerys and Lord Reed looked around. Then came the sound of wood against stone. A single unsullied began to tap his spear against the ground. He was soon accompanied by another, and then another. More and more began this rhythmic tapping until finally there was a swell of Spears clattering against the ground in a rhythmic tap. Then came the movement of some two thousand slaves who walked forward.

Daenerys looked to Lord Reed who walked to her side. Two of their crannogmen companions brought over horses as Eddaron lept into the sky to join his siblings once more. Lord Reed and Daenerys both mounted a horse and began to ride towards the northern gate of Astapor. They stayed at the head of what quickly turned into a massive column of soldiers. All marching out of the city Gates.And while she was riding at the head she looked at the Harpies fingers still in her hand. And she cast it over the cliff side into the ocean.

They rode on like this for a small while before eventually Lord Reed struck up conversation. The sun was now well into setting beyond the horizon as their newly acquired force continued to move away from the city.

“You did it yourself.”

“I did.”

“Might I inquire as to why, princess?”

She looked ahead all the while, but her attention was no less direct.

“He who passes the sentence should swing the sword.”

“...Aye they should. But I wouldn't have expected you to abide by it.”

She chuckled.

“And why should I not?”

Lord Reed seemed perplexed by her statement. But let her speak.

“I am not one of the first men. Nor will I ever be. But that does not mean I cannot abide by their good tenants.”

“There's more to a man than the tenants they abide by. Ones way is made by many things princess.”

She turned her head to him once again.

“And what do you think makes my way?”

“That remains to be seen, princess. What do you wish to make your way?”

She thought long and hard about it for a quick second before turning back to her army, then up to her children flying overhead, and finally back to Lord Reed.

“My way is young, my way is new, it is one of vengeance and love. Desire and despair… many things and many people have made it. And many more will guide me… so let the old ways be one of them.”

The pair smiled again as they rode their horses up the road. They would camp soon. But for now she moved astride with her closest friend and new army. All intent on seeing the enslaved freed. And eventually her return home.

Notes:

Thank you all for the kind words last chapter and for the critiques provided. Hope you enjoyed this one.

North/Riverlands: 40,000 - (260 ships + 200 ‘Celtigar + Velaryon’)

Westerlands: 45,000 - (120 ships)

Reach/Stormlands: 80,000 (20,000 from stormlands 60,000 from reach)

Dorne: Undeclared?

Vale: Undeclared?

Iron Islands: Undeclared

Daenerys: 15,000 (8,000 unsullied, 5,000 in training, 2,000 freedmen.)

(Note this might not be accurate with the books or show to a T but these are what I personally found to be believable estimates and as such will be using.)

As always, comments are welcome.

Chapter 25: Bran I / Benjen II / Euron I

Summary:

Bran encounters a new freind, Benjen deals with a new horror, and Euron hears some exciting news.

Notes:

Hey everyone, sorry for the delay in updates, I struggled with this chapter due to wristers block (among other things.) but I hope ypu do enjoy this.

Bran I

Gnawing, gnashing, biting, and blood. That's what he often did. It was the way of these dreams. He would run in the forests alone for hours on end in the dead of night. Sometimes in the mornings or at noon when he slept. But more often than not it was always relatively the same. He would either run in the form of a wolf in the woods. Or he would endure the more odd and curious versions of his dreams. They always did confuse him, never were they clear. Always just him chasing after a single raven. And an odd raven at that.

It always followed him or flew close to him. Every single time. Cawing and squawking, its beady three eyes always watching him. It was an odd thing, To run when you knew you couldn't chase this strange thing through all the trees every which way and never catch it. It infuriated him to know and the fact that he could never seem to land an arrow in the damn croaking thing. Always crying out for it to follow and follow ever further into the forest which grew within his mind. Thankfully tonight's dream was not one of those.

Tonight was more akin to the ones he always had. He was on all fours running through the forest by himself. He was chasing a rabbit through a particularly dense patch of trees as he was jumping into hopping across the roots so as to not get his legs caught in any of the foliage. His eyes narrowed in on the skipping rabbit as he made a quick final charge, biting down into the thing's body. He began thrashing his jaws wildly in an attempt to toss the life from the poor little animal. And eventually he did.

Eventually he managed to consume the entire thing and I only a couple small bites before moving over to a nearby stream to clean off his mouth of the blood and what remained of the rabbit's flesh. And as always whenever he looks into a pool of water during one of these dreams he never sees his own face. All he ever saw was the face of his beloved dire wolf Summer looking back at him. Sometimes it was surreal, sometimes it felt completely natural, tonight it almost felt comforting in a very strange way. At least to him.

With the excess of chaos that have been happening around the castle and the north these past few months it was calming to partake in something more primal he suppose. To not deal with the responsibilities of the Lord and the castle or to manage the immediate Affairs of the house but just to run in the forest to hunt to kill and to wash your face in the river. Some might call it calming, some might call it savage. Once again to Bran it was certainly the latter of the two options. However, when it came down to these dreams it was usually over all too soon for his taste.

As always he was woken up with the banging on his door, well at least he felt it was banging it was more often than not just a hard knock from maester Luwin.And he knew that the old man never meant any harm by waking him up out of these dreams as much as it frustrated him that it happened. But ultimately he knew that he needed to tend to the business and workings of his house once again early in the morning. After all, the lordship of Winterfell fell to him in the meantime. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.

Luwin walked in calmly and with a small tray of food, Bran’s breakfast. A simple serving of bacon, eggs, and bread. Hardly excessive but well-made and meaningful.

“Good morning young lord. Have you slept well this past night?”

Bran never told Luwin about his dreams. More often than not he knew that the old maester would never listen to him in regards to the contents much less the meaning of his dreams. He would write them off as he often did as just the mind running its course through the night. Despite how much Bran would protest that these were hardly ordinary dreams.

“I slept well.”

“Good words to start such a big day my lord.”

Brand rolled his eyes internally; he had completely forgotten that it was the harvest festival. Normally he would have loved to attend. He always liked to run about with the guests in the variety of young Lord's children who often came for such an event. He would dance, he would joke, and he would jump with glee and joy. But now he could do absolutely none of that anymore. Furthermore, constantly conversing with all the Lords of the North or rather their children and second sons who are managing their estates while they were down south fighting was not something it was particularly looking forward to. Ever since the white raven had arrived from the south he had known that his days would become harder.

He just never anticipated them becoming this hard this fast. And once again he took a deep breath and prepared to speak again.

“Thank you for the reminder maester Luwin. Can you tell me who will be in attendance?”

“The lady Lyanna Mormont will be here within the week, as will the younger sires of houses Dustin, Ryswell, and several of the mountain clans. And the young children of house Reed will be here today.”

Well at least it would be people generally around his age which he could at least somewhat easily converse with as opposed to a collection of old grumpy men which he had so often come to expect from the Lords of the north when they did have to visit. But more than anything he was hoping that he could find some small monochrome of enjoyment within the festival given his new disability. He didn't want to watch the young Lords and Ladies dance around and host their parties while he was forced to remain sitting in a chair just watching all of it happen.

“We will be ready to receive them, yes?” he asked with a distinctive melancholy in his voice.

“We will be my lord… and do try to find some happiness in the festivities. Please?”

This time Brandon couldn't help but actually roll his eyes at the maesters words. It seemed a pretentious if not almost hurtful thing to ask given all that it's happened in the past few months. From father's death to his crippling in the beginning of the war in the south which he could not in any way help or take part in as much as he wished he could. No he was fated to sit here behind a table in a chair for the rest of his days until Robb came back and put him back into a locked room, forever rotting and laying in a bed until eventually he died. It was a thought that enraged him to know and a thought that made him fear for the future more than anything else. He didn't wish to die in this state.

So he turned to Luwin and only nodded his head weakly. The old maester knew that Bran was just trying to play hate him and get him off his back but thankfully he acquiesced and moved aside even if he felt that the point hadn't been made entirely yet. With that in walked Hodor who simply picked up Bran his arms and walked him down to the great hall. On the way the young Lord took notice of the ever-growing clusters of snow on the towers.

He chuckled to himself knowing his family words and how often father always likes to make use of those words in several contexts whether it be metaphorical or literal. It was short but even that brought a hang of hurt to his chest. He missed father, and as much as he almost feared the return of Robb he missed his brother too. He missed his sisters, he missed everyone. He missed Jon as well. Gods Jon. She had been stunned silent and Rickon had barely grasped the significance of what was in that paper. Bran could only read it over and over again.

Not that he would never support his brother regardless of the contents of the letter. He would maintain Winterfell for him as temporary Warden of the North for as long as he needed to. But it still didn't dull the excess of shock that ran through the young boy when he first read it. His own brother is a hidden Targaryen Prince, right under their noses the entire time. Seven Hells right under his own nose too. He had to laugh at that much at least. And he did take humor in the knowledge that at least John was as shocked when he heard as he was now, it was the little things that counted he supposed.

But as for now he was relegated to sitting at the high table once more looking out over the cold empty great hall before it inevitably came alive with an excess of laughter, brevity and cheer. As such and much like every other morning soon little Rickon came out with the servants and took up his seat next to Bran. Where his younger brother proceeded to viciously almost animalistically tear into his own breakfast. If there's anything that ever brought a smile to his face these days it was Rickon.

The brand turned his attention to the great hall once more, his eyes focusing on maester Luwin once again, this time not for a recounting of the day's activities but more so his lordly duties.

“Any news from the front maester Luwin?”

“Seldom little my lord. The Karstark sons arrived in Torrhen’s square not three days past. They were sent on orders of your brothers to raise a second northern army to reinforce the army down south and to defend the north in case of attack. But apart from that it seems as if little is known.”

Bran rolled his eyes at the lack of news once more. By this point he had expected more than what he was getting. He knew he would be very disconnected from this war from the get-go but at the same time he would wish that there was at least a better chain of communication between his brothers and him. All he knew was that right now Jon was declared King and currently helping the river Lords in reclaiming lost lands and castles while Robb kept an eye on the Westerlands.

But aside from that little else was ever told or known. He had hoped that once the war had matured and progressed that perhaps his brother's could send more ravens than they were but to no avail. So he was left to run the north blind as it were in regards to the war. Then again perhaps that was for the best. With winter setting in fast they would need to make quick work of all remaining harvests, and to prepare the glass gardens for the inevitable onslaught of snow that was about to bear down on them harder than any army from the south ever could.

But his thoughts were interrupted once more when the doors of the Great Hall opened and in walked one of the castle guards. He stepped forward approaching the high table bowing his head in respect before Bran and then speaking.

“My lord, the acting lord and lady, Jojen and Meera Reed have arrived.”

Bran nodded his head.

“Send them in.”

As such the guard nodded his own head and went to fetch the younger children of Lord Howland Reed. And shortly after they soon walked in bearing an odd amount of finery for what he would have expected crannogmen to be dressed in. Needless to say, it put him off to no small degree.

But he noted his head and ushered them in all the same and provided them all the courtesy and respect a lord and lady deserved, especially of a house so loyal to his own. Meera accepted the courtesies well and politely. I'll be it possibly begrudgingly as if she had little time or patience for the excess of courtesies. Honestly, he couldn't blame her. But her brother confused him. His look was on the surface neutral but it bore an odd glare to it.

Jojen seemed to have a look of far off recognition as if he was recounting some foggy memory from long ago or perhaps the events of a scattered dream once again. And even then he had a Sly smirk on his lips as he looked towards Bran. As if he had a hundred things to say immediately yet was biding his time. And this was only offset further by the fact that Bran himself had a strange sense of recognition going through him. Which was odd considering the fact that he had never met the young boy in his life.

But even so there was a strange air and look about the boy that he simply couldn't ignore. Some sort of weight that hung about him which seemed extremely familiar if not disorienting. Immediately knew he would have to engage the young boy in conversation at some point soon once all the courtesies were done with and they were alone which hopefully came sooner rather than later. He had no desire to wait about for answers to his multitudes of questions which were being created within his mind at a surprisingly quick pace. So as such he had them shown to their rooms for the temporary time being and continued on with his day as lord of Winterfell.

---

In truth the business of the day took far longer than he had ever anticipated. An absolute excess of issues regarding local harvests, the drawing and storing of various types of grains and crops into silos granaries and any other storage took up his time. By the end of it all he simply wanted to go to sleep and could tend to ask the Reed children about their travels some other time when he was absolutely tired beyond all comprehensive reason. And so he was returned back to his bed shortly after.

He was even about to fall asleep, possibly falling into another one of his dreams before he heard the door open wide. He looked up from his bed and saw standing at the foot the small frame and visage of Jojen. He walked in with a Sly smile on his face taking over a stool which maester Luwin usually sat on when addressing him in the morning. Bran readjusted his posture sitting up right against the bed frame so you could make conversation in a tall and respectful manner. Jojen looked him up and down for a short while seemingly getting his measure. And only then after a short while had passed, spoke.

“Have you been sleeping well my lord?” He asked with a genuine curiosity in his voice.

“I have slept as well as I could hope.”

“I would hope so. Given the times we live it's prudent that a lord has all his strength, of body and mind.”

Bran’s gaze focused not sure if it was an insult which was just spoken. But even so Jojen continued on.

“The mind especially. Given our condition.”

Bran quirked an eyebrow, his gaze relaxing temporarily for a moment.

“Condition?”

“I mean not your legs my lord. But rather your gift.”

Bran took a second to squint at the young lord trying to decipher his cryptic phrases. And in truth he had no clue what Jojen was talking about that moment much less how he himself fit into it.

“I'm afraid I do not understand your inquiry or reason for being here. Why have you come at this hour?”

Jojen’s green eyes glimmered for a brief moment. As he walked over to Bran’s bedside and took a seat on the edge of the mattress. He looked to Bran before continuing.

“I'm talking of your gift, your greensight.”

Bran now made no attempt to hold back his eye roll and scoff of sarcastic disregard. By now he was fully convinced that the young lord was playing some sort of trick on him. A game device between him and his sister while preparing for bed to sneak in a quick laugh before they moved on. He was about to say something in protest before Jojen cut him off immediately.

“You've seen him, haven't you… the three eyed raven….”

Bran in that second suppressed any snide remark he was about to make, silence born of shock taking over his mouth as the recently forgotten feeling of familiarity surged back through him like a rushing river.

“You've seen it too?”

“Briefly, and rarely. I have the sense that I am not its focus.”

Bran, still confused quirked an eyebrow once again.

“And what gives you this notion?”

“Because those few times I have seen it, it has only ever been near one person.”

“Me?”

Jojen nodded his head. Bran now was too enraptured by the contents of this conversation to think of scoffing. He simply wished to know more.

“What does it want with me?”

“I can't say… I only ever see it perched on your shoulder. Little more. What of your experiences?”

Bran thought back to his own dreams, he remembered a common few details.

“I usually chase it. Sometimes I try to kill it. But it always leads me on… always.”

“I see…”

“...Is there nothing more you can tell me?”

“No… green dreams are seldom ever vivid. And even then they do not always mean to be what they seem. Some are more clear than others. Some are murky until the moment the moments depicted come to pass. But the consistency… that is interesting.”

Bran looked to Summer sitting next to his bed, his muzzle fur lightly coated in dried blood.

“What do you think it means?”

Jojen thought for a second, responding after a few minutes.

“I think it means that we will be talking quite a bit these next few days my lord.”

---

Benjen II

Frigid cold all the time. Every day. That was the common course of the day at the wall. But the weather seemed to bite harder now more than ever. Benjen suspected that it was merely winter closing in. It always was. Yet even so the weather felt particularly malicious. As if the world itself wished him to freeze where he stood. It was agonizing.

He's supposed it was even worse considering the fact that he was standing atop the wall looking out over the haunted forest. The full force of the Winds from the far north whipping past his face, his cloak billowing behind him. But he couldn't help himself not to admire the view. The expanses of trees running from miles beyond the horizon. It seems something out of a tapestry, an incredible piece of natural art made for his own enjoyment. He knew it was self-obsessed thought but he hardly cared.

That's when the horn sounded from far down the wall. A single blast. Rangers returning. He peered over the edge of the wall down to the haunted forest to see what looked to be a horse trotting back towards the main gate. He couldn't make out any specific details of the face from this far up but he can definitely see the black cloak which the rider wore. He could also see that the man was slumped over the side of the horse, possibly passed out of exhaustion.

He heard the lower gate opening as the horse trotted its way inside. Benjen turned on the heel and made his way over to the stairway down. And as he descended he noticed the small gathering which was slowly being formed in Castle Black’s courtyard. All their focus centered around the mysterious writer who had made his way back in. However, upon closer inspection and what he actually reached the ground he could see the real reason for the gathering. Pushing his way to the front of the crowd he was able to get a good look at just what had happened to the man.

He was slumped over the side of his horse, only held on to the saddle By the Light layer of frost that I developed between him and the saddle. He didn't breathe, he didn't move. Benjen let out a mournful sigh of the realization that the ranger was dead. More than likely the horse had managed to find its way back in search of food. And it simply brought the poor corpse along for the ride. A closer inspection revealed an arrowhead lodged within the man's back. More than likely a wildling attack.

Jeor Mormont made his way outside, stepping beside Benjen to get a look at the scene. Admittedly it wasn't an uncommon occurrence. Benjen knew that truth more than most. North of the wall was dangerous, people went over and didn't come back. People died. It was just a matter of fact, an aspect of life which all men of the watch had to grow used to at one point or another. But even then it still was never a comfortable occurrence when one of those bodies managed to find their way back. Sometimes it was easier to leave them on the wall. The uncertainty provides a small measure of comfort to friends.

But this was no such merciful case. A couple brothers removed the ranger's corpse from the back of the horse and returned the mare to the stables. The body was placed into one of the meat lockers until they could build a pyre.The rest of the crowd quickly dispersed once the body was gone, returning to their menial tasks and sparring for the day. Benjen for his part returns to his small private quarters intent on getting an excessive amount of sleep. He didn't want to be awake for much longer after today.

He took his dinner alone in his own room that night savoring the feeling of warm food in his belly for as long as he could. And he thought to himself for a long time as he so often did nowadays. He often focused on the logistics of rangings and thinking about what to do next with regards to the wildlings who consistently made their way over the wall. But unfortunately for him, he could never think for an extended period of time without his thoughts returning down south. Returning to his family.

Robb had made it a point to start sending letters after the initial one had come in. Giving him updates in a window into their progress as they waged their war. Benjen couldn't decide for the life of him whether or not he enjoyed or despised the letters which his nephew sent. On the one hand it felt nice to have his family in contact, letting him know how they were doing and how they were making their moves. It brought a joy to him, the knowledge that they hadn't forgotten about him at the wall.

On the other hand however there was the hate he felt that the pain these letters induced. A reminder that no matter what he felt for his family and no matter what they felt for him, he couldn't be with them, he couldn't ride south and pick up a sword and fight alongside his nephews. Every single time that line of thinking came to mind he tried to reason with himself and remind himself that his duty was here. And he swore the more he thought about it the more he read of their progress. The more he felt a small desire to take what he had, grab a horse in the stables and charge south, grow.

But it was not to be. Not any time soon at any rate. So he once again resigned himself to a cold lonely sleep through the night.

---

It was late at night when he woke up next, he wasn't sure what the hour was specifically but he reasoned that he was several hours ahead of sunrise. He wasn't sure why he had gotten up, he had jolted awake a short instant. But looking around he saw nothing changed within his quarters. No sign of entry or breaking. Everything was where it should have been, everything was as it was when he had fallen asleep, all was well.

Shaking off his sudden apprehension he attempted to lay back down in his bed trying to return to sleep. Unfortunately it never came to him. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how long he forcibly shut his eyes no matter which way he lay he couldn't return to sleep there was some sort of prevailing fear keeping him from doing so. Refluff the pillows, reset the blankets, even get up and walk around for a short while, nothing worked for him.

Ultimately he resigned to take a walk around the courtyard to clear his head before returning back to his quarters. He dressed himself in the warmest clothes he could find including his cloak swinging it over his shoulders to keep him warm in the cold autumn night.Lastly slipping on his boots he took a step outside into the courtyard. The snow crunched beneath his feet as he took laps around the area. He had no specific destination in mind nor did he want to have a specific destination. He simply wished to clear his head and calm his nerves.

And for a while it seemed to be working. He was steadily growing more and more exhausted with every step he took his eyes starting to become heavy as he took a couple glances at the stars. They were beautifully pale tonight. Scattered across the sky glinting dimly. He yawned briefly before starting to walk his way back to his room. But then he heard the clatter. The sound of grunts and groans and he swore he heard the sound of a cup falling on the floor. He turned his head around to try and pinpoint where the noise was coming from and his eyes fell to the lord commander's chambers.

The door was shut, as to be expected. Jeor liked to retire early in the night, likely a consequence of the old bears ever advancing age.However, the noises that had just previously been coming from inside the room had ceased. Suddenly and without warning. The night was silent once more. The idea that Jeor was up at this hour made Benjen skeptical to say the least. But then to suddenly silence himself once more. Now that, despite his better judgment telling him not to, warranted not only skepticism but investigation.

He stepped up to the door as quietly as he could. The only sound that came from him was that of the light crunching of the snow beneath his boots. He Put a hand to the door intending to knock but for some reason something told him not to. Something within him whether it be his experience hunting and ranging beyond the wall or just some form of raw Instinct clawing its way to the surface, something told him to go in quietly. No propriety, no courtesy, no knock on the door, just open it and enter.

And that's exactly what he did. He pushed the door Inward and entered into the dark room. The lord commander's chamber was made up of three rooms. The first one being the study you step into through the outside door. The second room being the Lord Commander's personal sleeping quarters which were closed off behind and enjoying the door at the far end of the room. The last compartment to the chambers was of course the private toilet which was connected to the bedroom. The study was quiet, there was no sign of struggle or fight around the neatly organized and well-kept books and papers.

Benjen then looked to the other side of the room and noticed the door to the bedchamber was opened ever so slightly. In the dark of the room one might have even mistaken it for being closed. But the latch was off, and it just stood there idly by. Benjen had never known Jeor to leave his chamber doors open ever. It was a habit of his. And on the other side of that door for the briefest moment he swore he could hear movement. Maybe he hadn't been quiet enough and had startled something. Either way he drew his dagger.

Slowly and quietly he walked his way to that door, the walls of the study seemed to expand and extend the more he moved through it almost as if the room was trying to keep the door away from him. He knew it was just a short few steps across the room but it felt like an agonizingly long time to put his hand on that latch. Hesitation gripped him, it was so rare that he ever felt the need to pause in this manner.Is dagger was tight and his right hand as his left slowly but surely pulled on the latch, and the door creaked open.

Once his eyes had adjusted to the darkness in the bed chamber he took in the full weight of that gruesome scene. And he felt it.

Horror.

Absolute horror.

“...God’s”

The ranger stood at about five feet tall. Clad in the blacks of the night's watch. Benjen had seen the man around the castle a few times before. He never knew him per se, nor had the inclination to talk to him but he had seen him around. And then the darkness of the room one might have even mistaken him for being human.

But his eyes.Those were not a pair of human eyes, those were not a pair of living eyes. Those two bright icy blue eyes within that man's head spoke to something. They were something unnatural, ungodly, ethereal. And in a strange twisted way one might even say they were beautiful. They seemed to dance with light. But despite their beauty, they were most certainly dead. And Benjen found himself staring into them for a long time. Not making a sound nor a word aside from his singular declaration upon seeing this thing. They just looked at each other.

Then it ran at him.

Suddenly the fear was gone. The horror died as he raised the dagger and plunged it into the things chest. Normally he would have expected a man to scream and pain and horror at having been stabbed through the chest. But then again this was no man, whatever this thing was continued on. Whatever this thing was wrenched the knife from his hand and began beating him. Fists flew into Benjen's face as he tried to grab the arms that were now pummeling him. But that was hardly easy.

The thing was strong, excessively strong. Every single punch that landed felt as if he was being whacked with a stone. And to make it even worse the thing was fast with them too. Every time he thought he had a chance to breathe or recover another strike came whether it be to his face, chest or leg. And then there was the biting and the clawing. It was less like he was fighting a man of genuine skill and something more into an animal. A violent unnatural animal. For the briefest of moments he genuinely thought that he would die here.

That is until the thing tripped on its own feet sending it tumbling to the ground and Benjen sprawling back into the study. A few seconds was all he had to breathe and he took those seconds immediately he tried to regain his bearings attempting to decide whether or not he should leave the room and awake the castle or deal with this thing now. He had no weapon though, his dagger was currently lodged in the things heart, Jeor had long extinguished his fire before he ever came into the room. All he had was his fists. He frantically looked around the room for anything to use. That's when his eyes fell to the blade at the back of the bedchamber.

Longclaw.

Benjen wasted no time at all in bolting across the study in an attempt to reach the weapon. The only thing standing in his way was the thing that was already getting back on its feet. He would have to move quickly and he would have to be strong in his strikes if he was to survive this. The second the things head came into view the surface into its face sending it sprawling to the wall slamming into it. With that it took only a few moments for Benjen to run across the bed chamber and grab Longclaw by the hilt.

He took the sword up in his hands about to remove the scabbard when the thing left at him. It was his turn to crash into the wall now as the thing attempted to pin his head against the wall with Longclaw at his neck. The damn thing was trying to choke him, to keep him quiet.He had to retaliate, he had to do something to get the thing off of him.

He looked down as he proceeded to kick the thing repeatedly in the legs attempting to get him off in any way he could. Only for him to hear a sickening crunch at one of his strikes as he could see the right leg of the thing give way under it. The thing quickly fell to the ground as Benjen took in a much-needed breath of air. With this slight brevity the single moment he could, he threw Longclaw’s scabbard off to the side letting the Valyrian steel sing in the cold air of the night. With that he had no more qualms about waiting to strike.

He took Longclaw and rushed at the thing as it attempted to recover. He brought the sword above his head bringing it down in a long arc severing the things right arm. He then drew back for another strike taking away its left hand with a clean cut. Now that the thing was thoroughly disarmed he wasted no more time in finishing this experience. He brought Longclaw up over his head and let it fall down into the thing's body. And just like that it was all over. Whatever it had wanted didn't matter now, whatever it was at that very instant was irrelevant. It fell over dead.

Benjen moved over to the side of the thing taking a moment to get a good look at it. Its eyes were no longer a cold blue. But he didn't take chances. He raised Longclaw once more and brought it down over the things neck severing its head, he watched it roll away from the body, no drops of blood spilling from it. Its flesh was cold as ice, its blood was frozen, and it was now as it was always meant to be. Dead.

Benjen took a moment to breathe. He let Longclaw fall to the waist side.

He took one last look at the thing before turning his eyes to the bed. Perhaps that was what he had avoided doing all this time. On the path his eyes traveled he saw the obvious signs of struggle around the room. A table knocked over, a cup on the ground, scratch marks in the bed. And blood, so much blood. Benjen took a deep breath as his eyes came to their final destination. There sprawled out over the bed was the mangled corpse of Jeor Mormont. It looked as if he had been bitten repeatedly, violently. Seemed as if he had tried to reach for Longclaw himself. But he never made it.

Benjen took one last look at the thing still dismembered on the floor; only one thing ran through his mind.

“What the fuck was that?”

---

Euron I

The Silence was lurching with the waves tonight. He always loved the feeling of the ocean. The constant never ceasing motion brought an indescribable pleasure. It was addicting in every possible sense of the word to him. She had felt many kinds of pleasure and pain and he had found many ways of providing both. But the ocean would always be his first choice.

He swirled his shade of the evening on his goblet. Taking a drink from it before his nightly visits. He did love the drink, the warlocks of Qarth certainly had the right idea with this particular elixir. And how fortunate he was to have acquired the recipe. Sword point or not. He was about to take another drink when the door to his quarters was flung open. And in walked Victarion. Euron only rolled his eyes as the previous content joy he was feeling died at his arrival.

At any rate Victarion was probably coming in to talk about the stores or relay some excess of useless knowledge which he had no time nor patience for. Seven hell’s the only reason he was even here was for his small cluster of ships. Without those long ships they would have never made it as far as they did into the smoking sea. They wouldn't have managed to make their way deep into the heart of old Valyria or whatever the hell remained of it. And even despite all the dead the voyage was still well worth it. But surprisingly Victarion didn't resort to his usual tricks and spoke directly.

“The wretch is laughing again.”

“It seems to be a habit of his brother… why do you care?”

Victarion Stopped for a moment. Euron had always known that laughter made his younger brother exceedingly uncomfortable. He always seemed to think people were mocking him behind his back. Which to be fair everyone should. But even then he couldn't resist playing around with his younger brother watching him squirm like a rat in a trap. Knowing full well the answer he was going to give and knowing full well that it would be funny.

“I just… don't like it…”

“You… don't like it? You've seen a hundred battles and killed a thousand men… and you can't handle a little laughter? What a pathetic boy you are…”

“It's incessant, he never shuts up. I'm ready to plant my axe into his face. And I will soon if-”

“If what…. Brother? If I do not make him stop? If… I do not silence him as to preserve your… pride?”

Euron stood up walking over to Victarion. Both were tall men, Victarion being more broadly built than Euron. But even so Euron looked down at him. He always did find it funny the way he wriggled under his gaze. So Euron spoke again.

“Remember brother… I asked you to sail with me for your ships, not your asks… never presume to ask anything of me… never forget why you are here… and never forget that if I deem it so… brother or not, I will take your tongue as I have so many others and put you to work rowing…”

Euron’s blue eye gleamed with a disgusting malice as he whispered to Victarion.

“Perhaps… I will pay you a visit one night… and do unto you as I did Aeron… would you like that?”

Victarion averted his gaze. And spoke quietly.

“No…”

“I'm sorry, would you speak up… I can't hear you…”

“...No…”

“No?... I see… As you were brother. And I will be paying our guest a visit.”

Euron walked out and onto the deck of the Silence, letting Victarion stew in his hate and fear.

---

Euron was quick to enter the hold of the Silence. He didn't want to waste as much time on this man other than what was absolutely necessary. And despite the childish protests of his brother he had to agree to the fact that this man annoyed him to no end. Always incessantly in high spirits. And the arrogance that the man exuded was enough to make him sick. In all honesty he wasn't sure whether or not it was genuine or just to piss him off, or perhaps both. And while he would never admit nor show that he was annoyed in the moment he most certainly was.

Stepping down to the lowermost hold of the silence he brought over a candle as to illuminate his guest. He was a man in his early to mid-forties. But even so his generally lean frame spoke to his strength, he was not rippling with muscle as some men were but he was certainly strong. But at the same time the man was dirty beyond all belief. Coated in mud and grime, then again having survived in the heart of old Valyria for all these years should Euron have expected different. But the thing that gave him away more than anything else was the trademark hair and eyes of his house. Gold hair and green eyes.

“Come to say anything crow's eye or are we going to finally kill me?” Gerion said with a smile on his lips.

“You know… many would be shaking in their boots… if they found themselves in your position Lannister.”

Gerion laughed before responding.

“Honestly, after what amounts to a decade spent hiding and living in the place you just took me from. Many thanks for that by the way, it seems a comfort to deal with a monster that has a basic grasp on the common tongue.”

Euron made no show of emotion other than glee. Even if he wished to get this over with.

“So what is to become of me crow’s eye? Kill me? Cut out my tongue? Leave me adrift on a raft?”

“None, the easiest thing to do would be to ransom you to your big brother, you and that pretty sword you found.”

“Ehh…”

“You dont think your brother would pay the ransom?”

“Oh he would, if not for Brightroar alone. I'm just not sure that I want to go back to him.”

“You wish not to see your brother?”

“We have never been on the same page, so to speak.”

“Ah… Well in any case I suppose that I should thank you for leading me to those more… obscure treasures…”

Now it was Gerion’s turn to worry. And Euron noticed.

“Oh… yes… we went back… back to your little hideout… we found it all. The glass candles, the armor and weapons, the treasures… and the horn.”

Gerion turned his green eyes to Euron’s single exposed blue eye.

“If you're smart, you'll dump that thing into the sea… now.”

“Oh… do the wonders of the world frighten you so?”

Gerion adjusted his position as he focused his gaze. His voice was cautious and determined.

“Of all the things that were lost in the doom, perhaps that one deserved to be lost.”

“Ahh… so you are scared.”

“Beyond all doubt…”

Euron was about to continue his jabs and barbs when the hatch to the top deck opened up. Into the hole came an ironborn sailor likely from one of Victarion’s ships and they seemed particularly frantic.Their breaths were shallow and they appeared to be wet. Most probably they had ridden over from one of the adjoining ships in the fleet to reach the Silence with all the speed they could muster. Euron walked over rather displeased by the sudden unannounced Interruption. Especially when he was just getting through to the Lannister prick. So he intended on getting everything this messenger had to say out of the way as quickly as he could.

“You had best have a damn good reason to interrupt me… What is it?’

The messenger had to take a few seconds to catch their breath; they held no note in their hands.Nor did they seem to have a letter. So when the Mr finally caught their breath they began to relay what had happened.

“Urgent news from Astapor…”

“Go on…”

“It's been conquered.”

Euro couldn't help but raise an eyebrow to the messenger.This was the news that he had been interrupted for? Admittedly it was a little strange considering the Unsullied were stationed there, trained there, and even he had to acknowledge their martial prowess was damn near unmatched in their particular field. Even if the city itself was basically rotting away at the seams, its force would have been able to hold off most threats, even a Dothraki khalasar. Needless to say he wanted to hear more.Whatever Force had managed to best the unsullied and conquer Astapor must have been a half decent one at worst and an absolute nightmare at worst.

“Go on…”

The messenger took a few moments to think about their next words.

“It is said that it was conquered by its own slaves…”

Now that was interesting.

“The unsullied turned?”

“As the rumors go, yes. They were bought and their new monster had them take the city from the inside.”

“Clever… who was the buyer?”

“It is said to be the princess Daenerys Targaryen.”

Euron’s fascination only grew and now it seemed that Gerion was listening intently.

“I thought she was dead?”

“Apparently not.”

“If so, how could she afford the unsullied? What does a beggar princess have to offer?”

The messenger was once again silent, unsure of how to phrase it. So he just said it.

“With a dragon…”

Euron and Gerion both went still and silent. You're on was the first to break the silence only after a short few minutes.

“A dragon?”

“Supposedly she mounted it and burnt the city guard. Melted the statues of the harpies into the sea. And merchants have been retelling the story.”

“She had a dragon?... Are you lying?”

The messenger took a few steps back as Euron walked forward, his tall form casting a great shadow on the young ironborn.

“I don't think I am…”

Euron was quiet for a moment. Before speaking in a calm tone.

“Chart a new course for Volantis. And have paper brought to my quarters. I have many friends to call upon.”

The messenger knows their head before turning back to the ladder and rushing back to the top deck to relay Euron’s orders. So once the pair were alone again he simply turned to look at Gerion, and the most sick, horrid and sadistic smile broke out across Euron’s lips. Meanwhile, Gerion seemed to understand where he was going with this. And it would appear that the lion did not appreciate his plan.

“You can't be sure it's real.”

“Oh… But what if it is? What if it is…”

Gerion had a look of actual fear spreading across his countenance. Euron simply walked over and bent over to look the man in his eyes.

“I do hope you enjoy the show. I think this is going to be the most fun I have had in many years… Sleep well.”

With that he left the room where Gerion was being kept. And he walked out into the main cargo hold. There in the center under a great tarp of leather it sat. He ran a hand across its rough exterior. His now greatest treasure, his hellhorn.He wasn't sure what he was going to do with it initially, but now the answer was clear as the sun in the sky. He was already thinking of who he could call upon to help him in his endeavor. Who he could throw in front of the unsullied so that he could get close. It would be months before he could act yes, but he would have his prize. And then… no god nor man could stop him.

Notes:

Thank you all for the kind words last chapter and for the critiques provided. Hope you enjoyed this one.

North/Riverlands: 41,000 - (260 ships + 200 ‘Celtigar + Velaryon’)

Westerlands: 50,000 - (120 ships)

Reach/Stormlands: 80,000 (20,000 from stormlands 60,000 from reach)

Dorne: Undeclared?

Vale: Undeclared?

Iron Islands: Undeclared

Daenerys: 15,000 (8,000 unsullied, 5,000 in training, 2,000 freedmen.)

(Note this might not be accurate with the books or show to a T but these are what I personally found to be believable estimates and as such will be using.)

As always, comments are welcome.

Chapter 26: The Battle of Kings Landing

Summary:

Renly attacks Kings Landing

The battle of King's Landing

The rose road was hard on his forces. It was hard on him. Renly had gotten no sleep these past few days. Nor had many of his men. The plan had been to push hard down the rose road for the days of travel. But since setting off there had only been problems. So many problems cascading down on him constantly. And despite the reassurances from Loras and Mace Tyrell the feeling of dread which had developed in his chest the moment Garlan had arrived at Bitterbridge never eased. If anything the many delays had made it worse.

The first problem was the route they had been forced to choose. The initial plan had been to turn off the Rose Road and make their way over to the Gold Road so they could cross the Blackwater Rush and assault Kings Landing from the west. They would have been able to spread out their larger host across multiple gates and create multiple fronts for the defenders to deal with. But that had gone out the window for two reasons, the first being the rush that Renly found himself in to keep the Tyrell's loyal and secure his position quickly as possible, and because Lannister outriders had been supposedly seen monitoring their chosen crossing.

So the alternative option and the one they had unfortunately selected was to make their way back up the Rose Road to cross the Blackwater Rush right outside of King's Landing and assault the River Gate alone. And that came with its own excessive host of problems as well. For one there was no proper crossing, travel across the Blackwater at that point was done by paid ferryman, And Renly suspected that no ferryman would be willing to transport his hostile army over to assault the city. Which meant they would have to get across another way. He had no great naval force thanks to the Lannister's holding Redwyne hostages, and the Stormlands had no navy to speak of that could transport his host.

And that meant one thing and one thing alone, they would have to cross the Blackwater on foot which meant building a bridge. Thankfully they were in no desperate need of supplies considering the fact that they would now have to abandon a large quantity of the siege engines they had been building because they couldn't get them across the river. Instead, their parts would be converted to building a small set of pontoon bridges when they approached the river bank. Which would inevitably be a weak point for the defenders to target. But it was what they had.

And then there were the supply lines. Or more specifically the weakness of them. As they were marching up the Rose Road it quickly became a common occurrence for small rating parties to attack their rear, almost undoubtedly Lannister men being sent out far ahead to harass them as they rode on. And the toll the exacted was harsh. They struck for food and water primarily trying to worsen the conditions in camp as much as they could. Occasionally the rear guard would even become involved in a skirmish or two. And that wasn't accounting for the state of the army beforehand.

His Force numbered 50,000 primarily in infantry and archers, and a large portion of that infantry was armored. In addition to all the gear regarding their whole arms sidearms and shields that they would be carrying they had to Lug around their heavy armor as well. Which meant not only were they marching it in incredibly slow pace, but they were also marching with so much heavy gear that the men were becoming exhausted on the march itself. It was not uncommon to hear that men had collapsed on the grounds out of exhaustion, and a good chunk of his host was noticing.

Combine that with the food and water shortages along with the variety of camp diseases that were starting to show up in his force and moving at a surprisingly fast pace given the amount of people and close proximity. All in all it was making for an army that was simultaneously exhausted, sick, and over encumbered marching as quickly as they could to rush right into battle. Renly was no great strategist he never proclaimed himself to be he did not have either of his brother's minds for tactics and warfare but even he knew that this was not good.

He knew that not only would he have to take the city but he would have to hold it until he could figure out a way to effectively deal with the Targaryen. He would also have to make sure that Tywin couldn't run back around and strike him again out of vengeance. Both meant having an army that was not only strong enough to take the city but hold it, and hold it for a long time. Which he wouldn't have if they were already dead of dysentery by the time they got to the gate.

Even as he rode at the head of the column after what amounted to about a month's worth of travel, now finally reaching the end of the march, he still couldn't shake the excessive worry that rattled his nerves. Loras have provided what comfort he could and Renly was very thankful that he received it. But it still changed little about their current predicament.

One way or another they were going to enter this battle quite possibly with an exhausted army, a slightly sick army, and try to break in through a natural choke point leaving them vulnerable. Lord Mace Tyrell had reassured him repeatedly that they would be able to get the gate down within a short amount of time. And it seems that his more competent commanders also seemed to agree with that as well. But anyway he sliced it he supposedly would find out very soon. The eve of battle was quickly approaching, and then all would come to fruition. Victory or defeat.

---

Tyrion had never been more fearful in his life. The past month had been racked with excessive amounts of preparation, pretty much his entire tenure as acting hand of the king was spent less with governing more with preparing the city for a siege. Granted, in that short amount of time he had also managed to massively wound Cersei’s influence and establish his own presence within the capital. But still didn't change the fact that his priority was one thing and one thing alone, getting ready. Ready for the inevitable storm that would bear down on this city in a matter of moments now.

And in preparation for this moment he had made quite a lot of progress. His first move had been to send out scouts and outriders to harass Renly's rear. The aim of this being of course to hurt his supply lines making sure his army was weakened physically before they came down on the city walls.And just to slow his movement in general, both of which seem to have been successful. He had managed to buy himself at least an extra week's worth of time to prepare. And it was much needed to receive the city's reinforcements.

He had managed to call upon several of the smaller houses nearby in the Crownlands for reinforcement and immediate aid. The houses that had responded sent small hosts of infantrymen and archers, and between all of them had managed to gather together some 300 knights.Then in addition to his 150 Mountain Clansmen along with the city Gold Cloaks and the Lannister host that had been sent with him to the city in the first place, all resulted in a force that numbered just about 12,000 and of course hundreds of engineers who had been working tirelessly day and night to build catapults and ballast stay for the city walls.

Now granted the force was small there was no way around that, and he did not much favor his odds in the open field against Renly. In a conventional pitched battle they would lose within moments. However, if used correctly they could put up a strong defense, every man would have to be positioned on the walls and working tirelessly to repel the army of 50,000 barreling up the road at them, but they could make an effort. And in truth the hope was that they wouldn't need to hold out for long, just buy enough time.

Father had finally managed to gather enough of a force at Harrenhal to begin making his way towards the city, his force would be primarily cavalry, which thanks to the scouts and outriders Tyrion had sent earlier noted that Renly didn't have a strong contingent of cavalry. Quite the opposite, his army was primarily infantry and archers. Both of which would be hard to stave off for an extended siege but could be held at bay, the lack of cavalry would at bare minimum make sallying attacks a little easier. But only barely.

With regards to the Vale, father had been quiet on whether or not the alliance had gone through properly, Lysa Arryn had been in close contact with Lord Baelish for a few weeks now by raven. And the forces, if she had managed to raise them, would have been at Harrenhal only a couple of days ago, In which case father might not have even had time to send a raven back to them. But either way the goal was simple, hold out for at least a day or two.

And even then Tyrion had a lot more up his sleeve to offer than just conventional defenses and siege engines. For that he had Lord Baelish to thank for alerting him to his sister's visits to the pyromancers, if he hadn't learned that he wouldn't have come across the critical information that she was hiring them to create tons of the flammable liquid. It only took a short trip with Bronn to ascertain the truth of the situation, and shortly after that it didn't take long for him to assert his own authority as hand of the king and overtake the operation for himself.

The pyromancers were more than happy to work for him given the amount he was willing to pay them for this very battle. At the end of it all they numbered some 10,000 pots of the stuff, and not small pots at that. They could easily fill several large ships to the brim with the supply they had, but he intended to do something far different with them. After all Renly had no naval force it would be ridiculous to waste this all on ships. For what he would actually put it to use for he had farmers working day and night to prepare the site.

It was shortly after that his thoughts were interrupted when the door opened, and in walked Bronn. He was already decked out and boiled leathers with his weapon secured closely to his person. Tyrion needed him in the fray tonight and didn't wish to see him fall anytime. Not that he expected him to of course. But the cutthroat sellsword spoke with a dry humor in his voice.

“You really intendin on doin any fightin?”

“I hope it does not come to that, but if it does then I would rather be in armor than not. And as naive as it sounds I am the captain of this ship and if it goes down I go down with it.”

“Aye, that does sound naive.”

Tyrion gave a small smile.

“Tell me you at least got a weapon.”

Tyrion looked over to the side of the room to an axe lying idle in the corner. Bronn gave an acknowledging smirk.

“I've seen ye kill with a shield, suppose an axe will do ye fine.”

“I would hope so, if not I really am screwed.”

“As if you weren't already?”

“...Fair point. And how is our valiant king fairing?”

“Care to find out for yerself?”

“...Not particularly.”

“Too bad. The battle starts soon regardless, the men will need someone to lead when the boy runs to his mommy's tit.”

Tyrion would have laughed if it wasn't true.

---

The final stretch was here, The army had camped for the final time and was now preparing their equipment readying to charge forward down the King's Road one final time to the banks of the Blackwater. The pontoon bridges had been built and were ready to be carried by hand down the road. Along with the few battering rams they had. This was the day all would be won or lost.

Renly was in his tent with Loras, they were enjoying one more quiet moment together before they finally had to leave the tent and saddle their horses. Loras was helping him equip his armor, and thankfully he was quite proficient at it. The gorgeous green plate and great antlered helm was truly more work of art than equipment for battle. But again why not have the best of both worlds, quality protection while looking immaculate on the field. It was him, so to speak.

But even then the pit in his stomach, the cold fear in his chest remained, it was ever present, ever cold. And Loras had done his best to try and comfort him and console him. He had listened to his fears in the candlelight, under the sheets, and in passing. But never could his words quell the doubt in his mind. Even if he knew it would do no good worrying about the upcoming battle he couldn't help it. Nothing but victory would help it, or that was his reasoning at the very least. A total deserved victory.

Loras turned his head looking Renly in the eyes. Blue eyes met brown for a long time, the pair smiling and holding their hands. Their armor gleaming In the low flickering candlelight of the tent. Loras was the first to speak, his voice soft.

“Are you sure that you wish to lead from the front?”

Renly chuckled.

“A king must be seen, a king must be heard, a king must stand ready regardless of fear. Or do you think me craven?”

Loras shook his head as Renly smiled emphasizing the joking jab.

“No your grace, I would never presume to question your honor or ferocity… simply express my desire to see you safe.”

Renly couldn't help but smile, a warm, kind, and loving smile. He took Loras’ hand and kissed his armored knuckles.

“And may I express my desire to see you come back to me safe and alive as well?”

“It would be improper of me to deny you, your grace.”

Renly smiled and kissed his forehead. From there they both lowered their visors and made their way out of the tent. Their horses were ready and waiting for them, and right by was lord Mace Tyrell and Garlan. Both already in their armor.

Renly mounted his horse as he rode to the head of the column. And beside him rode Brienne and Loras, Both with their swords at their saddle side and their house sigils emblazoned on their Shields. From here on the army began to move down the last stretch of road through the kingswood. From there the Blackwater rush lay ahead, and just on the other side of that was the Mud Gate.They would need to be quick and they would need to be efficient in their positioning and handling of the bridge. They would need to lay it out quickly.

Renly rode ahead to the front of the column to see the small crews of people carrying the small portions of the bridge each made from a couple of logs tied together tight with rope and topped with planks of wood. They were wide enough to allow at least four horses to ride side by side straight across or allowed just about five people to stand shoulder to shoulder and march across if they squeezed. In actuality, they would probably make about four people cross at a time shoulder to shoulder with shields raised above and in front of them.

From there they would need to secure the area and bring the ram across the bridge under heavy guard so they could quickly break down the Mud Gate. Once the gate was open they would need to flood right into the City and make their way up the Hook. By that point the battle would be essentially over and they would most likely be encountering scattered resistance at best. And if that was the case then it would only be a matter of time before the Red Keep itself fell to their force.

And from that point he would need to begin making his own decisions and moves as king. Which meant dealing with Tywin and eventually once he was out of the picture he would need to finally turn his attention to this Targaryen up in Riverrun and hopefully dislodge him easily. But that was a far off goal compared to his current position and he needed to maintain focus. In his mind he kept repeating the bare bones of the plan. Bridge, gate, keep. That was all that played through his head as he let his forces down the road as the sun began to fall.

By the time they could see the lights of Kings Landing through the dense foliage of the trees it was pitch dark. Thankfully however the moon was full tonight and cast a pale silver glow over the Kingswood.The sound of marching soldiers behind him in their plate and mail was ever-present; he had grown quite used to the sound on the march. The clatter of spears and the murmuring of men with something he could always draw comfort from. And finally at the end of the road he saw the banks of the blackwater just down the way. He turned to his men as he raised his sword.

“MY FRIENDS, TONIGHT WE DISLODGE A BASTARD FROM THE THRONE, A BASTARD WHO DELIGHTS IN THE TORTURE AND MURDER OF GOOD HONEST MEN!!! YOU HAVE MARCHED LONG AND FAR WITH ME AND YOU HAVE MY ETERNAL GRATITUDE!!! AND I SWEAR TO YOU NOW, WHEN ALL THIS IS OVER WE WILL BATHE IN LANNISTER GOLD!!!”

His men let out a cheerful if tired cry, he held his sword forward as he continued his march to the banks. And then he noticed his horse slowed, he looked down. The road was muddy. Really muddy.

---

Tyrion stood on the Mud Gate’s left tower, looking out over the fishers village on the other side of the wall. It was small and compact, hopefully it would provide a good defense against Renly superior numbers which would be forced into smaller columns so that they would be able to navigate the streets to actually get to the gate. And it would be foolish of him not to take advantage of that terrain barrier. So he had made sure to positioned crossbow archers and sellswords within a few of those houses, just to be safe.

The ramparts on the wall surrounding the city had been repaired to the best they could be given this current situation. The masons have had their work cut out for them after all to fix up as much as they could have the old crumbling walls within what amounted to a month.Around the base of the walls small pits had been dug, trees have been felled and turned into spike blocks for streets. All was in place and the men were at the walls ready to defend the city. All that was missing now was their valiant king.

It would appear the boy had no interest in coming to the walls on good time whether by his own choice or by order of his dear sweet mother. Either way he would need to come up here soon enough, if not for the boost of morale that he would provide them just for tradition.It was another few minutes before finally Joffrey arrived flanked by two of his Kingsguard, Ser Boros Blount and Ser Osmund Kettleblack. Joffrey walked over to Tyrion’s side and turned his attention out to the Kingswood where even now they could hear the sound of armor marching through the woods. The young king was already on edge, his usual excess of bravado and arrogance overtaken by a slight concern and fear.

“They're here!?”

“It would seem so your grace.”

“And where are our men!?”

“On the walls and in position as I have ordered them. We won't survive in an open battle for long. We must play to our strengths.”

“Did you not think perhaps to face them before they got to the city!?”

“The thought crossed my mind, and then I realized what a horrendous idea it was. Now I require my focus dear nephew so that I might give the signal. If I can't do that then the plan does not work and Renly takes this city… puts that pimple head of your head atop a gate some place… might be quite amusing, if my head wouldn't be up there too.”

Joffrey seemed to be upset still but willing to be quiet for a while. Especially given what they saw on the other side of the Blackwater. Marching down the road at a sluggish pace was Renly’s host. The gleaming steel of their armor was shining in the moonlight as they pushed forward. At the front of the column out of their archers range was a small group of people each carrying large platforms of wood to the water.

“ARCHERS!” The call rang out across the ramparts as hundreds of archers drew arrows from their quivers.

“NOCK!”

The arrows went up to the strings and slotted in.

“DRAW!!”

The bowmen pulled back the wood of the bows creaking under the strain of the force. Tyrion looked to a Lannister commander waiting for more of Renly's forces to come out from the forest. And once the first pontoon was put into the water and secured, he nodded.

“LOOSE!!!”

The snaps of the bowstrings sang out across the ramparts as the arrows which had been stationary before, flew through the night sky under the moonlight. All of them barely visible as they whistled with an immense speed. It didn’t take too long before they began to fall down. From there they began to find their marks. The sound of men yelling in pain rang out across the river as a few of Renly’s men fell to the mud. First blood had been drawn.

However, very few men actually fell down. It was to be expected after all. Renly's men were hardly lightly armored infantry and gambeson, but rather equipped in some of the best gear the Reach had to offer. It would take much more than some arrows to stop their advance. Which was made very clear by the next group of men who brought over the second pontoon. They threw it into the water as quickly as they could, securing it with chains and rope, tying the platforms tight together.

Once again the command was given.

“KNOCK, DRAW, LOOSE!!!”

Once again, the arrows flew through the night sky unimpeded. One again they found their marks in the gaps of the armor and the necks and shoulders of the engineers who were building the bridge as they shot. But this was hardly the entirety of the defense they were putting up. Things would get worse for Renly very soon, but not yet. Not until the time was just right, not until at bare minimum a quarter of his forces were across the bridge, preferably half of Renly's forces would be across the bridge before he gave the signal. Not that Joffrey was taking the course of the battle well recently. It didn’t matter, all he needed was to wait.

---

Renly watched from the treeline as the arrows kept falling down on his men. He had thought himself ready to witness battle first hand, he had grown up on stories from Robert and his time during the rebellion. He had listened to the way he had laughed and gleefully recalled what many would consider his finest days. But only now did the other part of the stories he heard from his eldest brother come to mind. The parts Renly had forgotten about or overlooked. The parts which Robert seemed to regret participating in or speaking about.

The parts where Robert often got a far-off look in his eye, as if some great sense of dread or regret came over his state of mind. The parts of the story where he often layered in his nostalgic recalling of glory with pain. The parts of the story where he witnessed death firsthand. Friendly remembers once when he was talking about his first kill, at the Battle of Summerhall where he had caved in some Tarly's chest with his hammer. He remembered Robert describing the vivid detail of that moment, how he had watched that boy die beneath his weapon.

‘They never tell you how they shit themselves before they die, they don't put that part in the songs’ indeed it seemed that that adage which Renly had cast aside in favor of more light topics as he thought they were, it seemed that it now came back with a particular bite. A Venom of guilt to make him question his morality. He was now playing witness to these moments firsthand himself, he was only a child when Robert was raging his rebellion and he had not participated in the Greyjoy rebellion for it was over too fast and he was managing Storms End. He had never seen a battle beforehand.

He was good with a sword on his own or at least he thought he was good with a sword on his own. But this was hardly some training ground full of Master’s at Arms who wished to teach him. This was real, these defenders wished him dead more than anyone else on the field, for if he fell his cause fell.Slowly the reality of the situation was truly beginning to set in within his mind. He was now beginning to understand what gave Robert that distant look.

He watched as another set of his engineers and men were pelted with yet another volley of arrows from the walls of King's Landing. And he was thankful that his helmet had its visor down now for if anyone saw his current complexion he figured they would see someone pale. Pale with fear or possibly pale with guilt. In reality both. All of a sudden that cold pit in his chest that had persisted ever since he had learned the Targaryen's existence suddenly became a lot colder. Logically he knew that this was the cost of war this was going to be inevitable either way regardless.

The month-long march had been in preparation for this. But now that he was here he was quickly beginning to hope that he was back on that march.He knew that he would resolve himself to face the battle regardless but it didn't change the now present want to not be here. To not play witness to the death which surrounded him, deaths that he knew were in his name for his wants and his causes. There was a responsibility to all this. People had died in his name and now he would have to see his ambitions through lest they be in vain.

Suddenly in quite abruptly he was approached by one of his men who had run down the banks of the river to t where he currently was positioned. The man stopped at the feet of his horse looking up to him in the saddle before speaking in an exhausted and raspy voice.

“Your Grace, the last of the pontoons will be ready and secure soon, we will be able to cross over within the next few minutes.”

Renly breathed in relief. He was thankful that the defenders of the city seemed to be incredibly undermanned.Perhaps the Lannister contingent was fighting half-heartedly or perhaps they simply just didn't have the numbers or the willpower to face him. Either way was hardly unappreciated. He turned his horse so he could better address the man.

“Inform Ser Loras Tyrell to begin the forward advance across the river. Keep out men into three single file lines with shields raised in front and overhead. I wish to see as many people as possible return home before winter.”

He gave a warm head nod to the messenger who quickly ran off back the way he came to find Loras. He had to keep up his appearances especially in this situation. It would do no good for the morale of his men to see their king worried for the battle. He watched as the engineers ran across the bridge one more time carrying the last square of the pontoons. They quickly lowered it into the water, securing it again with leather wraps, ropes and chains. They finally were able to get to the other side of the Blackwater Rush securing the bridge to land using both a set of handmade anchors and tying it down to the small set of fishing docks.

Renly rode back behind the tree line as he watched the column of his men begin to make their way across the bridge. He looked back towards King's Landing as the first of the men set foot on the pontoon bridge, their shields readied in a defensive position as they moved slowly across the arrows pelting them all the while. Thankfully the shields did their job and only one or two fell into the water.He knew it would be his turn soon enough. As he got off his horse and moved to the middle of the column he advanced with them setting foot on the bridge.

---

Joffrey was screaming at him yet again for his supposed incompetence and mishandling of the battle. By now he had threatened to put his head on and had threatened to have multiple of his Kingsguard chop them in half there. And as naturally as a bird flies he replied with some sardonic or sarcastic remark to every single one of his petulant outbursts. Currently, he was suffering yet another one of these screaming lectures much to his displeasure.

“THEY ARE CROSSING THE RIVER, WHY AREN'T WE ATTACKING THEM NOW!?”

“All in good time dear nephew.”

“WHAT TIME, THEY'RE HERE!!!!”

Tyrion kept looking ahead into the night.Indeed, Renly's men were coming across the bridge albeit at a slow pace. The heavily armored column was moving in an organized manner Shields raised which nullified the arrows of their archers. Furthermore, they were trying to get organized into neat files and columns within the streets of the fish village below. Why they were pulling off such a maneuver or more accurately attempting to pull off such a maneuver he wasn't sure, it would only cost them time in the long run.

He did note however that they were keeping the central street to the market which led right down to the Mud Gate open. More than likely they were reserving it for a ram to quickly make its way down to start battering on the gates. Which to be fair was the smart move, have the Infantry take cover amongst the streets, and allow the siege engines forward to do their dirty work for them before charging into the city at once. And with the amount of men which were positioning themselves beneath the city walls it did seem like they would be able to break down the gate shortly after the rams were brought in.

But even so they were still taking the time and effort to reserve spaces for more of their own forces. Now that maneuver in and of itself could mean a lot of things. But what Tyrion hoped it meant was that Renly was waiting for his entire force to make it across the bridge before they made their assault.Pepperhamps Renly would wish to secure his position on this side of the river as much as he could before pressing his numerical advantage.

Tyrion was by no means a tactical or strategic mastermind, his intellect and wits lay in politics and people. That was what he was good at that is what he preferred to do, and if he hadn't read so much in preparation for this very battle he might have thought that Renly’s assumed maneuver was a good idea.But the problem with that was he had read and he had prepared, and in the process he had learned. Stalling during a battle tends not to go well for the person stalling. Numerical advantage or not anything can turn on a dime especially when only half your forces are across. As he would soon find out.

Just a bit longer.

That's when he noticed a large mass of shield’s slowly making its way across the bridge. It was a large cluster of men, possibly four people stacked shoulder to shoulder all of them carrying something presumably big and heavy. Tyrion knew that it could be few things other than a battering ram, looks like they were bringing it out as early as they could.Now the stakes were beginning to rise at an exponential rate. More and more men continued to push across the bridge as this large cluster brought whatever they were carrying to a side street.

From there they appear to set it down behind a well-built house of red brick, and they didn't make any further effort to advance up the street afterward, which all but confirmed his suspicions. Renly was waiting for his entire force to get over the river. Renly did want to go all in on his numerical superiority hoping that it would carry him to victory as quickly as they could. By now he estimated that at least a third or a fourth of Renly's army was across the bridge.

He knew it wouldn't be long now before he could give the signal to Bronn and they could actually begin doing some proper damage with more than just archers. And then the call came out. It was down the wall, likely from some random soldier or spotter who was paying attention to the movements down below, but he had a desperate if not excited tone in his voice.

“I SEE HIM!!! RENLY!!! DOWN BELOW!!!”

Tyrion's eyes flew down to the small cluster of houses below as did Joffrey's. And sure enough in green plate armor with a stag helm, there he was. He was staying close to Ser Loras and several others of his Kingsguard, or rainbow guard as he called them.Tyrion for the briefest of moments was relieved that they finally had eyes on Renly. Some men had even started taking beds as to whether or not he would lead from the front in the first place. And now it seemed a lot of men would be very happy to fill their pockets with gold should they survive the battle. And then Joffrey once again began screaming out.

“KILL HIM, KILL HIM NOW!!!”

“Not yet. We still have to wait for the army to-”

“IF YOU DO NOT GIVE THE ORDER I WILL!!! GET OUT THERE AND KILL HIM!!!”

Tyrion looked out onto the bridge once more. And then he looked back to Joffrey. He was getting far too impatient, far too fast. It had been a risky plan from the start but he figured that it was now or never. He quickly walked over to the wall grabbing a lit torch before casting it over the side of the ramparts. Bronn in some remote tower along the wall let off a singular flaming arrow over the river.

---

Garlan rode at the back of the line. He was set to command the rear of the army and make sure no Lannister attacks came from behind the troops while they were moving across the river. And thankfully it did not appear to be particularly dangerous so far. As much as Garlan was confident in his skills he didn't wish combat on anyone, even himself. So he was content to make sure his father was happy and safe as was he. So he kept a wary eye out and ready.

The column had been moving at a rather sluggish pace the entire night trying to make it across the rather narrow bridge. Frankly, he had thought the idea of a pontoon bridge was bad from the start and tried voicing his opinions at multiple points.It was a risky maneuver for one the idea of sticking all your troops onto a singular choke point to get them across on the hopes at the end we would just let you move over there one natural defense. Anyone managing a siege would attempt to strike that bridge as quickly as they could.

The second issue he had with the entire idea was the fact that it was too easy to cut off. Whether it came from an attack by the rear in the case that he and his father failed, the enemy could completely decimate your back lines and your reinforcements and cut off any means of retreat back the way you came across that bridge. And the same goes for simply destroying the bridge in and of itself, if that thing was somehow demolished then the two parts of the army would be completely cut off from one another with no recourse.

And finally there was the fact that it was just an unstable structure to begin with. A floating bridge with hundreds and thousands of armored personnel constantly marching across it just sounded like a recipe for disaster. What if it tipped over, what if it snapped apart due to a fault in the ropes. There were too many unknowns for his liking, If you didn't wish to see men of the Reach or Stormlands fall to the fate of drowning due to their own armor. It was a site he was not willing to see anytime soon or even in his life.

However, Renly had disregarded his advice and counseling in favor of that of his father who had advocated for the bridge from the start. He reasoned that without an extensive naval presence it was the best option they had. Garlan loved his father, he truly did. But there were days when he did wholeheartedly agree with his grandmother's assessments of his father.That meeting was almost certainly one of the times he truly felt frustrated at him. But that frustration was only second in comparison to the disbelief and shock he felt at the fact that Renly agreed to the plan.

It had been obvious ever since he arrived in camp that Renly was in a massive rush, which was almost certainly spurred on by his grandmother's call to keep half of the Reach's forces, primarily their cavalry, at home to defend against Tywin Lannister. While the sound tactical decision on the surface it was hardly made out of the genuine love for his home kingdom. He knew the truth at the core of it, his grandmother was hedging his family's bet’s. His grandmother was keeping one foot out the door ready for the new Targaryen who had shown up.

And in truth even if you would never truly admit it lest he be named a traitor, he thought that perhaps his family should have engaged in talks with this Targaryen. His reasons were his own ultimately but two of them specifically being that a new Targaryen was a powerful statement and they seemed to be against the Lannister's. They could have made a strong ally should an agreement have been reached, it might have been likely possible. The second in far more dangerous opinion of his was that he simply didn't like Renly all that much.

Renly was a shrewd politician that much was true and fair, but with the apparent corruption that had been allowed to thrive under his tenure as master of laws. It simply put a bad taste in his mouth and doubt in his mind. Loras vouched for him for obvious reasons and he never blamed his brother for that, God’s know he himself would do the same for Leonette.But it was the blatant power grab but his grandmother and father who so quickly and immediately offered up Margaery the second he suggested the notion of himself as king before Stannis.

Granted things had turned out in their favor in that regard, but even so he felt that Renly's reign if he managed to sit the throne would be shaky for all its days.Especially given the fact that they had almost certainly secured the new Targaryen as an enemy this by bolting straight for the throne instead of engaging in negotiations. Garlan knew that Willas would agree, he would have wanted to at least get to know this Targaryen and what he wanted before pressing on with the campaign. But he was overruled by father yet again. Garlan dismounted his horse and walked along the horrendously muddy road. He needed to stretch his legs.

But as he tried to move through the mud the only thought that kept returning to his mind was why the hell was it so muddy.This was the part of the Kings Road it should have been well maintained especially if it was right outside the city why in the seven hells was it like this? He reached down to take a look at the soils he pulled a small clump of it up in his hand rubbing it between his fingers. And that's when he noticed something.

In the light of the Moon he could see within the mud some sort of odd liquid. It wasn't water, and it had an odd feel to it. And when he held it up to the light he saw its coloring. It was some shade of green. That's when in the far distance he saw a torch go over the wall of the city, and a single flaming arrow soar overhead.

He didn't have time to think, the second the arrow landed in the mud it was all dark after a flash of bright green consumed him. He and gods know how many men.

And so passed Garlan Tyrell from this world.

---

Renly wasn't sure what he was doing when he heard the sound. Quite frankly after seeing that he wasn't sure of anything anymore. They had just managed to bring the second battering ram across the bridge when they saw a flaming arrow soar overhead. Initially none of them thought anything of it likely just some sort of signal for men down the wall to come gather and reinforce a certain area around the gate. But now he realizes he couldn't have been any more wrong as to what that was.

No he had watched that Arrow fly over the river down onto the King's Road where he suddenly saw the entire thing light up in green fire. It was damn near instantaneous. The speed at which that flame traveled down the road in a great singular explosion was unmatched. He had watched as it had billowed around the road spreading to the trees as they also caught alight with green fire. And the second is mine had worn off from the initial shock he then realized the men that would have been caught in that singular moment. That blaze.

Quite possibly half of his army was still on that road when the fires had gone up. They were gathering at the bridge trying to make their way across when it had hit. And he had watched it just run down the road all the way to the back of his line.That's when he began thinking about the road itself, the mud in which they were being forced to trudge through. The road looked like it had been tilled by farmers. That wasn't just any way to slow them down; they had laced the King's Road with wildfire.

He watched as his men on the other side of the river tried to run across the bridge, many of them on fire shoving the others into the water to try and make their way over to them. Consequently, this only raised the death toll as soldiers and their heavy armor were thrown into the Blackwater, dragged down to its deaths and drowned. It was an absolute catastrophe. He honestly didn't know what to think. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do. He could only look at the green flames currently consuming the Kingswood as he stood there.

All of a sudden he was pulled out from his thoughts by the sound of an arrow bouncing off his armor plating. And then another. All of a sudden he started seeing men around him fall as shutters of the houses surrounding them opened up as crossbowmen and bowmen began raining arrows down upon them from the streets.

“AMBUSH!!!”

All of a sudden the soldiers on this side of the river were in an absolute panic as they quickly raised their shields in any direction they felt was right to try and block the hail storm of arrows currently falling on them. Renly's rainbow guard quickly closed ranks around him, raising their shields to protect him. Loras quickly cried out.

“CLEAR THE HOUSES!!!”

Renly's breathing began to steady again as he took in the scene around him. He tried to think through the chaos, tried to come up with some sort of move to make, they couldn't stay here like this. Damn the formations damn the preparations they needed to move now. He felt a surge of rage and confidence beginning to build up within his chest as he quickly pulled Loras close making his command.

“GET THE RAM!!! BREAK DOWN THE GATE!!! AND YOU TAKE LADY BRIENNE WITH FIVE THOUSAND OF OUR OWN AND THE SECOND RAM TO THE KINGS GATE!!!”

“YOU'RE ASKING US TO SPLIT OUR FORCES!?”

“IF WE CAN'T MAKE AN ENTRANCE HERE THEN WE WILL ELSEWHERE!!! NOW GO!!!”

Loras couldn't argue with him right now; it was a direct order from his king. But even so he could feel the apprehension that he had about this idea. The apprehension he had to this plan in general was palpable. But what other choice did they have now? The only way forward was to break into the city.

Really figured at least if he could divert some attention away from the Mud Gate then they might have an ever so slightly easier time in breaking down the door and getting into the city. As of right now he wasn't sure where his forces stood, maybe 30,000, maybe 25,000. He didn't know how many were lost in the explosions or how many he was currently losing in the ambushes even as they went house to house killing all these hidden assailants. The only thing that would save them now was speed, speed and force.

He looked up towards the battlements of the walls as Lannister soldiers began tossing rocks and boiling water over the wall to previously wound and injure his men who were currently clearing the way for the ram. Over the top of the ram there was a small wall of shields which protected the men underneath from the hale storm of arrows and debris being thrown over. They began to pull back and with all the force they could muster charge forward. The stag headed ram proceeded to start its long task of breaking down the gate. And with the first bash he hoped it would be a short wait.

---

Tyrion watched from above the wall as the ram began to beat against the gate.He knew it would happen sooner or later and he had delayed all he could. He had pulled his stunt with the wildfire and now he would not be able to pull another grand trick such as that. He now had to turn to more conventional methods of defense. Which unfortunately for this city he was significantly less confident in their ability to hold back the onslaught outside their walls. Now came the part of the battle we're numbers truly did matter.

From the top of the wall he could see that a lot more of Renly’s men had survived the crossing than he had hoped. He estimated some 29 to 30,000 have managed to make it across the bridge alive. And there were still some more coming across even now as the force burned behind them, likely more out of panic than actual reinforcement. So then came the second part of the Wildfire trick. He gave a nod to an archer down the wall who quickly shot another flaming arrow down the banks of the river.

In the darkness he could see shapes beginning to move out from the riverbanks. Several small fishing boats he had confiscated early in his preparations for the defense of the city began rowing their way down the river with one aim and one intent only. To break the bridge. Each of the boats was loaded up with a small group of men, they would hopefully grow up to the side of the bridge and cut away the bonds keeping them secure, letting the entire thing float down the river and out to sea. And he hoped that it would be done quickly.

Meanwhile, he received a message from down the wall. Seemed that Renly was trying to split his focus by sending a small group of men to attack the Kings gate. They numbered some 5,000 well armed and equipped with a ram of their own to break down the gates. Tyrion realized that he would need to address this quickly as he could. He couldn't afford two gates being broken down, seven Hells he couldn't even afford one gate being broken down at this current time. Thankfully the number of attackers was generally small. He quickly turned to the messenger,

“Quickly, tell the Hound to rush with a few hundred men and secure the Kings Gate.”

The messenger gave a respectful and kurt not before rushing back the way they came to inform Clegane of his assignment. Quite frankly they're only chance was a counter-attack. It was desperate certainly, there was no doubt in his mind that many would die in the defense of that gate. Quite frankly better they die out there than the hundreds of thousands of citizens die. He knew that the men in Renly's Army would certainly act as any army would regardless of his intentions.

Tyrion would not stand by and watch the city burn on his watch, not only with the death toll be catastrophically he had quite the point to prove by successfully pulling off this defense. Had even so he was still waiting on word from his father. He can only hope that he was charging over here as quickly as he could with reinforcements to break Renly's lines in the street and hopefully bring him to the black cells to be kept prisoner for the remainder of his life, or more realistically in Joffrey's case his head would roll.

Either way it was his blind optimistic hope alone that his father would arrive in time. Because if he didn't and if Renly got in well, the game was over. He looked over the walls once again to see the ram continuously bashing against the door as more boiling water and Stones were dropped on the small tent of shields that was currently guarding it. He had to give these men their strength. Their resilience was surprisingly intense, perhaps it was loyalty to the cause or perhaps it was just adrenaline from the events they had witnessed, or maybe even a sense of revenge for their fallen comrades.

That's when he heard screaming from the bridge, and it seemed that a good chunk of Renly's own men heard it as well. Tyrion looked up and out over the black water to see the boats had arrived and the men who were stationed upon them were currently jumping onto the platform shoving as many people as they could into the water While others cut and hacked away at the chains and rope securing the bridge together.They seem to be working with an incredible Zeal and speed as even in the dark night he could see the hacking and slashing on the bridge.

The counter response from Renly's own side was immediate as his rear guard quickly started to run across the bridge only making the crowded situation upon it even worse. Men from both sides were shoving into the center so I'm trying to reinforce those currently desperately fighting on the bridge, some running away from the blazing Wildfire, either on fire themselves or just trying to escape. Either way people were falling into the water at an excessive rate.That's when he noticed the bridge lurch for a quick second.

He saw it begin to bend in the water as it only took a moment for him to hear a snap as the bridge split into two separate pieces. The ropes couldn't hold up to the pressure for much longer as small pontoons began separating from the structure, individually floating down the river with men still on them either falling off or clinging to dear life on the sides trying to not drown. And that left Renly's Army officially in tow pieces one across the river still in the flaming forest. The other right beneath him at the gates.

---

Loras and Brienne made haste to the Kings Gate. The one had been far longer than they were expecting and they didn't appreciate the constant harassment from archers on the walls who sought to end them as they ran. Although it should have been noted that they did start to taper off as they got further and further down along the wall. Evidently the battle at the Mud Gate was drawing their attention away from the Kings Gate. However the both of them knew that this couldn't last for very long. It was a momentary pause in the chaos of the battle.

Eventually how everything managed to make it as their force of 5,000 quickly began to assess the state of the situation they found themselves in. they were on the tourney grounds, it was devoid of houses and streets and wide open on all sides. Not exactly ideal for a force as small as theirs, it probably would have been where Renly should have made his assault if they had followed along with the initial plans as opposed to the bridge. It would have been perfect for them to utilize their larger force but such was not their luck.

And unfortunately they couldn't keep to the walls either as what few defenders were around here did not lighten up in their attacks as they began chucking boulders and boiling water over the side of the battlements. And if they move too far away from the gate then the archers would return with their hail storm. It was not a winning scenario either way but he had to make the best out of it. Loras accompanied the men carrying the ram as they rounded the bend to approach the gate. But that's when they noticed a light sleeping through it. And men rushing out. They were coming out to face them.

The force that came out to meet them was small, possibly only a few hundred men to try and take on their 5,000. They appeared to be a mesh of Lannister Infantry, gold cloak’s and a variety of sell swords. Loras could immediately tell that this force was slapped together in a matter of moments more than likely on The run following behind them as they made their way over.And at the head of this force was a man standing significantly taller than the rest, his armor was worn and dirty and he screamed with an unmatched fury.

“If any man dies with a clean sword, ILL RAPE HIS FUCKING CORPSE!!!”

The Hound.

Loras knew in an instant that he would be the backbone of this desperate counter-attack. There was no question about it. And for what he had heard of the man's reputation he knew that this wouldn't be an easy fight anyway he took it. But it was a fight he would have to deal with. So he quickly left the side of those carrying the ram and charged in with a small group of his own infantry. Sword raised.

The first man to try and intercept him was a Lannister spearman, Loras took no time in dispatching the man, running his sword through his neck as quickly as he could, a blinding flash of silver. A similar fate befell the second man who tried to attack him but looked to be some sort of sword. He had to give him credit, the man certainly put up more of a fight than the previous one. He had come in with a flurry of blows from a war hammer, one of them even scraping across his chest plate. He didn't last long though, Loras assured that when he rammed his sword through the chest of the man.

The third man who saw it to slow him down was another Lannister spearman who had resorted to using his shield and sword, likely having lost his spear In the heat of the battle. Loras moved to strike the man however he was able to raise his shield just in time to catch his sword, and in an attempt to end his life the Lannister man tried to thrust upwards through the visor of his helm. Loras had wasted no time in letting go of the sword which was currently lodged in the man's shield and resorting to his dagger ramming it up below the man's jaw into the head.

Loras was about to refocus his search for the Hound when a large blade came down in front of him as he had to roll away to avoid the second strike which threatened to cut off his own head. Looking up it seemed that the Hound had found him, likely having the same idea. He was left with only his dagger to defend himself as the Hound tried to perform another overhead swing in an attempt to kill him.

The blow however was intercepted by another gleaming sword as Loras looked over to see Brienne standing over him keeping the hounds sword at bay. Loras wasted no time after that, quickly rolling over to retrieve his sword from the now dead Lannister man's shield as Brienne dueled with the Hound in an attempt to keep him off Loras’ back. So haste he wrenched his sword out and got back to his feet intent on rejoining the fight with her.

Loras’ blow was swift and fierce as he brought his sword down onto the sound shoulder not intent on doing any lasting damage but simply to throw him off. And as the larger man seemed to strain under the weight Brienne moved in with a solid punch to the side of the man's helm obviously sending him reeling. Loras continued his onslaught with a solid kick to the back of the Hounds knee. Surprisingly the larger man didn't crumble. Rather he simply wheeled around and delivered Loras a solid backhand.

The Hound proceeded to deliver another punch to Brienne's face and even though it was hidden under a visor the larger man significantly dented the metal sending her back a few feet. Morris was ready to move in again when he saw the direction the Hound was moving, he was rather quickly making his way back to the gate along with his surrounding men. Loras had been so caught up in his own small encounter with the man he hadn't even noticed the fact that the rest of the attack around them had been falling to his own spearmen. They rushed back behind the gate and shut it closed.

Loras wasted no time and called out to the man holding the ram.

“COME FORTH AND BREAK THIS GATE DOWN!!!”

With that they began their work.

---

Tyrion looked on in dread as the men below continued to beat against the mud gate with their ram. By now they had been hammering away for a minimum of 30 minutes. And it was becoming increasingly more obvious by the second that the gate was going to give way sooner rather than later. Now he was faced with the genuine prospect that Renly might actually be able to breach the walls of the city. That was a horrifying concept especially given the magnitude of the tricks he played.

Despite his best efforts and planning he very well might have failed in his defense of this city. And still there was no word as to whether or not father would be here anytime soon. He could be cresting the Hills right now or he could be a day or two out. And in either case it was likely that Renly would at least breach the gates before he arrived. So Tyrion was left in an extreme bind as to what to do. And it was only shortly after that he saw the Hound returning to him.

Confusion was evident in the eyes of all the men who watched Clegane walk by. The man was already covered in an excess of blood. How much of it was his own and how much of it wasn't Tyrion couldn't say, but what he could definitely tell was that he looked tired, tired and defeated. And that only made the pit in his stomach grow ever deeper considering what he knew of Clegane. He was not a man to take defeat lightly nor was he a man to ever put half his effort into a fight. But before he could ask in a calm manner what had happened Joffrey screamed.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE DOG!? YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO STOP THEM AT THE KINGS GATE!!!”

The game merely rolled his eyes and scoffed as he began to walk away from the gate further into the city. Tyrion yelled out hoping that he could at least get some answers.

“What happened Clegane!?”

He turned back to look at him before saying in a quiet yet defeated tone.

“Too many of them, and not enough of us. Lost two thirds of my men. They're ramming the gate down as we speak. You won't be able to hold it for long.”

Tyrion went pale with fear, his last ditch ever to prevent a fight on two fronts had failed. Now Renly's men were actively breaking down two gates which would be open within the hour at the rate they were going. He wanted to try and convince Clegane to stay on just a little bit longer or more accurately convince himself that there was still some immediate hope for the situation. Joffrey again ruined that.

“Dog… I COMMAND YOU TO GET BACK OUT THERE AND FIGHT!!!”

The petulant tone in his voice was beyond scathing and embarrassing. But Tyrion still had to try.

“That is an order from your king, this is your city to defend.”

Sandor simply looked at them both.

“Fuck the defense, fuck the city… Fuck the king.”

With that the Man simply walked off alone into the streets of the city much to the shock horror and confusion of all those around him who had witnessed the exchange. Joffrey for his part looked like he had just been hit with a sack of bricks, he was absolutely shocked at the turn of events. And in truth so was Tyrion.

Tyrion looked around him as he saw what he could only describe as the death of morale. The men were in shock and disarray, Renly was at the gates, and Joffrey was next to useless and growing actively more jittery and scared by the second. Tyrion knew Joffrey wouldn't last much longer whether it be by sword or his own cowardice. So while his nephew languished in a state of absolute shock he walked down the stairs to address the men himself. It was a desperate last minute gamble, but anything to keep their will to fight alive he would do.

“Listen to that!... That is your enemy! They seek one thing, and that is your death! For that is how they will achieve victory! The only way this city falls is if you fall! And it is sad to say that we offer little in return for that! We will not be praised nor rewarded for our efforts, but if we win WE LIVE! So don't fight for honor, nor glory, nor riches because we won't get any! But fight for you, for your homes, your women, your children, FIGHT FOR YOUR LIVES!!! FOR IF YOU CAN'T MUSTER THE COURAGE TO DO THEN THEN THROW YOURSELVES OVER THE WALL NOW!!!”

There was no great war cry or chants which followed his speech, but at the same time there were none who flung themselves from the walls or ran either. What he saw set in amongst the men was determination, quiet yet grim. Perhaps they were simply accepting their fates, or perhaps they were readying themselves for the hardest fight of their lives. Either way they didn't run, even when Joffrey was called away by his Kingsguard likely at the order of his mother, Tyrion stayed there with the men.

---

Loras and Brienne watched as the ram proceeded to do its work against the Kings gate. They had finally gotten a small moment to breathe after the excess of chaos which they had just endured and in some ways it was almost relaxing to simply listen to the rhythmic slamming of the stag-headed ram against the gates. They knew it wouldn't be too much longer before it finally broke open and they could flood in from behind the remaining defenders, that is if Renly hadn't already broken down the Mud Gate Itself by now.To think of this would all be over likely within the hour was refreshing.

Brienne seemed to be in a far more distant state, however. She seemed to be lost in her own thoughts looking down at the ground or at her sword and her own hands occasionally.And it wasn't until he really looked at her doing this that he noticed himself repeating the motions as well. And he quickly came to realize what it was that he was currently doing, he was thinking. They both were standing there thinking. What it was likely both didn't know but they were giving themselves time, time to ponder.

In truth, it could have been a lot of things that they were trying to reckon with, the cruel nature of war in the lives they had just ended in an almost careless if not ordered manner. He didn't want to give a ton of thought to it but those were people with lives they had just ended, and despite the fact that their own losses were several times what the Lannister's could ever suffer in this battle alone it still didn't make that slight feeling of guilt and hurt go away. If anything it almost made it worse in some manner.

And as much as they try to repress that line of thought they simply couldn't get it out of their heads, it wouldn't be productive for them to re-engage in a battle concerned with things like these things that seemed so trivial from afar. They were Fighters they had trained for this all their lives, or they had trained to swing swords and weapons and wear armor all their lives but now they actually experienced it perhaps they hadn't been taught how to truly handle a war. Perhaps they were just as clueless as the small folk who suffered under it as well.

Perhaps they were clueless as anyone who suffered such a senseless slaughter.The thoughts however were quickly broken after one of the men approached them both. He quickly nodded his head and spoke in a very matter of fact way.

“The gate will be broken down within the next few minutes, perhaps we best prepare?”

Loras simply noted his head to the man silently, he reached down for his sword and Brienne did the same, they were about to line up with the rest of the men when the ramming stopped momentarily. His forces reeled back once more prepared to deliver the final blow. Loras took one more deep breath calming his nerves before he would inevitably rejoin the slaughter again. With grim determination he clutched his sword and prepared to run in.

Then the horns sounded.

He almost ran ahead out of pure instinct when he remembered that none of their men were horn blowers, nor was the gate open. He looked around to the rest of the men who were also as confused as him, even those at the gate seemed a little off put. Then they noticed the yelling men above them on the battlements. Not yelling in fear or anguish but cheer. Excitement.

Brienne and Loras look at each other confused. That's when the men behind them began scrambling away trying to form ranks. Quickly he whipped his head around to try and get a better sense of what they were seeing, to try and get a better sense of what was causing this immense Panic amongst his ranks. They were almost inside the city. They shouldn't be happening there was no force inside that could possibly stand a chance against them even in the state. That's when he saw it.

Behind them cresting over a small set of hills in the dark was a cloud of dust rising into the night sky, a massive great cloud of dust. He could hear what sounded like a million footsteps running at them with all the fury of the seven hells. Then it struck him as suddenly as a mace, a cavalry contingent, a massive cavalry contingent was making their way to them right now. And if the joyful glee of the men above them was anything to go off of chances where this force was not friendly to them in any capacity.

It was then he finally caught a glimpse of the banners they were flying, in the silver light of the Moon he could see the obvious suspects. He saw on pikes the Lannister sigil flying, along with a variety of other minor Westerland houses he wasn't particularly well-versed in. but it was the banners which accompanied them that truly caught his attention. They were blue. Blue and white with what appeared to be some kind of bird in the center. And then he felt his blood run cold, he suddenly realized just what house is sigil that was.

House Arryn.

And amongst the banner of house Arryn was a small cluster of other Vale houses. The Lannister's had pulled off an alliance with the Vale. Immediately he formed his troops up into a tight formation spears ready behind shields hoping to halt the cavalry advancement which was charging at them at this moment. But his fears were quickly quelled for a brief second as they charged right past them, only a small fraction of the force coming off to deal with them and even then they might have been able to hold. But the majority of this host was charging right along the river banks. Right to Renly. That's when Loras started running, followed closely by Brienne.

---

Tywin watched from behind as his forces charged in to the aid of the city. Which as far as he was concerned could have come far sooner. He was rather upset with the speed at which he had gathered his force. The entire operation had been a show of the finest incompetence from beginning to end and he had quite a lot of people to blame and punish for it after this. But at the same time a lot of opportunities had become clear.

For one the effort Lord Baelish had put into securing the loyalty and more importantly knights of the Vale was a boon that would certainly go rewarded in the very near future. That being said though the support was incomplete, which was a discussion he would need to have with his children very soon. But in the moment he had the sufficient numbers to reinforce King's Landing while demolishing the remainder of Renly's army which had thankfully been depleted. This would be perfect for what he had in mind with regards to dispatching Renly and scattering his army.

For one, he more than intended to strike the main bulk of the army with everything he had to throw. The small contingent that was hanging around the king's gate, likely as a distraction to divert attention away from the main threat, was inconsequential at best. Well they might have broken the gate down within a matter of minutes; it was highly unlikely that they would be able to make any real progress inside the city. After all it would only take a few well-placed barricades in some small numbers of his men to halt their advance and bring them to their needs within a matter of hours.

What mattered was dispatching the majority of the enemy's forces and either forcing them into the river or making sure that they never walked again by virtue of lance point. They would charge right through their ranks from the sides, wheel around through backstreets to hit their rear and then send the last contingent of their cavalry all the way around for a hook maneuver to hit them from they're only other exposed positions. That way they could essentially force them against the wall itself and corner them into a complete kill zone.

And if the Army tried to fight back they wouldn't be able to put up too much of a strong defense considering their compromised position already. Thanks to his outriders efforts he was well aware that Renly's army was primarily infantry and no cavalry of his own to speak of. He had long been planning to make use of that particular tidbit of information and now finally had the chance to act on it. So what if they put up a few Spears in their defense his cavalry force numbered well into the thousands and easily break over them.

However, then came the actual problem in this entire situation, that being Renly himself. He had already proven himself a traitorous man with an obvious claim to the throne, and as such was not a man that could be let off lately with regards to punishment, nor could he really be a man that they could execute on the spot, he was too charismatic and influential by this point. Especially with the egregious rumors that the Targaryen had been spinning around about Joffrey's parentage. In short there was no way that really could leave this battle alive. He needed to die tonight in battle in the fray.

And he had taken quite a great many steps in order to secure that outcome and make sure it happened within the hour. Over the years he had known many of his Bannerman and the Knights they had under their houses, he had seen a great many fine blades and men to wield them. Tonight he would definitely be putting all of them to use under the command of Amory Lorch.In truth, it was likely a simple assignment for the man but at the same time he didn't care he needed the job done.

Before the charge into battle began he had brought Lorch aside and informed him as to what his job was to be for the night. He was going to ride into the battle with a group of 20 hand-picked knights. They were to patrol the battlefield constantly and they were to find Renly Baratheon. Now once the 21 nights in question had actually found the man they were to dispatch his supposed Kingsguard, and from there they had complete creative freedom as to how they wished to dispatch the Baratheon pretender. And they were happy with that part particularly.

And so it was that Tywin watched from the hill as his host disappeared behind the walls of King's Landing on their outer perimeter charging into the fish markets as fast as a diving falcon. And afterwards when he actually entered the city he would have a whole slew of new problems to take care of. He would have to reassert his dominance at hand and make sure that Tyrion understood his role was finished. However, looking at the sorry state of the defense, he could already tell that his son had once again failed him in his requests.

He had given the little thing a chance at real power and what he does. He puts up a defense of one use of tricks and nothing more. A force of only a few thousand to actually protect the city instead of more ferociously calling upon the house of the Crownlands to provide all they could in defense of the capital. Tyrion had once again failed him and not only his expectations but even his most basic pessimistic hopes. Needless to say, he was going to be looking for a way to prove himself again for a long time following this night.

---

Renly watched as the ram prepared to make its final few hits against the gate. He was practically jumping in position. The raw energy intention of the situation forced him to get out his excess energy in any way he possibly could right now unless he ran in and started helping break down the door himself. It was so close his victory was at hand he was almost through the gate all he had to do was wait just a little bit longer than they could push their way up the hill to the red keep. All of it was right there. All he had aspired for these past few months was right in front of him; he simply had to wait a little bit longer.

He saw as the men pulled the ram back for one more hit as he drew his own sword lowering the visor on his horned Helm once again his rainbow guard staying close by his side their own swords drawn ready and waiting for the maelstrom of steel that awaited them beyond those great gates, Seven Hills he was even beginning to sweat under his own armor with the excess of tension that was surrounding him and his men. Just a little bit longer.

Then they felt the ground shake.

It was light and small at first, and in all truth it could have probably been mistaken for their own men moving around so much. But then it got harder, the Thundering became louder, and everyone began looking around for they knew that they had no cavalry, and then the scream started coming from down the line as Spearman began trying to move out of the way. The shrill cries of horses began to break through the noise created by the spearmen and infantry as Renly looked over to see what they were horrified by.

And indeed upon seeing it his own heart dropped into his stomach.

Charging down the streets was a complete force of cavalry larger than he had ever expected to see. For the briefest of moments it looked almost like a tidal wave of horses and steel bearing banners of what looked like hundreds of houses was flooding down in their direction. He might have equated it to a force of nature more than anything as opposed to an actual army of people and animals. He had only ever heard of such great forces in the songs and tales of his youth. Or at least very much seemed like that at the moment. But here they were charging down the street seemingly aimed right at him.

The rainbow guard immediately closed ranks around him shields up swords out in a sort of wall formation, Renly knew it would do little again such a massive force of cavalry but it was worth a shot. He even raised his own sword in a sort of defiant Last Stand of his own trying to save off the inevitable clash that was barreling towards him. But it was all too little too late.

The Cavalry struck his lines from the side hard as a large portion of the enemy proceeded to loop around from there behind breaking off into another third to hit them from the rear only for the last chunk of them to go to the far and the army so that they might hit them from the other side. In just a few minutes they were now completely cornered on all ends with no means of escape. And the great number of his host, the Great bulk of his army, 30,000 strong now seem to just fall away like sand through his fingers.

Those manning the battering ram at the gate quickly dropped what they were doing trying to find any means of escape. And it was then Renly knew that he had lost, the ram had been abandoned and his force was being attacked on all sides. You needed no master tactician to tell you what that meant in the long run. And that great cold feeling within his chest that great pit suddenly consumed him entirely. All he wanted to do now was run and find Loras.

He wouldn't even get that luxury.

He felt cold, it seemed as if the world around him suddenly went silent. But he could see men screaming; he could see his guards trying desperately to hold their ranks together. And yet even then everything seemed to move so slowly like leaves drifting down in a spring breeze. He was simultaneously shocked, enraged, horrified, and depressed. He knew now that he was facing his own death, in what world did he make it out of this alive. He had staked his claim for the throne and he thought he had the upper hand in all of it. Apparently that didn't mean anything.

He saw a group of 21 riders on horses charge up to the front of his rainbow guards, all of them armed with swords as they began striking down. Some of them dismounting to take on his personal guard on foot others remain on their horses slashing down from above.Friendly clutched his sword and swung but there was hardly any feeling behind it almost as if his body was acting on its own. Without any regard for the other empty shock his mind was currently consumed by.

But it didn't take long for those armored men to dispatch his personal guard. But really still fought, his body swung his sword in fine beautiful arcs. He took out one man then another. He wheeled around to one who was trying to get him behind and rammed the sword through his neck. But he felt a numb puncture go through his shoulder at a joint in his armor. Then another at his leg sending him to the ground. The men surrounded him and ruled him out to his back holding their swords at his throat. He simply shut his eyes. And they began to hack.

And so passed Renly Baratheon from this world.

---

Tyrion was exhausted, possibly beyond exhausted if such a thing existed.He was exhausted from the several weeks worth of work he had put into the defense of the city and of course the strain the battle itself took on him but he was still standing as was the city. They had actually managed to win the fight and protect King's Landing from Renly's own slot despite being outnumbered. They had done what he had set out to do and held the line long enough for his father to come into the city.

Tyrion chuckled to himself thinking about the work he had put in and the moves he had made. Quite frankly he was rather pleased with himself; he figured that once all this was over he might actually receive possibly the barest hint of praise from his father. He was no fighter like Jaime was, or at least not in the same way, but he had done his duty to both the city and his family and he had done what his father asked of him. He felt he had a right to be proud.

But he would address that with his father later once he had returned from cleaning up the last stragglers who lay scattered about the walls. That being said though the battle handgun without its hiccups with regards to those found and dead. For one Loras Tyrell seems to have escaped their grasp. It looked as if he had managed to slip away once the cavalry had made its charge past him and his small contingent of infantry. Where he was nobody could say not even his own men for he had departed from them moving towards Renly in the last moments of the battle. Perhaps they would find his body soon enough.

The second issue, at least for Tyrion, was the fact that Joffrey had returned back down from the red keep after he had taken his leave once the battle was getting out of control. Tyrion couldn't help but feel a sense of immense disdain rise up or more accurately more so than usual. The boy had cut and run without so much as a word to him or the men. It was a total and true act of cowardice on his part that he would never let him forget.

And now here he is returning back down from behind the walls of the red key to flaunt around jeer and cheer at this victory as if it was his own. He had no right to claim this battle as his or a right to any of the glory which might come from this. As far as Tyrion was concerned he was simply a less impressive banner to be flown over the walls. But then his attention was diverted away when the gate opened up when a small group of writers came in, it seemed to be a small contingent of outriders carrying with them quite the prisoner.

Joffrey immediately had a look of sadistic glee cross his face as he ran down the stairs of the walls to greet the outriders. Tyrion immediately followed after his nephew hoping to quell any damage he might cause before father burst into the capital. He knew now that father was here his tenure as hand was up, but in these moments he might hope to quell any last minute damage Joffrey sought to inflict. As the outriders dismounted their horses they dragged Mace Tyrell to the ground before Joffrey.

“My lord Tyrell… you seem to be in a poor state.” Joffrey said with a smile on his face, his fingers dancing along the pommel of his sword. Mace Tyrell looked up still on his knees.

“Your grace I-I dont-” The distress and fear was evident in his voice as Joffrey loomed over him.

“Do you not know what to say my lord?... Ser Boros… approach with your sword.”

Tyrion rushed over.

“Your grace please consider mercy, he is more valuable as a hostage an-”

“SILENCE!!! I will not entertain any notion of mercy for this traitor who has committed his house and his lands to an invasion of my city!”

Mace Tyrell began to beg.

“Your grace I swear, house Tyrell is your loyal servants forevermore, I will swear my oath to you once more if you-”

“Oh I'm sure your son will see reason and swear his oath anew… but you won't… Ser Boros, bring me his head.”

Tyrion began frantically begging as well as Mace tried to cry out in distress.

“Joffrey wait, give the man a chance, JOFFREY!!!”

“WAIT PLEASE!!”

But the arc of the blade was complete within a moment. Ser Boros brought his sword down not on the neck but the back of the head in what seemed to be a fluke, casting the lord's blood everywhere.

And so passed Mace Tyrell from this world.

Tyrion was once again in a state of absolute shock well Joffrey walked away with a smile on his face before requesting to a couple of Lannister men nearby.

“Put his head up with Ned Stark’s, I wish to see both traitors every morning.”

After that Tyrion tuned out the rest of the world even as the Lannister man cut off Mace Tyrell's head by the neck this time dragging the headways the body was taken to who knows where. He couldn't fathom what just happened, he could barely grasp the consequences this action might have as he wiped away the man's blood from his face. He had failed in raining in Joffrey, he wasn't sure what he could do but he had let him once again screw their situation. And Tyrion knew deep down that father was going to direct this at him, not Joffrey. From there on Tyrion didn't speak much to anyone else that night even when father came in the two of them didn't speak.

---

Tywin walked about the office of the hand looking at the papers and books Tyrion had been reading. All of them on sieges and the defenses of Kings Landing. Typical of his son to rely on the writings of maesters who drew their accounts from secondhand sources and old compilations as opposed to actually talking to experienced veterans who had seen siege’s before. Then again what could he expect from him, he was always so caught up in books he never could grasp the actual experience and expertise such a situation would require. It had been a mistake to send him here in the first place, Tywin should have dealt with it himself. At least then perhaps Renly wouldn't have got to the gates.

Then his thoughts were interrupted by Tyrion who let himself into the room. Why the lecherous little stump entered he was unsure.

“Were you summoned?”

“No.”

“Then why have you come?”

“I wanted to discuss our next moves, how we proceed.”

“...And you think you're to be informed on these situations why?’

“Because if not for my contributions this city would have fallen much sooner.”

“Had your contributions been adequate perhaps the city wouldn't have been in the peril it was when we arrived.”

Tyrion closed his eyes and wanted to speak again. He would not get such a luxury.

“And had your contributions been adequate, perhaps lord Tyrell would be alive.”

“...perhaps, but I am still here, and we must make our next move.”

Tywin sighed internally before continuing.

“Hence why I have not thrown you out of this room.”

“I see… I couldn't help but notice that you arrived with the lords of the Vale. Impressive, strong, perhaps a bit dingy but fair all the same.”

“Hardly. The Vale is by no means ours entirely.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow.

“How so?”

“When the first Vale lords arrived at Harrenhal they said that the rest of the houses would be close behind. Only eleven ever showed up. Less than half of the Vale has come to our aid, despite the promises of Lysa Arryn.”

“Ahh, some familial sentiment is still there?”

“More accurately resentment towards us. Lysa might make grand claims of the Vales forces but in truth her control of the kingdom is tenuous. The remaining lords who have not declared for us remain neutral.”

Tyrion for all his faults, seemed to grasp the issue at hand here. If the Vale wasn't entirely loyal to the Lysa then that left room for the Targaryen to negotiate and grow in strength.

“And how do you suggest we deal with this?” Tyrion asked.

“Simple, we crush the Targaryen and give them no other options.”

“A fine plan father but-”

“There is nothing to but, this is how we will achieve this goal and I have already taken further steps to ensure this result.”

Tyrion once again raised an eyebrow likely in confusion, evidently not grasping the next obvious move to make in securing support.

“What steps?”

Tywin walked over to the desk taking a seat before grabbing an ink and quill and a paper beginning to write out his first of many letters which would be sent on the morrow. He had a lot of work to do before the night was out and he had no intention of wasting time only talking to his half would have a son when he could also be productive simultaneously. But he was already giving answers he figured he might as well shut Tyrion up with a few more, so he sighed again before speaking.

“I will be making Tommen lord of Storm's end and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands as is his birthright. From there the storm lords will swear their oaths of fealty to Joffrey if they wish to leave the capital with their heads. Then they will commit their remaining forces to our cause and send sons home to raise new levies. We will collectively turn our sights on the Targaryen and crush him.”

“An excellent idea, but what of the problems in that plan.”

“I am aware of none.”

Tyrion let a sly grin come across his face as Tywin maintained his stone-like demeanor. The little amp was likely about to break into some rambling rant about the flaws in his plot which Tywin, as he always did whenever Tyrion tried to present himself as smart or excessively orderly, would counter his Notions with the details. And so Tyrion began to speak.

“Well for one, there are those who still doubt Joffrey and Tommen's legitimacy, as such the-”

“There is nothing to doubt, they are the trueborn heirs and have a right to the lands and holdings of their forebears.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow lecherously before he continued his spiel.

“Clearly, but let's assume there are lords who do believe such lies and rumors, and how many of those lords might still have sons and wives in the Stormlands who, just thinking here, might also believe such rumors and lies. Those said lords might look to place their loyalties in a seemingly safer option, would they not?”

“If there are some lords who wish to commit further treason and want to see their family names turned to dust then yes, perhaps they would.”

“So then we are in agreement, we must find a way to capture and hold Shireen Baratheon, only then will their loyalty be secured.”

Tywin raised an eyebrow to Tyrion, clearly he had missed what the actual safest option would be.

“Or we could choose the more permanent solution.”

Tyrion stopped his movements looking straight to his father.

“Permanent solution?”

“Indeed.”

“Do tell.” Tyrion said with not a hint of sarcasm but utter concern.

“Robert’s reign was secured by the death of Aegon and Rhaenys; the same principle applies here.”

That's when Tyrion seemed to grasp what Tywin was suggesting. And expectedly enough he didn't look on board with the idea at all.

“You can't mean it…”

“I can and do, the royal fleet is to begin preparations tomorrow, and our forces will sail to Dragonstone officially to invite the princess to court. But rest assured.”

Tywin looked Tyrion dead in the eye.

“Shireen Baratheon will die.”

Notes:

Thank you for your time and patience with this chapter, its quite a bit longer than my usual. And for all major battles going forward im going to be using the split perspective style to get better coverage of the events.

Thank you all for the kind words last chapter and for the critiques provided. Hope you enjoyed this one.

North/Riverlands: 41,000 - (260 ships + 200 ‘Celtigar + Velaryon. 1 Dragon)

Westerlands/Stormlands/Vale: 75,000 - (50,000 westerlands, 12,000 Stormlands, 13,000 Vale 120 ships)

Reach: 39,000

 

Dorne: Undeclared?

Iron Islands: Undeclared

Daenerys: 15,000 (8,000 unsullied, 5,000 in training, 2,000 freedmen. 3 Dragons)

(Note this might not be accurate with the books or show to a T but these are what I personally found to be believable estimates and as such will be using.)

As always, comments are welcome.

Chapter 27: Robb VII

Summary:

Robb meets two newcomers and witnesses the dragon take flight again.

Robb VIII

Robb stood atop the battlements of Riverrun, looking out at the camp in the morning air. It was alive with activity. The sound of hammers and whetstones, of scraping steel and sawing wood, of laughter and pain. The sounds of war away from battle one could call it, and in this state Robb could close his eyes and imagine that he was looking out over the battlements of Winterfell listening to Winter Town below. To the small folk going about their days. It was a warm memory, home, and one he would often reflect on in times of silence.

Such was this moment. He was currently overseeing the camp while Jon was out with the river lords. They had taken the moon to retake all lost lands and captured castles in the Riverlands so they could start considering more offensive maneuvers. As far as Robb had heard, all was going well. Jon’s force was light and swift to evade the mountain. And with the protection of Weirya who remained high in the sky out of sight while still close enough to intervene if necessary. Jon had opted to fight on foot with his men when taking castles back.

And on the ground he was just as protected thanks to Barristan Selmy who had arrived a week after Arya, Sansa, and mother had left. With Selmy came a familiar face in the form of Ghost who was overjoyed to see Jon again and was also fighting with him on his campaign. And a new face as well in Gendry Waters. Despite being Robert's bastard Jon and Robb had quickly come to befriend the blacksmith. He was easy to talk to and had a certain air about him that was comfortable. And furthermore Gendry was all too eager to put his skills to work.

He had quickly found himself within the forges of the camps working night and day. And to say that he was good would be an excessive understatement and insult to his skills. Not only was he able to produce armor and weapons at a quick rate but make them at such a fine quality, that both Robb and Jon would commission him for their armor and weapons. Seven hells Gendry had made Jon his first proper set of armor within a week, and it was an excellent suit. Charcoal black embroidered with a silver white steel depicting dragons and direwolves.

The second Robb had seen it he immediately commissioned gendry for a suit of his own, which was to be finished today. That along with a new sword for battle. And he knew that he could expect nothing but the highest quality. Robb figured that he should get moving before something dragged him away from his nostalgic bliss. He walked down to the internal courtyard where Greywind quickly ran up to him and began sniffing. Robb ran a hand through his fur starving his vicious assault. Greywind had been in a far happier mood since Ghost arrived, he must have missed the company of his siblings. Lady and Nymeria had each other on the way to Essos, Summer had Shaggydog, and now Greywind had Ghost.

And that was to say nothing of Weirya’s affection for the wolves, sometimes she could be seen laying her head down between them as they slept. The wolves liked the warmth of her scales, and she must have liked the softness of their fur. It was adorable. Quite frankly despite the war and uncertainty of the times they now lived in, these might have been some of Robb’s calmest days.

Walking the interior courtyard he moved towards the interior forge where Gendry had taken up. He was more than intent on speaking to the lad along with collecting his new armor. The interior Forge was alive with both flame and activity. Gendry was working the bellows at the forge heating up a small crucible of metal likely for a side project of his own. He seemed extremely focused on his work not noticing Robb approaching him from the side. And he didn't see him until Robb was practically standing right next to him as Gendry poured out the liquid metal into a small cast.

When Gendry did see him he jumped slightly before calming down and a small smile grew across his face.

“Lord Stark, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

“The honor is all mine Gendry, I was simply coming over to inquire about your work.”

Gendry smiled and laughed.

“If you're asking for your commission, then I have an answer. It's ready, and I might add one of my better works.”

Robb’s eyebrow raised. He knew that Gendry wasn't one to boast for no reason if at all. So to hear such high personal praise for one of his works was reassuring and exciting.

Robb watched as Gendry reached down to the side of the forge picking up a large wooden box. Its lid opened up on a set of hinges revealing inside a full suit of armor. The steel glistened in the sunlight almost looking as if it was made out of pure silver. Embroidered on the various plates were the visages of snarling dire wolves. The helm itself looked Like a Dire Wolf as well, very similar to his previous helm. As Robb took the pieces up in his hands he pulled and strained at the metal finding its quality to be utterly perfect.

It was strong yet not brittle. It seemed to fit his measurements perfectly at least it looked that way from a glance. And all the leather straps which would secure the armor to his body appear to be fresh cut and new from the tanners. Robb closed the box and looked back to Gendry with a gracious grin on his face.

“I do think that it deserves such praise, then again what else did I expect.”

Gendry smiled before speaking again.

“Any news of his Grace?”

“Indeed, the king will be returning within the hour. Our outriders saw his force marching back.”

“Good, I've noticed some of the soldiers getting antsy.”

Robb raised an eyebrow before speaking.

“Discontent amongst the ranks?”

“I wouldn't presume to know how to gauge an army's morale, my lord. But the talk around the campfires is that we should consider moving.”

“Hm, I'll bring it up to his grace when he returns. Chances are the king feels the same way.”

“What exactly is preventing us from marching?”

“For one we still don't have enough allies to march on the capital. Our letters to Dorne, the Vale, and the Reach have gone unanswered, and our personal envoys have made no progress. And it would be good to know the result of Renly’s march. Then there's the issue of where would we be marching too?”

“I would think Kings Landing.”

“At the end certainly but we will need to make the necessary steps to reach the capital first. And whether it be Joffrey or Renly we do battle with, we will need to secure our position in the riverlands first and foremost. That means capturing the mountain.”

“I suppose that makes sense, even so we have to move at some point soon.”

Robb nodded to Gendry in agreement. It was true enough. Time was of the essence and there was only so much time they could spend in Riverrun. Robb and his uncle Brynden had spent many long nights thinking of the best strategy. Taking into account all possibilities and then to figure out how to take the capital. And frankly all plans ended in generally the same spot. Dragonstone. From there they could strike at the capital while a force remained behind in the Riverlands to defend, if not attack the Westerlands assuming that they had not crippled them by that point.

And on Dragonstone they could most easily receive Daenerys’ force and unify the two armies when the time came. Robb laughed to himself thinking back to when the news of Daenerys’ conquest reached their ears. The drama of freeing the slaves the city built itself. And her willingness to execute the slave master herself with a sword, even reciting the tenant ‘he who passes the sentence should swing the sword’, in that moment all the lords of the North suddenly became far less opposed to the marriage proposition, the respect was only further cemented when the name of her dragon came to their ears. Eddaron.

Needless to say many lords had suddenly changed their tunes from apprehension and distrust to excitement at the prospect of meeting her when she came over. Robb knew that Sansa, and Arya would be in good hands with her. And that brought him some comfort. Quite frankly Robb himself was starting to grow more intrigued by the prospect of meeting the princess, or frankly speaking what would amount to his future good sister.

Jon had begun talking more about her in private with him ever since he made his announcement that he was to marry her. Robb had always been intrigued by the level of passion his brother spoke of her with, and the knowledge of his field dreams was all the confirmation he needed to understand that these dreams were true in their quality. Robb had rarely seen Jon happier than when he spoke of Daenerys, it was clear he admired her. And in more ways than just her form and flesh, he spoke highly of her spirit, her ferociousness, and the love she gave him when he needed it. Robb had been right all these years in calling Daenerys Jon’s lady love.

Robb would however never truly get what drew his brother to her until he met her. Which hopefully would be by the end of the year. Hopefully less than that, as not only did he wish to see the princess but his sisters and mother as well. Robb couldn't say he agreed with the call to send his mother and sisters to Essos, it was a dangerous journey and a dangerous land they were sailing too. Robb trusted himself to be fine without his mother and knew that Sansa and Arya would be with her, but it still brought a lump to his throat.

Granted with the news that Daenerys had her own force and three battle ready dragons eased his tension slightly. If they weren't safe with three dragons and at the center of an army with both Howland Reed and Rodrick Cassel at their sides then they were hardly safe anywhere else. At least in Essos the Lannister’s would take time to strike at them, time they could otherwise be devoting to killing Robb and Jon. So in any case they would be out of the way of the immediate dangers, or at least most of them. From there only the gods knew what awaited them in Essos.

Regardless, it was too late now. In fact, they should be arriving there any day now, if not be there already. Robb, content with that, requested two servants to take the armor to his quarters before saying goodbye to Gendry and began to walk away back to the main keep of Riverrun. He intended on discussing their next moves with his uncle. He would really value his advice on how to deal with Stafford Lannister's growing host; scouts had reported their gathering somewhere near a small village known as Oxcross.

Or at least that was what the scouts told them. But frankly that had fallen to the waist side in terms of focus since word of Renly's march had come through, especially with the knowledge that he only marched with a fraction of his great host, 50,000 as opposed to 80,000. The remainder of the host stayed in the Reach supposedly. Robb was not certain as to why this was the case but he had hope, hope that it was their letter and claim that stayed their hand. Gods he wished it was them and not some plot on the part of the Lannister's to eliminate Renly and decimate them next.

Either way they would have plenty to talk about

---

“Where would be the best place to strike?” Robb asked.

“Where do you think nephew? Where would be the best place to choke out the supplies, where could you catch them by surprise and send them running back?” Brynden responded, his tone orderly and encouraging.

Robb peered over the map taking care to look at every valley and road which Tywin could possibly use to transport his supplies. Every town and castle was observed before Robb’s eyes focused on the Gold Road. It was the only other major route out of the Westerlands cutting through the Reach and Riverlands before turning into the Crownlands. While the Reach was against the Lannister's, it was a massive task to have them guard all their vast territory, and with the Gold Road only dipping into the Reach perhaps they weren't aware of the Lannister's passing through their lands. Or in the worst scenario, simply didn't care to act.

Either way this presented an opportunity, a chance to cut off Lannister supplies from the rear leaving them stranded in the Riverlands. Perhaps he could split his forces taking half to Oxcross to crush the new force rising along the town's outskirts and the second force could move south and take one of the keeps in the area to secure the road, Uncle Brynden recommended Deep Den as the optimal target. Which was a sound idea considering the castle's natural defenses and regional challenges.Although considering that it would also be an absolute pain to take in the first place. Much less hold for an extended period of time if they really wished to close off the Gold Road.

“Could we spare the men to seize the route?”

“It would be a hard march on the men to be sure, and by no means without its cost. You'd be marching men through dangerous hills and mountains to take a small keep to control one major road. It can be done, the question is rather are you willing to take the risk? Or is your king?”

Robb looked to his uncle with stone determination.

“Aye, the both of us are willing.”

“You dare speak for your king?”

“No, just stating my trust in his resolve and desire to see this war won.”

Brynden raised a gray eyebrow, his lips tightening under his still auburn beard. Seemingly convinced by Robb's proclamation.

“Do you doubt our king, Uncle?”

Brynden looked back to the map, small carved pieces representing their armies spread across the Riverlands. He took a moment to take in the sight before turning back to Robb.

“Surprisingly enough, not as much as I thought I would. He certainly does not have your mind for war or even a truly adept hand at politics yet. But he has potential, he has fire. And the fact that he is willing to take back our lands one fight at a time without burning it all down does speak to his character.”

“Then what are we to worry about? His grace will return and we will run the plan by him. He will approve it once he sees the potential and we will make our preparations.”

“One can only hope dear nephew, one can only hope.”

Robb looked to his uncle once again taking note of his still dower expression.

“Uncle, what ails you?”

“...His lordship Hoster, he grows weaker by the day.”

Robb’s expression darkened as well, he had tried to ignore the steady decline of his grandfather's health for the past moon. He never came outside anymore and remained in his solar most days. And on those days he usually remained in bed not wishing to strain himself anymore than he needed too.But it was still a hard thing to accept, much less watch, to see one of your family members slowly begin to decay in front of your eyes as if they were walking to the stranger's door. Robb would be lying if you said that it didn't bring some tears to his eyes when he thought about it for too long.

The same went for Brynden, cold and harsh that he was. At the end of the day he knew that the Blackfish had a soft spot for his immediate family. Even if he consistently is not constantly strained against them and argued with them, he would usually at the end of the day find his way back to their side and drink and feast with them when the sun had set. And while it was a hard thing to notice especially if you didn't know him, Brynden was similarly saddened by his brother's imminent decline. And when the day came, Brynden would likely be alone for a long time.

And there was likely a fear for how Edmure would handle being lord of Riverrun, not because he was incompetent. Edmure knew how to manage his lands, even if he wasn't a great military commander, but he had heart. A Lot of it. It was one of the factors which had dispersed their forces in the early days of the war, him sending the lords to keep their own lands safe, which on paper wasn't a horrible idea. But it had almost cost them the war before it even truly started. Edmure was a peace time lord that much was true, and this wasn't peace time.

Brynden was apprehensive to be sure, but Robb was in some way hopeful for the future. Once the war was over and Jon sat on the throne perhaps Edmure could come into his own as Lord of the Riverlands. But as of now both would only trust Brynden as their military advisor with regards to the Riverlands. In any case things were going to change soon, very soon. And they all had to be prepared for it, one way or another they had to be.

It was a few hours Later that a servant came into the room having knocked on the door. Robb called them in graciously where they nodded their head and prepared to speak. Robb and Brynden both figured that it was simply an alert from the camp, someone to let them know that Jon had finally returned with this host and they could resume their talks together. However to both of their surprises what came out of the servants mouth was drastically different from what either of them had expected. The servant spoke in a very rushed tone indicating some form of panic or worry.

“Apologies my lords… news from the gates.”

“Go on then, what has happened?” Robb asked, Brynden quirking an eyebrow in intrigue.

“My lord two riders have been seen on the road, they came into camp and rode to the drawbridge. They wish to see the king.”

Robb raised an eyebrow.

“Who are these riders? Why do they seek an audience with his grace?”

The servant looked to Robb.

“My lord, the rider who asked for the audience is Prince Oberyn of the house Martell.”

Robb felt himself freeze and saw Brynden’s jaw tighten, his gaze narrowing before moving to the servants side looking down on him. He spoke in a cold and coaxing voice.

“Just the two riders?”

“Yes my lord.”

“The other one, who are they?”

“Not sure my lord looked like a young woman from a distance.”

“Dismissed, tell him that Lord Robb Stark and Brynden Tully will be there to greet him shortly, now go.”

The servant ran off to relay the Blackfish’s message. Meanwhile, Brynden gave Robb a dagger. Robb had to ask, his mind immediately switching to a tense readiness.

“Who do you suppose the woman is?”

“Not sure, either his lover or one of his bastard daughters, and I'd put my money on the latter.”

Robb secured the dagger to his side, tightening his belt to hold it ready.

“No swords?”

Brynden chuckled lightly.

“If you think that you'd be able to beat Oberyn Martell with a long sword then you have about as much brains as a Flea Bottom drunk.”

“Is he that fast?”

“By the time you have your sword halfway out its scabbard he will have a blade between your ribs, you at least can have that out by the time he pierces your skin.”

Robb nodded.

“You think he will try to kill us?”

“I wouldn't put it past him, chances are if he's only with a daughter of his, he wanted to travel light. And more importantly, secretly. Which means one of two things. Either he is here on behalf of his brother to negotiate a possible alliance and wants to keep it quiet for as long as he can. Or he's here to strike down the living insult to his house.”

“You really think he will try that?”

“I think he is impulsive enough to have it cross his mind. You can never be too sure with Prince Oberyn, it is just as likely that he is here to make friends as enemies. And I would have you prepared for both situations.”

Robb nodded as the pair began to walk out of the Solar to the gatehouse, Brynden speaking all the while.

“You won't beat him in a fight so don't even try, if he advances you try your damndest to run for the keep and shut the door and I can't guarantee you'll make it as far as the godswood.”

Brynden turned to several household guards.

“You lot, get crossbows and find your way to the murder holes, now.”

The sacred guards rushed off as quickly as they could as Brynden and Robb walked to the still raised drawbridge. Brynden unclipped his dagger as did Robb who stood beside his uncle. Brynden spoke once more.

“Keep eye contact when he speaks, and do not say anything stupid. Got it?”

Robb nodded his head, his face calm and emotionless as he could make it. Brynden yelled.

“DROP THE BRIDGE!!!”

The clanking of chains was soon in the air as the bridge slowly lowered before them. It was a slow process as the sky was revealed first, then the smoke of camp. Then finally as it settled onto the landing, they saw him right there in the flesh.

Robb kept eye contact for two reasons now. One being his uncle's command, the second being how utterly in awe he was. The Red Viper, right there. Oberyn was every bit as intimidating as Robb imagined he would be. Tall and slender with a fit physique lined face with black eyebrows and similarly colored eyes which spoke to a danger Robb couldn't quite grasp. With darkened sun kissed skin and long black hair he was a sight to behold to be sure.

Robb’s eye remained fixed on the prince as he dismounted his horse and walked forward, his boots sounding against the drawbridge as he did so. He walked closer and closer before stopping a few feet away from the both of them, perhaps fifteen in total. He took a deep breath and began to speak.

“Ser Brynden Blackfish, it is an honor to make your acquaintance.”

Brynden bowed his head.

“The honor is all mine, my prince. And might I introduce his lordship, Robb of the house Stark, lord of Winterfell.”

Oberyn shifted his gaze to Robb looking him up and down for a while before speaking to him, his tone was surprisingly considerate.

“My lord Stark, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

Robb bowed his head in kind.

“The pleasure is all mine, my prince.”

Oberyn turned his body to Robb before speaking again.

“I would like to express my sympathies for the murder of your father. An undeserved fate and a cruel one.”

Robb looked slightly confused.

“My prince, I thank you for your condolences, although I am unsure of why?”

Oberyn kept his gaze as he spoke.

“Lord Eddard Stark was the only man in that throne room to call for the action that was required, the only one who wished to see the murder of my sister and her children be given its justice. So yes I do feel for the death of your father, especially in the name of a lie.”

Robb felt a great sadness well up within his chest, but he remained stoic.

“He died with the truth on his lips. I take peace in that.”

“Indeed.”

Oberyn turned over to the woman on the horse behind him, her face concealed by a cloak and hood.

“Allow me to introduce my dear daughter, Ashara Sand.”

Robb watched as she walked over pulling back her hood. And for a second or two Robb couldn't help but be struck by her visage. She was beautiful, she had sharp features similar to her father but more subtle, her hair was a brighter brown as opposed to Oberyn's black, long and flowing. And her eyes, they were a pale violet which seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. Robb would be lying if he said that they didn't mesmerize him. The rest of her form was hidden beneath the cloak, but there were things about her that he found odd. Little things, subtle things. The angle of her cheeks and jaw, the shape of her ears, weirdly the first thing that came to mind was Jon.

Robb brushed the thoughts aside before Prince Oberyn caught him staring. Although for the briefest of seconds he swore that she cast a glance his way as well. Brynden spoke next.

“We are honored to receive you and your daughter, my prince, although I must inquire as to the purpose and nature of your visit. I doubt you'd come to our humble home simply to visit.”

Oberyn and Ashara looked at them both, Oberyn being the one to speak first.

“I wish to speak to this King Daeron.”

“For what reason? Might I ask?”

Oberyn considered his words for a moment.

“I simply wish to meet him, to see if he is everything he claims to be. You seem daily confident in his claims.”

“Aye, I am.”

“There is no room for doubt?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Huh… such a confident answer.”

“Should I not be confident in the truth?”

“But how do you know it to be the truth, how can one truly know?”

“Well, the testimony of my nephew was enough for me. And you have seen the documents.”

Oberyn nodded in acknowledgment before turning to Robb.

“You seem to be in agreement.”

“I am my prince, it was me and my sister Arya who found the documents in the first place, they were confirmed by our father and lord Howland Reed.”

Oberyn kept his gaze on Robb.

“And where is he now?”

“His grace has been on campaign retaking the Riverlands. He will be returning within the hour.”

Oberyn relaxed his shoulders and Robb noticed Ashara seemingly tense up. That gave Robb pause for a second before he returned his full attention to the Prince who still looked at him.

“And what do you think of him? What kind of a man is Daeron Targaryen?”

Robb involuntarily tightened his gaze as he met Oberyn’s with his own strength. He was stern and determined, but most importantly honest.

“A good man. And of that there is no doubt.”

Oberyn, seemingly picking up on Robb's conviction, responded.

“You believe that?”

Robb in turn responded again.

“He is my brother, I've known him since we were babes, we grew up together, fought together, lost together. If anyone can vouch for his quality of character in this world, it's me.”

Oberyn looked at Robb, picking apart his mood and demeanor, trying to find some semblance of a lie or falsehood. He found none. He turned back to Brynden.

“Your nephew's confidence in your king is fierce, I'll give you that.”

“Indeed, and that is why I trust his claims. Among other reasons.”

Oberyn blinked before he continued.

“Such as?”

Before Brynden could speak the camp was silenced by a ferocious and shrill roar which ripped through the open skies as Oberyn moved to Ashara’s side, both looking up in shock and alertness. However, the camp looked up in excitement. Robb and Brynden looked at each other in smug humor. It wasn't long before Weirya dove out from the clouds and flew right over Riverrun, the wind beneath her wings rushing past them slamming against the walls of the castle.

Robb looked to Oberyn first, taking humor in his shock and alarm. It was a sight to see, Oberyn Martell stunned speechless, who wouldn't be at their first time seeing a dragon. But the reaction that truly gave Robb pause was Asharas. Where Oberyn’s expression was shock and alarm, Ashara’s reaction was pure awe. She looked totally mesmerized, an indescribable amazement was written all over her face, her violet eyes shimmering with excitement and glee. Her breathing was shallow and fast. Robb couldn't help but smile at her joy, he wasn't sure why.

Weirya circled a few times before she landed in the camp, her white and red wings folding as she put her feet on the ground. The men rushed over with their cheers, some helped Jon off her back as he began to walk over, his face was concealed as he was in his armor currently. But his stride was that of relief, he was obviously happy to be back.

Ashara seemed to keep her focus on Jon as he walked up, his stride growing more cautious when he saw Oberyn and Ashara at the foot of the bridge. But he walked forward to greet them all the same. One armored step after another he eventually removed his helm, his dark hair cascading down the sides of his head once more. And his gray eyes fell to Oberyn and Ashara. Jon seemed tense as Brynden spoke.

“My prince, may I introduce King Daeron Targaryen, third of his name, king of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the true king of the first men, protector of the realm, and king of the north.”

He turned to Jon.

“Your grace, may I introduce Prince Oberyn of house Martell, and his daughter Ashara Sand.”

Jon took a tentative step forward nodding his head to Oberyn, he spoke a tad bit softer than he usually did, which was intriguing given how he normally spoke was already pretty soft.

“Prince Oberyn, it gives me great pleasure to have you with us and to act as your host.”

Oberyn was quiet for a moment, still reeling from the shock of the Dragon. But his composure was stern once again.

“Thank you for your hospitality…”

Jon froze for a second unsure of how to proceed with the conversation, to Robb it was obvious that he was nervous. With good reason. But he pushed on.

“If I may, I would apologize again for the actions of my father and mother.”

Oberyn raised an eyebrow before speaking, his gaze fixed on Jon’s gray eyes.

“No need, your letter made your opinions on the matter very clear. What your father did was offensive, egregiously so. But I am not here for Rhaegar Targaryen. I am here for you.”

Jon stood a bit taller after that, his confidence growing once more.

“In what way Prince Oberyn?”

Oberyn’s demeanor seemed to grow more inquisitive.

“I come on behalf of my brother, we both wish to know you, your character and quality.”

Jon nodded to the prince before he looked at Robb and Brynden, as if to ask is they could vouch for the prince's intentions. They both gave an approving nod in return. As such Jon returned his gaze to the prince.

“I can understand that. Come, the ride must have been long and hard, and I will not have guests of mine left waiting for long. Ser Brynden please inform Lord Hoster of the prince's arrival and ask that two rooms be prepared for him and his daughter.”

Ser Brynden nodded as he ushered Prince Oberyn to follow. Jon for his part stood by Robb as they walked inside. But once again Robb found himself looking at Ashara. The girl seemed off, her gaze flicking between Jon and the dragon as she entered the castle, she was trying to be subtle but was not faring so well. Jon seemed to notice too and once they were out of sight the brothers began talking. Jon spoke first.

“I didn't expect to return to that.”

“Neither did I.” Robb said in a dry tone.

“How long do you think they've been traveling?”

“The past moon at least. Ever since the letter arrived I'd say.”

“Any announcement before they arrived?”

“No, they just arrived not an hour ago.”

“Gods above…”

Jon let out a stress filled breath before looking back to the castle.

“Interesting that he'd bring his daughter.” Robb commented. To which Jon gave a playful scoff.

“Considering what I've heard of his daughters, I'd be more surprised if he didnt bring one of them along.”

“I suppose so.”

Jon nodded for a bit. Then his face began to tighten.

“There was something about her though…”

“How so?”

“It was just… I don't know how to put it, I want to say she seemed familiar but I haven't ever seen her before… There was just something about her.”

Robb nodded in agreement. He had a really good idea of what Jon meant when he spoke of her like this. Even if he couldn't truly understand the dead specifics of what he was saying he had the rough idea. But even so his thoughts on the matter in regards to Ashara were reluctantly put aside in favor of speaking with his brother on more pressing matters.

“So how did the campaign go?”

Jon looked to Robb with a small smile growing across his face.

“We've taken it all back.”

Robb’s mood perked up even more, turning to face his brother.

“All of it, truly?”

“From Pinkmaiden to Raventree hall. It's all in the hands of their respective lords again. Furthermore, our outriders have taken notice of a reduced host in Harrenhal.”

“You think we can force Tywin out?”

“If Renly keeps his attention in the capital aye, I think it could be done. However, there remains some problems.”

Robb’s smile fell a bit when Jon mentioned the remaining problems.

“The mountain?”

“Aye.”

He knew it, Clegane was still their largest remaining issue right now. His small force from what they had gathered was mobile and living off the land. Going from town to town burning and raiding to keep the pressure on them as Lord Tywin was in the capital. It was a smart idea and it did keep them on their toes but now they had to actually find a way to deal with him. Now that they have the overwhelming majority of the Riverlands back they needed to secure it truly before the Lannister's turned their attention back towards them.

And if they intended to do that that meant only one thing. Killing Ser Gregor Clegane. Or at bare minimum capturing and containing him. The problem had been thought on, by both Robb and his uncle, who had both devised a number of potential plans in traps they could lure him into. But in order to do that they would have to actually get solid information on where specifically in the Riverlands he was so they could actually set the trap. And right now they simply didn't have that.

“I'd like to talk with you about that later, Ser Brynden has a few ideas.”

“I would like that. Until then dear brother, I will be retiring to my Solar.”

“Until later your grace.”

The brothers smiled at each other sharing a laugh before they went their separate ways for now. It was only midday and Robb had some other duties to attend to before he and Jon returned to each other's sides.

---

Robb spent a few hours going about camp talking with the various lords and men. And of course making sure Grey wind was well-fed. The dire wolf had trotted close by since receiving his meals. And the pair found themselves sitting under an oak tree in the nearby whispering wood. Across from them in a clearing was Weirya who seemed to be enjoying the autumn sun. The leaves around them were turning red and orange while slowly beginning to fall. All of it making Wierya’s white and red scales stand out all the more. It would be amazing to see her in the winter snows when it came time.

But for now Robb felt it fine to watch the dragon from afar, he knew Weirya wouldn't hurt him intentionally, she was more than happy to be in his presence, dragon blood or not. But she wouldn't actively seek him out either. They were content to remain at a distance for now, and simply enjoy the weather in this precious moment of quiet. That was until Grey wind perked his head up facing the tree line. Robb Had no clue why his direwolves' attention was like that so he unclipped his sword and laid a hand on his dagger. But his mood was calmed when a person walked out.

Ashara.

Robb stopped his movements and lay still as she moved out of the brush into the clearing. She didn't notice him yet as her gaze was fixed on Weirya. She had that same look as when she first saw the dragon, Robb was quite frankly surprised that he remembered her look with such vivid detail. She was completely awestruck, lost in her own thoughts. For a second he wondered if that's how he looked when he first laid eyes on the dragon. And if so he really couldn't blame her for a reaction. He figured that it wouldn't be a good idea to remain silent for too long lest something go wrong so he spoke.

“Sneaking off on your own?”

Ashara whipped her head around to face Robb, her brown hair spreading in the air before settling again, her pale violet eyes wide with sudden shock before calming down again. Her face settled and an amused smirk came across her lips. She put a hand on her hip before speaking to Robb.

“Lord Stark, I didn't expect you to be here at this time of day.”

Robb was taken aback by her voice. It was soft and melodic in an odd way, and much to his surprise significantly less accented than he would have thought it to be. There was a hint of her father's accent in there but she didn't carry it as intensely. In fact, I come to think of it she seems significantly less intense than her father did in a lot of ways. There was a certain grace to her steps that set her apart from Prince Oberyn. Perhaps she had inherited that from her mother. Robb didn't dwell on it for too long and he responded promptly.

“I didn't expect to be here either.”

“You don't come here often?”

“No, not particularly.”

“Then why are you here Lord Stark?”

Robb thought for a brief second but decided in the end to answer with the honest truth.

“Grey wind needed to stretch his legs and we ended up here.”

“Grey wind?”

Robb smiled and ushered his dire wolf forward. Ashara seemed intimidated by the massive wolf for a bit. But it wasn't long before Grey wind began sniffing at her hands.

“No need to panic.”

Ashara seemed to listen as the dire wolf began licking her palms. Robb ran a hand across his fur as Ashara gave an unsure scratch to his neck which Grey Wind leaned into. Her mood began to change at a faster rate with a smile blooming across her face, she began scratching more confidently and running pets across the top of his head. Robb for his part couldn't help but give a small chuckle. Ashara seemed to be enjoying herself more now as she spoke again.

“He’s wonderful, how did you come by him?”

“We found his mother dead of a stag antler, and six pups nearby, Jo- Daeron convinced father to let me and my siblings keep them as companions.”

“Really?”

“Aye.”

“One for each of your siblings?”

“Six in total.”

“Does that mean that King Daeron has one of his own?”

“Aye he does, the runt of the litter.”

Ashara seemed to be growing more intrigued by the second, continuing her line of questions immediately.

“What has he named them?”

“Ghost, for their white fur and for how quiet they are.”

“Why have I not seen them?”

“He tends to patrol the forests and often shows up out of nowhere. Usually if they do show up there by Daeron’s side. Or with Grey Wind.”

“Huh, a dragon and a dire wolf.”

Robb shrugged.

“A Stark and Targaryen.”

“Truly…”

Ashara turned her attention to the still sitting Weirya who seemed to take notice of her by now.

“They are beautiful, both of them…”

“Aye…”

“What is the dragon's name again?”

“Weirya.”

“Weirya? I don't recall any Targaryen naming their dragon that.”

“None ever have, it was Daerons choice.”

Ashara looked back to Robb with a curious expression.

“Why?”

“Her colors, white and red as a Weirwood tree… Have you ever seen one?”

Ashara shook her head.

“No, we don't have any in Dorne.”

Robb nodded, a little saddened by the answer. Which Ashara seemed to notice, and commented on.

“What are they like?”

Robb thought for a second.

“Strange… strange and silent. As if the spirits that live within them are watching you, sometimes out of care, sometimes out of malice. It's hard to tell with the old gods.”

“You believe that?” She asked out of a genuine curiosity.

“Aye… I do. In the North we follow the old gods, we see them in the trees, rocks, and streams around us. A million nameless gods always present. We honor them not with extravagant offerings or temples, but silent contemplation.”

Ashara seemed more fascinated by the second.

“And Daeron follows the old gods?”

Robb nodded with a smile on his face.

“He is a man of the north, one of us. Why do you think we call him king of the North?”

“I had assumed it was just a title.”

“Aye it is, but it’s an earned title. He earned the respect and loyalty of his lords, one by one. He is just as much our king by choice as he is by right.”

Ashara paid attention to his words, seemingly trying to determine if Robb was lying. But he wasn't. And her tone and demeanor calmed, a small smile growing on her face, before turning back to Weirya who seemed to have locked eyes with her. Robb, noticing her apprehension spoke softly.

“She won't hurt you.”

Ashara nodded, her gaze still fixed on Weirya who simply breathed calmly.

“Can I perhaps… touch her?”

Robb winced.

“I would say you should ask Daeron about that.”

Ashara nodded in acceptance, breaking her gaze with the dragon and focusing on Robb.

“Fair enough I suppose.”

Robb nodded to her as he continued to pet Grey Wind, all the while Ashara thought of her next questions.

“You seem to have an uncanny confidence in your king.”

Robb smiled walking over to her side as they turned to walk back to Riverrun together, Grey Wind trotting ahead of the pair. Robb spoke next.

“Should I not? He has rarely done wrong by me.”

Ashara curled a brown eyebrow to Robb.

“And what has he done to wrong you?”

Robb would be lying if he said that the question did not intrigue him, it was an odd thing to ask in fairness. Even so he thought long and hard about his answer.

“Little things mostly, childish accidents and the like.”

“You don't hold it against him?”

“Why should I? Besides, the few times he’s wronged me hardly matter, he learns and always does his damndest to make right by his wrongs. I can trust him to at least try to right his wrongs.”

Ashara nodded along as Robb spoke, listening intently the whole while. Truth be told she seemed particularly keen to learn about Jon. Whether that was Robb overthinking her intentions or the genuine truth was unclear. But in truth Robb hardly cared. He was more than happy to answer her multitudes of questions whether it be to satiate her curiosity or defend his brother. He owed him that much at least.

Either way the pair continued to talk all the while as they strolled through the Whispering Wood slowly making their way back to Riverrun. Even then perhaps they meandered a little longer than they had intended to simply enjoying speaking to one another, so much so that by the time they got back the sun had sunk low in the sky and it was obviously getting close to dusk.

Ashara was the first to notice the state of the sky, her gaze falling to the orange light beginning to overtake the horizon. She seemed captivated by the glimmer of the sun on the river water and the shadows cast by the trees on the ground. Robb was not usually one to care about natural splendor but in this case even he was taken aback by the earthly beauty before them both. It was hard not to be impressed by such a magnificent variety of colors, shadows and shapes.

“Magnificent.” Said Ashara, her voice barely above a whisper.

Robb spoke next.

“I'd imagine all sunsets are this beautiful in Dorne.”

“I'd agree, but it's the stars in the sky that truly captivate me, cloudless nights, the sky painted in purples, blues, and twinkling silver stars.” She spoke with an awe and reverence that Robb had hardly ever heard before. He smiled and responded.

“Truly?”

Ashara smiled and looked back to Robb.

“Do you not often look at the world Lord Stark?”

“Perhaps not often.”

Ashara continued, her voice alive with a more playful tone.

“Perhaps you should Lord Stark, the world is a beautiful place… it would be a shame to miss out on it.”

Robb wasn't sure why, but those words brought a genuine joy to him. Some combination of feelings that just made him smile. He thought for a while before he responded.

“Perhaps I should…”

Ashara spoke again.

“Tell me, where would Lord Stark find beautiful?’

Robb thought for a second, but three places immediately came to mind which he had to say.

“The wall… that's one of them, it has this cold beauty to it… it's truly indescribable.”

“You've been to the wall?’

“Aye. Me and Daeron paid a visit on our tour of the North. But to answer the rest of your question, the second place to me would be the hot spring of Winterfell.”

“Hot Springs?”

“There is a set of pools beneath the castle in its caverns. The water is always hot, we actually use it to heat the castle, running the warm air through holes in the stonework. After a cold day they are soothing beyond belief.”

Ashara seemed impressed with the idea of the pools heating the castle, Robb suspected that she wouldn't have thought of such an idea considering the Dornish heat. But alas he finished his answer.

“The last place I would say is the Winterfell Godswood. I can't describe it, you'd just have to see it to know.”

Ashara seemed to take in his words and was about to respond. That was until Lord Karstark rushed over as quickly as he could. Robb and Ashara were thrown off guard immediately as Rickard Karstark spoke.

“My lord, the king requires your presence, it's urgent.”

Robb gave his full attention to Lord Karstark.

“What's the matter?”

Lord Karstark tightened his glare before speaking again.

“News from the capital, Renly has lost.”

Robb started running.

---

He wasn't sure how much time had passed since Lord Karstark informed of the news, but either way it was a shock to him. Robb had known that one way or another someone was going to win the battle, Renly wasn't going to wait forever and sooner or later he had to make a move. And as such Tywin would be forced to respond to said move. This was an inevitable clash that would have one of two outcomes. But standing here now actually facing the results and the outcomes was a different matter entirely. Quite frankly it was rather unnerving that they were now facing the situation.

Tywin wasn't a man to take an insult like this lightly. Robb knew even before he stepped into that room that Renly was almost certainly dead. There was no other way around it. There was no world in which he somehow made it out alive of this battle. Well at least in the event that he lost, which he had, apparently. Robb was still in some odd way mulling over the fact that Renly had lost. It seemed an almost impossible thing considering the size of his host but once again here they were actually facing that reality.

Robb had known that great numbers did not always equate to victory as was the case with the Field of Fire and many other battles since then. But even so with Renly’s massive host of 50,000 men Robb would have still put money down on him. Apparently he would have lost that bet. One of the claimants was dead and now they had only Joffrey and the Lannister’s to truly contend with. That in and of itself was a rather grim and daunting concept. Despite the fact that they had been facing them for the previous moons.

Robb’s mind was already trying to formulate new tactics and strategies given the fact that they now had a singular enemy to fight. And moreover they had an enemy that was relatively easy to rally against or at least that was the hope. Joffrey was a tyrant in all regards at this point, and his unpopularity would make his claim unstable or again at least I was the hope they were working off of. But even so now there was the problem that there was no one else to focus on but them.

The previous few moons of generally light combat and relative ease would soon be over. While Tywin might not make the play to simply charge over to Riverrun and break them while he could. It was just as likely that he would attempt to do many more things both militarily and politically in order to destabilize their cause and upend their claims. Either way the fact of the matter was that both of them could only focus on each other now, there was no one else to delay or break attention with. And Robb knew that very soon the both of them would have to come to blows.

Jon and Joffrey were the only two kings remaining. And Robb knew that Despite Jon's level-headed demeanor, that this would be a war of annihilation at the end of the day. Either Jon could live or Joffrey could live but most certainly not both of them. Nor would Tywin allow for Jon to live after everything that had transpired as well. Robb took a deep breath as he charged down the roads to Riverrun intent on making it to the outside courtyard where the lords would be gathered to discuss their next steps.

He entered with Rickard Karstark not far behind. Jon sat at the high table with Edmure and Ser Brynden to his left, Robb’s seat remaining open for him. Ser Barristan stood ready behind Jon as he looked over a letter in his hands seemingly concerned with its contents. Not keen on wasting any more time, Robb quickly pushed through the crowd of chattering lords and ladies and ascended up to the high table taking his seat next to Jon. From here he can more clearly see the writing on the letter and it Disturbed him just as much.

‘To his grace King Daeron III,

I write to you with great haste and alarm my king. Renly Baratheon has lost the battle for King's Landing and paid for it with his life. Lord Tywin rode in aided by several Vale houses, including house Arryn and Renly was struck down in the fray. As was Ser Garlan Tyrell, and Lord Mace Tyrell of Highgarden who met his end unjustly at the whims of Joffrey, who had the man executed after being taken prisoner. His head supposedly now sits next to Lord Eddard Starks. And there is further unpleasurable news. Tywin Lannister, now named Hand of the King, has forced the Stormlands into submission, and he readies the entire royal fleet for an expedition. My informants have detailed to me that their target seems to be Dragonstone. It is reasonable to assume that his eye is fixed on the Lady Shireen Baratheon, though his aims remain a mystery. Lord Monford and Theon Greyjoy will hold the Island as best they can. But we request aid, in one form or another. And quickly.

Aurane Waters.’

Jon read the letter aloud to all the lords in the room who more or less shared the same reactions. Shock and fury. While no one wanted to face Renly, in any case no one wished to see Tywin Lannister succeed either. But once again here they were with the hand they have been dealt. And the fact that the Royal fleet was being prepared hardly boded well.

“What do ye suppose he intends to do with the Baratheon girl?” Greatjon spoke up.

“Is it not obvious enough? Joffrey's claim will not be secure until all other potential claimants are eliminated. He intends to kill her.” Responded the cold harsh voice of Lord Bolton.

Once again the calls and cries of the Lord rang out in the open courtyard as Robb looked over all their faces. However, cutting through all the yelling and Scorn in the room came the voice of Lord Charlton.

“Your grace if I may, why does this matter? We must focus on the immediate threat that the Stormlands and Vale now pose. With the Reach now open to an alliance we must focus our efforts on forging an agreement with them, lest we be surrounded on all sides.”

“Lord Charlton speaks true your grace. Lannister's to our west, south, east, and Arryn’s to our north. Our situation grows more precarious with each passing moment.” Lord Vance spoke up.

Robb was about to protest when he saw Lord Blackwood stand up and address the gathered lords.

“Fortunately for us, both of you are wrong. Your grace if I may, I would propose the opposite course of action.”

“Speak your peace Lord Blackwood.” Jon responded.

“Your grace, not aiding Shireen Baratheon would be the worst thing to do right now, not only is she your kin, albeit removed, you have put in significant effort into her protection. It would reflect poorly on you to let her die. Furthermore, if the Lannister's do manage to kill her they will hold Dragonstone, your family's ancestral seat. And then there's the most obvious reason.”

“And that reason would be?” Responded lord Vance.

“Shireen Baratheon is the key to breaking Joffrey's alliance, or part of it anyway.”

“Go on, my lord.” Said Jon.

“Lord Tywin seeks the submission of the Stormlands, I'd wager that he is propping up Tommen as lord of Storm's End right now. The problem however is that the majority of Storm lords believe that Joffrey and his siblings are bastards, they wouldn't have sided with Renly otherwise. Who do you think they would support? Joffrey's bastard brother, or the trueborn daughter of Stannis Baratheon? All of them might not flock to us and we would certainly need to prepare Shireen for the role, yes, but that girl is worth a kingdom. You need her your grace.”

Murmurs of agreement resounded through the courtyard as Lord Terrick rose up.

“It's true your grace, and there are other things to consider. If you rescue the Lady Shireen it shows your quality, it makes the distinction between you and Joffrey clear as day. Who would the lords of Westeros rather Support? The inbred bastard who has murdered two Lords paramount? Or the king who despite the past will still protect a defenseless girl, Baratheon or not?”

More murmurs among the lords were heard as Jon stood up. He spoke with authority and passion, his voice carrying across the courtyard.

“I will heed the call and aid Dragonstone in the aim to protect Shireen Baratheon from an undeserved and cruel fate, and when the royal fleet lays in ruin I will return with her to see her safe in our protection.”

Many of the lords cheered and many raised their mugs, Robb could see at the back Prince Oberyn and Ashara staying out of sight keeping an eye on Jon, and seemingly noticing the same thing that Robb knew from the start. The look in Jon’s eye the second Robb had walked in said it all. There was never a debate on what was to be done with regards to Lady Shireen, he was always going to do something, regardless of what the lords said or not. He supposed that at this moment everything just worked out as it should. Jon began to move away from the high table, as he walked through the crowded courtyard. Lord Smallwood spoke up next.

“Shall we call the troops to march, my king?”

Jon looked back for a brief second.

“No, you will hold Riverrun until I return with the Lady Shireen. Draft letters to the Reach, tell them that once I return, I will be coming to them to seek out an alliance personally.”

The Lord's for their part seemed somewhat confused as to their king's words. As if there was some part of his statement that just didn't make immediate sense to them. As such Lord Smallwood spoke up again.

“Your grace, how do you intend to aid Dragonstone without your forces?”

Before Jon could respond, as if she sensed it, which in truth she likely did. Weirya flew overhead landing outside the castle in front of the drawbridge.All of the Lords and Ladies of that point didn't take long to realize just what Jon was planning. And for many of them it was an absolute moment of sheer joy and glee. Oberyn and Ashara seemed rather shocked that Jon would be making a move such as this right now. All of their thoughts were soon answered when Jon spoke to them.

“If I intend to aid Dragonstone I must be there fast. Chances are that the ships will be ready soon enough and it's a two-day flight. None of our forces could make that distance in time, only we can. And I would see it that all the Lords and Ladies of Westeros know the House of the Dragon has had its strength returned. Perhaps then Lord Tywin will think twice about striking us so soon. It is time Weirya made her proud debut to the world.”

Many of the Lords and Ladies not at their heads in agreement, some stood stoic but understanding. Robb nodded in agreement with Jon as they shared one last look as he left through the gates. Robb's gaze once more fell to Ashara as she looked on at Jon with an unexpected emotion on her face. Pride, Robb wasn't sure why she would feel such a thing but her face displayed it like a sigil on a shield. It was odd, and perhaps Robb was missing something. Some unknown factor that would make her reaction seem well reasoned. Perhaps he could ask her when he next got the chance. And he did hope they would have many chances.

Notes:

Thank you all for the kind words last chapter and for the critiques provided. Hope you enjoyed this one.

North/Riverlands: 41,000 - (260 ships + 200 ‘Celtigar + Velaryon. 1 Dragon)

Westerlands/Stormlands/Vale: 75,000 - (50,000 westerlands, 12,000 Stormlands, 13,000 Vale 120 ships)

Reach: 39,000

Dorne: Undeclared?

Iron Islands: Undeclared

Daenerys: 15,000 (8,000 unsullied, 5,000 in training, 2,000 freedmen. 3 Dragons)

(Note this might not be accurate with the books or show to a T but these are what I personally found to be believable estimates and as such will be using.)

As always, comments are welcome.

Chapter 28: Theon I / Davos I

Summary:

Theon reflects on his time at sea and Ser Davos checks on Shireen

Theon I

It was not what he had expected. Life at sea. It was nothing close to what he had imagined. Never in a thousand years even if someone had told him, would he have expected this life to be so rough. He likely would have blown them off, made some snarky or quick-witted comment insulting them and questioning what they knew on the subject. He would have gone about his everyday life and he would have kept his image of the ocean in his head. Strong and unwavering as stone. They would have made proud proclamations about his heritage and house. Ironborn, a reaver of house Greyjoy.

He had always imagined the day he would step onto a boat and leave Westeros for the open Waters. He always imagined standing on the bow of a ship as a cut through cold harsh waves, the wind blowing in his black hair as the sound of the sail cloth behind him strained and billowed with the ship's rigging. He would have imagined endless horizons, beautiful sunsets, glamorous nights and storms so violent you'd think them to be magic. He had imagined time below the decks of a ship conversing with the crew on past experiences and Adventures the treasures they would have acquired in their days sailing the high seas.

He always imagined that he would have taken to the sea naturally as a fish to water. That the second he moved over to the teller of the ship of the men would have cheered for him as they set the sales at his command.And they would have followed him anywhere from the Smoking Sea all the way to the Lands of Always Winter, from the Summer Isles to Asshai. And why shouldn't they follow him, he was Theon Greyjoy, last son of Balon Greyjoy, a kraken through and through. There was no argument in his mind about it. That was how it should have been, that is how he always imagined it to be.

Monford Velaryon had crushed that dream from the first moment he stepped onto the Pride of Driftmark.

When he first saw the great warship it was like something out of a dream for him. The brilliant turquoise paint and silver decorations representing the house's sigil coloring.The multitudes of holes where the great oars would be positioned out of, it's three great masts with its sails furled tight against the yards, the bow of the ship decorated with a great seahorse as its figurehead and right beneath it a great ram of bronze. So massive it was that perhaps it could have broken the back of any ship that crossed its path. It was a truly beautiful ship in every describable way.

Theon hadn't expected a mass of fanfare, but perhaps he had expected respect right out of the gate. Respect for his house and their naval tradition primarily. To be treated as an equal to Lord Monford as he figured he well should have been. He was no longer a prisoner or a ward of the Starks, he was a true Greyjoy once more, not only that he was here on the orders of the king, or what he supposed to be the king anyway. Quite frankly he was still getting used to the news even a little over a moon later.

He had spent a lot of time at Winterfell ridiculing Jon for his bastardy, or rather supposed bastardy. Granted his reasons were hardly justified, Jon was by all means the easy target between himself and the rest of the Starks. Thinking back on those times now seemed exceptionally bitter, the truth be told it was hardly ever about something wrong with Jon as a person, Rather making fun of someone else's misery made him feel normal in a way, like he fit in significantly more than he would have otherwise.

But that day at Riverrun, when the truth had come out and Robb placed that crown upon Jon's head, Theon had felt two things surge through him at once. The first being an excessive fear, he feared the consequences of his actions.That John with his Newfound Authority would turn his eyes to the one who had contributed quite a bit to his misery in his younger years, the one who would insult and berate him, call him bastard constantly, the one who smirked down from the high table as he was forced to eat with the servants at the far end of the great hall. The second feeling with something he couldn't have identified in that moment.

The following day however when Jon held his first session of court he realized what he had felt in that moment. When he had been called upon he was sure that this was the moment that Jon would release all his pent-up aggression and hurt directly at Theon. The words of condolences they had shared on the bridge when he first arrived would mean nothing, he was sure of it. And then Jon had released him as a prisoner, Everything just turned upside down after that.

Then Jon had asked him to join with Monford Velaryon to raid the coasts. At that moment realized in his own way what he had felt, guilt for his own actions. And now he had a chance to act on that, Robb obviously vouched for him, being the good friend he was, and Jon must have recognized something in him to agree. So needless to say when he first arrived his confidence was at an all-time high.

He had walked up that gangplank and greeted the Lord of Driftmark with all the confidence and pride in his name that he could muster. Lord Monford greeted him, kindly showed him to his quarters and let him sleep the night. And then the following morning everything had simply come crashing down around him. It started with an early wake-up call. He was dragged out of bed several hours before the sun had come up and immediately was put to work.

Not lessons in how to fight at sea or in naval combat, not lessons in navigation and operating a ship as a captain, none of those. The entire first day at sea he peeled potatoes. That was it the entire day from sunrise to sunset save only the breaks he received to eat meals. And that was what he did every single day for a good few weeks, nothing that a captain would actually need to know along the ocean rather, working with the small folk on the ship.

He thought that this had to be some sort of joke on Jon's part or Lord Monford's, perhaps even both. This was no way to treat a Lord's son, no way to treat an Ironborn. This was just humiliating on all fronts possible. He had protested to this kind of work several times to Lord Monford and every single time he received the same answer. ‘Very well, tomorrow you will learn something useful.’ That was all the Lord ever said when faced with his request for proper teachings. Infuriating could not even begin to describe that sentence.

Every single time he woke up hoping to learn something vaguely useful for being a captain he was instead greeted with another menial labor task. Whether it be stitching sails, simple carpentry, or even rowing on some days. And then there was the lord's general demeanor towards him that set him off further, every single time he tried to explain himself or make claims to his heritage Lord Monford nodded along seemingly listening, gave a curt response, and just left as if it didn't matter whatsoever. It both confused and enraged him at every single moment and he couldn't understand why.

The only bright spot in all this was Aurane Waters. Unlike his older brother Waters seemed to actually understand what Theon needed to be taught. He took great effort in teaching him what to expect when it came to ship combat. He often gave him lessons on what weapons to use in specific scenarios, what items he should have on at all times and what he should wear for protection as opposed to heavy metal armors. He had even provided him with a small ax as a preferable melee weapon in place of his long sword, which wouldn't serve well on the deck of an enemy ship.

Needless to say Theon liked Aurane, and more often than not despised Monford. Not only that but the excessive amount of time out at sea almost made him stir-crazy from time to time. There were nights he would go to bed hoping to be woken up by the sound of battle on deck. Whether it be a scuffle with some pirates or some drunk fisherman he hardly cared, just any situation where he could test his skills would be appreciated. Thankfully though on the 5th day of the third week out at sea he got his opportunity.

Aurane had a small number of informants in King's Landing so they could keep tabs on shipments coming in and out or at least expected shipments coming in and out of the city. And this particular one warranted their attention more so than the rest. It was a war Galley which was loaded up with quite a hefty sum of gold. Supposedly the ship was headed to Braavos, Its cargo was meant to be a small payment to the Iron Bank, a small chip in the debt of the realm but a chip nonetheless. And they were going to steal it, all of it.

Theon remembered the build-up to that battle, the excitement that hung in the air and the thought of the riches that they would receive from the ship. Suffice to say it made his chores and rigors on the ship far more bearable if not for a little while.And for once it actually felt like there might have been some purpose to his actions aside from just keeping the ship in order and floating. It felt good to be actually moving towards something as opposed to just floating around in the open ocean waiting for something interesting to happen or for something to just come their way.

The battle itself had been swift and decisive with Theon himself asserting himself as a worthy fighter on the deck of the enemy ship. Theon had always known he was a good fighter; he had proved as much in the battle of the Whispering Wood. And it would appear his skills had not gotten rusty since then. Through a combination of arrows and axes he moved with Lord Monford to seize the ship and its most valuable contents. The cheers of victory that night were so damn deafening it was intoxicating.

Afterwards they figured it would be a good idea to resupply before heading back out for more rating. So they turned course and made way for Dragonstone. That ended up itself was quite a sight. There was constantly a fog bank around the island, and the ancient Targaryen island fortress loomed over the harbor like some dark wraith looking out through the mist of the volcanic island, Theon could only imagine Pyke looking as grand and majestic, a pillar of strength surrounded by the roiling sea. Once again it was quite the thought.

Well that was where they had dropped anchor and had remained for the previous few weeks. Theon rarely got any time ashore. And when he did, it was usually for once again chores and menial labor. Buying supplies from what few small villages the island had on it. Or just work around the ship as per usual although he surprisingly found it becoming less and less monotonous the more he did it. Perhaps it was just his boredom at the task becoming so overwhelming he couldn't even feel it anymore. And surprisingly enough he had seen quite a lot of activity around the island as well.

Ships often came and went as they needed, some stopping for resupplies, some staying for long periods of time, likely fishing vessels and whatnot. The vast majority of them had Velaryon sails initially, but slowly he had noticed the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen becoming more prevalent on banners and sails. He also noticed from the walls of Dragonstone Jon's personal sigil being flown as flags and Banners from the walls and towers. He would be lying if he said that there wasn't something intriguing about that. Almost as if he was looking to the past in a weird way.

He had watched as the last of the old Baratheon banners, the flaming heart of Stannis Baratheon, were packaged away and sent off on a ship to some unknown location. Whether the banners would be dumped into the ocean and left to rot under the waves for all eternity or they were simply being moved somewhere else as keepsakes was uncertain. All he knew for certain and he supposed in some way all that really mattered was the fact that they were no longer being flown from the castle walls. And in their place what he supposed was the rightful owner's colors had taken their place.

Then came the fortifications. The next several days were filled with ships sailing to the island shores. All of them seem to be carrying relatively similar items, lumber and weapons. It was only a couple short days after that Theon could see trebuchets or at least what would one day be trebuchets being built on the tips of the walls. Whether it was Jon who had requested it or Lord Monford acting on his own initiative he wasn't sure. But either way the island fortress was becoming more and more intimidating by the hour.

And this was where Theon had remained ever since. And once again he was becoming stir-crazy as he looked out from the deck of The Pride of Driftmark at the island. Whether it was a lust for action or he simply wanted to get in bed with a woman was up in the air, either way he didn't like standing around. Ever since the news of the Royal fleet had come to their ears he had immediately expected them to be ready for action, but instead they had simply held their positions and remained defending the island encountering nothing but silent nights.

Tonight didn't look like it would be any different, he was already finished with his labors for the day and was looking forward to resting his screaming muscles and perhaps get a drink down below deck if he fancied himself some ale. He took the time to genuinely look around, to look at the cold stars above head as they consistently disappeared behind clouds, it was a moonless night, cold and dark as could be expected. Furthermore, it was quiet, save for the sound of waves at the hull of the ship. He was almost certain that this would be a night like many before. Quiet and overall simple.

Aurane broke the silence as he stepped up onto the deck, his boots wildly sounding against the wood as he walked over with a wineskin in hand. He had his signature cocky grin on his face as he sauntered over to Theon. More than likely he was coming up just to chat with him, which film is not opposed to by any means. Especially if he could get a swig of whatever was in the wine skin. So when the bastard finally arrived he leaned his back against the railings of the ship and passed the drink over to Theon who graciously accepted.

The liquid was surprisingly sour and didn't go down his throat easily. Whatever it was Theon was confident they didn't care for it. Aurane on the other hand took the wineskin back and proceeded to drink the entire supply of whatever it was. He gave a satisfied exhalation when he had finished Downing the liquid before turning over to Theon intent on speaking to him. His tone was cocky yet at the same time easy going.

“Alone again tonight?”

“Unfortunately so.”

“Don't like it?”

“Not at all, I'd rather be on shore right now. A good drink in hand and a woman between my legs giving me a night worth remembering.”

Aurane laughed joyfully at Theon’s comment, he laughed so loud that Theon was sure the whole island would hear him.

“Well that makes two of us, although the former thing you wished for I just gave you.”

“And it was disgusting. What the fuck was that anyway?”

Aurane chuckled.

“Like I'll ever tell you.”

Theon rolled his eyes, growing slightly more concerned at the statement, but pushing on nonetheless. His gaze returned back to the island as he watched the orange lights of candles flicker in the windows of the castle. Aurane’s gaze seemed to follow Theons as he turned his attention to the same place. Theon spoke next.

“You think the girl’s afraid?”

“Come again?”

“The Baratheon, you think she's afraid?”

“Should she?”

Theon turned his attention to Aurane.

“Well the royal fleet is sailing over ready to kill her so yeah I'd say she'd be afraid.”

Aurane Gave another glance to the windows of the castle as he shifted on his feet.

“You'd be surprised.”

“Would I? Her father's dead, her uncles are dead, and all she has is her cow of a mother. And if any of what I have heard about her is true then I'd assume she's shaking in fear right now.”

Aurane gave a dissatisfied glance to Theon which made him go quiet pretty quickly. Aurane took the time to drop the wine skin and shift his position to face Theon directly before he spoke again. And when he did speak again his voice was much sterner.

“Clearly you haven't met the girl”

Theon shifted his own mood, becoming defensive immediately.

“No I haven't, I just heard that the girl is sullen and sad, ugly as sin. Sounds like the fearful type.”

“Once again it sounds like you dont know her.”

“Oh do enlighten me.”

Aurane moved closer.

“Her father died in one of the most heinous ways possible, you know what that “sullen” and “sad” girl did?”

Theon shook his head.

“She mourned, and she cried, and then smiled again. She continued on. She took her loss in stride and kept on walking. Sad or not that takes guts, and a lot of them. I've known men twice your size and grit to break down when they hear about their mother's passing and never recover. She fights while she mourns, and thats more than I can say for alot of people in this fucked up world of ours.”

Aurane turned his eyes to the looming castle once more, the dragons carved into the very walls seemingly looking down on them as they spoke. The lights in the castle's central keep still glowing, no doubt where the former princess was sleeping.

“You want to know what I think she is doing right now?”

Theon shrugged in acknowledgment, as if to say go on.

“I think she is sitting at her desk, reading a book, waiting for tomorrow to come. I think she is taking her time and living her life as she should be.”

Theon looked back up to the castle himself as he thought of Aurane’s words. In truth, you really didn't get what he was saying. Up in that tower was not some great force of will or any great king. What was in that tower was a little girl, a young child whose father lay dead and now knew that the supposed king was sending all before she could muster on ships right over to kill her. It was a stressful thought for any man to take much less from a young girl. Theon could see no way that she wasn't scared out of her mind.

However, Theon wasn't in the mood to argue tonight, he knew that he would never change Aurane’s mind on the topic matter and quite frankly neither would the opposite be true. So the pair decided that the conversation would go no further as they went their own ways intent on preparing themselves for bed. It had been a long day and a boring day at that, Furthermore with the imminent threat of the royal fleet bearing down on them and likely to show up any day now things were about to get a lot more interesting, or at least he felt they were.

The last they had heard of the ships was not a day ago, Aurane’s informants had taken a little longer than usual to provide them with the information in the first place so they were actually a little behind on their estimate of when the ships might actually arrive at Dragonstone. Their suspicions were confirmed when just this morning a raven came from Driftmark telling them that the fleet was seen passing by earlier that day. So the chances were that they would be here within two days at most.

As if that wasn't already concerning enough then came the reports of their actual numbers, and that only made the entire feeling of stress regarding the situation worse. Supposedly there were about 80 warships within the fleet and a number of smaller vessels which acted as tenders for supplies. The vast majority of the ships were supposedly war galleys and dromonds. Massive ships crewed by hundreds of men not including the likely thousands of soldiers which they carried below decks. Not only that but they would easily be matches for the ships they currently had at anchor right now.

With regards to their own ships the situation was not hopeless but certainly bleak. They had just about a hundred ships at anchor around Dragonstone between the Celtigars and Velaryons. The rest of the fleet however was out with the Manderly ships performing waiting missions up and down the coasts of Westeros trying to harm supplies going into King's Landing. And the ships they did have an anchor were hardly as grand as those in the Royal Fleet. And it mostly came down to the styles of ships that they had at their current disposal.

It was by no means a grand defense but at the same time they might be able to snatch victory should they play their hand correctly. But even then it would be a tough Challenge and almost certainly a long battle which to be fair Theon looked forward to. The raid on the shipment for the iron bank was just a test he reckoned, this would be the real deal. This would be the moment of truth for him, he felt. Even with their reduced fleet with only some 60 warships that could reasonably stand a chance against the Royal Fleet at their disposal he figured that they could still do it.

As such Theon made his way back down below decks and tent on finding his personal quarter so he could lay his head down and get some rest for the night. There was little he could do otherwise. Or at least he assumed as much. When he had closed the door and changed into his sleeping attire he received a knock at the door. Particularly frustrated with the annoyance, especially as he was about to drift off, he got up and opened the door with a particularly nasty scale on his face to see one of the ship's crew members standing there. As much as he wanted to punch the man in the mouth for interrupting him he listened to what he had to say unfortunately.

“Lord Greyjoy, I apologize for the interruption but Lord Monford requires your presence.”

Theon gave an audible groan as he returned back over to his bed slipped on a cloak for some monochrome of modesty as he returned to the door where the servant was still standing. He gave him a single glare as the man rushed back off probably intent on getting some sleep himself, lucky fucker. Theon dragged himself out of the room and down towards the stern of the ship where the Lord's quarters were. He wasn't sure what Monford wanted from him right now and quite frankly he was debating whether or not he would even care when he heard whatever he had to say.

But all the same he dragged himself down the hall approaching the dark wood door at the end of it with a silver seahorse emblazoned and on it right above the knocker. Fighting through the drowsiness and his annoyance he knocked on the door with his fingers to which he heard Lord Monford tell him to come in. opening the door and walking into the Lord's quarters he still couldn't get over the look of the room. Because quite frankly even he had to admit it was gorgeous beyond belief. The entire room was decorated and carved seahorses and beautiful patterns into the woodwork. The furniture was exquisite and the windows were all stained-glass in turquoise blue and white. This truly did feel like a castle out on the water.

Lord Monford sat at the table in the center of the room, The chair in which he sat was equally as extravagant as were his clothes. Interestingly enough he was not dressed for bed, he was still in the attire which he had started about the deck in during the day. His eyes however were red and bloodshot seemingly from a lack of sleep. Quite frankly Theon had never seen the man in this condition, and he would be lying if he said that it wasn't slightly concerning given his determination and grit as a sailor. And from the looks of it he had some things he wanted to say so chances were that this was not going to end anytime soon and sleep would not come to either of them at any immediate moment.

He ushered Theon forward pointing to one of the chairs which sat out before the table asking him to sit. So naturally the Theon complied and dragged out one of the chairs positioning himself on it and facing Lord Monford. The Lord poured them both a cup of water And from there he took a deep breath looking to see on and speaking in a calm yet authoritative voice.

“How have you been Greyjoy?”

“Well as can be expected, but tired.”

“I can understand that much at least. It's a hard life out here, but a good one.”

Theon rolled his eyes indicating his sarcastic feelings on the matter. Lord Monford seemed to notice his gesture and continued his inquiry.

“You disagree?”

“I've hardly experienced any of what life is like out here.”

“What makes you think that? How could you say that you haven't experienced life at sea when you have spent the moon enduring its rigors and labors?”

Theon, tired and already annoyed at Monfords circular arguments, just snapped at that moment, he wasn't sure how or what came over him but he did.

“BECAUSE YOU HAVEN'T GIVEN THAT TO ME!!! ALL YOU HAVE HAD ME DO IS WORK AND PEEL POTATOES, I'VE ONLY FOUGHT IN ONE BATTLE AND BARELY EVEN THEN!!! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO PROVE MYSELF IF I… I…”

Theon watched as Lord Monfords visage grew darker with both annoyance and disappointment. The man stood up and walked over to the stern windows looking out onto the water, some of them open for air flow. He took in a deep breath of air steadying himself before he looked back. And when he did his gaze was scrutinizing and full of grit. Theon went quiet as Lord Monford spoke.

“If you what? Finish your declaration Greyjoy.”

Theon took a breath of his own before speaking. But when he tried To speak he found that the word stuck in his throat. And before long he realized he didn't know what to say, he didn't know what he was going to say he was completely silent in that moment. Lord Monford spoke again.

“If you don't… kill? Pillage? Plunder? If you don't live up to the old way of your people?”

Theon wanted to protest, but at his core he knew there was truth to that statement. He wanted to be that, an Ironborn. Cruel and vicious. Monford spoke again.

“Is that what you truly want? To burn and rape your way along the coast? To land on a fishing village's shore and take anything that isn't nailed down? Answer me Greyjoy, is that what you want?”

Theon’s response was both immediate and shocking. As if he hadn't expected to say it.

“No.”

Lord Monford nodded his head, the tension in his shoulders leaving as he returned to his chair.

“What do you want, Theon? Truly, what do you want?”

Theon looked down at his hands before responding.

“I want to be a Greyjoy… I have the name and looks but… other than that I'm not sure. Since I was a boy I've only known the Starks… Robb thinks of me as a brother but… I'm not one of them, much as I'd like to be… I just want to be what I am.”

Lord Monfords look again softened as he spoke again.

“Theon from the first day you arrived I have only ever given you life at sea. It's not looting and raiding, its work. From dawn till dusk. The work you have been made to perform is all you could ever expect from this life. And you're good at it, you require practice, patience, and an excess of humility but you are a good sailor. But this… this image of your family… I cannot help you with, I fear no one can. But I can tell you this, you will find no love in this idealized way of life.”

Lord Monford walked over, lifting him up by the shoulder and walking him to the door.

“You must think long and hard about who you truly wish to be, remove the old ways and pillaging fantasies and think… the only person who knows what you are… is yourself… The battle will be upon us soon, get some sleep.”

Theon nodded his head and returned to his quarters. He lay down on his bed and extinguished a candle. He got no sleep that night, he only thought.

---

Davos I

The night was cold, something he was admittedly used to. Not that he liked it but he was used to it.Yours on the open waves smuggling cargo had made him accustomed to all sorts of climates. From the scorching hot temperatures of Dorne to the frigid waters of the North. He had seen it all traveled at all experienced at all and rarely felt that he was not ready for it all. Even so, tonight's cold air brought a chill down his spine. What's worse he knew exactly why it brought a chill down his spine.

A life on the open ocean had deeply attuned him to the weather, he had gotten quite good at predicting it in truth. He knew when the wind would change direction and in what way he knew when it would be cloudy when it would be sunny when it would be rainy. He knew when the storm would hit and when it would pass. It was a neat trick and quite frankly a very useful one if he was being honest. But that sense brought him plenty of information. And the information it brought tonight was the type that he didn't wish to know.

Through an open window he stuck out a hand as he fell to the air rushing through his half fingers. The wind had shifted east, and it was blowing particularly hard. And he figured that it wouldn't let up for at least a good few days. He felt a pit of Sorrow begin to grow in his chest as he took a deep breath understanding what this would mean for him. What this would mean for everyone on the island and down in the ships below which currently guarded them. He had known about the Royal Fleet making their way to Dragonstone, quite frankly he had expected it.

If anything he was actually surprised they hadn't tried this before, or at least a little sooner. Perhaps they were too preoccupied with Renly. Come to think of it, that was the likely scenario. What else could possibly draw their attention to the mainland for so long. Nothing that was what, nothing aside from the war that was currently raging could keep their eyes off Shireen Baratheon. But now Renly was dead, now there was a chance to secure Joffrey's rule and they were taking it. Or at least secure it as much as they could without accounting for Daeron the third.

Now they were fast approaching and there was little he could do to stop them, actually there was quite literally nothing he could do to stop them at this moment. Maybe he could have smuggled the princess off the island earlier but Lord Monford had crushed that idea very early on. There was no escaping the island. To do that he would need a ship and all the ships were currently under Lord Monford’s command and watch. So no use in attempting that. Furthermore it was unlikely that Selyse would even allow him to take her away from the island if he could. There was just no way out of it, not with her around.

Quite frankly the moon following Stannis’ death were some of the hardest he had ever endured and for a multitude of reasons.He had been asked to stay behind and watch Dragonstone in his absence while he sailed over to deal with the bastard currently sitting on the throne. They had received a multitude of letters supposedly from Lord Stark saying that he had become aware of the situation and was ready to act should anything go horribly wrong. Stannis had grown tired of waiting and decided to gather the fleet and sailed to King's Landing himself to tell Robert if Lord Stark didn't.

And then Robert had died, they had learned that when a singular raven had been intercepted on their Voyage over, or at least that's what he had heard from those who survived. Stannis likely seized the opportunity with the forces he had in hopes to claim the throne while he could, while the new king's rule was in its infancy. He had supposedly already received the support of the city watch in addition to Lord Stark's supposed hidden men. Quite frankly he would have liked his chances all things considered. On paper, they likely would have won.

Lies. All of it. Lord Stark didn't have men in the capital, Seven hells he didn't even know about him this or was the one writing the letters in the first place. Nor did Stannis have the support of the city watch. All of it a constructed ruse designed to lure him in. Get him where he was vulnerable and kill him while he was down. He had heard what happened in the throne room, how Stannis was brought to his knees and Joffrey failed three times to kill him with a crossbow at point-blank range. He would have laughed if not for the tragedy of the situation.

Davos often wondered about the circumstances surrounding it. The odd timing of it all. He figured that this probably went deeper than wanting to kill Stannis because he knew of Joffrey's incestuous birth. That wouldn't have explained a lot of things. He had many hours to ponder on the situation and figured that it was an attempted effort to seize the throne in its entirety. Kill Robert, kill Stannis and try to kill Renly in one fell swoop so that Joffrey could take over now as opposed to waiting for Robert to die. At which point who knows what their plan would have been for Shireen.

But Renly had escaped and had a massive Army at his disposal to try and seize the throne himself. Davos would have put his money on Renly and unfortunately would have lost.It seemed as if force of numbers was not the only deciding factor in warfare. But he had hardly had time to pay attention to the war on land as his focus was consumed immediately after Stannis's death by the situation here on Dragonstone. And what followed in his Lord's untimely death was a wave of confusion and chaos.

When the raven had arrived and the News was read aloud three things happened pretty much immediately. The Red Priestess disappeared, no word, no warning simply that she went to bed in her chambers that night and in the morning no one could find her and a singular ship was missing. Where She had left to no one could say, but in the wake of her disappearance came an immediate crisis of faith within those who had converted to her religion.Things just broke down in the men having lost their savior and leading spiritual figure. Plenty of suicide followed.

Selyse on the other hand was a totally different form of chaos. When she had heard the news she was initially cold to it. She and Lord Stannis had not had a particularly happy marriage with Shireen being the only thing that both of them cherished, So to say she was less than mournful would be an understatement, however when the Red Priestess left her faith had not been shattered, quite the opposite. She had thrown herself into the faith engaging in rituals on such an excessive level that all residents on Dragonstone became very wary of her. Even her own daughter seemed to be concerned with how she acted in the wake of the news.

And the last thing that happened immediately was Shireen's reaction, oh the poor girl. When she had heard the news she had put on a strong face for those around her and quickly moved to her private chambers. Once the door was closed and locked and she thought no one could hear her she broke down crying. He had tried to bring some comfort to her in those late nights but she was just inconsolable. There was no other way around it. She barely ate, she hardly slept, she even slowed down on drinking water. Stannis had always been a cold and distant man but even he had put in the time and effort to love his daughter as she deserved to be loved. Even if he didn't show it often.

But the young princess wore her heart on her sleeve far more than either of her parents. So suffice to say she didn't speak for a couple of days. It was only after Davos Had made frequent visits to her that she came out of her room and began speaking again. After that she seemed to mellow out and temperament once more becoming cordial and proper and her demeanor again. But he knew that it was just a mask, she still felt deeply for the loss of her father, and she also fell for the loss of her uncle. She had spent time around court as a young girl, she felt for her fallen uncle all the same as well. And the horridness of the deaths only made her worse. However everything was once again upset only a couple of days after the news when another raven came in.

Initially the thoughts had been that it was from the Lannister's likely making some form of threat towards the princess or proposing some deal which they would almost certainly renag on and kill her regardless. But when the servant had passed the letter to the castle's maester his eyes had gone wide at the seal which lay across the paper. It was not the lion of Lannister, but the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. Selyse thought that it was a joke, Shireen seemed intrigued and interested wanting to know what its contents were and quite frankly so did he. When the maester read it aloud things became pretty clear.

‘To the residents of Dragonstone,

Know that it is not my intention to harm the lady Shireen Baratheon, and know that I am sorry for your loss. My condolences go out to Lady Shireen Baratheon and Lady Selyse Baratheon, the fate which befell Lord Stannis was unjustified and cruel.

I cannot expect you to view this letter with any positive connotation or anything but the purest suspicion, so I will be truthful and forthcoming in my intentions. I am setting out to claim the Iron Throne for house Targaryen once more. However, I will see to it that Lady Shireen is not only kept alive but safe and protected under my banner.

The recent history between our houses is gruesome but it does not warrant her death by any means. I do not wish to see the fates which befell my brother and sister Aegon and Rhaenys come to Lady Shireen. As such I am sending Lord Monford Velaryon to position a fleet around Dragonstone to ensure her safety. She is not to be a prisoner but a guest of my house. She will suffer no decrease in the quality of her life and will be afforded every single luxury I can give.

But do be aware that Dragonstone has returned to the possession and dominion of House Targaryen, now and forevermore. I hope to soon make the journey and meet with the Lady Shireen someday soon to not only finalize the details but meet her. Once again all those living in the castle may remain there and remain protected.

King Daeron III of house Targaryen.’

The letter had changed everything once more. And the responses to the letter were equally as varied.

Some were filled with indignation and outrage at the seeming heinousness and demands of the letter. To strip Shireen Baratheon of her birthright and legal right to the Iron Throne as the last remaining trueborn child of the Baratheon Dynasty. Some pretty much immediately called upon the princess to write back to this Targaryen and declare her own intentions for the iron throne and spit the offer right back in his face. Others quickly brought up the fact that Renly was already making his play for the throne with the rightful claim as the true-born brother of Robert which did come before Shireen in the line of succession.

Others were in total shock at the news, it was like a blow to the head in some ways. So I'm still with their mouths wide open, others with their hands clutching their hair. It seemed like something out of a dream in truth, house Targaryen back from the dead and coming to reclaim what they thought was theirs. Selyse definitely found herself between the two reactions often moving from one to the other. Someday she would be enraged at the indignation and demand something be done about it. Other days she would sit in her room looking out the window trying to comprehend the upset to her status quo.

Davos for his part found that he was neither enraged or extremely confused by the news. His priorities had immediately shifted once more to caring for the young princess and trying to make sure that she was all right in all of this. Well her mother broke down and those supposed loyal advisors around her ran around like headless chickens. He had to make sure that she was the only one with her head on straight. But much to his own surprise her reaction was not one of rage nor one of confusion. Rather her reaction was one of intrigue.

She had taken the letter from the maester’s hand pretty quickly after he had read it out loud for the court to hear and she had silently and unassumingly slipped back away into her private chamber so she could read it over and over again to herself.He wasn't sure how long she was up in her quarters simply just reading that letter for how long she read it but it seemed to take up the vast majority of her time. She would for hours look it over and then at random times come out either for food or to go down to the library to pick up books detailing the Targaryen's. Over the week she consumed about as many books as Davos had seen in his life on the Targaryen's alone.

She threw herself in studies on old Valyrian customs and their familial traditions and history.The motivation for it, he wasn't sure but he figured that she probably just wanted to be aware of what he now supposed was their new host. She read and read all day and night but never once seemed scared. She never wants to ask him questions out of fear. She never asked if she would be hurt or if she would need to run. She just kept reading.

When the first ships arrived at Dragonstone they saw as dozens of Velaryon men entered the castle and quickly began moving the banners of Lord Stannis which did incur quite a few fights which were quickly quelled. They cleared out the castle and began moving the few Lords Stannis had to his cause out of the castle and had them returned home. Davos was allowed to stay on the order of Shireen herself. And surprisingly enough the men heeded her words. They respected her commands and did as she told them. In fact all things considered the letter seem to be quite true in that her quality of life around the castle itself didn't disappear.

She was treated with the utmost respect and courtesy, always given the best food and water; she in short was treated as a princess. She went where she pleased and she took time to herself and walked as she pleased, she was free to roam the island and talk to the men where she could. Quite frankly went a long way to settling the discomfort that had existed around the castle ever since the letter arrived and the death of Lord Stannis. For the briefest of moments it seemed as if everything was normal. They were removed from the war on land and they were generally safe with the ships around the island. Things seemed okay.

Even when the banner of the three-headed dragon or rather Dragon-wolf, which apparently was this King Daeron's personal sigil, flew from the walls of Dragonstone in the place of the flaming heart things seemed okay. There were no great tears shed for the discarding of the Baratheon banners, Shireen hardly even noticed until she took a good long look at the walls. And when she did notice she sat on the ground and looked at them flapping in the wind. And she seemed okay.

For a while that was the status quo until the news of Renly's loss came in. After that everything had turned on its head again and things quickly went from okay to horrendously bad once more.Once again the calls from what few Lords remained in Dragonstone for sharing to take up her mantle as the rightful Heir rang out but once again to little avail. As of now they were truly in no position to fight back, and as much as he hated to admit it, but if Renly had died then chances were the Baratheon dynasty might as well be over. All Focus would turn to the Targaryen who had already declared themselves and currently held Shireen hostage.

There didn't seem to be a way out of the stranglehold they currently found themselves in. and despite the prattling of old Crownland lords, chances were there was no shot in all seven hells that they could get Shireen on the throne. And she knew it. She never seemed to make any indication that it was what she wanted regardless. Quite frankly she had once again become rather mournful with the loss of her last uncle. Returning to her room rarely eating and sleeping only when she passed out. And if the situation couldn't have been worse than came word from the capital.

It was to be expected at least to Davos, he had long figured that Shireen represented the single greatest threat to the Lannister regime. While Shireen might not have been able to claim the Iron Throne she did have claim to the Stormlands, and with its Lords having backed Renly, chances were that Lord Tywin would want to secure their loyalty before turning his eyes to Daeron Targaryen. And in order to do that he would need to install a loyal Lord Paramount. Who that Lord Paramount would be? Likely Tommen, But even if it wasn't him and it was some other Stormland house, the truth remained that they had to get rid of Shireen to clear the path. That was just the way of things.

And all their suspicions with regards to that were confirmed when they heard that the Royal fleet was beginning to muster its full force and set sail. Davos knew that there could only be one location in mind, that there could only be one final destination that such a force would be going to. But even so he hoped that he was wrong; he hoped that perhaps it was some sort of expedition Force to the North or Landing troops into the Riverlands. But unfortunately he wasn't wrong, when the Ravens had come from drift Mark detailing that the fleet was passing over earlier today he knew that Dragonstone was truly the Target and that meant Shireen was the target.

And by now unfortunately because they had stalled so long there was no hope of escape, the Royal Fleet would have likely managed to track them down fairly quickly if they left by boat. Westeros they couldn't even land on so they would have to flee to Essos. And there they would likely be found quickly. Furthermore, with the wind shift he had picked up on earlier chances were that they would be here possibly by tomorrow morning if they decided to sail through the night and in truth they likely would. There was only one way this ended and it was with her dead.

What made it all worse was that she knew this was the case. She knew that the only reason the Royal flea would be making the way to this rock was for her. And despite how tough that girl was, and she was damn tough, he could tell that it was affecting her. Aurane Waters had told them that he sent word to Daeron Targaryen, informing him of the fleet's position. And that they could only hope he arrived within enough time to help them in some meaningful way. Despite the crazy circumstances of Life which now surrounded them he hoped that this Targaryen could send help as crazy as it sounded to him and everyone else.

He chuckled to himself a bit thinking of the irony of the situation. All of Robert's reign had been nothing short of a catastrophe but one thing stuck out above all else at this moment. His unyielding hatred for House Targaryen, The constant assassination attempts and criminalization of any mention of the family. Yet despite all of that house Baratheon's last hope was in a Targaryen's hands.And this wouldn't be some great reconciliation on the battlefield between warriors of two houses. This would be a young king rushing to save a little girl. Rushing to save them from a house which had attempted to reduce both of theirs to ashes.

He couldn't truly grasp the hectic chaos of the situation nor did he really wish to at this point.He had his seven sons going about their business and helping to prepare the castle for the defense which would come soon. For the fight that was inevitably bearing down on them like a storm out at sea. It was nothing he wanted to face but he would have to face it all the same. And right now he had only one person in mind, Shireen. He had to know that the poor girl was doing okay in light of all this news that she was in some capacity ready to take on the challenges that would be presented to them in the following days.

That's what he was doing, currently marching through the halls of Dragonstone intent on making it to the princess' private chamber so that he might check in on her one last time before they both had to fall asleep. The halls tonight were dark as ever, and Truth they always work considering the black stone the castle was built from. And in the daylight it had an odd shimmer to it which made it almost seem beautiful but at night it just spooked him. Everywhere he looked Shadows danced in the corner of his eyes almost as if spirits followed his every step, his way illuminated by a singular candle as he finally found the princess's door. He gave a tentative knock and heard a muffled voice on the other side.

“Come in please.”

Nodding at the given consent he opened the door to a much brighter painted room. It wasn't black like the halls but rather a nice sky blue. In the corner was the princess's bed and in front of a large pillared window was a desk and a chair which she currently sat at reading a book in candlelight. She quickly shut the book, turning her attention over to Davos before giving a small smile. The gray scale on her face visible in the candlelight.

She wore a dark yellow and black sleeping dress which extended down covering her feet. Her hair was taken out of any braid and she was removed of all jewelry. It was pretty obvious that she was about to head to bed when he had knocked. But all the same she spoke in a calm and soft voice.

“To what do I owe the honor of this visit Ser Davos”

He could only smile at her as he leaned down and pulled a small stool over to sit on.

“I should hardly think my presence is an honor princess. Im nought but a smuggler.” He said with a smile under his brown beard. Shireen however rolled her eyes and pulled her own chair over to face him properly. She responded with her tone full of false annoyance at his comment.

“No you are not, you're a knight. And a fine one at that.”

“Beggin your pardon princess, but it is the truth.”

“And it is the truth that you're a knight too, a good knight. And a good knight's presence is an honor.” She said with a smile on her face, which brought a wider smile to his own.

“I suppose you are correct princess.”

Shireen chuckled before her face grew tense, she noticed the somberness around him, or at least he suspected as such. Before long she asked.

“They are getting close aren't they?”

Davos felt his smile drop as he slowly nodded his head to her. It was the truth, nothing more to it. Best she knows about it.

“Aye they are.”

Shireen nodded before responding again.

“How close?”

Davos looked out the window to the moonlight on the ocean outside.

“I think they might be here by tomorrow, either after we break our fast or dawn. One of the two and neither bodes well for us.”

Shireen nodded her head, but her face remained resolute.

“You don't seem all too concerned princess.”

Shireen looked at him before speaking, her voice a little stronger.

“I am princess Shireen Baratheon, I must be strong in moments like these… I have to be… right?” She said with her voice full of uncertainty. It broke his heart to hear her speak like that, she was too young to be thinking like that, much too young. He wished that she could be in a better situation than he truly did. But such was not their luck, unfortunately. So he scooted closer, the legs of his stool grinding on the ground as he did.

“You shouldn't have to be, but you are… you're not strong because you need to be for us, you're that way because that's who you are. Quite frankly princess, if you don't mind me speakin me mind.”

“Please do Ser Davos.”

He smiled.

“I think your one tough as nails little girl. You might not see it at first but ye are. You've suffered a lot these past few weeks and to see you still holdin it together better than some full-grown men I've known impresses me to no end.”

She perked up at that compliment, meeting his gaze with her blue eyes.

“Truly?”

“Truly, aye.”

Shireen looked back out the window, taking a deep breath.

“They're coming to kill me… like they killed uncle Robert, uncle Renly… father…”

Davos nodded his head soberly at her comment. It was cruel but it was true.

“Aye… they are.”

“They want the throne… that's why right? I stand in their way and they want me gone…”

Davos nodded again.

“Aye. That about sums it up.”

“Is this how all people do it? Kill anyone who stands in their way?”

Davos stalled on his response thinking before nodding again.

“Aye…”

Shireen looked to her table again.

“Then why hasn't Daeron tried to kill me? If that's how it's done then I should have been dead a long time ago…”

Davos didn't know what to say to that, Initially he wanted to disagree with it because it went against everything he initially thought about power. Death was a tool to carve your way to it in a timely manner that was just the way of things. But she was right as well, there was no doubt in his mind that if Daeron wanted Shireen dead then she would have been killed a long time ago. It seems a waste to keep her warm fed and cared for exceptionally well just to kill her now. So he gave the only response that he could.

“I don't know, perhaps he doesn't want to.”

Shireen nodded her head.

“I hope it's that… maybe he doesn't want to kill everyone who stands in his way.”

“It would be a nice change of pace now wouldn't it?”

She nodded her head before looking down to her hands.

“Will any help come?”

Davos again stalled on his answer. He knew that in truth only the Velaryon and Celtigar Fleet stood in between them and the Royal Fleet. Even if they could manage to get Ravens out to some of the other Crownland houses, how many would realistically heed the call. How many could heed the call, to get here by tomorrow with men already assembled and readied. No they were on their own out here and they had to hope that what they had was enough to hold them back and repel them. That was the truth of it

“No, I don't think so.”

Shireen looked back to the ocean water outside.

“I think Daeron will help… somehow, I think he will.”

Davos raised an eyebrow.

“What gives you that idea?”

“A feeling, it's just… from the letter, he sounds like the kind of man who would help.”

Davos gave a forlorn glance to the princess.

“Even if he could, what would he do?”

“...I don't know.”

Davos took in a deep breath before taking her hand in his.

“Look, no matter what happens I will be here for you, ok?”

“Promise?”

Davos smiled once more.

“I promise.”

Shireen nodded as they sat in the candlelight. Ready for the battle that was coming for them at sunrise.

Notes:

Thank you all for the kind words last chapter and for the critiques provided. Hope you enjoyed this one.

North/Riverlands: 42,000 - (260 ships + 200 ‘Celtigar + Velaryon. 1 Dragon)

Westerlands/Stormlands/Vale: 77,000 - (50,000 westerlands, 12,000 Stormlands, 13,000 Vale 120 ships)

Reach: 39,000

Dorne: Undeclared?

Iron Islands: Undeclared

Daenerys: 15,000 (8,000 unsullied, 5,000 in training, 2,000 freedmen. 3 Dragons)

(Note this might not be accurate with the books or show to a T but these are what I personally found to be believable estimates and as such will be using.)

As always, comments are welcome.

Chapter 29: The Battle of Dragonstone

Summary:

The royal fleet tastes the dragons wrath.

The Battle of Dragonstone

The morning was cold as Davos looked out from the walls of Dragonstone. It was a blustery day with the winds rushing from the west headed east, the same as last night and as he predicted. And it was a strong win too. It ran through the silk banners and flags which dotted the walls. The three-headed dragon wolves depicted on them standing proud in the wind as they fluttered. For as long as they fought they would stand proud against the enemy. He supposed that there was some measure of ironic comfort to be taken in that.

The waves crashed violently below at the base of the cliffs. As if they were trying to tear down the island itself, to drag it down below into the murky depths of the water below. Never to be seen or heard from again. Silent as the grave. He looked up to see the gray clouds rolling in overhead. With the wind picking up and the overcast he suspected there would be a storm at some point soon. Perhaps by the end of the day. Looking out over the sea once more he let himself wonder what type of storm he would be facing soon. A storm of seas or a storm of swords, he figured the latter.

They were on the horizon breaking through the waves, like a floating wall of wood and silk fluttering in the winds. The colors of a dozen different houses and at least some sell sails, some of which he even recognized. And would have seen that the scouts were wrong in their estimations by quite a bit. There weren't 80 ships in this fleet but rather 140. And down below there were only a hundred ships to their own defense. So if I was to say the odds were now decidedly out of the defender's favor.

He took in a shaky breath as he forced himself to look back to the horizon trying to take in the various houses that sailed towards them. The vast majority of them were Crownland houses as to be expected, houses Bar Emmon and Manning stood out in particular with at least 12 ships each. But of course the bulk of the fleet which sailed at the head were adorned in the sigils of the royal Baratheon house. The golden lion and the black stag joined together in their similarly split sigils colors.

Then there were the more heavily equipped ships, that is to say ships built for siege. Several of the galleys that were in the Royal Fleet appear to have been outfitted with great trebuchets and catapults to batter the walls of Dragonstone. All the more proof that this was by no means a kind invitation for princess Shireen to join her supposed cousins at court. This was an assassination attempt in all but immediate official names and considering that this was going to be a fight to the death if he had any say in it. And much to his surprise he did have quite a say in the way things were going to go today.

Lord Monford had sent him a letter the previous night detailing his duties for the day and she had been named master of defense for the castle. Which to be fair was somewhat expected considering that there were almost no other noble houses in Dragonstone who could have taken the mantle regardless. Quite frankly the only houses that mattered today in the defense of this castle would be house Seaworth, Velaryon, and Celtigar. And that was the sad truth of the matter. And quite frankly it brought more than a tear to his eye. It brought quite an unyielding rage.

These houses owed their loyalty to Stannis, by extension should have owed their loyalty to his daughter, the rightful heir. Claims of a Targaryen or not they should be here defending her, not committing their forces to the bastard and his maniac of a grandfather trying to see her slaughtered like a pig. It was a situation that sickened him to know and hopefully many of these Lords and Ladies, unfaithful as they are, would see their end today. Or at least that's what would happen in a just world and considering the events of the past moon or so he had very little hope that this world was indeed that.

Regardless, through it all he pushed on and walked about the various tipped walls of Dragonstone making sure the defenses and the last minute preparations were ready in order. With the fleet right on the horizon there was very little time to act or dilly-dally. He had a multitude of things to check on the stockpile of rocks for the few trebuchets they had, not that they would be of any real effect given how the fleet could spread out and how their own ships would be mixed in quite thoroughly. He made sure that preparations were made to guard the walkway up to the main gate of the castle just in case they did manage to land and push through the fleet.

And if that was the case then if they managed to get past it, it would all be over and it would become pitched fighting in the halls. He had made sure that a singular boat was stowed away for the princesses' evacuation should things get to that point but he had little faith that it would be able to get far before the ships encircled the island and found them quickly. He looked out over the sea one more time as he let the sour truth sink in.

He knew that if those ships made it to shore that was it. There was no escaping from this island if they landed. Nothing less than total Victory would suffice and given the state of their fleet, while it was possible he was certainly not something he would bet on in this scenario.

---

Monford stood on the bow of the Pride of Driftmark, its gleaming figurehead shining in the sunlight as he took in a deep breath feeling the choppy waters beneath him. The weather was worsening and the wind was picking up against them. Already not off to a good start considering the fact that they would now have to rely exclusively on power if they wish to make any actual progress.There would be little use of sails in this battle and the enemy would have the momentum. They would at least start out controlling the ebb and flow of the battle. It was not a situation he would have preferred but it was his situation regardless.

He looked ahead towards the wall of ships that were sailing at him, they were lined up single file in two great columns. Their sails were blocking out each other so he could barely get an accurate read of their numbers. It was a move that would certainly put off any lesser commander or admiral but she had experience with this and he knew how to gauge numbers properly. But even then it still didn't bring any smile to his lips. Quite frankly the situation was far worse than the scouts described

Instead of outnumbering them, they outnumbered his own fleet by some 40 ships, Moreover the ships were not just fishing vessels plucked from whatever unfortunate souls they happened to come across in recent days. Nor were these ships half-assed or otherwise cobbled together galleys stolen by pirates or sell sails. The ships were made of strong oak with good thick sails, they said hi in the water and on their sides they carried oar houses with likely hundreds of rowers.They were sharp in the water with great bronze rams at their bows which more than likely would break through whatever smaller shifts Monford currently had to offer.

Put simply this was by no means some hodgepodge ships, but rather a force of quality. One bought and paid for with the highest quantity and quality of gold with strong men to crew them. This was a fleet of warships and all of them seemed ready to exert their full force of will against his own forces. Will might have been greater. With the speed they were charging at it certainly seemed that way at least. Moreover, he could see the smaller ships behind the war galleys and dromonds. And what they carried with them, brought him no comfort either.

The smaller ships were primarily cog’s and carracks. By no means ships that could stand up to their war galleys, but at the same time he figured that these ships weren't meant for such engagements. He was willing to put quite a few gold dragons on the theory that these ships carried small forces of troops meant to storm the castle once the defending fleet was cleared. More than likely they would hang back on the edge of the battle while the warships did the heavy lifting waiting for their opportunity to quickly sail past and land on the beaches to take the island. So it would seem that his situation was worse as is.

If he intended to defend this island successfully he would have to do two things. First and foremost he would have to smash the opponent's front lines and at least create a hole in their formation so that his smaller ships could come in and proceed to eradicate the rear line of their forces. Which would mean a long portion of ship to ship combat involving archers and swordsmen. He could already tell that there would be high casualties if such a thing came to pass primarily coming from his own crew.

He once again took a second to look at the two columns which sailed towards him. He carefully analyzed which ships were positioned in front and which ships were kept in back up to the point of the transports. He could see that the galleys were ahead of the formation, likely being the fastest in the fleet. He figured that the aim of this was to shock his own fleet with speed and ferocity, to put them on the back foot in preparation for the larger ships which would come in following after the galleys and perform real damage. From there he can imagine that they would send successive waves of other fighting ships so that his own fleet might break quickly.

If he wished to counter it he would need two things. He would need maneuverability first and foremost. He would need to be able to outflank the opponent's Galley so that his line might not be taken by the shock attack and he would need to make sure that the opponent's dromonds couldn't catch him by surprise. Secondly he would need confusion. With how formal this opponent seemed in their lineup, with how well organized the ship seemed, that could speak to one of two things. It could either speak to the discipline of this particular fleet's commander which would suggest a competent commander, or it could be a result of an excess of pageantry which would speak to the commander being inexperienced.

Either way he would need to instill an excess of confusion amongst the opponent’s ships. If the commander was inexperienced then this would be easier. If they were disciplined in season then it would be a challenge. But if he couldn't still cause enough chaos in the enemy ranks it might lend him windows of opportunity in which he could take the initiative of the battle. He knew that this wasn't going to be an easy fight, and there was little chance of reinforcement coming. They were on their own out here and they had to make do with what they had. He looked at young Greyjoy, the boy had been begging for another chance to prove himself these past few weeks, well now they all had an opportunity.

---

Lord Sebastion Farman stood at the prow of King Robert's Hammer, or rather what was previously named King Robert's Hammer. King Joffrey had since renamed it to Joffrey's Fury. The ship itself was incredibly impressive with its new red and gold color scheme, its 400 ores ferociously pushing its great mass through the ocean waves aided by its red sails adorned with a stag and a lion.Furthermore, the figurehead had been changed from that of a stag to a charging lion as well. Frankly you'd think it was a ship straight from Lannisport rather than one from the capital. But regardless he honestly couldn't care much for the pageantry of it all. Ship names and colors didn't matter to him so long as they were strongly built.

As Lord of Fair Isle he had his wealth of experience with naval combat and was a loyal bannerman of the Westerlands. No, he knew that Lord Tywin wouldn't put him in this position, likely because there were very few other competent commanders who could handle such an assignment, or execute it with its required loyalty. He didn't trust any of the newly arrived Lords of the veil or Stormlands to do the deed nor did he trust any of the Crownland houses. So it stands to reason that the lord of the Westerlands would be the proper choice.

But it did present quite the opportunity, all things considered, a chance to present himself as not just a loyal Bannerman but a skilled and competent lord who Lord Tywin could depend on in the wars to come. He looked out once more to the island of Dragonstone slowly approaching out in the distance. And he took a deep breath thinking to himself, this was his chance to rise above the rest, this was a chance to make a name for himself and house Farman. As such he had pulled out all the stops in preparation for this battle.

He had taken the days of preparation and travel to carefully curate his given fleet, he had received ships from dozens of Crownland houses and a couple sell sails who had joined his entourage once they passed Driftmark.They now numbered some 140 strong and easily outnumbered Lord Velaryons men. Moreover, the ground forces would easily be able to storm Dragonstone within the day given that they numbered some 7,000 men in total. What's more his ships had siege engines and plenty of boats for landing the men quickly and efficiently on the rocky shores.

Lord Tywin had given him a basic understanding of what he could expect, and so far it seemed as if all that information was accurate. As of now there were only some 100 ships guarding the island itself, all positioned around the castle's base and its cliffs. The vast majority of them were warships with only a couple smaller vessels likely taken from fishermen and merchantmen, and as expected the flagship was the Pride of Driftmark, which sat at the head of the formation likely with its lord leading from the front. That being said however Lord Farman didn't take this opponent with any measure of levity.

He had taken the time to learn what he could about Lord Monford and what he did know proved that this would by no means be as easy of a victory as Lord Tywin had initially wished. As such he had taken extra precautions to conceal his numbers and arrange his ships in such a manner that he could make this fight as fast as possible. With his war galleys positioned at the head of his forces the Hope was that they could at least create a single opening in the opponent's line so that the dromonds could push through that Gap and force it open wider, and while the warships were engaged the troops could land on the beach and they could begin putting their siege weapons to work in battering the walls and Gates of the castle so they could infiltrate it as quickly as possible.

Furthermore, on those landing craft was a set of hand-picked knights chosen by Lord Tywin himself to lead the attack so Farman could focus on the combat at sea. Granted though there was something particularly disturbing about these knights, they were cold and distant and by all means didn't seem to honor the codes of chivalry at least in as high a regard as one would expect, but then again Lord time was known for his brutal efficiency and if the men he trusted for this assignment were given to him well he was in no position to complain. Nor would he question the wishes of his Lord regardless.

Looking back out over the ocean he took a long look at the opponent's ships which sat there swaying in the water, he gave a small smile before turning to a small group of his trusted crew members. He spoke in his characteristically raspy voice, which had long been this way from the amount of yelling he would often do on deck.

“Ready the men and drummers, alert the Galleys to begin their charge and prepare the trebuchets. We begin our fight now.”

The crew member is not at their heads as shortly thereafter the sound of War drums began to sound amongst the ships as several horns blasted their tunes and melodies. The galleys at the head of the formation began to row with considerable pressure and forces they moved ahead of the rest of the fleet. The proud sigils of what seemed like a hundred different houses flew in the winds as those war galleys pushed forward. The wind seemed to pick up as the gray clouds rolled overhead. The sun was completely blocked by now and the water seemed to grow ever darker with the lack of light. Lord Farman shivered to himself as he pulled a fur coat closer around his body, hopefully he would be able to enter Dragonstone himself and get something warm to eat by the end of all this.

---

Lord Monford Saw the galleys begin their charge as he quickly whipped over to his own crewmen.

“SOUND THE ADVANCE!!!”

Quickly horns blew across the line of ships which surrounded the island cliffs as ORS began to push the ships forward. They could make no use of their sails yet as the wind was blowing against them so they would have to rely on raw manpower. The Pride of Driftmark began to cut through the water as waves crashed against its hull, almost trying to push them back into the cliffs to face a rocky and watery grave. But his flagship pushed on.

He looked back and down into the decks as he saw his crew at the oars putting their backs into each stroke. He looked up to see his men at arms with their crossbows ready, dozens of shields creating a makeshift wall along the sides of the ship. He looked out across the water to see his brother Aurane at the bow of the Silver Wave, who in turn looked back at him and gave a confident nod and his characteristically arrogant smile. He knew that his brother would do whatever he could to win this battle and would make do with the current situation. And then there was young Greyjoy.

Theon stood at the bow of the ship his bow in hand freshly restrung with a full quiver of arrows and a dagger at his side. He looked both tense and eager, the boy was by no means a stranger to combat sure but even now he carried with him some boastful arrogance which seemed out of place for the current situation. He didn't hold on to any lines or rigging, rather planting his boot along the railing and said he kept his eye on the opponent's galleys which were currently sailing towards them.

The Pride of Driftmark rose and fell with the waves as the rowers pushed onto the steady beat of drums. He looked to his sides as he saw his shifts beginning to come together in a singular formation. They had long discussed the tactics they would perform and execute should this day come which it now had. They were to line up lengthwise in three rows. This way they could effectively cover a lot of ground, keep their formation tight, and when the opponents' more maneuverable ships came to attack them they could create control gaps in their lines.

This way they could let the opponent ship sail right past their proper warships and get entangled and boarded when they try to turn around once they entered into the space between the second and third rank. He hoped that the same tactics could be applied to the larger ships as well although of that he was significantly less confident in. he figured that once the lighter ships had thrown their weight at them then the rear ranks would be significantly more disorganized and they would have to either regroup or throw their full weight behind a proper assault on the main bulk of the enemy fleet.

The situation he hoped would happen went as follows.Once they neutered the initial advance of war galleys and maneuverable ships they would take advantage of their spread out ships and if the opponent remained in a single file formation they could encircle them on the left and right flanks. The hope was that the opponent would keep their strongest ships towards the head of their fleet, as if attempting to quite literally punch through Monford’s own lines. Monford figured that he could perhaps take on the strongest of the opponent's ships with his own.

He had intentionally positioned the fastest of his ships on the left and right flanks of the fleet while keeping his strongest ships concentrated towards the center. That way in the event things played out as he hoped they would, he could dispatch the initial wave of galleys then turn his focus to the heavier and slower warships. Hopefully he could establish a solid obstacle for the strongest of their ships at the head of the opposing fleet that way his swifter ships on the flanks could quickly rush past the opponents more lightly defended ships and begin targeting the transports at the rear of the formation.

Now granted nothing in warfare ever truly panned out the way one would expect and he figured this would be little to no different from that regard. But he still believed that a broad encirclement strategy was the way to go here. Once they had them within striking distance they could begin the real work. In the event that they did manage to encircle the enemy fleet the plan from there would be to begin capturing as many of the opponent ships as possible. From there they would cause chaos on their flanks turning ships against one another and slowing their progress to a grinding slog.

Once they had enough control of the opponent's flank so they could continue working their way in either forcing a retreat or a surrender. Or again that was the optimistic hope. In the event that the opponent themselves began to spread out and create a broader plane of attack then things will become a lot more difficult. If that happened then the entire battle would be a struggle for supremacy in the worst possible way. If it came to that it would all depend on who could break through the others flanks first. And considering the fact that he had placed his, albeit fastest, but simultaneously lightly armed ships at those flanks. Lord Monford was not optimistic about how that particular engagement would go.

But either way he's supposedly he would find out soon enough given the fact that they were both now charging towards one another through the choppy waves at a particularly astonishing speed. For within the hour all would come to fruition, win or lose.

---

Farman watched as the first of his galleys began to depart the formation followed closely by the rest. In the gaps they left behind the formation quickly regrouped and maintained a strict composure. They would have to keep things as close to single file for as long as they could before they began the proper combat. And from the looks of it the Velaryons had begun their own moves. And almost immediately he found himself scratching his head in confusion at their maneuvers. Because in all fairness he was expecting something quite different from what he was currently facing.

He had expected them to maintain a strictly defensive formation likely around the base of the cliffs, At least then they could benefit from the Siege Weaponry which were positioned atop Dragonstone. He could see the trebuchets being loaded from here as they were wound back into a ready position. Why in all seven hells was Lord Monford going on the offense. He could see no immediate reason why the Lord of Driftmark would do such a thing. Surely it was better in the situation to simply play it safe and wait for them to come to him.

He watched as the defending fleet lined themselves up into three great rows and began sailing head on at his own forces. They were precise and disciplined in their movements their ships were clearly agile and maneuverable and the center consisted of the strongest ships almost assuredly.With the Wind against the enemy they were forced to rely exclusively on their ores and crew for any form of propulsion, yet another reason it would have been smart to stay on the defense for this battle. Yet here they were in a decidedly offensive state, seemingly ready to sail forth and do battle with the royal fleet head on.

Farman however was not in any sort of mood to try and understand Lord Monfords personal reasons for such a maneuver but rather his tactical reasons. Looking around at his own force he still felt confident in his initial plan. That being to gather his strongest ships and send a wave of fast attackers to prod and weaken the line before his stronger ships broke through.And from there they would force the rest of their men through and to the beaches hopefully even leaving behind the defending fleet flailing to turn around and catch up to them as they were landing troops on the ground.

However, looking back to his own ships he instead of paying attention to the front of his forces looked to the rear and he noticed it. His flanks, they were scarcely defended and behind the initial wave of ships there was very little actually protecting the foot soldiers and smaller vessels to his rear. He then took another look towards his enemies formation and let all the pieces of the mental puzzle fall into place before he quickly realized what was going on and what Lord Monford's strategy was.

“Oh, so that's your intention…”

The words fell out of his mouth unintentionally. He regained his composure and went silent once more as he began to truly piece together his opponent's grand strategy. If he made you aware of the fact that they were attempting to Simply punch through their defenses then he probably figured that he could flank them on the sides and catch his rear by surprise. That would explain why Lord Monford’s strongest ships were positioned towards the center, intent on receiving the first wave of War galleys and dealing with them quickly. Farman nodded to himself, it was fairly clever.

What's more there was no bloodless counter to such a maneuver. Immediately three scenarios played in his head, the first being to continue on as he had initially intended, attempting to punch through the defending lines and force his way to the beach. If he stayed in the state then he would just be falling into his opponent's hands and he would quickly become encircled, being forced to fight on three separate fronts and likely being forced into a retreat should things drag out for long enough. Needless to say, that was not an option he was willing to entertain.

Then there was the second scenario, that being to split up his forces into smaller groups and try to outmaneuver the opponent and land on the beach as quickly as he could. It was a laughable idea in general all things considered. If he split his forces now then they would surely be picked off by the flanks and the center of his formation will be left to face Lord Monford's strongest ships alone. And even if they could get past the defending fleet the castle would simply begin raining down rocks in retaliation. Breaking the fleet apart into smaller groups was not the option.

So that left the final scenario and by far the one in which he knew he had the best chance of winning. That being too reconfigure his own formation to meet the enemy in a similar manner. That being to form up lines of attack of his own and try to outflank his opponent. Granted however such a maneuver would be costly and hard to pull off. He couldn't risk the Integrity of the center of his Fleet so he would have to make sure that his lighter warships were on the flanks as well.

That meant things would inevitably come down to a ship to ship engagement. And whoever broke through the others flanks first won the day.However, if things got too bad he at least had the luxury of being able to call on the landing forces in his rear to reinforce the main ship should things get too bad. And he figured that alone would likely win them the day. He turned to a horn blower.

“Alert the fleet, prepare to reconfigure the ships.”

The Horn blower simply nodded before moving to perform his duty.

---

Theon watched as the first of the galleys charged forward. It was hardly a great amount of them, only some ten ships. But they were moving fast. Fast and ready for a fight. He figured as much, even wanted it to a degree. Or so he had initially though at least. Now that he was actually facing down the approaching fight he suddenly became very unsure of the situation. It was strange to him, he had already been in his fair share of fights but this felt odd even to him. He found himself gripping his bow tighter, his hand hovering over his dagger a little more often. His breathing was more labored than it would otherwise be. Yet he looked on.

The contents of the previous night's conversation kept ringing in his head; he barely got any sleep last night. It had been nothing but rolling in his bed waking up in the middle of the night and occasionally grabbing a mug of water so he could parch his thirst. He didn't remember the last time he was this worried for a battle to come. He wasn't sure if he had ever truly been ready for something like this. He thought back to his previous engagements and how they compare to the situation he was about to dive headlong into.

The Battle of whispering wood had been rather one-sided all things considered. It had been the tactics of Robb which had won them the day, along with the shock and surprise of the whole ordeal throwing the Lannister army off. That was just the truth of it he was coming to realize, although he did fight in the fray and he fought well that he could at least give himself that much credit, it was still hardly a great battle. An important one indeed but nothing akin to the fight he was about to enter.

Then there has been his experience in raiding ships, or rather a ship, under the tutelage of Lord Monford. All things considered, that particular scrap with the iron bank shipment was beginning to look a lot like child's play now that he faced down hundreds of ships.He chuckled to himself realizing that there really was no comparison he had faced in his life up to this point which could truly match this situation. It was a funny feeling to be charging eagerly and headlong into something so familiar yet unknown.

Regardless of his own personal feelings on the matter he had no intention of staying on the back lines behind Shields or rowing a damn boat when he could be making an actual difference in the fight. He clutched his bow tightly in his hands as he once again mentally recounted the amount of arrows he had in his quiver. He had made sure to be well stocked for this engagement having filled the thing to the brim almost to the point where it was a challenge to pull out one of the arrows. And made sure his dagger was sharpened and he kept his eye on the enemy.

All around him the frantic crew rushed by attempting to quickly execute their given commands to the best of their ability in their given time, which to be fair they had very little of. The opposing galleys were getting closer and closer by the second. They had no intention of stopping and no need to do so either. All he could do was wait at the ready for when the clash inevitably came and from there on it would quickly devolve into chaos. He took a deep breath and steadied himself once more as he drew an arrow from his quiver and knocked it against the bowstring.

The galleys pushed on getting closer and closer as he could hear the sound of horns blasting to begin the evasive maneuvers. All around he saw the other ships in the fleet quickly pull away as they created gaps in their lines generally in the spaces they predicted the galleys to be. Where then they proceeded to pick up their own speed as the rowers began pushing harder the pride of Driftmark leaping in the choppy waves.All of a sudden he could hear the sounds of the opposition's crew. They're hideous war cries and shouts of anger filled up the previously quiet ocean wind.

Theon wasted no time as he quickly looked to his right, drawing back on his knocked arrow and losing it right into the passing galleys crew. The shot found its mark and he saw one of what he assumed were officers on deck fall backwards, whether it was from the force of his arrow or his death he wasn't sure but he wasted no time proceeding to knock another arrow and drawing back letting loose another shot. This time he wasn't so fortunate and with his precision, the arrow fell short of what he assumed was another officer on deck and simply buried itself in the wood of the deck with a loud thunk.

He didn't have time to draw another one as he was quickly shoved to the ground by a crew member who lay down on top of them as the opposing galleys returned with arrows of their own.Theon roll out from under the crew member and grabbed hold of his bow again taking a knee and loosing another arrow hoping to hit someone of more strategic value than just random men watering the decks. His arrow only found its Mark in the chest of an enemy crossbow archer. Cursing to himself he ready another arrow as he let loose another shot, this one once again not finding its marking burying itself in the side of the passing galley.

By that point the ship was moving past his range and thankfully sailing right through the gaps created trying desperately to turn only to be wrecked by the ships positioned at the rear of the fleet. Theon, smiling to himself, looked back towards the main bulk of the enemy fleet ready to face the next wave of ships trying to punch through only to find himself surprised at what they were doing. He saw as the previously single file ranks of the royal fleet began to fan out almost like a bird spreading its wings. It only took a quick second for him to realize what they were doing. And it took even less time for him to understand that what was coming would be an absolute bloodbath. He shut her to himself once more before knocking another arrow.

---

Lord Farman watched as his fleet spread out in the appropriate manner. He watched as his heaviest ships gathered towards the center of his formation as his swifter vessels or rather what remained of the swifter vessels formed the new flanks of his formation. Behind him the transport ships grouped close together, ready to reinforce those fighting on the front lines if need be.He can already tell the men on all his ships were itching and eager for a fight. And in some manner he himself was rather excited as well in his own personal manner. He had never won for a senseless slaughter but that was a means of doing business and he would do what was required of him.

Holding out his sword ahead of his body he ushered his ships onward as the rams cut through the water with an incredible and ferocious speed. He had watched as his initial wave of galleys was trapped and subsequently broken along the back lines as he had admittedly predicted would happen. But he also saw that the enemy's formation wasn't particularly changing either, meaning that his plan of forming his own long flanks seemed to be working in his favor. With any luck he would be able to break Lord Monford's right and left flanks and force him to surrender.

Or such was the plan anyway, regardless he pushed onwards as Joffrey's Fury cut through the water magnificently as a dolphin breaching the waves and swimming ahead. He was quickly stalled in his thoughts as a crew member rushed up to his side bowing his head before speaking.

“My lord, the flanks have signaled that they are ready to engage the enemy.”

He smiled to himself briefly, pleased at the stunning progress made.

“Excellent, and all siege weapons are in position too?”

“All trebuchets and catapults have been positioned with the transports for their protection my lord.”

He nodded again.

“Have the Valiant Lion and the Fearless load their weapons and lose when the opposing fleet comes into range.”

The crew member raised an eyebrow.

“Beg your pardon my lord, but won't the castle return fire as well, as soon as we loose our shots?”

Farman simply looked back disappointed.

“We are well out of range of Dragonstone’s shots, and they were going to attack regardless. Do not question my orders further and loose when ready.”

The crew nodded before rushing back to sound the horn, and shortly thereafter its song rang out amongst the fleet.From there all the ships began to accelerate in near total Unison as captains began giving their commands to rowers who in turn began putting their backs into their Strokes. With every passing second the two fleets came closer and closer to the proper confrontation. That's when the distinctive sound of wooden clatter came from the rear of the fleet as the sound of straining wood could be heard for miles. Suddenly and swiftly overhead flew two great boulders of undoubtedly immeasurable weight.

They soared through the air as effortlessly as birds before slowly descending to the waters once more only to find their marks in the hulls of two enemy dromonds. The ships were utterly decimated with shards of wood flying every direction and forcing the defenders Fleet to make quick evasive maneuvers so as to not get caught on the now sinking wreckage. The devastation was utterly incredible and a true sight to witness. And just as predicted as he looked back up towards the walls of dragons so in the trebuchets which sat atop the castle could not return fire. Smiling to himself again he called for another volley.

And so it was that two more bolters sword overhead although this time they were not so lucky in their targeting. One of the boulders fell short simply splashing into the water creating a great pillar of white Mist for a few seconds but otherwise was completely harmless. The other overshot the front lines of the fleet managing to decimate a galley which rowed ahead in the rear of the fleet but it would cause no great confusion or devastation, unfortunately. But thankfully there was little in the way of return fire as The Fleets grew closer and closer.

And after a short amount of time they were too close for any effective use of the trebuchets. So now came the only reasonable thing to do. That was to give the command to all those up on deck and all those archers and crossbowmen who stood at the ready to unleash a violent storm of arrows upon the defenders.

“BRACE!!!”

It only took a moment for all the crewmen to respond, grabbing onto whatever railings and solid pieces of wood they could as the two fleets finally collided. The sound of bronze crashing right into the enemy's hulls, the straining and cracking of wood as such an incredible amount of force was exerted on both sides of the fleet, and the cries of men both injured and ready for war. These were the sounds that now filled the air as opposed to the rough crashing of waves below. Lord Farman took a quick breath before planting his sword firmly into the ground and he soon began yelling out commands. Joffrey's Fury had managed to ram into an opposing dromond and as such was now stuck as were many of the ships. From here on it would turn into a brutal melee. And he had to be ready.

---

Lord Monford Hell tight as the two fleets finally collided, the Pride of Driftmark managing to crash into a royal dromond, his ship's ram managed to pierce the hull in an instant as water began to flood the ship's hold. It was only a matter of time before it would sink so he quickly had to find a new target. His eyes fell onto a singular enemy galley which was struggling to find space to make maneuvers. It was the perfect target and it would help to penetrate the enemy center, or at any rate give them something to worry about while the flanks did the real fighting.

Quickly he called upon the oarsmen to begin pulling back.

“REMOVE US FROM THIS WRECKAGE AND PREPARE TO SAIL FURTHER IN!!!”

The crew members nodded in compliance although he could tell they were scared of the concept of going ever deeper into the enemy fleet. But wars were not won through defense alone.If they want to win this fight they would not only have to be aggressive they would have to be quick on their feet. So the crew complied pulling back on the oars as the bronze ram slowly removed itself from the opposing ship allowing them the time to make the slightest of adjustments before sailing back into the fray of battle.

“FORWARD ALL OARS!!!”

Once again the crew complied as they began pulling on their oars as the ship began moving again. Breaking through the water they quickly found their next target as the enemy galley tried frantically to turn out of the way with the Pride of Driftmark slipping between two enemy vessels with such incredible speed for a ship this size. The Galley was quickly hit on its port side as the sickening crunch and crack of wood could be heard from miles he felt. The opposing galley began listing shortly thereafter and would inevitably sink quickly.

Once again he gave the command to pull back and remove themselves from the wreckage.

“ALL OARS PULL BACK!!!”

Again they complied only to feel their own ship lurch as they looked to their starboard side. An enemy dromond had tried to strike them down only to hit their ram and completely botch their attack. Thinking on his feet, Lord Montford realized he had to remove himself from the position he found himself in so he could turn and take on this ship himself. Once again he made a direct and Loud call to his oarsmen down below.

“ALL ROWERS, PULL BACK AND HARD TO PORT AS YOU DO SO!!!”

The men, already sweating, continued their rigorous work as the Pride of Driftmark removed itself from the path of the enemy ship turning to port backwards as it did so. Without a wasted second his ship was out of the path of the enemy and now lined up perfectly for a shot at their port side himself. Wasting no time on the matter he called out to the men again.

“ALL AHEAD!!! GIVE IT EVERYTHING YOU HAVE!!!”

The rowers began putting their full body weight Into the strokes as the Pride of Driftmark, charged forward with a Relentless Fury crashing right into the enemy ship, breaking the Keel almost immediately and splitting the ship in half for all intents and purposes. He watched as the ships to Mast fell into the water it sails becoming quickly soaked in seawater as men lept from the ship only to be drowned and dragged beneath the ship as it sank down before him. It was a grizzly and uncomfortable sight but one he had long since learned to stomach.

Quickly he began surveying the battlefield for his next Target he had already taken down three ships and was intent on taking another. That's when young Greyjoy ran up to his side, his breath strained and tense as he quickly yelled out.

“My Lord!!!”

“What is Greyjoy?”

“The flagship!!! I can see it!!”

Lord Monford's eyes went wide as he quickly looked over the side of the ship in the direction Theon pointed. Glaring over the starboard side of the ship he could see the massive 400 oared Dromond in the close distance seemingly in a similar state to the Pride of Driftmark. They were wreaking havoc amongst the defending fleet and seemingly carving a bloody path of splinters and wood to try and create a hole in the center. Lord Monford took note of the pathway there. It was relatively clear of ships and would require little maneuvering for them to make it over. Theon simply nodded his head as if to pressure the decision. And it was simply too good of a situation to pass up.

“ALL ROWERS!!! HARD TO STARBOARD. AND AS FAST AS YOU CAN GO!!!”

Once again no time was wasted as the Pride of Driftmark again lurched in the water with the force of the oars propelling it ever faster through the wooden carnage that now surrounded them. Faster and faster they pushed on and on intent on breaking the enemy flagships back. If they could manage this then it would absolutely crush the morale of the opposition. But once again their plans were dashed when they saw the enemy flagship beginning to turn to match them. Monford cursed to himself.

If they hit each other head on then it would spell doom for the both of them, nor did Monford think the opposing commander would pass up the opportunity to kill him as well. There was only one way that this ended and it was going to be deck to deck combat. Monford unstrapped his sword from its scabbard and readied hand axe. Theon knocked an arrow in preparation. Monford looked back to his crew members and with both a solemn and stern voice he called out the next and utterly critical command.

“Prepare to be boarded men!!!”

---

Aurane was in a frantic state of worry looking around as he watched as his ship became caught in between two opposing enemy galleys. Hooks were thrown over the side of his craft as he readied his sword intent on defending to the last man. And unfortunately that seemed to be the state of the entire right flank as far as he could tell.His ships being caught pinned and boarded at every possible turn. He had not expected such an excess of melee fighters to engage in this battle. At every point in every turn he looks to see more of his men falling down to spears, arrows, and swords.

The worst part about it was that he could do nothing to escape. He had to hold this line, he had to hold this one, he had to hold this position for as long as he could. If he failed here then the battle was lost. If he failed here then the Royal Fleet would completely engulf the defenders and either force a retreat or the more likely scenario and them all here to avoid any problems down the line. So with a mournful and stalwart resolve he raised his sword as he gave his command to his men.

“FIGHT TO THE LAST!!!”

Rowers dropped what they were doing as they quickly picked up knives and small Spears, some even managing to grab some crossbows as they rushed towards the mid-deck. Aurane stayed on the Quarterdeck as he looked to see Lannister met at Arms climbing up the sides of his ship and beginning to put his men to the spear. And Now the brutal melee was set to begin. And he had no intention of standing by the side twiddling his thumbs. He rushed over to the starboard railing as he saw a small group of Lannister men trying to climb up to swarm the quarterdeck.

Thinking on his feet he quickly grabbed the nearby spear, chucking it down hoping that it would cause some form of delay for the enemy scaling the ship's walls. And thankfully it did as his spear found its mark in the eye socket of a Lannister soldier killing him instantly as he fell down taking several of his former crew with him down into the murky depths of the ocean never to be seen nor heard from again.Not wishing to waste any further time or ever he quickly look to the port side hoping to stall anyone trying to climb up over there only to find that he was too late.

A singular Lannister man at arms had come up and immediately charged him with intent to kill. Aurane raised his sword as he quickly parodied a sloppy blow from the Lannister soldiers sword. Where he quickly wields around and delivers a fatal blow to the back of the soldier's neck, slicing it open with the tip of his short sword. As the soldier fell dead he quickly refocused his efforts on the others soldiers who are continuing to try and hop over the railing. He would have no such attempts. He quickly rushed over driving the blade of his short sword into another soldier's face as he pushed him over the side allowing him to fall into the depths.

Quickly refocusing attention on the other one who was in a state of shock having seen two of his companions so quickly dispatched, Aurane took advantage of that delivering a solid punch to the man's face before he shoved him over the side no need to exert himself any further with the weapon. He watched as the man yelled all the way down into the water as he was dragged below by his heavy armor. Smirking to himself he rushed over to take a look at the mid-deck once again.

The situation had not improved in the time he had been guarding the Quarterdeck as the Lannister soldiers were beginning to pour over the sides like water. Thankfully his men were holding them as best they could with spears and hastily reloaded crossbows as men screamed and were subsequently impaled. Not wishing to delay the action any longer he ran down short sword in hand grabbing hold of what appeared to be a Stormland soldier as he drove the blade into the man's face once again.

He was thankful that so few of these men at arms were actually wearing full plate unlike the Lannister men, well plate armor would be incredibly horrible in ocean combat it was still protective enough to cause a problem for him. Leather armor although lighter provided many more exploitable gaps. And he intended on taking advantage of as many of those as he could. With another swing of his sword he proceeded to decapitate another Stormland soldier, sending a few others around him into a state of terror.

He was about to ready another strike when he felt a sudden sharp pain in his thigh. He looked down to see a crossbow bolt firmly lodged in his leg. He stifled a scream as he broke the bolt off at the shaft before barely managing to block a Lannister sword swing, with his short sword. He proceeded to deliver a solid shove to the Lannister's chest as he gave himself some much-needed breathing room. Unfortunately however his enemies had no interest in giving him a moment to breathe, how rude of them.

Raising his sword up again he proceeded to block another swing from a Stormland as more soldiers began to crowd around him. He knew that if he remained cornered he would surely be killed so he did the only thing he could. He shoved as many of them back as he could before running right into the middle of his man on the mid-deck. They were now totally surrounded and in a desperate pitched battle for survival if anything. He took a deep breath as he yelled out to his men once more.

“Come on… you're not going to let a few kittens gut you… are ya?”

He hoped not.

---

Lord Farman had not expected this level of ferocity, he had not expected this damn near suicidal effort on Lord Monford's part to see him dead. He knew it was a possibility but to actually experience it was something else entirely. He watched as the Pride of Driftmark had charged him and his ship with all the force they could muster and it had scared him initially. He had immediately called for Joffrey's Fury to turn and face them in the hopes that they could not only save their own ship but perhaps outflank Lord Monford and sink him here and now. He should have known better, Lord Monford was far too skilled a naval commander to fall for something like that.

So he had instead accidentally locked them into an inevitable melee. And Now that the ships were side by side all that was left to do was cast the hooks and lines and lower the gangplank so they could charge across. But even then he still felt just ever so slightly confident that he could actually manage to pull off this battle. For a few reasons. The first being that Joffrey's Fury had a larger crew, what he hoped was a larger crew not accounting for any met at arms Lord Monford would be hiding on his ship.

The second reason was that he had actual knights on this particular ship. And once again if they were handpicked by Lord Tywin then they had to be worth something in all of this. He hoped that if he had formed them up they would perhaps be able to give him that edge he's so desperately needed in this situation. So he simply raised his sword and yelled out across to the Pride of Driftmark. His voice raspy and barely carrying amongst the wind of the sound of battle around him.

“LORD MONFORD FOR THE CRIMES OF TREASON YOU ARE TO FACE THE KING'S JUSTICE, SURRENDER NOW AND I WILL MAKE YOUR DEATH QUICK.”

It didn't take long for a response to come back although it was hardly what he'd expected.

“MAY THE FOOL WHO DECIDED TO FACE A VELARYON AT SEA PLEASE SPEAK THEIR NAME, I WOULD VERY MUCH LIKE TO GIVE YOUR NAME TO THE MAESTERS SO THAT YOU MIGHT BE REMEMBERED IN THE ANALS OF HISTORY AS THE GREATEST MORON OF OUR ERA!!!”

Lord Farman simply scoffed in absolute shock. He had expected a refusal of his terms absolutely no man would ever walk willingly to their death. But the other impropriety and insult that the rejection carried was in and of itself just unnecessary and completely ridiculous. Yelling back he would give a response as was his courtesy to give.

“LORD SEBASTIAN FARMAN OF FAIR ISLE, LORD OF FAIRCASTLE, AND TRUSTED ADMIRAL OF LORD TYWIN LANNISTER HAND OF THE KING, AND OF KING JOFFREY BARATHEON FIRST OF HIS NAME!!!”

Across the way he could hear from the Pride of Driftmark Lord Monford laughing as hard as he could. Once again the man proved himself utterly ridiculous in a serious situation. But before he could call him out on it Lord Monford yelled back again.

“I SINCERELY HOPE THAT YOU HAVE ACQUIRED THE GLORY YOU WANTED OUT OF LIFE!!! BECAUSE AFTER TODAY YOU SURE AS HELL WON'T BE ABLE TO ACQUIRE ANY MORE!!!”

Lord Farman blinked a couple of times processing the statement before responding yet again.

“YOU HONESTLY THINK YOU CAN DEFEAT ME TODAY!?! DEFEAT THE ROYAL FLEET!?!”

Lord Monford responded again, his laughter seasoning his voice as he spoke.

“EVEN IF WE DON'T WIN THIS BATTLE, WE SURE ARE GOING TO KILL YOU!!!”

Lord Farman yelled back, his throat sore from all the constant yelling.

“I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF YOU AND YOUR VERBAL BARBS. COME AND FIGHT LIKE MEN!!!”

“GLADLY!!! LOOSE!!!”

Immediately crossbow bolts and arrows flew across from the Pride of Driftmark as Farman fell to the deck as quick as he could flanked by some of the few nights he had close to him. It would seem as if all that time Lord Monford had been preparing a volley of arrows to initiate the battle. Clever in its own right, and as all his men began to rise back up the Velaryon men were already trying to jump across with a rather unusual man at their head.

He was by no means just a standard man at arms, his armor was leather and dyed black. His hair was long, his face and body were both similarly lean and he was a rather handsome man, all things considered.In his hand he had a bow along with a full quiver of arrows. But on his chest was the Visage of a painted yellow kraken. Suddenly it all became far too clear who this boy was, it had to be the last remaining Greyjoy boy although Farman couldn't for the life of him remember his name.

Either way it hardly mattered, as the boy was already losing arrows left and right into anyone who managed it close to the boarding soldiers. He had already proven himself quite the problem in the first few seconds and seemingly continued to do so. He began slashing at the ship's rigging with his knife trying to destabilize the mass and impede the ship's rigidity in any way he could.

Farman simply nodded to one of the knights who began to approach with his sword drawn. The Greyjoy boy saw the approaching man and was about to back up when all those aboard the ship grabbed weapons and began to beat back the boarding party. Lord Farman let loose a sigh of relief as he watched his men begin to turn the tide of battle in his favor once again. He looked over to see the right flank of the opposition faltering as the Royal Fleet continued to press its advantage. He chuckled to himself as he figured it was only a matter of time before everything was over.

That's when he saw a cloud move.

He initially had to look twice to make sure he wasn't seeing anything but upon closer inspection he didn't see a thing. That was until a small hint of movement could be seen within the cloud. Squinting his eyes his first instinct was to think that it was a particularly large bird. But if he listened closer he could hear the beating of heavy wings overhead.

Immediately he started to become nervous as all the men on the decks of the ships stopped their fighting. Silence fell over the fleet as they all turned their attention to the skies.There was only the creaking of wood in the water and the slow far beating of wings. But other than that total silence.

Lord Farman tried thinking of what this could possibly be. Unfortunately for him however he didn't need to wait much longer.

The silence was broken immediately when a great shriek a roar from some other world, something primordial rang out amongst the clouds. He gripped his sword as if to protect him in any meaningful way. But one look at the Greyjoy and Lord Monford told him all he needed to know. They weren't cowering in fear, they were looking up at the sky in anticipation… in awe.

Then blazing heat.

Erupting from one of the gray clouds was a pillar, a great column of white fire tipped with red shooting straight down towards the rear of the fleet. Farman watched as several of his transport ships exploded in this White Flame and the rest of whatever remained after the initial hit began to burn away. He counted, at least 10 ships must have been lost in that alone. He arranged his attention back up to the sky once more trying to focus on whatever was coming at them.

And then it descended. A great winged creature with a long neck, a long head, great tail and a pair of antlers jutting out behind its head. It was white primarily with streaks of red along its great wings and body. On its back it supported several long and tall spikes. It was a malicious looking thing of a vile looking thing cruel in its form. But at the top of its back was a man in black armor. And all of a sudden everything became far too clear.

They had lost this battle.

The Targaryen had come, with fire and blood.

---

Jon held tightly onto Weiryas spikes, he had to hold on as she swiftly dove out of the clouds. It was always a thrill to ride her, it was the closest thing he could equally to heaven aside from the field dreams. But here and now it brought with it an entirely new terror. One wrong move he would fall into the depths of the ocean and almost certainly drown in his heavy armor. He couldn't afford that to happen not now. Along with that he also saw the desperate state in which the fleet was.

The royal fleet was clearly winning, at least it looked that way from a bird's-eye view. So he figured that he had managed to arrive almost precisely on time. And with no intention of wasting that time he went to work almost immediately. Concealing himself in the clouds he had flown over and surveyed the formation of the enemy ships. And sure enough his first target was the rear line. Without the ground forces they wouldn't be able to get into the castle even if they managed to get past the fleet.

Following that he would have to hit the left flank or at least get it considerably so Lord Monford's ships could begin the encirclement proper. Aiding the right flank would be significantly harder with how closely engaged in mingled the ships were with one another. He would have to fly down and wreck the ships by claws opposed to dragon fire. Which he was more than willing to do at this rate if he could just end this battle now and send the Royal Fleet running home. And of course there was the final hurdle that being taking the center where Lord Monford and likely Theon were. He would likely have to leave them to their own devices.

He leaned down and began speaking.

“Istiti sagon adere, zālagon se arlī ēlī se pār se getopt!!!” (We must be fast, burn the back first and then the left!)

Weird looking back with her white slitted pupil simply gave an acknowledging hoot.She beat her wings a couple of times gathering speed and descending at such a rapid Pace Jon thought he might puke. She proceeded to then open her jaws wide as her throat lit up with a white light before completely incinerating the last of the rear ships with another well-placed burst of flame. Jon stopped for a second to see he took in the scene below him.

It made him sick, guilty, mournful all at once. Even from this great height he swore he could hear the screams down below him as men either burned or drowned. He gritted his teeth and stayed the course looking back to Weirya.It seems that she didn't need any words in Valyrian to understand what he felt, the waves of calming empathy she was sending through their bond kept him stable for that little period of time. And I kept him strong enough to do what needed to be done. He pulled hard on the back spikes once again turning Weirya to face the left flank now.

He took in another deep breath before speaking again.

“DRACARYS!!!”

Fires once again shot out from her mouth as the ships below burned in pale red and white flames. He watched as the galleys tried to maneuver away, push off of each other or get out of Dodge as quickly as they could. All it did was make the confusion worse. They crashed into each other, some sinking others while the fire spread between them. He could see men jumping into the water devoid of armor, likely planning to swim for the shores. All he could do was carry on.

---

Aurane was holding a sword high in the air cheering with all the force he could along with every single man on deck next to him. The few Lannister men that remained on his ship were quickly being dispatched as everyone was taken by surprise at the sudden appearance of the dragon. Seven Hells Aurane had been taken by surprise initially. At first, he had thought he was dreaming that he had perhaps somehow died and this was his reward to see his enemies burn before his eyes. But a singular Sting from the crossbow wound in his leg assured him that he was not dreaming and he could not be happier about it.

The men's morale had been reinvigorated 20-fold at the sight of the dragon. The ships that once surrounded him and the right flank were beginning to scatter in an absolute panic. He had managed to maintain strict discipline amongst his own ships to make sure they didn't go off in a hundred different directions as well as the sight of the great creature. In truth, he really did enjoy watching the captains of these ships squirm as they tried to push and pull away some of them hitting each other and severely damaging their own methods of escape.

He rushed over to the side of the ship as he saw the dragon make a clean swoop overhead the wind billowing around him kicking up his pale blonde hair as the men rushed over to the other side of the ship trying to keep an eye on the dragon as they proceeded to begin their work on the left flank. Aurane had no clue how that particular side of the battle was going considering it was under Celtigars command. But he can imagine the old Lord was all too happy to see the dragon as well.

Quickly he began gathering his growth again so they could begin maneuvering and pressing the advantage which their King had so graciously and rather conveniently given them. He returned to his station on the quarterdeck as he called out to everyone down under him.

“All rowers take us starboard. Let's close in on these little fucks before the evening arrives!!!’

Where earlier there would have been quiet groans and dismayed size now there were reverent cheers and fist pumps right into the air. The oarsmen proceeded to work their backs as if they were fresh out of bed and freshly fed. He swore one man had found the strength of 10 as he pulled on a singular or keeping pace with the rest. The battle was by no means over but for all intents and purposes it was won. Now it was just a matter of routing the remainders of the royal fleet and making sure they never showed their damn faces back in these islands ever again.

Aurane quickly took sight of a fleeing Dromond. They were obviously trying to turn around where they stood so they could catch the wind and perhaps make their way past Driftmark. He smirked to himself, chuckling. Oh! That would certainly not happen today at any rate. Quickly he called out to all his crew intent on making sure the cowardly ship would find its destination today, at the bottom of the sea.

“ALL ROWERS, DEAD AHEAD!!!”

It didn't take long for the crew to comply with the demand as the ship proceeded to charge forward ever faster as the opposing ship quickly took sight of them. Aurane’s smile was once again full of arrogance and utter overflowing confidence. There was nothing but contempt in his heart for the Lannister's now and he was free to act on it under the dragon's eye. The ship pushed forward faster and faster, not stopping in any way for gusts of wind as the vessels collided with each other with the crunching and cracking of wood once again filling his ears like a song.

Aurane called forth for his men to pull back and hit them again and again until finally they managed to break the ship's back splitting it into as it rolled over onto its sides sinking beneath the waves the last things to disappear beneath the surface being the mass with the proud Lion banners being dragged down with them beneath the cold dark sea. A resounding cheer was sounded amongst the men as they ready their ores once more to begin pushing on to find their next victim. And this was how it continued for the remainder of the battle at least for them.

With incredible efficiency they began to retake control of the right flank breaking galleys and dromonds by the minute. Occasionally the dragon would fly overhead which always seemed to elicit some form of resounding cheer or battle cry from the crew down below. It was an absolutely beautifully intoxicating thing to hear. And Aurane relished every single second of it that he could. He looked over once more to the center and Left Flank as he could see the smoke rising out of the water thick and black filling the sky. The dragon continued to fly in between them.

He could see their King on the dragons back, and for a brief second he was just caught staring at him. His mouth open and his hands at his hips. He couldn't help but smile at the situation. He couldn't help but feel that this was some moment out of a storybook he would read as a child. A dragon coming down from the skies to eradicate the fleet below. All he hoped was that his King was relishing in the utter destruction of his enemies as much as he was.

---

Lord Farman was looking for a way out. That was his first and only priority now as far as he was concerned. There was no path to victory now there was no way to salvage the situation he found himself in. a dragon had come down to completely decimate everything he had. There was no winning that there was no world he could win this. Even if he had his Siege equipment back which was currently lying in a smoldering pile of wood behind him, he wasn't sure if he would even be able to hit the damn thing. There was no ballast day on any of his ships; there were only trebuchets and catapults, things designed to break the walls of a great castle.

He had nothing in his forces that could effectively take down a dragon. Unless…Perhaps it wasn't the dragon he needed to finish off but the rider. Quickly he began forming some essence of a plan trying to look around to see which ships and companies of arches he could scratch together, perhaps if they could just land a singular lucky shot on the Targaryen himself. Perhaps then they could see the dragon taper off and away. Perhaps there was still some path to at least escape if not victory.

Quickly he ran about his deck gathering anyone who seemed even remotely fit to fire a crossbow or loosen arrow. All his decorum was gone, all his decency had gone out the window as he yelled in his raspy voice to anyone who could hear.

“ARCHERS, BOWS, ARROWS, ANYTHING!!! JUST HIT THAT FUCKING RIDER!!!!”

Quickly his men complied as fast as they could, reloading crossbows and losing arrows up into the sky whenever the dragon came remotely close. Occasionally it would dive and fly right over them and sometimes it would perform circles around them at any opportunity they were given. They lost their arrows, they lost their bolts, they tried everything they possibly could to fight back and kill that damn Targaryen. He watched the whole while as he saw some shots get close, some even bounce off the armor of the bastard. Unfortunately however the vast majority of arrows didn't even seem to get close. The vast majority of them seem to either get knocked out of the sky either by the wind of the Dragons wings or just hit the dragon itself. Nothing was working.

“HIT HIM HIT HIM HIT HIM!!!! WE ALL DIE IF YOU DONT LAND YOUR FUCKING SHOT!!!”

He began coughing into his elbow. His voice was giving out by the second he swore if he kept yelling he might even lose it. But in the situation how could he not yell how could he not try to inspire as meant to fight back in any way he could panicked yelling or calm demeanor.He watched as the dragon performed another pass over the Left Flank spewing out another great burst of fire as the last of his ships in that particular theater of the battle burnt away and sank below the waters.

By now he was sure he had lost well over 3/4 of the entire fleet. All he had right now was Joffrey's Fury and a few others of the initial dromonds. And right now it seemed as if Lord Monford was busy cackling on the quarterdeck of his ship. He must have found this entire situation oh so amusing. To have his near defeat salvaged by the most extreme of conveniences. Surely he must know that this victory was not of his own making. He would have lost the battle if not for the damn dragon.

In a fit of rage he wanted to just charge over their leap across and drive his sword down into the precocious lord's face. But Farman just stood there surrounded by the other destruction of his ambition and forces. The nights that were hand-picked by his Lord were now dead of Arrow wounds or having jumped off the ships out of absolute fear, completely content in the fact that they would inevitably drown beneath the waves and their heavy armor. But he still stood at the bow of his ship unburnt and still floating.

He had to figure out something to get out of here perhaps if he called upon his rowers to perform one last desperate charge they could break away from Lord Monford and roll back to safety he had to alert the king and the hand somehow as to the events of this battle. A living dragon would completely change the face of the war; everything would be completely changed from here on out; this was the single greatest shock to the Seven Kingdoms well over a hundred years. He just had to figure a way out of it; he just had to find his way out of the fray and hope that he could sail home with what few forces he had remaining.

Suddenly he felt his head lurch as his coughing had an odd wetness to it. He felt something warm trickle out of his mouth as he looked down at his throat. Sticking through it was an arrow. Immediately the Panic said once more as he tried to grab it, pull it out, hold his throat, try to keep his blood in his body anyway he could but all he did in the end was fall to the deck of his ship.

He watched as the young Greyjoy boy walked over with his bow in hand as he knocked another arrow drawing it back pointing it right at his head. Farman tried to hold out his hand and begged him to stop with all that came out was a warm gurgle of blood as he returned his hand to the arrow in his neck. It was getting harder to breathe by the second when Greyjoy loosed his arrow again. And after that all he saw was total darkness.

And so passed Sebastian Farman from this world.

---

He breathed again as he brushed a hand over the now numerous arrow dents in his armor. He was glad to be alive and that the battle was over. Jon and Weirya flew overhead a few more times to survey what remains of the battlefield as he saw perhaps five or six ships fleeing into the horizon. All of them sailing a different direction away probably hoping to split up and divide his attention in the event that he came for them. They were probably scared to death all things considered. All of them fearing for their lives as they pushed on back out to the open ocean with every ounce of strength they had left after the grueling battle they just endured. Probably thinking that he would fly over them and rain down more dragon fire just to silence the loose ends.

He shook his head, for he would do no such thing. Instead, he simply kept an eye on the ships that did remain below him. What remained of the defensive fleet and the few ships that were captured during the battle, among them the flagship of the royal fleet, which Theon had seemingly taken with a small force of fighters. Instead of the royal Baratheon banners on their mess they now flew the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen instead. And every single time he flew over the remaining ships all he could hear were cheers.

Cheers of relief and excitement, adulation and praise. He himself did not feel the same way, despite Weiryas attempt at soothing his nerves and calming him down he couldn't shake the guilt of the battle. He knew it was necessary and he would have done what needed to be done regardless, seven hells he would do it all again if he had the chance. But that didn't mean he needed to enjoy what he did. He had consigned both guilty and innocent men to their graves today, all he hoped was that it would be worth it in the end. When all the wars were over, he could finally ensure his family's safety. Maybe then he could forgive himself for his actions, but not today.

Shaking off the sickness he felt he looked down one more time to see the Pride of Driftmark still afloat and turning around, likely to return to defending the island's cliffs. As were the rest of the ships and the fleet as it seemed. But even with the new additions to the fleet the loss of ships had been particularly unsatisfying. They had entered the battle with about a hundred ships as he had estimated from wrecks. They currently have only 60 ships. By no means a truly devastating loss but by no means a great victory either. He thought to himself about how he could learn from this battle. He would need to send messages to White Harbor instructing Lord Manderly to regroup his fleet and lend aid to Blackwater Bay.

He thought to himself about the next step forward for this particular theater of the war. With the Royal Fleet completely decimated for all intents and purposes and the Crownland houses already not being the strongest group of lords in all Seven Kingdoms, he figured that it would perhaps be the right time to consider a true and total blockade of King's Landing. That way he could begin starving out Joffrey in his home and perhaps force Tywin into making a rash decision on the field. But that would have to be determined at a later date. Right now he had only one priority he figured. The protection of Shireen Baratheon. He looked down once again this time towards the castle of Dragonstone itself. And he suddenly felt a great surge of emotions within him.

She was probably looking out the window right now at him. He wondered what she thought, or would think of this entire situation. Would she understand why this happened or would she think of him as just another cruel Targaryen. He wondered what she would be like when he actually met her in person, strangely enough he found himself hoping that they would get along. If half of what he had heard about this girl was true then he thought they would bond quickly. That is if she didn't take to this particular battle with an excess of negativity. Maybe he was just worrying.

Flying over the walls of the castle he swooped down low as Weirya gave out another great cry. Whether it be one of Victory or announcement of her presence he wasn't sure but he could definitely feel the emotions ringing through their bond. She was excited and full of energy. There was something about this place that brought her comfort of sorts. Like she was relieved to be here despite having never seen the island in her life. Jon smiled as he leaned down to speak.

“Mazilībagon īlva ilagon.” (set us down)

Weirya gave a soft little hoot back as she complied with his request. She beat her wings a few times before landing on top of the keep. The stone beneath her didn't strain like it did at Riverrun. Jon chuckled to himself at the thought, of course it didn't. This was a castle made for dragons. It had been built with them in mind and now it would host them once more. Weirya walked forward up to the tip of the battlements atop the keep. Her claws digging into the black stone as she and Jon looked out across the ocean once more.

Pillars of smoke from their decimation of the royal fleet still hung in the air. And Weirya, white scales contrasting against the black stone of the keep, let out yet another great roar with such a ferocity that Jon had never heard from her before. The only thing singing through their bond was triumph, bitter as it was. There was some odd small comfort in all this. Jon looked below him, his family's seat now hosted a Targaryen again. This was his keep, his island, his ancestral home. He looked down to the men below him looking up. And one thought ran through his head.

The dragons had returned to Dragonstone.

Notes:

Thank you all for the kind words last chapter and for the critiques provided. Hope you enjoyed this one.

North/Riverlands: 42,000 - (260 ships + 160 ‘Celtigar + Velaryon. 1 Dragon)

Westerlands/Stormlands/Vale: 78,000 - (50,000 westerlands, 12,000 Stormlands, 13,000 Vale 45 ships "Lannisport")

Reach: 39,000

Dorne: Undeclared?

Iron Islands: Undeclared

Daenerys: 15,000 (8,000 unsullied, 5,000 in training, 2,000 freedmen. 3 Dragons)

(Note this might not be accurate with the books or show to a T but these are what I personally found to be believable estimates and as such will be using.)

As always, comments are welcome.

Chapter 30: Howland II / Arya VII

Summary:

Howland and Daenerys meet three wolves.

Howland II

The sun was high in the sky, just before noon. As to be expected it was a hot day, but none had expected it to be completely cloudless. Clear as could be imagined. The heat was only marginally offset by the lighter clothes he currently wore. He chuckled to himself for a brief moment. If you had told him 10 years ago that he would prefer to wear lighter clothes over furs and lizard lion pelts he would have rolled his eyes and died laughing. Yet here he stood in the baking sun, the only indication of his previous attire being a singular strap of leather over his shoulder.

That being said it was not without its personal touches. Embroidered on the strip was the sigil of his house in black leather, the whole thing kept together by a bronze ring. Furthermore, the leather he wore was that of a crocodile, in any case there were indications of his origins. The same went for the remaining 28 crannogmen who still traveled with them after all this time. He smiled in pride, he truly could not have picked better men to follow him through all this, he would need to ask Jon when he returned home to knight all those who remained for their service.

It was hardly a grand thing to request, and even in the astronomically unlikely scenario he refused then he was sure to fold when Daenerys pressured him to do so. God’s how proud he had grown of that girl these past years. Approaching three years by her side, Howland only found himself caring for her more and more every day. And he found himself enamored by her will and strength of character. To ride beside her as they left Astapor was tantamount to the highest honor he felt. That said the longing for home grew more and more, to see Jojen and Meera again after so long would be the sweetest thing.

He would certainly need to introduce them to Daenerys at their earliest convenience. Jojen would be respectful and distant as he usually would be, but Meera, she and Daenerys would get along. Or at least he hoped they would. But that was a moment of sweetness far in the future, a distant reward of sorts. For now, he had to serve his princess and king in the capacity they required of him, and currently that was here.

He moved through the temporary camp site set up upon the cliffs overlooking Slaver's Bay. It was ultimately a small thing which had been pitched rather hastily in the late hours of the night after a long march. Quite frankly that summed up the vast majority of their sleep sleeping arrangements. Ever since the fall of Astapor their new army had been moving slower than they had initially expected. The problems had come in establishing supply chains once they were out the city of gates, after all an army cannot march on nothing. So they have been delayed in their progress northward.

Makeshift tents and shelters had been quick to arrive first followed by food and water. But following that it became a matter of hauling all that supplies with them, most of the freedmen had taken it upon themselves to perform that labor along with each unsullied carrying their own kit. All this however only added more weight to their bodies than such only moved to slow them down. It was a necessary part of war but certainly annoying to the extreme. Regardless they continued to push on day after day, night after night. Always marching onward.

But now was not the time to focus on such things, today was a rather big day for the army. Daenerys had inquired as to who was the commander amongst the unsullied. And the response had been rather sad in that there were no commanders other than the masters who had previously owned them. Daenerys in turn had requested that they speak amongst themselves overnight and determine who amongst their ranks were the best suited to command.And today would be the day the army came to their consensus and put forward their commander of choice.

As such Daenerys should be in attendance. Hence, that was where he was heading now, to her tent which was rather conveniently and safely placed within the center of camp. Surrounding her tent were those of the absolute best and most alert fighters for her own protection. Not that it was totally necessary considering the fact that her dragons were always circling the skies above the camp. Quite frankly Howland could imagine no attacker or group of bandits who would be so stupid as to attack a camp in this state. Well then again he hadn't seen his fair share of extremely stupid and his time so who was he to say what ambition would drive men to do,

Regardless of it all he stepped up to the white silk tent pushing aside the entry flap as he looked over to the table which was positioned in the back of the room. A fine thing it was carved from ash wood. And sitting at its chair was the princess. Daenerys was wearing a white silk dress which hugged her figure supported by a lone strap around the neck. She looked over as he stepped forward, bowing his head. She only smiled.

“Lord Reed, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Howland’s response was direct and respectful.

“Princess, the unsullied have reached their consensus.”

“To their commander?”

Howland smirked at her eagerness.

“Aye, I thought it good to collect you so that you may meet them first hand.”

Daenerys stood up from the table walking over with an excited stride and an energetic voice.

“You thought well and correct lord Reed, come let us not keep them waiting.”

Howland turned with her and began to walk with her. He glanced over, failing to resist the urge to joke.

“You sure you require my presence, princess?” His voice was laced with a clear and playful mirth, which Daenerys picked up on immediately. She rolled her eyes and retorted.

“I would think it makes sense that my closest advisor and oldest friend be present at such an important event. They will need to see you and know that your word is to be respected as is mine.”

Howland raised an eyebrow to her thinking about her response. Deciding to seize the opportunity to gauge her reasoning beyond their banter he responded.

“Would your word alone not secure their respect and loyalty?”

Daenerys kept her eyes forward as she walked.

“It would, but I think it's good for a commander to see their queen speaking to a trusted advisor with due respect too, so that there is no doubt to your credibility I suppose.”

Howland smiled, smart girl. He nodded his head to her as he spoke.

“Well reasoned princess.”

Daenerys smiled.

“Thank you.”

Howland bowed his head as they resumed their walk at a leisurely pace through the camp's core. Walking together they approached the edge of the tents where down below on a small portion of the road standing shoulder to shoulder in four rows were thirty of the unsullied were gathered for the event. All of them wearing their battle gear, for they never took it off or had any other attire currently.

It was a conditioned habit that Daenerys abhorred with a passion, it was cruel as she saw it. And he had to agree. But he knew and had explained that such habits would only fall away with time, nothing could force it nor accelerate it. Much to her dismay. Time and patience, that seemed to be her great rival. Not that she couldn't be patient when the scenario called for it but rather her expectation that the changes she wished to implement would last if she made them in an instant. A lesson for another time.

So it was that they moved down the road off the cliff side the camp sat on to face the unsullied who stood ready and silent as could be. In some ways he found it rather unnerving their characteristic silence, it was so extreme to the point where he had to pay proper attention in order to hear them breathe. It was both sad in its context and impressive in its discipline. Daenerys stepped forward first, her dress flowing in the ocean breeze.

She looked at each and every single one of them before narrowing her eyes and turning back to face Howland again.

“Where is Missandei? Should she not be here?”

Howland let out an internal sigh of annoyance at himself. He should have found her before calling Daenerys all things considered. But just as he was about to turn around to find someone to look for her, he jumped in shock. She stood right behind him silent as the grave looked at him with her round golden eyes. He took a breath to steady himself before speaking again this time with a professional if not stoic voice addressing Daenerys.

“Apologies, princess, Missandei of Naath is here.”

Daenerys’ face relaxed with the statement as she turned to face the young girl with a small smile. Missandei walked forward to her side as did Howland. Standing in unison the three faced the Unsullied. Daenerys spoke first her tone and voice carrying through the cliffs which surrounded them as the sounds of the ocean waves crashing against the beach below filled in the empty space between her words.

“Unsullied, I have commanded you as free men to come together and select the best of you to be put forward as your commander. And you thirty have been chosen, as much of an honor as this is I must pick one of you to lead. So I ask again which of you do you feel is the best suited for the task!?”

Missandei translated as was now the habit whenever Daenerys spoke to the unsullied, at least until they learned the Westerosi tongue. But as Missandei finished her translation it didn't take long before the unsullied parted around a singular individual amongst their ranks. Daenerys took stock of the man as he stood silent and moving amongst his peers, his face visible through his bronze helm.

He was of an average height but stocky in his build, well toned muscle covered his body as was the result of his harsh training. He was entirely without facial hair and the top of his head was covered by the helm so it was indeterminable as to whether or not he had any hair at all. But such features did not take away from the serious if not solemn expression which he wore on his face, natural or intended. In short, he was by all accounts what you would think a commander to look like.

Daenerys looked back to Howland with a serious but inquisitive look in her eye. As if she was looking for his approval of the candidate who stood before them. Howland saw no immediate problems with man then again he did not know them personally so he can make no truly informed judgments. But if he had been picked then there certainly must have been something about him that inspired the choice to be made, of thousands he was selected so it had to have been worth something. He nodded as Daenerys looked back speaking again.

“Step forward then.”

Missandei translated faithfully as the lone unsullied walked ahead removing his helm to show a clean shaven head. He lowered his head in respect before Daenerys spoke.

“Of all your companions you were selected, why do you think this choice was made?”

Missandei translated yet again and the unsullied responded. To which Missandei spoke.

“He says that he does not know.”

Daenerys curled an eyebrow as she looked at the young girl.

“He doesn't know?”

“No princess.”

She looked to the other unsullied who surrounded him, taking a second before speaking again.

“Ask them why they chose him then.”

Missandei spoke and one by one they responded in equally measured and disciplined voices. Missandei took their responses and in turn answered Daenerys’ question.

“They say he was chosen for discipline, his skill, and his fearlessness.”

Daenerys nodded slowly, stepping forward with Missandei to speak to the man directly. She folded her arms in front of her body, speaking with a calm and inquisitive voice she said.

“What is your name?”

As Missandei did the translations back and forth she eventually responded.

“He says that the unsullied change their names every day, for names belong to men, and they are not.”

Once again Howland watched as Daenerys' mood turned. Rage broiling beneath the surface. But she simply responded with.

“Then you may ask him to give the name that he feels best befits him.”

Once again the translation chain ran as the unsullied Spoke in a monotone voice to which Missandei translated.

“He says he wishes to be known as Grew worm princess.”

Daenerys looked at him confused.

“Truly? Is that not insulting?”

The unsullied responded and again Missandei translated.

“He says no, he says he wished to be known as that, for that is the name he had on the day that Daenerys Targaryen freed him.”

Missandei had a small smile on her lips as did Daenerys. In truth the reasoning brought a smile to Howlands lips as well. It was a noble and fine sentiment, and in fairness who were any of them to question the man's reasoning for his name. But as such Daenerys spoke again.

“Very well then, Grey Worm, I charge you with command of all the unsullied and freedmen fighters within my army. You will lead them as determined and as seen fit. Do you accept this vacation?”

It only took a small bit of time for Grey Worm to nod in acceptance. Soon after Daenerys returned to Howlands side as they walked away with Missandei in tow. Daenerys was walking with a confident smile upon her face as they went along their way, occasionally taking glances at Howland who waited in his responses. The three found their way back to Daenerys’ tent where a table and food had been laid out. Along it was a variety of Essosi delicacies for their enjoyment. Howland took his seat across from Daenerys as the three began eating.

Missandei ate slowly and was unsure of herself. He couldn't blame her, this was probably so far from normal for her, a slave to a princesses personal retinue. Granted however it was likely an improvement in any case. But at any rate she was here now, and with them for better or worse. He did wonder however what her role would be in the near future. Whether or not she would wish to go her own way when she came of age or if she would be a permanent addition to Jon and Daenerys’ court.

Her job would be obvious and essential but there was the concern of how the Lords would take such a position. Actually in truth that was secondary to his major concern, being the Lord's reaction to her leading a force of her own, and likely leading in some equivalent capacity to Jon. Daenerys was many things he had come to realize in the years with her, but among them, she was strong. Both in spirit and will. She knew what she wanted and had the drive to achieve it, regardless of cost. She was good and tempered, yes but none of the aforementioned traits would be appreciated by the lords of Westeros.

Howland knew that Jon wouldn't care, but his word as king would only go so far. They had their dragons so open revolt would be a ridiculous notion but still it would be a hard thing to propose, good queen Alysanne was widely regarded as Westeros’ greatest queen and likely most powerful. But even her control of things was limited by a multitude of factors. Would Daenerys hold equal sway with Jon, absolutely, of that he had no doubt, but anything beyond the line Alysanne drew would be testing the social fabric of Westeros. And that was more worrying than the wars they faced as of now. Then again all that wouldn't matter if they failed to survive the long night.

Even now so far from the north, so far from the wall, the thought preyed on his mind like a wolf amongst sheep. Never ceasing to terrorize him in his sleep, it seemed such a close terror. A threat breathing down the back of his neck every moment he refused to do something to move in the direction of its ultimate defeat. But then again what was his purpose here then if not to help gather strength not only for Jon’s claim but the defense of Westeros. Still it was potential years out.

But it was no less daunting today than it was yesterday. If not more. But just as soon as he brought another bite of food to his mouth did Daenerys speak.

“Lord Reed, how far out are we from Yunkai?”

Howland shook his head regaining his bearings to answer Daenerys.

“If all goes well and no unexpected developments stall us then I would say perhaps by tomorrow's sunset. Although we must be extremely cautious, princess.”

“Do we know what to expect from them?”

Howland took a drink before responding.

“Truthfully I don't know princess. I hardly know anything of Essos, much less these cities in particular. I know that you wish for more information. But the unfortunate truth of our situation is that we have few if any who know these lands in their depth. Perhaps this is something to consider going forward, princess.”

Daenerys was silent for a brief moment, considering Howland's words. She nodded to herself seemingly taking on his words before asking her next question. And this time her tone was far more wary if not afraid.

“Any news of Viserys?”

Howland felt his body tense. In truth these last years the prince had fallen to the far back of his mind.He wasn't a threat in the most intensive way. Yes he was cruel and vile and did bear the name Targaryen but at the same time he was no leader of men and thus Howland never worried about whether or not he could raise a force to hunt them down. But now with Daenerys making moves that were sure to be heard across the realm it wasnt unreasonable to assume that Viserys would come to hear them too.

Thankfully no word of the man had reached them. Although it was fair to admit that they weren't listening for any such rumors. Come to think of it, their information was lacking on essentially all possible fronts. They knew little of this part of Essos, its people, its lands, its cities, its cultures. They knew little of what was going on outside of their immediate area especially with regards to Westeros. News was beyond sporadic and often incomplete. Needless to say they needed a far more robust information network. After all, what good was an army without the intel to use it.

But he felt that no such luck would befall them before they reached Yunkai, or even by the time they reached Meereen. And considering that there would most certainly be retaliation on the part of the current powers in these lands for what Daenerys was doing. It would become far more important by the day what they set up in these next few critical days. And all he could hope at this moment was that they could arrange their resources as best they could. Or at least well enough to see them through to the voyage to Westeros. But still Howland responded.

“No princess.”

“Good.” She said, her voice was tense, filled with venom and anger. He couldn't blame her for her feelings but there was a concerning rage within her voice. She never made her opinions of her brother a secret even from the start. Once she had gotten used to being around them, she had begun to truly feel the rage at her brother. She often remembered how he was before and lamented that he was not as such now. Perhaps this only added to the hate. He then looked to Missandei and tilted his head to the tent's door. She knew what he needed, a moment alone.

Howland moved to Daenerys’ side and spoke softly.

“I know your feelings about him are complicated, hard, painful. But you have to know you will meet again if fate does not take him from this earth first. And when that happens you will need to choose how to deal with it. And that is hardly what concerns me.”

She scoffed.

“Oh truly Lord Reed? What does concern you then?”

He stayed silent. Daenerys’ face fell slightly, her eyes losing a cruel edge turning softer. Only ever so slightly though. She spoke again.

“...What concerns you, Lord Reed?”

“He is unfortunately your brother, and that carries a weight to it. Does he deserve to pay for his actions, certainly. Is death warranted? Perhaps yes. Should it be you that delivers it? Maybe so, but the weight and concern I hold is that of your mind. Your temperament. You feel hate and justifiably so, but what place does hate and vitriol have in the heart of a good queen?”

Daenerys’ face now was thoughtful, her violet eyes reflecting a soft concern as she thought. She only responded.

“None… It has none.”

Howland took one of her hands in his own encasing it on both sides, breathing deeply before speaking.

“Daenerys, your feelings for your brother are true and it will do no good to hold them in. But when the time comes to face him once more, make your decisions without their influence, as best you can. Let true justice, whatever that may be for Viserys, fall upon him. Hate will only hurt you. Best not to get used to it.”

Daenerys looked up nodding as Howland put a hand on her shoulder smiling slightly. She spoke again soon after.

“Will you be there? When the time comes… will you stand by my side and face him with me?””

Howland nodded slightly.

“I can make no promises, but I will try princess. I will try to stand alongside you, lest fate depart us before then.”

Daenerys smiled and wrapped her arms around Howland, hugging him. He smiled and returned the gesture patting her shoulder as they sat in the tent alone. Simply enjoying each other's presence for a short while.

“There there princess, you know your strength. You can and shall face it when it comes time. After all, what strength could the lizard lion provide the dragon?” He said in a joking way, Daenerys responded with a strained and happy voice.

“More than you know Lord Reed.”

Howland smiled and held her close, he knew.

They stayed in that state for a short while longer, separating only moments before Missandei rushed back in her eyes wide with alertness and alarm. Immediately Daenerys spoke as she rose to her feet. Howland's hand moving to the pommel of his sword. Daenerys spoke.

“Missandei? What’s wrong?”

Her voice came out swift and worried.

“Princess… The watchmen have seen ships on the sea, headed towards us, we think they have seen the camp.”

Daenerys moved to her side.

“How many?”

“Five…”

Howland’s gaze narrowed. Five ships was by no means an attacking force. Daenerys spoke again, seemingly picking up on the same thing.

“Do we know who they belong to?”

Missandei shook her head.

“No princess, no one knows the symbols on their sails.”

“Symbols? What symbols?” Daenerys responded.

“Animals by the look of it. We don't recognize the ones on four of their sails, but the center one seems to have a dog on its sail.”

Howland’s eyebrows shot up as he interjected.

“This dog, what color was it?”

“Grey my Lord.”

Howland's mood was steadily rising by the second as he asked more.

“What color was the sail?”

Missandei, looking confused, responded.

“White.”

A gray dog on a white sail. He began to put the pieces together. A gray dog… no, a wolf, a dire wolf. He suddenly looked to Daenerys who seemed to be in a state of confusion.

“House Stark.”

Suddenly Daenerys’ shock was alleviated and in its place was the purest joy. A wide smile breaking across her lips. Howland turned to Missandei.

“Alert all the unsullied, they are not to take these ships as hostile. Arrange for tents and food immediately. And get a small number of them down to the beach.”

Missandei rushed off as Howland left the tent, Daenerys running alongside. They ran to the cliffside overlooking the ocean so that they could get a glimpse. And sure as daylight he saw them. 5 ships sailing together. The other four had sea green with silver seahorses, house Velaryon. At the head of the formation, a three masted ship with its mainsail depicting the charging dire wolf of house Stark. He realized that he was laughing in joy.

It had been so long since he had seen that sigil and it felt damn good to lay eyes on it again. As if seeing an old friend walk through the door. Daenerys seemed similarly ecstatic, never having seen the sigil Howland could only imagine the thoughts and feelings surging through the princesses head. But they had no time to waste. They rushed down the cliff roads to the sandy beach where waves crashed against the shoreline. A chair and tarp was brought down for shade. She refused however to take a seat, preferring to stand.

It wasn't long before the dragons arrived, taking positions around the tarp. Rhaegal and Rhaellon stopped at its flanks on either side. Eddaron moved behind Daenerys as she ran a hand along his snout. He rumbled softly before everyone's eyes turned to the ships. Their sails were being pulled in and several small boats were now rowing to the shore which they stood upon. Howland looked around at the Unsullied who stood ready with their spears, a few quickly made banners depicting the three-headed dragon placed on posts behind them.

The boats pulled closer as Daenerys’ excitement only grew, as did his own for that matter. They stood together as the boats pushed through the surf and pulled ashore. Quickly about 200 household guards lined up, their sigils marking them of the houses Stark and Tully. And they seemed rather nervous.Howland could empathize, likely being afraid so far from home in a strange land and with three dragons staring them down. But they held firm, good. Following them came one boat, on it three women and two men sat. Howland recognized four of them immediately. And his heart sank at the memories which would surely resurface. But he tried to stay positive about it all.

The boat was dragged ashore by several of the household guards who quickly made way for its passengers to step off. They lined up immediately and all had a different expression, following close behind were two great wolves much to his and Daenerys’ surprise. Howland kept his eyes on one person, stepping forward in a light gown of Stark Grey and Tully Blue was Catelyn Stark. Missandei spoke first.

“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of house Targaryen, mother of dragons and breaker of chains.”

Catelyn strode forward determined and confident as ever, bowing her head before Daenerys, speaking in a cordial and straight tone.

“Princess Daenerys Targaryen, we thank you for the quick effort you have shown in preparing to meet our unexpected arrival. I am Catelyn of the house Stark, and I graciously ask your welcome.”

Daenerys looked surprised for a second before responding. Although there was a slight hardness to her tone.

“Lady Catelyn Stark, I grant your request and extend my hospitality to you and your entourage. But might I ask your purpose here, being so far from home?”

Catelyn looked up as she folded her hands in front of her body.

“Thank you princess, and you certainly may. We come on behalf of his grace King Daeron of the house Targaryen. His grace offers his kindness and hospitality, requesting our presence here to relay offers and messages.”

Daenerys visibly brightened at Jon’s name. Her smile grew as she let out a subtle silent yet gleeful laugh.

“I thank you for your cordiality, but before we continue, I must inquire about the rest of your entourage.”

Catelyn looked back to the others before speaking again.

“Of course princess. With me travels my daughters Arya and Sansa, our protector Ser Rodrick Cassel and Syrio Forel.”

All bowed their heads in respect as they were announced. Daenerys returned the courtesy as they did so in tandem. Her smile was just about infectious at this point, even Catelyn’s mood seemed to become more relaxed as time went on. Daenerys spoke again.

“I welcome you all to our camp, and I wish it known that you will be well cared for and treated for as long as you are my guests.”

All smiled slightly. Catelyn spoke shortly after.

“To answer your question princess, his grace wishes us to serve you in any capacity you see as fit for as long as it takes to return you to Dragonstone. And there is his second offer.”

Daenerys smirked.

“Please speak, lady Stark.”

Catelyn drew a breath and spoke.

“His grace wishes to offer his hand in marriage, so that your house may be reunit-”

“I accept.”

Catelyn's face became filled with surprise, Howland had suspected that Jon and Daenerys had come to such an agreement a long time ago, courtesy of their dreams. But it was still funny to see the faces of all those unaware become shocked at the speed and confidence of Daenerys' response. But one thing was certain, things had just become so much more interesting.

---

Arya VII

Arya smirked as she heard Daenerys say yes. It was expected and predictable, she had guessed Jon and her had come to the agreement weeks ago, hell maybe even years ago. But the official offer was in some capacity needed. And now it was done. She had a fun time looking around to the surprise and shock on the faces of all those who surrounded them at that moment. Sansa and mother in particular made her chuckle. Never had she seen her mother so taken aback but here she stood. Quite frankly that reaction was worth the months of arduous travel and cramped conditions.

It was rough, but now here she stood on the other side of the world in the presence of the last Targaryen princess. It felt surreal in an odd way but exhilarating at the same time. And now that she was here many thoughts and feelings were coming to the forefront of her mind. All however spoke to no malice nor worry about the weeks ahead. She stood ready and silent while her mother regained her bearings and in that time she took the chance to really get a look at Daenerys.

After all she had only ever had a mental image of the princess, described on occasion by Jon alone. The only other things known about her appearance came from rumors alone. But seeing her now a lot of claims were becoming validated. For one, she was beyond all doubts exceptionally beautiful. Long hair, silver blonde reaching to her shoulders, although what caught her attention was the style of braid she wore it in, it was not anything like the styles of the south, nor was it any of the styles of Essos. It was northern, that struck Arya as particularly odd but intriguing.

Lord Reed must have had a significant influence on her if she styled herself in the manner of the North, at minimum it might mean that she was intrigued by the North. But beyond the hair the second thing that Arya came to notice of the princess was her eyes. Jon didn't have violet eyes, even if Arya could swear she saw flashes of the color in the right lighting. That was not the case for Daenerys, her rich violet eyes shone in the sunlight, proud and powerful. Her frame was thin yet not scrawny. She was what one would envision as a proper princess, much more than Sansa ever thought she would be anyway.

All in all it was a truly odd moment. But shortly afterwards mother regained her sense of self and returned to talking.

“Very well then princess, we thank you for your quick consideration. And we wish you to know that we are at your service.”

Daenerys smiled and responded.

“That is good, for I have need of your services my lady. Yours and your entourage. Please let us move from the beach, tents have already been arranged for you and we will find more for your guard.”

Mother smiled and lowered her head.

“Thank you princess. I trust my daughter's wolves will be of no problem?”

Daenerys took the time to look at both Nymeria and Lady who stood silent by their masters' sides, Nymeria keeping an eye on the three dragons who seemed rather puzzled by the two wolves before them. Daenerys however looked at them with a strange comfort, as if this was hardly something she hadn't seen before. Then again if she had not one but three dragons, were two dire wolves really so impressive by comparison. Likely not. Daenerys spoke shortly after a brief pause.

“Of course not, they will be cared for just as well as you. After all we travel with dragons, I'm sure we can accommodate them.”

Arya smiled and ran a hand along Nymeria's back. The group moved up the cliffs into the camp. Arya looking around all the while saw many things she hadn't expected, the armors of the soldiers who surrounded them as well as the famished state of some men who walked by, it seemed as if many here had suffered. It was something she would need to ask about as soon as possible. The origins of her host.

In fairness, it wasn't like they had plenty of information to go off of. It wasn't as if they were receiving ravens the entirety of their voyage over, although such a luxury would have been well appreciated all things considered. It would have been good to know what was going on with regards to the war back home as they steadily sailed away from it. Who knows maybe news would come from Daenerys as opposed to themselves.

They found themselves walking towards the core of the camp where several larger tents were placed out and ready one of them they were led inside. It was spacious on the inside with a long table, already foods were placed around ready for consumption. Arya was already eying a chicken leg which sat in the light, tantalizing. She took her seat next to Syrio, Sansa sat next to Ser Rodrick, mother sat opposite to Lord Reed, Daenerys at the head, and an odd girl who looked close to Arya's age was standing next to Daenerys.

She seemed to hold some important position considering that she was announcing Daenerys titles when they first landed on the beach. Perhaps she was some sort of friend, then again who was Arya to judge a young girl's position based solely on their age and size.It would make her quite frankly the single greatest hypocrite in all seven kingdoms and beyond. So she resigned to sit quietly in her spot and begin digging into the food which lay on the table in front of them. Sansa on the other hand seemed to be far more courteous in her consumption of food, likely keeping up appearances, she remained courteous even though her fantasies had been shattered.

Arya thought for a brief moment and frowned. She had always wanted to see Sansa brought down a peg and be told that her illusions of court life and fairy tales were just that, illusions. But now that she had actually seen what that entailed and had lived through the cost of that revelation, she was certain that she would give anything to take it all back and let her live out her delusions, if only things hadn't turned out the way they did. She lowered her head before returning to eating.

After a short while and a little food in the belly Daenerys broke the silence asking a simple question.

“Lady Stark, if I may. I would inquire about your journey across the sea to reach us. Would you care to tell?”

Mother nodded her head turning her body to face Daenerys before speaking.

“Most certainly princess.”

Arya tuned out the vast majority of the conversation for she knew how things had gone, she'd been there for the entirety of it. Once they had arrived at Saltpans they spoke with Lord Monford who in turn provided them with five ships for them to travel. The fastest ships he had to offer that is to say. And they had been sailing ever since. It was extremely boring granted but at the same time was not a positive? To travel and not have to deal with pirates and Lannister sailors. Aside from that the trip had been very uneventful.

Arya had of course kept up her water dancing practice with Syrio, every morning and afternoon on the deck of the ship they would rehearse now with metal sparring swords. And quite frankly now she actually believed she was truly getting good unlike she had thought back in the Red-Keep. She knew this because cereal had actually become picking up the pace of their encounters and seemingly putting in a little more effort every single time they engaged. Arya would be lying if she said that such knowledge didn't make her excited or even a bit prideful. As far as she was concerned it was utterly deserved pride.

Granted however she often clashed with mother over this topic. She understood its necessity by now considering her experiences in King's Landing. But that by no means meant she liked it. Arya was confident that mother would rather see her and Sansa locked away in a tower for all their years if not to just spare them any more harm or heartbreak.Thankfully that was not the world in which they lived and Arya became more proficient with Needle day by day. She was happy with her progress and looked forward to the next opportunity she got to employ her skills.

That being said however the trip had been marred by something else particularly odd, and this time it was not her that was the center of the issue. Nor did anyone else but her truly notice either. No, this time the issue was with Sansa. Arya remembered the first occurrence of a small yet quiet series of incidents about 2 weeks ago. She was up late at night, she hadn't been sleeping well and needed some fresh air on the deck. She had been looking at the stars when she heard noises from the crates the dire wolves slept in. they had to be kept out on the top deck for open air. It would have been cruel to simply just lock them in boxes in the hold. Not that she would have allowed it regardless.

But when she went over to investigate she had expected it to be Nymeria causing the noises in trouble. Perhaps she had caught her scent and wished to say hello. But when she approached the crates it became clear that Nymeria was fast asleep. The wolf making the sounds was Lady. Arya remembered the state of her sister's dire wolf, panicked and skittering looking around constantly. She seemed to be in a state of fear; it was only calmed when Arya sat with her for a long while until she fell asleep again. It was a strange occurrence to be sure Lady was never one to act up in such a way, she was far too gentle and tame one might say.

The following morning Sansa was late coming to the small table where they would have held their meals those mornings. Again extremely odd considering the fact that her sister was never ever late for anything, even something so minor as a morning breakfast. Furthermore, she was quiet the entire time, their mother repeatedly asking her if she was well and she always responded yes. But Arya saw the look on her face. It looked similar to the expressions worn when they found her in her room at the Red Keep. She was afraid.

And the grand topping upon all that was the fact that she was constantly looking over to Lady. Arya wasn't sure why but she had a very strange feeling about this whole mood her sister was in. but no matter how much she tried to push the issue with her in private she never spoke of it. And as the days went on she seemed to calm down although gradually. But every so often Arya swore that she could hear the skittering of Lady in the night.

And it all had come to a rather disturbing scene about three nights ago when Arya had woken up in the middle of the night to find her cabin door open and Lady just staring at her. Somehow she had managed to get out of her crate and found her way down below deck as if she had known where to go. I'll be it she never charged her, attacked, or even so much as grounds just silently stared at her. To say that it unnerved her was a gross understatement. But she had left soon after. And the following morning she had returned back to her crate.

That was what was most eventful in Arya's mind at least. But she had never told her mother in fear that she would not understand the situation. So she decided to keep that to herself even now as her mother relayed the events of their journey to Daenerys. However, even so the princess seemed to be enjoying mother's recollection of events and her descriptions of the war back home. Or rather she enjoyed hearing about Westeros in general. It was clear that the princess knew very little of her continent of birth and wished to know as much as she could.

Quite frankly it was actually particularly adorable the way she would ask questions. Either about the most innocuous topics or the slightest details in regards or the most insignificant of details regarding the various noble houses or alliances between them. That or perhaps she just found the entire thing dull and tedious, come to think of it that was probably the case all things considered. But still the princess asked what felt like a million scatter shot questions at every opportunity that was presented to her. Sansa for her part actually seemed to pipe in every now and again answering questions where she could. Once again Arya was the odd one out in all this.

Eventually however things began to settle down as mother wrapped up their end of the story before proceeding to ask the princess about her tail. and quite frankly hers was far more interesting than Arya expected. She began to realize just how little Jon actually spoke about her past, and she was also starting to realize why he never spoke about her past because it was pretty damn sad. She started right at the beginning from the moment of her birth and subsequent escape from Dragonstone with her brother. All of what Arya had heard of the late queen Rhaella had painted her as a kind and gentle woman if not a broken one. so to hear of her ultimate fate in this way was rather grounding.

Then came her early childhood in Braavos. Which if the manner in which she spoke about it was any indication, it was probably considered by her to be the happiest point in her life so far. And once again she found herself delighted by her story. She had a certain way of talking that just grabbed your attention and didn't let go no matter how much you tried to look away. In all honesty was a rather interesting thing to notice but once again she was drawn from her thoughts as the story slowly devolved back into a depressive melancholy following their caretaker's death and subsequent removal to the streets of Braavos.

That's when Daenerys' passion and anger began showing. The slow decline of her brother was in truth again another sad thing to hear about. Back home people had occasionally spoken of Viserys And his rumored cruelty. Jon certainly believed them but he had the advantage of hearing it directly from Daenerys's own mouth. And now Arya did as well. And what she heard only made her understand both Daenerys and Jon's rage all the better. Victim of circumstance or no, what he did grew steadily more and more reprehensible as the story continued.

Eventually they reached Pentos, and now things began to match up with her memories and understanding of events. She spoke of the first year or so they spent at Illyrio's manse, how he frankly seemed to be a bit of a yes man to her brother and went along with whatever mad delusion came to his mind involving retaking Westeros. It was odd though that he seemed completely willing to bankroll his entire invasion when people in a similar position had been rejecting Viserys left and right for years by this point. So Arya found it particularly suspicious that this one influential man seemed to just accept it and bring them into his good graces for an endeavor as risky as this. Perhaps the man had been plotting something else and Viserys hadn't seen it coming.

Regardless of that thought she refocused and then came the next major event. Her supposed disappearance. She retold how Lord Reed had come in with his 30 crannogmen and gotten her out of a wedding with the Dothraki khal. Now that got Arya’s blood flowing with exhilaration and excitement, much to her mother's dismay. And shortly after she told of how her three dragons came into the world. Then of course she relayed her time in the swamps to the north of Volantis with Lord Reed, and from there their subsequent time spent living amongst and raising the dragons in total secrecy as to avoid her brother, Khal Drogo, or any other dangerous eyes turning to them.

Eventually they had returned to civilization, she explained her intent on gathering an army with the intention of sailing back to Westeros to join with Jon and take the Iron Throne, as to be expected. And of course she told them the details of her conquest of Astapor, her freeing of the slaves and Unsullied and How she personally saw to it that their idols were melted into the harbor and all messages of their slaving empire were burnt to crisps and embers around them. That got Arya smiling.

It was an incredibly fun portion of the story she felt, and of course it tied nicely into how they've been marching for the past few days and now they were here. Of course the story ended with their own arrival and the subsequent conversation they were now having in this tent. It felt good to be able to finally take stock of their situation and understand where everyone had been scared to get in relation to the others and how the pieces had been moving beyond their knowledge. It brought a sense of closure to many questions they had had in those early days. Gods how far away those days seemed now.

The conversation began to pivot away from life stories and shifted to more casual topics. Questions regarding the nature of the north and what was Winterfell like. Daenerys honestly seemed to have so many things she wanted knowing In fairness she’d had several years to devise all the questions she wanted answered about her homeland. But the north did seem of particular interest to her, that being said however she would often ask questions about the other kingdoms and a lot of questions about the great houses in particular. Arya can see a couple of reasons why she might want to know that but chief amongst them was that she was probably trying to get a sense of the Westeros she would be stepping into when she arrived.

Quite frankly she had to give her compliments for wishing to be prepared enough to handle the political nightmare that the continent currently was. Quite frankly if she was in the princess's position she wasn't sure if she'd want to go back right now, if only to see the Lannister's heads on spikes, however. Regardless of all of that the conversation droned on for well over a few hours until finally they were allowed to leave Daenerys taking mother aside to speak with her just a little bit longer. They were likely talking about the conditions of her position as envoy and possible advisory position. Nothing Arya particularly cared to listen in on at the moment. Instead her eyes turn to the far edge of camp.

She began walking by herself through the dozens of unsullied and she now knew to be freed slaves. She was careful to slip away from the guards her mother had asked to watch her at all times. Not that she particularly needed them anyway at best they would be half-ass distractions if a fight actually came about. She had Needle and she had Nymeria, that was all she needed. Speaking of which, her wolf faithfully ran over to her side as they made their way out past the edge of camp over a small set of hills before Arya walked quietly once more.

She knew it would be a horrible idea to spook the dragons. If Daenerys's story was anything to go off of they were certainly very different from Weirya in temperament. And not only that there were three of them, so Arya resigned herself to simply look at them from over the hill and not go anywhere near them if she could help it. She didn't wish to become a charred corpse tonight, nor did she wish that fate upon her wolf either so she made sure that Nymeria was several paces behind her ready to run at a moment's notice. Quietly the pair creeped their way up the side of the last hills; they could hear the loud breathing of Daenerys's dragons. She peeked over and got a far better look at them.

On the beach they were there yes but her attention had been focused solely on the princess at that time not on the dragons behind her nor did she truly get a chance to observe their features. Needless to say, they were so very different from Weirya. For one all of them were smaller, much smaller Weirya was large enough to carry multiple people on her back at a singular time, seven hells she had done it with Arya and Sansa not a month ago. God's what she wouldn't do to relive that moment again. She was sure that she would fly on a dragon's back one more time whether it be with Daenerys or Jon, but she felt that nothing would quite be able to recapture the magic of that first flight.

That or maybe she just liked how it distracted her from all the death they had seen that day, all the tragedy and loss. Put simply it was a nice break in it all to enjoy something that people hadn't experienced for centuries and something that very few people ever had experienced. Gods how she wished to fly again.

But for now she would settle for simply observing these creatures, and with regards to their size they actually look like they might struggle to support one person for an overextended period of time. It was clear that they still had a lot of growing to go through before they were considered adults. Whether that would take months or perhaps years who knew, certainly not her. She wasn't a maester much less one that specialized in the growth patterns of dragons, if such a thing even existed in the first place. But refocusing her gaze she began to analyze the personal differences between the three dragons.

Now of course each of them were a separate color, one was green, one was cream, one was black. That much anyone could have discerned from them and of course each of them had a smaller secondary color which gave a little contrast to their primary colors. But there were other things about them that she noticed. For one whenever reward or made sounds there was actually quite a lot of difference between them. The black ones seem to growl and bellow a lot, as if it were constantly in a state of annoyance. The green one had more easily sound to its roars and it tended to draw them out for longer periods of time than his brothers. And the cream one was actually very chirpy in their sounds, one might even call them jovial.

She spent a long time on that Hill taking in the various speeches of the Dragons the small differences in their horn shapes, the length of their wingspan, and of course the very small and barely noticeable size differences between them all. She thought about how Weirya would react to seeing others of her kind, how she would take to them. After all she had been raised around people not other dragons, would she be just as personable and social as she was with humans, or would she be aggressive and reclusive? Quite frankly there was no way of telling but it was interesting to think about.

It was then that she heard footsteps behind her, quickly turning around, she drew Needle as Nymeria began to growl. But she quickly calmed down as did her wolf when they saw it was only Daenerys. She wore a small smirk on her face as she walked up the hill to stand beside her. She spoke with a clear amusement in her voice.

“It's alright, I'm not here to trouble you.”

Arya put Needle's blade down. She exhaled and noticed that it was getting dark by now. She responded.

“Sorry, I didn't expect you.”

Daenerys chuckled.

“Nor I you.”

She looked down to Needle, her focus growing as she raised a silver eyebrow.

“You practice swordplay?”

Arya felt a smile grow, the little tension that remained in her melting away as she held up Needle showing it off in the moonlight.

“I do Water dancing specifically.”

Daenerys held her smile looking back to camp briefly before speaking again.

“I would have thought that most girls of Westeros wouldn't bother with such things, that they'd rather listen to the tales of valor and heroism and concern themselves with the gossip of court.” She said in a slightly sarcastic tone, indicating her own humor in such a notion. Arya couldn't help but respond with a quip of her own.

“Most girls are stupid.”

That got an amused look from Daenerys as the two of them shared a chuckle.

“Your sister seems to view such things in a cynical manner too.” Daenerys responded.

Arya felt her smile fade slightly. She kicked a pebble under her foot trying to think of what to say. She came up with.

“I knew from a young age that such things were trivial… Sansa… Learned the hard way.”

Daenerys’ smile fell as well as she took in the weight of Arya's words, a look of pity and sadness overtook the princess's demeanor for a short while. It was a hard thing not to be sad about admittedly. Quickly the princess tried to lighten the mood as her gaze returned to Needle for a second.

“Might I have a closer look?”

Arya quirked an eyebrow in annoyance, she was reluctant and was about to voice her opinions when Daenerys spoke first.

“I'll show you mine in exchange.”

Suddenly her head turned to Daenerys as she turned her body to her.

“You have your own?”

Daenerys smiled as she pulled from her sleeve a bronze knife, rugged and worn, but sharp and deadly. Arya recognized the craftsmanship immediately.

“That's a crannog dagger.”

“Indeed.” Daenerys responded. She raised an eyebrow again before continuing.

“So might I see yours?”

Arya took hold of Daenerys’ knife and she took hold of Needle in turn analyzing the weapon carefully, her fingers supporting the blade as she held it against the moonlight. Arya on the other hand was significantly less careful in her examination of the knife. She ran it across the leather of her belt to test its sharpness and she found herself surprised by how easily it cut through the first few layers of leather. Whatever Daenerys did with this knife she had kept it very well maintained. Arya felt the need to pose a question of her own before continuing any thorough examination of the weapon.

“Was this the same knife you… you know…” She hesitated in her questioning for a second before Daenerys responded.

“Cut Khal Drogo’s eye with? Yes, yes it is.”

Arya smiled to herself looking back at the knife.

“Wow…”

Daenerys returned Needle to Arya and she in return gave Daenerys back her knife. It was not long before the conversation continued. Daenerys speaking.

“Lady Arya, I must ask what are you doing out here.”

Arya whipped her head around shooting a slight glare at Daenerys.

“I'm not a lady.”

Daenerys raised an eyebrow.

“Really, are you not?” Her tone was sarcastic but there was a hint of intrigue.

“I'd rather not…”

Daenerys gave a slight chuckle as she shook her head slightly. She spoke shortly after.

“You really are as Jon described you.”

Arya looked up.

“Really?”

“Yes… Free spirited and stubborn. You certainly live up to your reputation Arya.”

Arya couldn't help but smirk at that, satisfied with herself and a bit prideful. Though she did feel the need to return the compliment in some capacity.

“You also are as he described too.”

Now it was Daenerys’ turn to look surprised.

“He speaks of me?”

Arya nodded her head.

“Aye. Speaks fondly of you, actually come to think of it, it's rather silly.”

The pair laughed at the joke before falling into a comfortable silence, only for Arya to continue.

“When we were younger… and he woke up from those dreams, he would spend the rest of the day with a dumb grin on his face, even when our ward Theon would try to bring him and Robb to see the girls of winter town he wouldn't bother. They teased him calling you his ‘lady love’, suppose they were right.”

She saw Daenerys smile again, this time out of a genuine warmth and love. She suspected that Jon had not told her those habits of his. Seemed that she enjoyed them. Arya continued.

“But to answer your question I came to see them.” She said, looking at the dragons. Daenerys nodded.

“Tell me, how do they compare to Weirya?”

She breathed for a second thinking.

“Weirya is much friendlier I think, bigger definitely, and more visually distinct. But they seem comfortable with each other, I don't know how she will behave with them.”

Daenerys nodded.

“I would hope that they get along.”

“Aye. Me too… Once more, what are their names?”

Daenerys looked out to them as she pointed them out one by one.

“Rhaellon, Rhaegal, and Eddaron.”

“Eddaron?”

Daenerys nodded.

“Yes.”

“I can't recall a Targaryen by that name.”

“Because I named him not after a Targaryen, but your father.”

Arya looked back to the black dragon as she let that sink in. Daenerys, noticing her mood shift, asked.

“I hope that I haven't disrespected him by-”

Arya cut her off.

“No, no… I think he would have been honored.”

Daenerys nodded in acceptance and a bit of relief. The pair spent a little while longer talking under the stars as they got to know one another. Daenerys would occasionally pet Nymeria who seemed to enjoy the attention and Daenerys made the promise to let Arya continue her water dancing in the camp core when they could. After a while they left

Notes:

Thank you all for the kind words last chapter and for the critiques provided. Hope you enjoyed this one.

North/Riverlands: 42,000 - (260 ships + 160 ‘Celtigar + Velaryon. 1 Dragon)

Westerlands/Stormlands/Vale: 78,000 - (50,000 westerlands, 12,000 Stormlands, 13,000 Vale 45 ships "Lannisport")

Reach: 39,000

Dorne: Undeclared?

Iron Islands: Undeclared

Daenerys: 15,000 (8,000 unsullied, 5,000 in training, 2,000 freedmen. 3 Dragons)

(Note this might not be accurate with the books or show to a T but these are what I personally found to be believable estimates and as such will be using.)

As always, comments are welcome.

Chapter 31: Davos II / Jon IX

Summary:

Ser Davos introduces Jon to Shireen and Jon gets aquanited with Shireen.

Notes:

Hey sorry for the extensive wait, lots of things have come up and will remain for a bit, but I will continue to post. Hope you enjoy. :)

Davos II

It was inspiring and terrifying to see it up close. A creature so grand seemed out of place in this world. Yet here the dragon stood, right above them on the central keep. Looking out to sea amidst the smoking remains of the royal fleet. It was something you'd imagine would be sewn into a tapestry. It was a sight worthy of reverence. Yet even so it was just as surprising if not incredible seeing the boy who stepped down from its back to greet them. Davos thought for a moment that perhaps it might be best to step aside and let him pass, especially considering the state of his armor.

Arrow dents were dotted all along its steel form. The evidence that a few lucky shots and this battle would have been very different were evident in the sunlight plain as could be. Thankfully the battle had not turned out in such a way. No, they stood atop Dragonstone victorious and triumphant as the smoke rose into the skies behind them. An incredible scene all things considered. But a somber one as well, something that shouldn't be forgotten, for one reason or another. And most certainly this moment shouldn't be handled with anything less than extreme caution.

The self-proclaimed king had burned a fleet with a living dragon, he thought himself the rightful king of Westeros. And now he knew he could make such a conquest. Lord Monford had called him a good man, but Davos would have to make that judgment for himself, to determine whether or not this Daeron Targaryen was indeed a good man, or just another Targaryen riddled with madness and a thirst for blood and chaos. He supposed he would find out in not but a second as the boy walked forward his face still hidden behind a helm. But much to his surprise, the boy removed it. And his face was nothing of which he expected.

In truth, he had no clue what he expected, only that there was an image that existed in his mind. Likely since he was a boy. Probably much like everyone else who heard the story of Aegon the conqueror, he would have envisioned a strong and tall man, the silver hair and violet eyes of old Valyria, a beautiful visage and pale skin. That was what anyone would think of when they were told to envision a dragon lord of the house Targaryen. That was what Davos had envisioned when the news of this boy's existence came to him, and certainly what he envisioned as he watched the royal fleet burn in dragon fire.

But the boy who stood before him was decidedly not that. Not in the slightest. What stood before him looked as northern as you could be. Long dark hair, gray eyes, a long face with a sullen expression. He was tall for his age but even then it was nothing that anyone would envision. But oddly enough there was a sense of comfort which accompanied this visage. Something about him looking so distinctly different from the perception of a Targaryen made him much more approachable, personable, not a myth or a great tale from a tavern. But a person.

In any case he was walking towards him now and Davos was certain that he would need to have a long conversation, especially in regards to Shireen. Which he was not looking forward to in any manner. Quite frankly what he was going to ask was intolerable at least to him. It was clear that he was going to ask for her to bend the knee, He was going to ask for her birthright formally. He might have come in and saved them but that didn't mean Davos wished him to sit upon the iron throne. His loyalty was to Stannis and now his daughter. And no matter how grateful he was for the rescue.

But as the Targaryen slowly stepped up to him, he bowed his head before speaking first.

“I apologize for the abruptness of my arrival, I didn't wish for me to arrive under such dire circumstances.”

Davos blinked in stunned contemplation, trying to register the boy's words. To start with an apology as opposed to a demanding call for submission. Davos regained his bearing and returned the sentiment with a lighthearted jab.

“So long as we are standing alive and well, then I’d say the abruptness of your entrance is more than excusable.”

Then the Targaryen smiled, not in a malicious or crazed manner, not in a sarcastic or snide way, but in a way that relayed his genuine happiness. Then he started chuckling, it was a very odd thing yet a very calming one. Davos even found his own lips pulling up into a smirk under his beard. The boy spoke again.

“I suppose formal introductions are needed, I am king Daeron Targaryen, who do I have the honor of speaking to?”

Davos felt his mood dry at the self anointed title of king, but nevertheless he bowed his head and spoke.

“Ser Davos of the house Seaworth, your grace.”

He was reluctant to use the term your grace, but it would be improper of him to be so blatant With his disrespect, along with that it would just be plain stupid to aggravate the man with a dragon currently at his side. So he would go through the proclivities and pageantry of it all to abait any form of Immense consequence that would soon follow after such a brazen display. Daeron suddenly seemed to have a moment of recollection flash across his face.

“Ser Davos… I have heard of you.”

Davos was again confused and concerned. So he continued with another question.

“Forgive me your grace for my asking, but you've heard of me?”

Daeron smiled and nodded in a friendly manner.

“Yes I have, Lord Monford told me of you some moon or so back. He said that I would appreciate your counsel.”

Davos admittedly was flattered by the praise, yet he remained true to his princess and spoke the truth.

“I am undeserving of such high praise your grace, and even if I was, my counsel belongs only to one person as of now.”

“Truly? So who then does your counsel belong to?”

“As of now only to the princess Shireen Baratheon.”

Daeron once more surprised him with the look he gave, not one of annoyance or anger but rather a well and true respect. Even a small smile to accompany the expressive gesture. He spoke again shortly after not wishing to mince words or waste any more time than they likely already had by standing atop the battlements of Dragonstone.

“Come then, I wish to see her and speak to her.”

Davos once again grew Suspicious even though he had completely anticipated that this would be happening sooner rather than later. It brought no comfort suffice to say. Then again in truth what could he really do to rally against such a request. Besides, he hadn't been or shown himself to have been hostile or sadistic in both his occupation of the castle or their current conversation. So Davos nodded his head as he led him away from the walls to the stairs leading into the old castle. But before descending into the fortress he asked.

“Apologies to ask this your grace, but are you not uncomfortable with entering a castle filled with your rival lords?”

Daeron smiled and said.

“Well for one, the majority of men both in and surrounding Dragonstone are my own. Secondly Weirya will keep watch the entire time, and thirdly I know that the lords who support you are minor and few at that. So to answer your question, no I am in fact rather comfortable to be entering the halls of my ancestors.”

Davos couldn't argue with that reasoning, primarily because it was true in every way. Despite how long he had been in this fortress with Stannis, the balance of power had so dramatically shifted in Daerons favor that they were little more than prisoners only free by his word alone. Which in it of itself was an odd thing to think about, the idea that they were technically free by what good will he felt they deserved, which apparently was quite a lot. It should have perhaps spoken into his quality of character and made him at least a little more trustworthy but in all honesty it made the current situation no less tense.

Either way they had little time to waste. The princess was likely waiting and anticipating this conversation just as much as he was. So he only nodded and moved ahead of him as they slowly made their way down the steps into the depths of the castle intent on this meeting finally coming to fruition after a moon of distress. Quietly he walked with only the sounds of the guards and Daerons armor to break the cold tension of the silence which surrounded them.

---

Once inside the castle It wasn't a long walk until they reached the central halls. Even after so long within Dragonstone he never truly could get used to the grandeur of the castle's interior. The Targaryens had clearly built the castle with the image of old Valyria well in mind. Great geometric arches supporting the ceiling of whatever black brick made up the castle walls, the many ports for candles and the long narrow windows letting in light illuminating the smoke in the room. And of course the dragon sculptures, they were everywhere always watching his every single waking step.

The only word he could think to describe any of them was truly disturbing if not just scary, and one look over to Daeron only confirmed that he felt similar with regards to the architecture surrounding him. Once again upsetting the classic Targaryen image which still he found himself unable to truly detach from. Daeron looked at every dragon statue, every window, every pillar they passed as more and more Velaryon men gathered to his side and defense, slowly adding to his protective entourage as they made their way closer to the castle's throne room.

However before they could enter they heard the sound of heeled shoes clacking down the hallway. Immediately a few ideas of whom this could be came to his mind but it was only confirmed when a tall woman with thin and frayed hair walked in, pale eyes and large ears, along with a sour look on her thin face identified her immediately to Davos. Selyse. He looked over to Daeron who in turn locked eyes with the queen. And immediately he could tell that this confrontation was not going to be fun in any context or capacity. Nevertheless, Daeron turned to her as the queen strode forward, almost matching the young Targaryens eye level with her height.

Selyse spoke first, her tone strained while trying to remain cordial.

“Might I inquire as to who you are?”

Daeron to his credit doesn't seem to be offended by her comment, that or he was hiding it extraordinarily well. And simply responded with the truth as he saw it.

“You may, I am king Daeron Targaryen.”

Selyse was clearly straining to maintain her composure but did so regardless.

“And for what reason have you come to Dragonstone?”

Her voice was filled with suspicion and scathing venom. Daerons by contrast was cordial and quiet, sullen as his face appeared to be. He spoke with such a tone again.

“To cripple my enemies by destroying their fleet, to set foot in my family's ancestral keep, and above all to ensure that the Lady Shireen is safe and sound, removed from any harm.”

Selyse choked on her own words trying to find a response that would illustrate her frustration and anger at the situation she had been presented with. What came out was hardly what you would call kind or well-meaning.

“Yes, you have given our enemies the most pure of deaths, something they were undeserving of. You dare to call this keep your own, it belonged to my husband King Stannis Baratheon, and to close it all… you try to insinuate that you wish to see my daughter to check on her safety?”

Her voice was akin to a whip with its speed and tone. Daeron now looked to be growing annoyed with the queen as it was his turn to return the verbal jabs laid at his feet. He turned his torso to face the queen fully as he took in a silent breath, gray eyes connecting with hers as he spoke.

“My enemies are gone from this place. And this keep was built by Aenar Targaryen, my family's forbearer, so yes I would call this keep my own. And to answer the last accusation, the notion that I would wish harm upon Lady Shireen is absurd.”

“Oh but is that not how all lineages are secure? The deaths of rivals?”

Daeron responded in a cold and stern voice.

“Aegon the conqueror might have burnt Harran Hoare and the gardener kings, but he accepted the surrender of all others. I need not Lady Shireen's death to feel safe in my bed at night.”

“Only her knee bent… you ought to refer to her as she is. Not a meere lady, but a princess, the last true heir of the Baratheon line. For she has not sworn an oath to you, nor will she ever if I have anything to say in the matter…”

Davos could feel the tension rising in the room as the pair exchanged their vocal blows. One after the other they fought. But it was Daeron to end it.

“But you do have nothing to say about the matter. The choice in spite of all the wise counsel in the world comes down to one person, and one person alone. The Lady Shireen Baratheon. And if she chooses to bend the knee, can I trust you to follow your daughter?”

Selyse only scowled further as she tried to continue the exchange in spite and frustration.

“I will not appreciate her decision if that is to be it. She is the child of light and the daughter of the prince who was promised, she owes you not a thing in this world.”

Daeron looked back, Selyse’s gambit seemingly paying off to continue the argument further.

“Pardon, but what do you mean by that?”

Selyse looked almost distraught by this point as she moved again, starting to position herself in between the door and Daeron as if she was some insurmountable obstacle in his way to prevent the meeting which would transpire just behind those doors. But she was no such thing and Daeron knew it. That being said her fanaticism did put him off, the discomfort was evident on his face as he put his armored foot forward. Selyse spoke again as he did so.

“The Red Priestess knew… she knew that my husband was to be the one who would stop the coming darkness… he who would have brought forth light bringer and taken it to smite the dark and foul things in the world… and now such responsibility falls to his daughter… she must be queen… Do you hear!? SHE MUST!!”

Daeron didn't back off as the queen's tone slowly devolved more and more as the guards who surrounded him began to flank his sides, weapons in hand ready to protect their king. Daeron only looked to them and raised a hand, ushering them to stop. He walked up the stairs up to Selyse, keeping eye contact the entire time. But his demeanor had shifted, his shoulders were less stiff, his footsteps seemed to hold a greater weight to them as he moved ever closer to her. He then spoke once more to the still defiant Selyse.

“Where is this red priestess now?”

Selyse blinked for a moment, as if the words escaped her momentarily.

“Gone… about a moon ago.”

“Hmm… and you received these notions of your daughter's destiny from her?”

“...no, it is only logical however that should Azor Ahai fall, that it would be his child that will take his place… to forge our path ahead through the darkness…”

“So these conjectures are your own?”

“Is it not truth? When does conjecture and fact separate, with truth…”

Davos slowly began to move forward intent on moving the queen out of Daeron’s path. And it was clear that the prince had made up his mind about the queen. The expression that was painted on his face was both of concern and deep worry. Anyone even remotely decent at reading a person could see that he was deeply troubled by the queen's words and thoughts. And Davos could only agree with the boy. The queen's state of mind was ever decreasing by the day, Shireen had noticed and asked the maesters to help in any way they could. Nothing was working.

Daeron shook himself out of his thoughts and walked over intent on having the final word in this awkward and thoroughly worrying debate.

“My father thought he could guide prophecy… he thought that he could interpret it, track it… force it… and his choices drove these seven kingdoms to war and almost ended our house. He paid for his actions with not only his blood, but the blood of thousands. If you think that-”

“Your father was a mad man like his father before him, he meddled with things beyond his knowledge and he paid for it… I do no such things… I merely commune with the one true god… I serve him… and I let him guide me… I am no mad queen, merely a believer, and a mother who knows what must be done, and I would sacrifice whoever is needed to ensure that my daughter brings the light.”

Her stare was manic and her breaths were shallow. Daeron only said one thing in response.

“Don't make your child a tool of fate… she will be discarded and you will be the only one to blame.”

With that he had two guards come over and remove her from the path. From there he ascended the last of the steps to the door.

And opened them.

---

The room was as imposing as ever, black stones making up the walls, pillars, and floors all around them. In truth, it was hardly the first time he had felt so out of place in here. A smuggler standing in such an ancient place felt unnatural. The only thing which had stabilized his mood about the room was the reassurance of Stannis. And the kind words of Shireen who always tried to make sure that he was comfortable in here. It was one of the many admirable things about her. One of many as far as he was concerned.

But even so it was obvious that Daeron was in awe as well, although not truly uncomfortable as he had been when walking the corridors and halls of the keep. His gaze flicked around the room as he stepped into the chambers, his eyes eventually falling to its far end as took a breath. It was obvious what had caught his gaze, at the back end there was a great mosaic of dragon glass. The visages of the beasts for which the stone was named for were etched into it with a level of detail and precision so precise that it seemed nothing other than Valyrian magic could have carved them.

Then of course there was the throne itself, a great black seat of smoothed dragonglass reserved for the castle's prince and them alone. It was an imposing and scary thing, something that projected the power of the individual who held it. Stannis often looked like he was meant to sit in it, a seat fit for a king. But not Shireen, she had only taken the seat occasionally and never had a particularly good time on it. She was sweet and kind, such a person deserved a seat more befitting of them. Not this, not the throne of a dragon lord.

Daeron’s gaze remained transfixed upon it, his posture alert and sharp, as if he was listening to a whisper in his ear. He took a tentative step forward, his armored boot sounding against the black stone with a light clicking sound. His armor matching the surroundings save for its Stark gray hues. It seemed so in place for the slightest of moments, as if it was all too natural for him to be here, amidst the throne of his forebears, within the light of dancing fires in braziers, it was an odd thing.

But the moment was broken when the doors to an adjoining hallway opened with a tremendous force and entering in were the lords who saw the defensive fleet below into battle. In walked Lord Velaryon and Celtigar, Aurane Waters, and the young Greyjoy, who in all truth seemed both enthused and worried to be in this room. Even so all lords along with their entourage of guards bent the knee shortly thereafter. Daeron smirked and spoke.

“Come now my lords, rise.”

“Only performing the necessary courtesies your grace.” Lord Velaryon said in a mirthful tone. Daeron chuckled.

Daerons gaze proceeded to fall to the Greyjoy boy who rose to his feet. And for a second the pair exchanged an odd look, and a respectful nod. The focus was then taken by Lord Velaryon again as he stepped forth and spoke in his usual tone, yet laden within was a rather tense and joyful undertone.

“Your grace, I think before we share our celebrations regarding your victory, that you should meet our guest at long last.”

Daerons mood shifted and Davos paid close attention. The boy's countenance became stressed and anxious. Yet not malicious in any manner, he seemed more nervous of the situation in truth. Needless to say it pleased Davos to see that he likely was being truthful in his earlier claims of wanting to only meet the princess. But even so he couldn't be too sure and wished to see Shireen safe. He moved over to the door only for a few of the guards to shift with hands on their weapons. Once again Daeron surprised him when he spoke.

“No, he is Lady Shireen’s advisor, let him pass unharmed.”

The guards took heed of his words and parted for Davos. Once again the boy was improving his case and proving his character's quality. Tension remained but was steadily decreasing as the guards moved to let in the princess.

She looked nervous but clearly had taken care to make herself look presentable. Her grayscale was stark against her otherwise pale skin. And her eyes showed both a concern and resolution that was all too familiar to Davos. Her blue eyes however then fell to Daeron and his eyes in turn fell to hers. And for a brief moment Davos swore that Shireen’s breath caught in her throat. Only to leave and for her gaze to soften as she took in the boy's appearance.

She looked surprised and confused for a second as if she was trying to make sense of the person in front of her. Daeron merely walked forward with his hands idle at his sides, his sword clipped in its sheath. He kneeled down resting an arm on his knee as he sought to speak on eye level with the princess. Shireen for her part walked forward and bowed her head in a respectful manner. Daeron merely wore a slight smile on his face.

“Shireen Baratheon, I am sorry that I could not arrive sooner, I have wished to meet you for the longest while now.”

“You have?” She responded in a quiet yet curious voice.

“Aye, I have heard many things about you. And it is a great honor to finally put a person to the name.”

Shireen looked once more before speaking.

“I would say the same to you, you're not as I was expecting.”

Daeron chuckled

“That is fair.”

He was quiet for a second before he ushered his guards to part, so that the princess might be able to move closer. Which she did, however only when Davos joined her side as they moved to Daeron who awaited them with a smile. Shireen walked with her hands folded in front of her and only kept her eyes on Daeron the whole time. But once they made it to him, she was quiet for a moment, Daeron took the opportunity to initiate the conversation.

“I trust that you have been treated well?”

Shireen took a moment and looked up to nod.

“I have.”

“No one has harmed you?”

“No, not one person. Everyone who has attended me has been kind and good. No one has yelled nor raised a hand to strike me…”

Daeron smiled at her, the news seemingly sweet to hear.

“Good.”

Shireen was quiet for only a moment, she broke it with a question of her own.

“Forgive me but I have a question to ask.”

“Speak your mind.”

Shireen’s lips tightened slightly.

“Why did you come?”

Daeron’s brow furrowed.

“Because I swore to do so. I said as much in my letter.”

“You did, didnt you.”

“Aye. And I see my oaths fulfilled.”

Shireen smiled lightly. Daeron chuckled before speaking again.

“You find it amusing do you?”

“No, I find it honorable.”

“I should hope that it is.”

They stayed silent for a moment before turning to the stairs ascending to the throne. She took a moment and sat down on one of them. Daeron followed suit as he sat next to her. She was quiet for a second before turning back to him, and asking her next line of questions.

“What happens now?”

Davos himself was unsure as to how to address that question, in truth many things could happen. But Daerons response yielded some alleviation to the anxiety he felt, but none to the tension of the room.

“That is entirely dependent on what you wish to do.”

“Whether or not I want the throne?”

Daeron nodded. Shireen looked to her hands folded in her lap before speaking again.

“Would you kill me if I said I wished to press my claim?”

Her voice was without joy or mirth, just worry.

“No… I would not.”

She relaxed only slightly, then she looked back at him, her voice more inquisitive.

“Would you keep me prisoner?”

Daeron looked reluctant to answer, but he did regardless.

“Most likely yes.”

Shireen nodded solemnly. Before asking another question.

“The dragon is yours… truly?”

“Truly…”

Shireen again nodded slowly, taking in his words.

“And the North and Riverlands support you?”

“So far, yes.”

Shireen looked to Davos as he regained his composure.

“Which houses support me?”

It was a pathetic number, sickening to say and painful to imagine. But he spoke it regardless.

“...Three, your highness. Crownland houses all of them.”

That's when Selyse butted in on the conversation.

“NO… She is the heir to Storm's End… Could she no-”

Lord Monford cut her off almost immediately.

“That depends on whether or not Lady Shireen’s legitimacy outweighs their fear of Tywin Lannister. With enough work sure, and with enough time. But neither of which you possess. Right now, chances are you'd only splinter the houses.”

“YOU KNOW NOTHING OF THEIR LOYALTY.. MY DAUGHTER IS-”

“STOP… please…” Shireen’s voice came out strained with worry and pain. She sucked in a breath to steady herself before she spoke once more. She clearly wasn't in the mood to allow for an argument to spiral out of control. Her head turned to Davos as he stood ready to heed her commands.

She asked but a singular question.

“...I don't win… Do I?”

And it pained him to answer.

“I don't think so, your highness… I don't think so.”

Shireen nodded her head. It was a sad thing to admit. Even if she did get the Stormlands in their entirety, they were a depleted force, and even if she could get the allies she needed, the Lannister's still outnumbered them for now. And of course, no other faction had a dragon. The moment that beast had flown into battle the entire game was upended. Things were changed. And even so was it right to force a child, so young and kind, to ask men to die so she might sit on the throne? Was it right to do that to her?

Davos knew the answer, no. It was not.

Shireen seemed to recognize the totality of it all, god’s she was always so smart. And as such she turned to Daeron who seemed to have a sympathetic look on his face.

“What would happen to me then?”

Daeron looked to her and spoke respectfully.

“I would make you lady of Storm's End, as is your right. I would see you treated as the noble lady you are.”

Shireen had a quick look of hope cross her face, only for it to be reigned in by realization.

“If I bend the knee…”

Daeron reluctantly nodded.

“If you bend the knee.”

Selyse looked ready to scream, Lord Velaryon looked tense, the Greyjoy boy looked amused. Davos himself was wary of the princesses' next moves. But Shireen was more sure than any of them, even Daeron who looked as if he was expecting her to follow the whims of her mother was surprised when she stepped up from the stairs. She walked in front of him. And looked him dead in the eyes.

And lowered herself to one knee.

The room was in a state of total and immense silence as the gravity of the event was evident. The end of the Baratheon dynasty. Daeron moved over and clasped his armored hand on her shoulder.

“Rise then, Shireen Baratheon, Lady of Storm's End, and Lady Paramount of the Stormlands.”

Davos was quiet, but trusting in Shireen’s judgment.

---

Jon IX

It had been a long day, one of the longest in his life he felt. From the battle to his meeting with Shireen it had been the epitome of exhausting. However, now that it was all over and the sickness and guilt were now subsiding, he finally got a chance to process all the events of the day. The sun was by now starting to set, its light illuminating the water as it sank slowly into the horizon. He couldn't explain it but it was a sight that took his breath away in its entirety. In fact the sunset was only offset by the weight of where he witnessed it from.

He was standing on Dragonstone, the great island fortress of his house. Raised by one of the last dragon lords of old Valyria, where Aegon set out from to initiate his conquest, and the site of so many deaths. And standing out amongst all the events of the past which centered themselves around this structure was one singular truth that he couldn't quite yet grasp. The truth that it was his, his keep and island by right. His very own holding of land. Winterfell had for so long been his singular ideal of what home was, even during his time in the red keep and undoubtedly he would spend the latter majority of his life in that place, it never felt like home or what he would want to call home.

But now, standing here, watching the sunset, Weirya flying circles over the island, now he felt that perhaps Winterfell had competition for his notion of home. Weirya seemed to enjoy it as much as he did, although he was unsure as to whether or not that was his influence through their bond or if she felt at home here just naturally. Perhaps both, but even so he swore that perhaps she missed the cold of the North, he did as well in truth. But even so they wouldn't be here long, they had to return to Riverrun as soon as possible, he couldn't afford to leave Robb alone, competent as he was. Besides, he still had to deal with prince Oberyn and Jaime Lannister.

Gods what a predicament that was. Keep him alive for use, or kill him to send a message. Of course killing him would hinder Tywin on a personal level as well as militarily in some capacity. His rage would be a force to be reckoned with, but it might just give the edge of unpredictability that could be exploited. After all, a weak Tywin was hardly one who could instill fear. And thus hardly one who could hold his coalition together. Alternatively however there was the option of keeping him alive, which yielded several benefits as well. For one, he was quite the bargaining chip.

He easily could act as a much-needed sweetener to an alliance proposal. The Reach came to mind, he was unsure of what they would demand in exchange for their banners but he was certain that offering Jaime to them would certainly get them to listen to his proposal at bare minimum. Or at least that was the hope, if not the Tyrell's then perhaps he could just offer him to Oberyn considering that he was already at Riverrun. All in all he had options, he would need to thank Robb for managing to capture him in the first place again. But all of a sudden his thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Enter.”

In walked Theon, he had his hands folded behind him as he stood in the open doorway. Jon for his part immediately looked to his hands and was relieved to see that he was unarmed. He ushered to a chair in the large room that was now his own private chambers. Theon accepted the offer and took a seat, he was clearly nervous.

“What brings you in here Theon?”

Theon took in a breath and looked up to him.

“I hope it's not too rude of me, but I would ask something of you.”

Jon held back the urge to laugh, it was a funny notion, that Theon in his years of mocking him and teasing that he would ever ask a favor of him. He was about to turn down the request, but stopped only when he saw the stress in Theons face. He calmed down, and began to think. Theon for as cocky and arrogant as he was, and in spite of how much Jon didn't truly trust him, even he had to admit by now that he had not proven himself particularly traitorous. He had bent the knee, fought by Robb's side in Whispering Wood, followed his command to sail under Lord Monford, and had fought well just this very morning. Jon took in a silent breath as he looked Theon up and down.

“What is your request?”

Theon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eventually taking the opportunity to speak up.

“During the battle, we managed to capture a few of the royal ships, among them was the ship Joffrey's Fury.”

The pair were quiet for a moment before they broke out in a soft laugh together, even with their history it was hard not to find such a blatant display of ego hilarious. Theon continued when they had quieted down.

“But it was I who slew the enemy commander and took the flagship…”

Jon’s amused smile strained.

“What are you asking me, Theon?”

“...I wish that you would name me its new captain…”

Jon after getting over the initial shock of the ask thought on it for a moment. He was initially going to let Lord Monford choose the captured ships' new captains. And he took the time to consider the length of time Theon had been under Lord Monfords tutelage. After a short while he eventually moved over to Theon and spoke slowly.

“You did very well in the battle, I hear.”

“I should hope that I did.”

“...I’ll name you captain of the ship. But on several conditions. For one, you still sail under lord Monfords command.”

Theon looked to be growing more excited by the word.

“Aye... I can do that.”

“Secondly, you will inform Lord Monford that I have another assignment for him.”

Theon looked up once more, intrigued by the prospect. But in all truth likely too excited to be granted his wish to care what it was. He had received assurance of what it was he wanted and that was likely enough for him, or at least Jon thought so. But he spoke regardless.

“What would you have me inform Lord Velaryon of?”

“A new task.”

Jon walked over to the table which upon it sat a goblet and a pitcher of water. He poured himself a drink before continuing on.

“Before I left I learned that the Vale has taken up against us. I would have liked to have them with us but we now must compensate.”

“So what do you need?”

“You will inform Lord Monford that I wish him to do two things. The first is to establish a blockade of the blackwater bay, the second is to blockade Gulltown. I want to cut off both their greatest ports on the East Coast. That way they will hopefully be strained of resources faster. Can you help him with that aim?”

Theon stood up with a genuine excitement in his movement. He was clearly enthused by the request and wanted to contribute in his own way, whatever he thought that might have been. But it was shortly thereafter that the conversation ended and he left the room entirely. After that it was fairly quiet for just a moment longer as he took me in a breath and looked back out for a moment. A new dilemma came to crowd his foremost thoughts shortly after Greyjoy left.

That being what to do with Shireen now that she had bent the knee and was more importantly safe. Now that was a tricky topic in itself for a lot of reasons, most namely location. And in all truth Dragonstone at the moment was not the best place to keep her. For one, it was incredibly isolated and his neighbor force would have to be spread out far more efficiently if he wished to manage multiple blockades. Which meant that in all likelihood assassins might have an easier time finding the way onto the island if there was reduced protection force here. Needless to say that simply could not be abided by.

Then there was the alternative of taking her to Riverrun. Which that also had its host of minor problems as well. Taking her from one dangerous place and putting her in the keep which he hosted his war effort from was on paper a similarly cruel idea. But at the same time at least there he could ensure that she would be protected not only under his watch but the watch of several seasoned warriors and a full army. Besides, she was at this point too integral to be left out in the open. Shireen needed to be by his side for now at bare minimum. Which meant unfortunately taking her with him.

Admittedly this was starting to become a much more appealing idea to him; he could simply load her up on Weirya’s back and from there they could fly back to Riverrun with her close advisors in tow.That being said however her mother was certainly going to be a problem for a lot of reasons. Most namely her fanaticism which she wore on her sleeve like a sigil. Then of course there was her agitated disposition towards himself, for that he could not really blame her for but it still would cause a host of issues. Even he could see that she would be crashing frequently with his advisors, and furthermore she wasn't taking the new status quo easily at all.

She was going to be a problem anyway he's put it and that was just the truth of the matter. But as cruel as it sounded, he could in theory fly Shireen over first, and have her become accustomed to his court and hopefully that would encourage a much stronger type of trust by the time her mother arrived. Granted however this all did depend on whether or not Shireen wished to go. Granted it was likely she would accept on the based on the idea that she really had no other choice or at least felt as if she had no other choice. Jon would honor whichever one she made, however.

Needless to say, he had to have a long conversation with the new lady of the Stormlands as soon as possible so that he could hash out all the details of this plan before he put it into motion which hopefully he could have done by the end of the week. He would need time to organize defenses and patrols here as well along with the fact that he knew to make sure Lord Monford was well and truly supplied ready to enact his orders. So with one last drink of water he pushed himself back from the table and moved over to his Chambers doors where he would begin the long walk to Shireen’s chambers.

It was a cold night, as far as he was concerned that was just fine. Winter was coming and he needed to adjust to the temperature sooner rather than later. So down the winding black hall’s he strode his path illuminated only by the light of the setting sun and the freshly lit torches which lined the walls and sat in brazier's. It was a winding length of corridors he had to travel; in truth he was still getting used to the entire layout of the castle. But he eventually did find his way up to her Chambers and gave a curt knock at the door waiting for her to open it up.

She did shortly after.

She was quiet at first, only dressed in an evening gown likely ready to go to bed. She seemed intrigued as to why he would ask for her audience so late. Jon however only spoke quietly and admittedly tiredly.

“Lady Shireen, I hope that my presence is not an inconvenience. I know the hour is late.”

Shireen shook her head lightly, yawning as she did.

“Worry not your grace. I was having trouble resting before you came to the door.”

Jon winced at the comment.

“Is something the matter?”

Shireen thought for a moment and once again shook her head, albeit a little more unsure.

“I don't think so, perhaps it has just been an exhausting day.”

Jon smiled.

“I do think I can understand that at least.”

Shireen smiled before speaking again.

“I would think so your grace.”

Jon raised an eyebrow.

“Oh? For what reason do you say that?”

Shireen suddenly became sorrowful and sad, both in mood and appearance. She looked to her feet, thinking before she spoke again. But when she did find her voice once more it was full of the most raw emotion he had heard in a long while. What's more he knew what kind of pain it was exactly.

“Father always used to be tired after long days…”

Jon’s mood plummeted as he thought back to his own memories. It was barely two moons ago that all had gone to the seven hells and now he stood with the other victim of that day’s events. And he could only match her sadness. Jon’s entire motive shifted there as he looked out a nearby window. Thinking quickly he realized that he could help in some way, or he hoped that he could. He turned to Shireen again.

“Throw on some warm clothes and a cloak. I want you to meet someone.”

Shireen looked up, her eyes red and holding back tears. She nodded and went to do as Jon had requested. Shortly after she walked back out in a small dress, black and yellow, the colors of her house. Jon's memories were taken back to when the royal procession had arrived at Winterfell. He remembered how Tommen had worn those colors that day, and while it looked good on him, it looked wrong more than anything. With Shireen it was all too natural, she not only had the look of a Baratheon, but she matched it with one's spirit. Jon nodded his head as she threw on a cloak.

He walked with her down the hallway as the moon was now the only thing illuminating the sky for the two of them. The low light of the hall's candles and torches flickered as they moved. He looked back to her and saw that she certainly was not tired. Good, it would be a bit of a stroll before they got to their destination. He thought for a second and he decided to ask about her father some more, he felt as if perhaps he could help in some small measure.

“How much do you miss your father?”

Shireen sniffled a bit.

“A lot… He wasn't always happy… everyone thought he was always cold…”

“That wasn't true was it?”

Shireen shook her head again in response.

“I didn't think so… stern… but not always… I could get him to smile. It was nice when he did too.”

Jon nodded as she remembered her father. And he extended a hand to put on her shoulder comfortingly. He spoke next.

“My father always thought highly of him… always said that he was a good man. He never lied… so I think I would believe him and you, with regards to his quality.”

Shireen nodded quietly, before raising her head to ask a question of her own.

“Why do you call Eddard Stark your father? Was it not prince Rhaegar who sired you?”

Jon’s face tightened at those words, but he knew that it was only deserved. He had inquired about her father, she had all rights to do the same to him. He took in a breath and spoke as they reached the main gates.

“Because that's what he was. He might have been my uncle by blood, but not by spirit nor practice… he made me who I am more than anyone else. He had his faults as I have come to realize… but none in their right mind would deny the love and loyalty he had for his family… Stark or Targaryen…”

Shireen looked up again, her blue eyes reflecting starlight as they now walked outside, Jon leading her up to the cliffs of the island. She spoke once more.

“I would have liked to meet him… father never was too fond of anyone, but he seemed to respect his honor.”

Jon smiled as he looked down.

“Many did.”

Shireen looked into the stars for a moment before speaking again, her voice strained with pain, tears welling up in her eyes only reflecting the night sky more. She spoke in a sad voice.

“I really am the last Baratheon… there is no one else…”

Jon stopped dead in his tracks. It was a sad thought, he was certain that she was feeling a lot of what Daenerys and probably Viserys at one point felt. To be the last trueborn of a great house, torn down from power by schemes and ill made leaders. It was both a great sorrow, and the heaviest burden. Furthermore, Shireen had the unenviable situation of being a girl. Jon knew that dozens of Stromland Lords would line up like vultures to pick at the carcass of house Baratheon for the Stormlands… unless he had anything to say about it.

He kneeled down and Shireen faced him. He spoke softly.

“Listen Shireen, these next moons and years will be hard, but I don't think you will be the last Baratheon.”

“I have no one… No family but pretenders.” Her voice was choked with emotion. Jon kept a hand on her shoulder.

“Not exactly… Back at Riverrun, we have a great blacksmith. The bastard son of king Robert, your cousin by blood. His name is Gendry, I think you would get along.”

Shireen lit up at the notion. And before she could speak Jon continued.

“And even if that weren't the case, in some manner you also have me. Your great-grandmother was a Targaryen. Rhaelle Targaryen. So if you wish to see it as such, distant as it is, you could consider us kin too.”

She blinked and spoke again.

“Truly?”

He nodded to her, gray eyes aglow with warmth.

“Aye.”

She thought for a bit.

“I need time, but… you seem nice. You seem good.”

“I would hope so.”

The pair shared a smile as Jon looked out to the hills, they had a ways to go. Looking to ease the travel on the young lady he picked her up and walked onward. The breeze was light as they slowly walked to the spot Jon had in mind. Shireen simply looked out to the ocean, the breeze tossing her hair about, Jon’s hair was loose too and flowed with hers. It was a serene sight.

A stroll along the cliff sides was almost enough for Shireen to fall asleep while in his hold. But eventually Jon stopped on one of the larger hills. Dragonstone was still in sight but its silhouette blended in with the night sky behind them. Its form only noticeable through the large absence of stars. It was here on the grassy hill he put Shireen down, her drowsiness dissipated in an instant as she moved on her own for a moment.

She looked around as if expecting a person to be waiting for them or anything really. She was confused, and in that state she turned around and asked a question.

“Pardon me your grace, but who am I supposed to meet? I don't see anyone.”

Jon smiled as he took a breath, pulling on his bond with Weirya. The rush of emotion was immediate as always, she too was tired and exhausted. Her day had been equally as long as his after all. But even so she responded to his call. Jon waited as he continued to hold on the bond while Shireen waited. She seemed to notice that he was focusing and did not wish to interrupt.

It wasn't long before the sounds of shifting stones were heard from the cliffs below. Rocks displaced by the dozens falling to the beach and ocean below drew both their attention as Weirya pulled her head above the cliffs. The way it rose from the ledge might have reminded one of a snake rearing its body as it swayed with her body. Her wings were the next thing to be seen as she clawed her way up the cliff, followed shortly thereafter by her body and legs. Her tail hung over the edge of the cliffs, but she was still and now looking down at them both.

Jon, while captivated at the sight, was far more relieved than Shireen was. Her expression was one of awe and childlike wonder. But even so he could tell that there was an underlying fear to her mood. Whether its source was Wierya herself or the lingering fear of what Jon might do with Weirya was still up in the air for his interpretation. But either way he had no intention of letting those fears last. He walked over to Shireen and kneeled down next to her. He was quiet when he spoke.

“It's all right, you have nothing to fear from her.”

Weirya kept her gaze to Jon for a bit, her white pupils made all the more prevalent against the red of the rest of her eye in the soft moonlight. But she eventually turned her attention to Shireen. And as usual she was gentle in her attitude and movements. She moved her head closer to the both of them, sniffing intently. And Jon could feel an interesting sensation ringing their bond. Recognition, faint and dim, but there all the same. Before he could comment on it, he noticed Shireen trying to inch closer, very unsure of her steps.

Jon smiled and put his hand to Weiryas snout. The warmth of her scales a welcome comfort in the cold night breeze. Jon took Shireen’s hand and put it up to the same spot. Her worry faded as Weirya gave a satisfied hum. The young lady was captivated by the experience. Her breathing while steady was exciting, her face full of wonder, and her hand firmly pressed against the scales. Jon couldn't help but give a chuckle. Shireen broke the silence first, her voice happy.

“I think she likes me.”

Jon looked at her.

“I think she does too.”

Weirya moved her head a bit to get a better look at Shireen as she moved to step into the dragon's gaze as well. Weirya's look was soft and kind, it seemed she knew to be especially gentle around Shireen and acted accordingly. Jon took the opportunity to make a comment focusing on the feeling of familiarity that Weirya was feeling.

“You know, I think she smells a bit of that Targaryen blood in you.”

Shireen registered his words and gave a small smile in return.

“You think so?”

“Aye, I know so. She feels comfortable around you.”

Shireen looked back to Weirya for a moment, her blue eyes focusing on her red and white eyes. She spoke again shortly thereafter.

“I like that.”

“Like what?”

“I like that she feels comfortable around me. I always read that dragons were ill-tempered weapons of the Targaryen's. She’s not… she's calm and nice. I'm glad she likes me.”

Jon couldn't help but smile at her once more. It was hard not to after all. Shireen’s enchantment with Weirya was just that sweet. At least to him, the way she interacted with her was all that he needed so that he could settle his nerves. That being said however he would need to tell Shireen his designs now, he couldn't have her kept in the dark about their next moves after all she had been through.

He leaned down to speak again as he ushered Weirya to the side. She took several great steps with her wings acting as forelimbs, the ground breaking beneath her with every titanic motion. Jon didn't pay attention, he focused on Shireen as he had the majority of the night already. He took a breath and spoke to her in a gentle tone.

“Shireen, there is one more matter to be discussed tonight before we can both be off.”

That caught her attention immediately as she turned to face him with all her focus. She nodded respectfully as she folded her hands together in front of her. She spoke in a soft tone.

“About what?”

Jon mulled over the words which hung in his mind. They weren't particularly cruel or nonsensical words. But they would usher in a change to her immediate surroundings which may or may not go well. Either way he took another breath and spoke once more shortly afterwards.

“I would ask that you accompany me back to Riverrun.”

She seemed a little taken aback by the request. It was certainly different from what she had expected. In truth Jon didn't know how long she had truly remained on Dragonstone. But he was certain that it was far more a home to her than it was to him at this very moment, and he had gotten accustomed to his familial seat really quickly. Either way she spoke again and not with an answer he had expected. Although in hindsight he should have,

“Will my mother come with me?”

Jon took in a breath. His interactions with her mother had been awful as far as he was concerned. From the moment he had arrived in those halls she had made it a point to find contest with him. She was sour and she was certainly a fanatic of this foreign religion. Once again the thought returned to him that bringing her with them would only cause problems in court. She would likely contest his word if not try to rally support against him and for Shireen. Now granted he had faith that his bare men would remain loyal, absolutely, but it was still an unnerving concept regardless.

But even so he knew that it would be even more wrong to separate the young lady from her mother. It was the last true family she had left and he was sure neither she nor he would ever forgive himself for such a decision. So with a resigned sigh he looked back down once more and stated his choice on the matter.

“Aye, of course she can.”

Shireen let out a sigh of relief shortly after as she continued on with her immediate questions.

“Would Ser Davos come too?”

On that Jon was much more comfortable. If the old knight didn't outright try to temper Selyse then he would at least be a welcome hand in sorting out the message she would inevitably make amongst his court. Along with that he really did wish to get to know the man better, he seemed to be bluntly honest and astute, and if Shireen vouched for him this much then he might as well just give him position of advisor almost immediately. Needless to say, on that particular request he was more than willing to nod his head and accept her wishes. Once again she gave a happy smile in exchange.

She spoke again shortly after, her gaze turned to the castle's silhouette in the moonlight. She spoke with a calm yet meek voice.

“Will I ever come back?”

Jon nodded to her. On that he was certain, not only for the sake of her sentimentality but also another reason. A far grander reason regarding his war for the throne. Granted he would need to sort out the details with Robb, Ser Brynden, Edmure, Ser Barristan, and Daenerys the next time he could speak to her. But he was sure that they would agree to his proposition. Now that Shireen was safe and no other third rival for the throne remained, it was time to focus on knocking Joffrey down into the dirt, and taking his head. But for now he looked to Shireen.

“Aye, you will most certainly be back, perhaps sooner than you think. It's just that I would rather keep you close for now to ensure your safety myself. I would not wish to leave you here alone, especially when Lord Monford will be taking the bulk of the fleet out to sea again soon.”

Shireen nodded to the logic and then bowed her head in agreement.

“Then I think that it would be wise to sail with you.”

Jon couldn't help the laugh that came out of his mouth at the notion of sailing. Shireen seemed confused as to his reaction. To fill her in he responded with.

“My lady, surely you don't think I would force you to endure the stress of sea travel when we have better options.”

Shireen was confused only for a moment, until she turned to face Weirya. And Jon could tell that everything clicked into place then and there for her. And she smiled.

So it was that for the next five days Jon coordinated with Lord Monford and Theon as to the start of their blockades. In addition to informing Ser Davos on their travel method for getting to Riverrun. Selyse was not one to accept at first, only brought to reason after Shireen and Ser Davos explained it to her. Needless to say it was going to be a long flight west. But it didn't really matter, Shireen was safe, and by his side in this war. So it was on the sixth day since the battle, Jon and Shireen with her entourage flew away from the island.

Notes:

Thank you all for the kind words last chapter and for the critiques provided. Hope you enjoyed this one.

North/Riverlands: 42,000 - (260 ships + 160 ‘Celtigar + Velaryon. 1 Dragon)

Westerlands/Stormlands/Vale: 78,000 - (50,000 westerlands, 12,000 Stormlands, 13,000 Vale 45 ships "Lannisport")

Reach: 39,000

Dorne: Undeclared?

Iron Islands: Undeclared

Daenerys: 15,000 (8,000 unsullied, 5,000 in training, 2,000 freedmen. 3 Dragons)

(Note this might not be accurate with the books or show to a T but these are what I personally found to be believable estimates and as such will be using.)

As always, comments are welcome.

Chapter 32: Rhaenys I

Summary:

Rhaenys makes the greatest choice of her life.

Rhaenys I

Around and around she spun her spear. Robb was off balance again. She smiled and lowered her grip, swinging the spear in a wide arc hoping to capitalize on her opponent's lack of balance. But much to her surprise and amusement, he blocked. And he blocked well for that matter, what's more he turned that momentum into a counterstrike of his own which did bring a smile to her face. It had been a long time since she had a sparring partner that was both unfamiliar to her and competent. Needless to say it felt good to be doing this again.

Side to side she swung her spear in wide arcs, the head of her weapon precisely being the only thing to make contact with Robb's sword. He was sweating and she was sweating. They had been at this session for just shy of an hour now and Rhaenys figured she should consider ending it swiftly.She adjusted her stance and proceeded to charge forward, spear held in both hands. She rushed to the side fainting and attacked from the left only to slide on the dirt ground swinging the spear in from that side. Only for Robb again to block.

Once again he held her off just a bit longer. Even on the back foot and exhausted he resisted the inevitability that she would win. It was impressive for him to hold his own this long against her. But he still had made no ground in this fight. With one last push she stepped into his guard and hooked his leg with her foot. From there she only had to pull and down came Robb Stark to the leaf covered forest floor. She smiled and turned to put her spear up against a tree, before going over to the defeated Robb and offering a hand to help him up. Which he readily accepted.

“You did better than expected, Lord Stark.” She said with a happy tone. Robb gave a playful scoff in return.

“I didn't even get into your guard once. How is that better than expected?”

“Easy, you didn't fail within five strikes.”

Robb laughed at that which Rhaenys joined in on. Once again it was nice to practice with someone who had no clue what she could do and was willing to go all in. After all, Robb didn't know who she was. He didn't know what she was doing here. She felt her mood dampen at that fact. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep up the charade around Robb. Anyone else in the camp or castle she was still content with lying too. It was for her own safety, so why was she growing upset about this with Robb?

She knew that it could only last so long before she confronted Daeron. Hopefully it would be soon, as uncle Oberyn was becoming steadily more impatient with Daeron's absence. It had been a little over a week since he had flown off for Dragonstone and no word had been heard of him since. Rhaenys for her part was far more understanding of the situation than her uncle. Uncle was hoping for Daeron to be around his force so he could be evaluated. But whatever uncle's thoughts were there was no debating his decisiveness. He had just returned from a reconquest campaign only to jump into action the second he was called.

And then there had been the week of praise she had heard since then. Every one of his northern lords seemed happy to follow him despite a few worried voices among them. The Riverlords admitted to being far more skeptical initially until his reconquest campaign. After he had taken the time to march with them and claim back their lands he had secured most of their loyalty. That being said she certainly noticed some cracks in that loyalty the longer she remained here. In particular, she didn't trust the Bolton's. Not one bit.

Robb had been kind enough to offer her infrequent lessons and tidbits of history regarding the North, which she enjoyed thoroughly. She even offered similar tidbits about Dorne. But what had concerned her was the Bolton's apparent long-standing rivalry with the Starks. And lord Roose didn't seem like the most loyal of vassals. Sure he raised his banners but Rhaenys seemed to catch far more wayward glances from him towards Robb than any other lord here.

She figured that two things were keeping him in line right now. One, convenience, he was in no position to strike or make a move for power in his current state, nor would he have the support he needed. Two, Weirya. If there was any deterrent greater than a dragon then no one had discovered it yet. The mere presence of Weirya seemed to keep all men in line. Even when she was gone her presence loomed over all discussions and talks around camp. And through that, so did Daeron’s presence. She figured that was one of their greatest positives right now.

But again aside from that lords and small folk alike sang Daerons praises. Although the Northern lords did seem to gravitate to Robb a bit more. Unsurprising given that he was their new liege lord, and had proved himself a capable battle commander. Apparently that was enough to secure undying loyalty in the North. Or so she often joked. Frankly she was never one to obsess over battle strategies and the like. She could fight, that was true, but she never desired to be in the position of a field commander. Intrigue on the other hand she was far better suited to.

It was a consequence of uncle Oberyn's rather paranoid hand in her development. Not only did he ensure that she could defend herself physically, but spot the dangers before they came to bear their blades against her. She had taken the time to learn social cues and how to read people. She also had learned quite a bit about court rituals, she danced and sang, she knew courtesies to a fine detail, she even had learned to play the harp as her father had.

She often laughed at the extent of her training, she knew that early on in her life that her uncles truly did wish to see her on the throne and as such had taught her all the ins and outs of life. Until she had rejected them on the idea when they brought it forth in its entirety. She knew they were disappointed in that decision, but at the same time she was resolute in her thinking that the throne was more trouble than it's worth. Nor would she be relegated to a weapon of her uncle's vengeance if she could help it.

Not that she thought they truly saw her like that. But it was a convenience benefit to their aims, she had to admit. But sitting here now amongst forces that would be friendly to her, and with someone who she had grown to like quite fast over the span of a week. She felt comfortable. Even if the current basis for that comfort stemmed from a lie. After all, why would any lord aside from Robb Stark pay attention to a bastard daughter of Dorne. Now even she had to laugh at the irony of her situation compared to Daerons.

But now her thoughts drifted elsewhere, she moved to Robb's side as they strolled back to Riverrun. They had become used to walking this forest trail almost daily. It was quiet and in sight of the castle, besides if worse came to worst, Grey Wind would act if the situation called for it. God’s how she had grown to love that overgrown puppy. He certainly seemed intimidating from a far distance. But once she had become a frequent visitor of his she had become totally assured in the truth that the wolf's first instinct was to demand love as opposed to a fight.

And oh god’s did she give that wolf his share of pets and scratches. It was pure joy, she had to admit. And of course Robb would look on fondly every time his wolf rushed to her. Such was the case now as they walked back, Grey Wind strode beside them as they dragged their weapons with them. Robb broke the silence with a mildly snarky comment.

“You know, from how fast you move I was expecting a harder fight.”

Rhaenys whipped her head around sending her black hair sprawling. Her eyebrow raised and her lips strained.

“You were alright for your first time Lord Stark, but if you want me to go hard on you, I can certainly accommodate your desires.” Her voice was stern, but even so there was a hint of playfulness to it, as if she was asking Robb to take her up on that offer. But Robb wisely backed off quickly.

“No, no, I meant no offense. I just thought I did good, that's all.”

Rhaenys roller her eyes.

“Once again, you did fine.”

Robb gave a grin as her own face relaxed. By now they were walking the river banks approaching the drawbridge to the castle. She let out a breath of relief as they stepped onto the wood of the bridge. Even so she had questions to ask.

“When do you suppose your brother will return?”

Robb took in a breath and looked up.

“It's hard to say in truth. Hopefully soon but if the battle has gone wrong it may be a long time until we see him again.”

Not the answer she was hoping for, but the one she expected. Frankly it would have been impressive if she had received any other answer bearing a hint of definity. No such luck was to be hers she supposed.

“You think the battle could have gone badly?”

Robb winced, it was clear he didn't want to think of the possibility. But he answered truthfully all the same.

“I think it's always possible something could happen. I do not wish it to nor do I think it did, but it's possible.”

Rhaenys nodded to the logic. It was true and respectable that he could be blunt and face his worries. Something she found to like about Robb in the week of time they had. She moved ahead through the gate house continuing their conversation as she went.

“Well I do hope that he makes it back soon.”

Robb laughed.

“Do you wish to tough Weird that badly?”

Rhaenys at that moment wished he knew the full context of her presence. She wished that Robb truly understood what that experience would mean to her. A living dragon, the lynch pin of her families power, a living heirloom, so many things could be used to describe it but alas her response was reduced to a measly.

“Perhaps I do, who wouldn't wish to?”

Robb nodded to the logic once more as he often did.

“I suppose so. It just seems as if you're particularly excited for it. I meant no offense.”

Rhaenys again shook her head, this time more in sarcastic humor than anything else. She turned to Robb.

“Lord Stark, no offense has ever been taken from one of your comments. You need not worry.”

Robb did smile to that which oddly enough brought a smile to her lips as well. It was nice to see him this way. As such she followed him though Riverrun to the castle's small godswood, which had become something of a common area for them both. He had shown it to her shortly after Daeron had left for Dragonstone and she quickly fell in love with the peace and serenity it offered. She only felt this way in the water gardens back in Dorne. She was truly blissful here, and the only thing that made it better was the very welcome presence of Robb Stark. Something which she hadn't anticipated liking so very, very much.

Robb sat first under the shade of the weirwood tree as did Grey Wind, Rhaenys sat opposite Grey Wind so that the wolf acted as a boundary between them both. It was certainly a comparable setup. Both of them leaned back against the tree roots, eyes turned up to the branches and to the clouds passing overhead. She was more than content to stay this way for a long while, to simply be in the moment for as long as she wished. Robb however seemed intent on keeping the banter and conversation going. Not that she minded all too much in truth.

“I never did truly understand the appeal of godswood until recently… I understand why my father loved it so…”

Rhaenys nodded along, she had few strong feelings on the death of Eddard Stark, she knew it was an injustice that Daeron and Robb were right to seek out. But she had no personal connection to the man and as such couldn't truly bring herself to care all too much. That was until Robb started speaking of him every now and again. And the more she heard, the worse she felt about the whole situation. She hated to see Robb so pained. He looked so despondent when he was like this. So cold. An antithesis to how he normally was. She hated it.

That's how she came to view the death of Eddard Stark in a new light, not the death of a noble lord who was executed to save a treasonous lie. But the death of a loving father who tried to do right by his sons, daughter’s, and nephew, and paid the price for it. A price that should have been exacted on the Lannister's three-fold, but instead was paid by the Starks. It was such that she began to truly see some of the new motivations behind Daeron's fight. And she was coming to agree with them.

But still the pain was felt, and Robb had managed to take himself out of his happier attitude he wore just moments earlier and began to break. His breathing became labored as Grey Wind got closer intent on helping him, to little effect. Rhaenys saw where this was going and initially had no clue what to do, at least logically speaking. So she didn't think, she acted. She moved closer and over Grey Wind so that she sat next to Robb. He took notice and quickly regained control of himself, but Rhaenys pressed further.

She put a hand on his shoulder, her fingers pressing into the fur rim of his clothing. It was particularly soft fur, clearly well-kept. Not that it mattered all too much compared to what she was doing. She made sure that Robb was listening to her before she spoke again. To ensure his focus she turned his head by the chin so that his eyes met hers, she was briefly stalled by their appearance, Tully blue they were. And a pretty variation of the color at that. Furthermore, they were glassy with water being held back in his state.

She wasted no time in speaking her peace, her tone was direct and strict, but not cold and callous. She would get the message across and she would not be unnecessary in her delivery but not mean either.

“Listen, Lord Stark. I'm not sure how helpful my words can be to you, but here they are regardless… I am sorry for your loss… I do in some way feel for it…. I do know the pain of losing someone close, I know it all too well… it's something that should never befall someone but it does.”

Robb listened, she could tell he was taking on her words with sincerity and gratitude. So she took another breath and continued.

“I would also like to remind you of something Lord Stark… I have known you for only a short while, but I can tell that you are strong. In more ways than you know. So hear me when I say that I have no doubts you will see your father's death be given justice, and you will rise to meet his standard.”

Robb looked bewildered, there was some odd mix of emotions that were swirling in his eyes. She had no trouble in trying to figure out what emotions, pain, hope, shock. She knew because she was feeling them too. Before she could continue, Robb asked his own question.

“Who did you lose?”

Rhaenys froze, it was a question that she knew the answer too. But it didn't take the pain away. God’s how she wished the pain would go away. Images flashed in her mind as she stared at Robb. People, two of them. She knew their faces, she couldn't forget them no matter how much time passed, she didn't want to forget them. She pulled herself together to answer Robb’s question, she tried to keep her voice calm and straightforward.

“My mother and brother…”

She failed.

Now she was sharing in Robb’s grief in an equal if not greater capacity. Under the shade of the weirwood tree they sat. Both on the verge of tears with only each other to confide in. That was made evident when Rhaenys felt a hand come atop hers while she still rested it on Robb’s shoulder. He had taken it on his own, and she held it tight. He did the same in return. They stayed like that for a short while, simply taking in each other's company. Until they turned their heads to each other.

Their eyes met again as they sat, suddenly the tears that were about to flow like a river seemed to disappear. And Rhaenys found herself focusing on Robb once more. Long auburn hair, pale skin, blue eyes, clean shaved face. How could anyone see him and ever think that there was such a thing as a Norther Savage. Certainly not him at least. Certainly not him. That was the thought which was going through her head as she slowly leaned closer.

He was close, he was here, and he was just as lost as she was. Perhaps she should stop herself from doing this. But at the same time did she really care? After all, what was one little moment in the grand scheme of things?

Both were knocked out of their trance when they heard a shrill and familiar roar overhead. Both rushed to their feet, likely trying to ignore what had almost happened. She moved fast out to the gate house Robb seemingly following close as well not wishing to fall behind. If anything he was faster, unsurprisingly. It was only to be expected that he would wish to see his brother first, then again perhaps it was in equal parts to put distance between him and the situation they were in. Frankly something that she was attempting to replicate all things considered.

But out the gatehouse they ran across the drop bridge in the boat out to the center of the camp which surrounded the castle. And immediately the crowds were already gathering in mass, just as they had done the first time Daeron had returned on dragon back. She had to wonder whether or not this was just a regular state of affairs around the camp, which to be fair if it was she could completely understand why it was like that. After all, the thrill of seeing a dragon in person for the second time was hardly anything less grand than it was the first time.

But it was not long before she noticed that there were two other people atop the dragons back this time as well. Both of them secured in place by rope as opposed to any proper saddle. Which was something that she figured would be asked for very soon if Daeron intended to transport his guests on dragon back as well. That being said however, even this was a particularly odd pair of people, or at least she thought so. But upon closer inspection as she moved through the crowd alongside Robb the identities of the two people became abundantly clear. Or at least one of them did.

Stepping off first was Daeron followed by a much older man with gritting hairs and a dark beard. He seemed to be dressed in very simple clothes, what you would expect to find on a commenter more than any lord or knight. Needless to say his story would be rather interesting all things considered. Furthermore she couldSee from a distance that the ends of his fingers have been cut off, it was an odd characteristic and likely spoke to some moment in his past, perhaps she would need to inquire about that later. But the child who stepped off the dragon's back she did recognize.

Stepping off of Weirya’s back was the princess Shireen Baratheon. Initially the first thing that ran through Rhaenys’ head was the assumption that Daeron had taken the young princess hostage after the battle of Dragonstone and proceeded to drag her back with him for insurance. But the eagerness that the girl displayed on her face and the gentle and kind way in which Daeron helped her down off the dragon spoke to a much kinder state of affairs than that of a prisoner and a jailer.

And that notion was all but confirmed when the young princess when she was on the ground again bowed before him. It wasn't anything particularly excessive, just a little bow of the head, but to anyone who understood the subtleties of a royal court it was clear that she had bent the knee.Her reasoning for being here then wasn't to keep her contained but rather to keep her safe. Shireen was a guest. And she seemed rather thrilled to be here in the first place. Where her mother was Rhaenys wasn't sure but she figured that Selyse would be on her way one way or another especially if the state of affairs was actually friendly.

I'd rather quickly it seemed that a lot of the Lords around her actually picked up on this information as well albeit a little slower than her. Once again things were made blatantly clear this time for the Army itself as to Shireen's status here when she took Daeron's hand as they walked through the camp. He made it a point to show her around himself and to get her acquainted with a few of the Lord's which stepped forward first, primarily Northern Lords. And it seemed as if a lot of them quickly took to the young lady rather swiftly.

Once again Rhaenys found herself quite surprised at how quickly the Lords of the north were willing to adapt to their king's wishes. However, that didn't stop her from noticing that Lord Bolton seemed as cold and despondent as ever. Yet again though her gaze fell back over to Robb who by now was being introduced to the Lady Shireen.And like everyone else he seemed rather happy to meet her. They seem to exchange basic courtesies and even banter a bit before Daeron walks over to the center of camp.

Quickly the troops made a circle around him as he cleared his throat in preparation to address the entirety of the army in a singular instant. His voice was determined and seemed to carry over the entirety of the gathered camp.

“My friends, Lords, and Ladies. I am pleased to announce that the battle of Dragonstone has been won!!! The royal fleet has been burnt to cinders, Dragonstone remains in our possession, and we now welcome Lady Shireen Baratheon into our court!!”

Rambunctious and Loud cheers filled the camp, for good reason too. It was by all means a great victory. Rhaenys herself had to admit that she was in some way pleased with the outcome, if not a bit proud of Daeron overall for his decisiveness and for his choices regarding Shireen. She couldn't help but compare her situation all those years ago to Shireen's current one. She couldn't help but feel both anger and pride in that unlike the Lannister's, Daeron had not felt the need to murder Shireen to secure his throne. Once again she could practically feel the respect for Daeron grow. But she still had to do one more thing with him before she would decide to reveal herself.

She watched as Daeron moved with Shireen to the gates of Riverrun, likely intending to set her up in a personal chamber of her own. It was only to be expected, but she would await him when he returned. But as she waited she found herself growing nervous. It wasn't what she had expected to feel, but here she was. Anxious perhaps, excited possibly, even scared, but not nervous. Not like this. Slowly she thought as to why she would be feeling this way, why should she be nervous? She knew that she was at no risk of physical confrontation with Daeron at this moment. She knew that he had no way of knowing it was her save, the most impossible guess of all time. So why did she shake as she waited?

Once more she was surprised by a sudden huff of air behind her. Turning around expecting to see a soldier or lord, likely inquiring as to why she was standing in place. It would have been a reasonable inquiry, but no. When she turned around she didn't see any soldier or lord, she didn't even see a man. She only saw the red and white eyes of Weirya looking at her. She froze for a moment as she was taken aback by the suddenness of the visual she was presented with here and now, the surreal feel the gaze of the dragon carried was something she had felt the first time she had seen it.

Everything about her was unnatural. Her size, her strength, her breath, her eyes. And yet even so she couldn't help but see the beauty in her form. She was fire made flesh yes, but she was so much more, she was also a regal and poised creature, one who if you looked into their eyes you would know had a thousand thoughts and feelings. She was intelligent in a way that overcame all animals, she understood. How Rhaenys knew this she was unsure but it felt as if all this was as natural to her as breathing.

She couldn't help but wonder as she unconsciously moved closer and closer, she herself wasn't thinking at this moment. Otherwise, she might have held back and stayed put. But the rest of the camp was focused elsewhere, lords and ladies focused on greeting Shireen. No one would notice if she took a few more tentative steps. Just a bit closer she felt like moving, her hand extending out ahead of her. Her fingers moving forward, ready to feel the dragon's scales against her own skin, it was all too natural.

“She must really like you.”

The northern voice wrenched her out of her thoughts in an instant as she turned to see Daeron standing behind her, by his side a dire wolf. This one was white as a cloud, a pair of red eyes staring into her very soul. It was very off-putting all things considered, intimidating even, more so than the dragon in truth. How was that possible? For a wolf to be scarier than a dragon? Perhaps it was the wolf's total silence, but either way it stayed close to Daeron's side, loyal to the end it seemed. Quite like Grey-Wind in that respect. Perhaps it was just in their nature.

Regardless of that however, Rhaenys quickly found her senses and gathered her bearings enough to ask a question in exchange.

“Your grace… I had not expected you to be here.”

Daeron smiled slightly and walked over.

“Neither did I lady Ashara, but Robb did ask me to speak to you, he said that you wished to ask something of me.”

Rhaenys laughed inwardly, it seemed as if Robb had picked up on a lot more than she had thought. That or she gave more away than she expected to in their conversations. Either way she had her opportunity to complete the last part of her inquiry into Daeron's character. She drew a breath and spoke to him in a calm and soft voice.

“Indeed I did your grace. I was merely hoping that perhaps I could touch your dragon… if that's alright.”

Suddenly the nervousness came back with a vengeance, she could feel the coldness of her sweat starting to develop on her scalp under her hair. But much to her relief and adjoined surprise Daeron chuckled and nodded.

“I see no reason why not. Besides, Weirya seems to have a bit of an interest in you herself.”

That made Rhaenys’ eyebrows rise up.

“Does she?”

“Aye, I can feel it. She actually seems quite excited to get this close to you.”

Rhaenys looked back to see Weirya still looking at her, her head was closer and it would only be a few steps to touch her snout in truth, but she still held back and continued the conversation.

“I can think of no reason why she would take such a keen interest in me.”

Daeron walked up to her side and looked over.

“Care to find out?”

Rhaenys normally would have given a courteous response, but here and now amidst the dragon and Daeron, all organized formalities left her. Within her heart an ever-growing swirl of emotions was taking hold. A mix of excitement, anxiety, worry, fear, and joy had a vice-like grip on her heart and refused to let go. Perhaps this could provide some minor relief at any rate. So she simply nodded her head. Daeron removed a glove as he took her hand in his. And to say that it was an interesting experience would be to undersell the extent of emotions Rhaenys felt.

She didn't know what was the source of her emotional torrent, the closeness to Weirya or the closeness to Daeron. But once again all of it seemed momentarily calm as she felt Daeron press her hand against Weirya’s scales. The satisfied hum of the dragon seemed to mitigate any turmoil within her in an instant. She felt her breath slow as she focused intently on the scales beneath her palm. Focusing on the warmth she felt, the life which lay beside her. Few things in life had taken her breath away so completely, this was undoubtedly one of those rare moments.

She couldn't help but smile, it was pure bliss to be here now with her. It was something thought impossible for so long, something that in another life she might not have survived to see. But she stood here, proud and tall with a living dragon at her fingers touch. Her laughs were breathless, her eyes wide and glistening in the sun. She swore for a moment that she might have cried if not for an extreme exertion of will on her end. But one one look at Daeron who had removed his hand from hers, now resting it on Weirya's snout, one look at him was almost enough to break her entirely.

He was smiling the same as her, though his gaze was split between her and Weirya. There was a shock to his expression, as if he hadn't thought this moment would have inspired such a welling of emotion within her. He spoke in a surprised tone.

“God’s, it seems you're as excited as she is.”

Rhaenys looked back up to Weirya.

“Shes excited?”

“She’s thrilled. It's actually quite odd…”

Rhaenys again looked back to Daeron, her eyebrow arched above her head.

“Whats odd? If I might ask?”

Daeron took a moment to collect his thoughts, he was clearly looking for the right words to use.

“It's just… she seems to recognize you.”

Rhaenys went stiff. She tried to hide it but now the anxiety came back as she renewed her questioning.

“She recognizes me?”

“Not as if she has ever met you before, she recognizes your blood… it was the same with Shireen, she picked up on the faint traces of Targaryen blood in her. It seems as if you might have some of it yourself given how she is acting.”

Rhaenys at that moment was hit hard with the weight of his words. For the briefest of moments she was scared that perhaps this would be how he found out, or worse, misinterpreted what Weirya had picked up on. A hundred thoughts flew through her head in that moment, was she of some greater importance to him now that this revelation had been made? She wasn't sure but she was anxious and scared, she didn't show it but damned if she wasn't barely holding it all back. Then came Daeron's next words.

“Do you know who your mother was?”

She quickly came up with a vague falsehood to try and silence the line of questioning.

“Father always said she was some lady of Lys… aside from that nothing…”

Daeron looked at her before shaking his head with a chuckle.

“Well if that's so, perhaps you should ask your father some more about her, it seems as if she had quite the ties to the blood of the dragon.”

With that he dropped the topic entirely. And Rhaenys was once again stunned into sheer silence. That was it? No great accusations? No inquiry into her lineage? Just brushing off the event and carrying on with what they were doing? One look at him told her that he wasn't all too concerned, perhaps he would question Uncle Oberyn some more later, or perhaps he was merely tabling the discussion for now. But either way the result was the same. He returned to pressing his hand to Weirya's side. That couldn't be it right? Was he that passive and complacent to let something like this slide?

Or was he smart enough to realize that he would get nowhere by arguing and picking a fight? Or perhaps he was even confident enough in himself, his abilities, and his allies to be able to deal with any move she would theoretically make. In any case he let the issue slide for now. And Rhaenys returned to doting on Weirya. Yet she still felt off about it, the more she watched Daeron, the more she learned, the more he defied expectations. And this was only fueling that fire. Yet even so she was surprised to find another thought running through her mind.

Less of a thought actually, more of a desire. A desire to be done with it. To cast away the charade of Ashara Sand. To expose herself and see where things went from there. Given that Daeron, no matter how casual he was about it, now had hard proof to begin making suspicions off of, it was only a matter of time before it all came out or to a head. Why not get it over with? Granted a lot of reasons, but she would be lying if she said that there wasn't a large part of her that wished to speak to him not as a visitor, but as a member of his house. To speak to him as a sibling.

She caught herself before she went down that line of thinking any further, she knew that such a situation could not come to fruition yet. Frankly she knew that Uncle Oberyn was starting to get stir-crazy, the charade could not last much longer, and after this she was beginning to realize that perhaps she didn't want it to last much longer. But there was one line of questions she needed answered, before she could reveal herself or before her and Uncle Oberyn could leave secure in the knowledge that Daeron was not worth their time. She needed to know so desperately before she could make her decision. So she asked.

“Your grace if I may, I have another question.”

Daeron nodded as he turned his attention to her.

“By all means.”

Rhaenys braced herself for the memories she would go through. And she asked.

“If Rhaegar Targaryen was your father, would that not make the prince Aegon, and Princess Rhaenys your siblings?”

Daeron noticeably stiffened, color drained from his face as he faced her.

“...By blood yes…”

“By no other measure?” She asked, her true feelings masked perfectly by the veneer of curiosity. In truth, she wasn't sure what kind of answer she was looking for. Only that Daeron's thoughts on the matter would help her make her decision. And by the looks of it he seemed incredibly conflicted and torn.

“I don't think I have the right to determine any other measure…”

“Do you not? Why should you not be able to determine your own opinions of them?”

He took in a deep breath.

“Because I didn't know them…”

There was a solemn tone to his voice, a distance that made Rhaenys stall in her questions for a moment. She could tell that Daeron was lost in his own world for a second, but even then it was clear that he had many thoughts on the subject. Perhaps if the answers to her questions didn't matter on such a deep personal level to her, she might have stopped. But she needed to press on. She needed to know.

She steadied herself with another deep but silent breath. And spoke again.

“Your grace I must ask… would you elaborate on your reasoning?”

Daeron took a breath and spoke, his hand never leaving Weirya’s side, Ghost laying by his feet. In response he said.

“I can never know them. I can never know who they were in truth. Their interests and loves, their strengths and weaknesses. I can never say for certainty how they would have behaved. I could make assumptions, yes. I could say that they would have been the kindest of people to have ever graced the seven kingdoms, or I could just as easily say that they would have been destined for madness as their grandfather and uncle.”

Rhaenys listened intently, hanging off every word and line of logic. Almost instinctually she asked.

“Why will you not say that about them? Yes you never knew them but are you not king? Is your word not paramount? Are you not the true head of house Targaryen? Why do you not make the truth what you wish for it?”

She worked hard to conceal the emotion which riled beneath her tone. In truth she was almost to the point of asking what she wanted to know in the bluntest way she could put it. ‘Why leave her and Aegon's graves alone, why not use their deaths in a more opportunistic way. Why let such an opportunity for elevating the tragedy of house Targaryen pass by?’ and shortly after she got her answer.

“Because it's as close to spitting on their corpses as I can get… or that's what it feels like… I've already lost my father, I don't need to dig up Rhaenys and Aegon to add more sympathy to my cause. I think the best thing I can do for their memory is to get them the justice they deserved on that day, and to let them rest. I invoke their names in the pursuit of justice and I will let them have their peace beyond that.”

He let out a breath as Weirya lowered her head to the ground so Daeron could lean against her. He was seemingly more emotional than he had expected. Perhaps this was a topic of conversation he had given little thought to before, or too much thought to. Either way it was small in comparison to what Rhaenys was feeling. For her part she was still, still and feeling the immense sense of relief that flooded her senses. She hadn't expected that to be his answer but found herself happy that it was. To her it confirmed what she wanted to know, it confirmed what Robb so adamantly spouted about him.

It confirmed in her mind that he was at his heart, a good man.

Perhaps it wasn't enough for many other people, perhaps it wouldn't be enough for Uncle Oberyn. But that didn't matter to her at this moment. It was enough for her, she now was far more assured in his motivations. He not only had a genuine reason to fight and was acting on it, but it seemed as if he knew where to stop. She found herself welling with pride in his answer. And as such asked one more question.

“Tell me your grace. Had you known them, would you have loved them?”

Daeron looked at her with a hint of confusion. Suddenly Rhaenys felt the pride and relief she had been reveling in for the past few seconds drain away instantaneously. She became anxious yet again as she wondered if she had finally pushed her luck too far. But yet again Daeron surprised her with a genuine and straight forward answer.

“As I am now… I would have tried. I know what it is to have the love of a sister and brother, and I know the pain of alienation between them. I can say with certainty that I would have tried my damndest to have been a brother to them both… I think the better question is would they have loved me.”

Rhaenys felt her shoulders tense at the doubt which Daeron suddenly exuded. He continued shortly after.

“I do wonder sometimes how they might have seen me… a brother and son of the same father? Or a bastard born of their fathers betrayal… though my father and mother might have been married I doubt it would have changed the scorn that I might have received… I just hope that they wouldn't have hated me.”

Rhaenys felt her mood dampen at his thoughts. Perhaps in a life where father had returned she would have thought Daeron a stain on the royal family, or worse a living insult to her mother and brother. A child of betrayal and paid for with the blood of thousands. Perhaps he was just that and she was refusing to see it. But if that was the truth then Rhaenys couldn't bring herself to mind, not today, not in this life, not in this moment. Right now she was left standing beside not a vile reflection of her grandfather, nor a living embodiment of her father and his flaws. But someone who was by all means his own man, someone who knew what he wanted and would strive relentlessly for it.

Someone who she could call brother.

It was only a bit of time before they split ways for now. A small feast was to be held for the arrival of lady Shireen later as well as the victory of Dragonstone. No doubt she would be there, especially if Robb was to be in attendance. But before that she had to do something first. She had to make a choice. And for it, she would need some time to herself. She bid Daeron a fond goodbye and quickly left for now.

---

She ran quickly to her room. Running past all guards and lords on the way, almost certainly bumping into a few in her mad haste. No one would deter her now. Onwards she ran through the internal courtyard and up into the central keep. She made her way through the halls and eventually made it to the lower residential rooms of Riverrun. She opened the door and immediately took a breath. She took the moment to look around the room which had been her home for the last week.

It was a small thing, drastically smaller than the quarters she had resided in at Sunspear, it was more akin to a servants living quarters than anything come to think of it. But regardless it was hers for now and she was fine with that, even if her uncle wasn't. She had a good bed, a fine table and chair, and a window facing the river banks. All in all she was pleased. But she had not come here to dwell on her surroundings, quite the opposite, she simply needed to grab a singular thing of the greatest value to her.

She had taken her time and asked her questions. As she scoured her room looking for its hiding place she recollected on her conversation and assessed her conclusions multiple times. Yet each time she found herself simply satisfied with the answers she had found, been given, and heard from Daeron. And as she looked and looked she once again felt a welling of emotions in her chest. Primarily two, grief and cautious excitement. Grief at the memory of her mother and brother primarily. In some ways what she was about to do felt akin to a betrayal.

She knew it wasn't and it wouldn't help to think of it as such, but it was still implanted firmly in her heart. How could she cast away their memories in the face of someone new, and not only that but someone born of her fathers' betrayal. In any other world it would seem a horrible thing to do, but she knew that in truth she would never discard her mothers' memory, nor her brothers. Even if her uncles had not truly moved on from her mother's murder, Rhaenys knew that she could at least try, try for something new.

And that's where the excitement came in, cautious yes, how could she not be after all? Daeron was still by and large unknown to her, on a personal level at least. But that shouldn't stop her from trying. If any of what she had learned was true, then perhaps he would be truly open to consider accepting her as a sister. Perhaps not immediately, perhaps it would take years and years to truly have a connection, but she was optimistic that Daeron would, like her, be willing to at least try. Try to have some connection with her. It was a hope that could open the door to a joy she had not felt in many a year. That was why she was excited.

Suddenly she felt it, the hard feeling of wood dragging her from her thoughts back into the real world once more as she dragged the wooden box out from under a few floor boards she pried up to make space for it. She would take no risk with something she held so close to her heart. She pulled the box up, already feeling the familiar warmth underneath the wood. And she swore that for a moment its warmth was greater than before. Suddenly a new hope was born, perhaps she might see it come to life after all.

She opened the box, her fingers fidgeting with the lock with an unmatched fury as she cast the lock aside. And there inside it sat. Wrapped in a silk shroud of orange and red she unveiled it. The egg was gorgeous, orange like the sunset with flakes of purple and blue like the night sky, she chuckled to herself letting her imagination run rampant for a moment as she sat with the egg in her lap. If Weirya was that gorgeous, and if she managed to hatch it, then only the God’s knew what beauty it would grow to be.

She quickly put it into a satchel as she wrapped it back up again. She slung the sack over her shoulder as she stood quickly, not bothering to place the boards back where they were with any true care. She was in far too great a rush to pay attention to such a trivial thing. And as soon as she left the room she found herself running yet again. Running as fast as she could towards the upper levels, up the spiral staircase she ran as she found herself in the lord's wing of the castle. The hallway seemed to extend before her as she ran with all speed she could muster, like a bird in the wind. She reached a door at the end, and opened it.

Daeron sat at his desk reading letters alone, she was likely intruding on his private time, something she could guess he seldom ever had. One part of her was worried about disrupting him but she knew this matter had to come first and now. No more waiting. No longer. She wasted no time as she bowed her head and spoke, breaking the temporary silence which lay between them.

“I apologize your grace for the abruptness of my intrusion, but I do require a long moment of your time. It is a matter of grave importance.”

And she meant it in every possible way. She found herself tense once more, her hands once idle by her sides now shook ever so slightly, flexing her fingers ever so subtly in a vain and fruitless attempt to alleviate any of the stress she now felt. She even noticed her tone of voice slipping slightly in her anxious state. Perhaps she was coming on far too strong for Daeron's taste. She certainly would have been put off had someone acted like this to her. And it seemed as if he might have indeed thought suspiciously of the abruptness of her intrusion. But once again he decided to go forward and he turned to her.

“Lady Ashara, I'm sorry for the state you find me in, but I am busy with some rather important matters.”

She nodded in acceptance, it was lucky that she had caught him alone between the changing of the guards in the first place. But she couldn't afford to let the moment slip she would have to risk the breach of court etiquette. Then again after spending a week here it was hard not to notice the lack of formality that Daeron’s supposed court had in the first place. It was certainly more a war council than anything else, which did make sense given their current situation admittedly, but still it did reflect in a rather odd manner on Daeron himself and the lords who surrounded him. Perhaps this would be something to look into fixing eventually.

Regardless however she couldn't get side tracked, she needed to refocus herself and try to begin her explanation. So she responded to his well reasoned and earned statement.

“Forgive me your grace, but I do ask that you trust me when I say that this matter is of incredible significance.”

Daeron raised an eyebrow and moved away from the table which he sat at. He stood up and pushed in the chair before walking a bit closer to her. He leaned against a bed frame of the four-poster bed as he took in a silent breath and nodded.

“Very well, you have my attention. But I do ask that you make the matter quick. The feast in honor of Lady Shireen will be starting within the next hours and I do want to make her welcome a warm one.”

He spoke with an evident fondness in his tone, he was clearly happy to be hosting the Lady Shireen and made no reservations in expressing those good feelings. Indeed, Rhaenys found herself smiling a bit at his reasoning too. She nodded her head in response before looking at him and speaking soon after, a slight humorous edge to her voice.

“A noble ambition if ever there was one, your grace.”

She had said it with a joking edge admittedly, but what helped to alleviate her stress further was his genuine laugh which came in response to her. His teeth were visible through his small smile as he brushed some of his dark hair aside. Perhaps it would be better to help alleviate the tension of her abruptness before continuing. She did continue her speaking once he had a moment to calm down.

“And as important as that task is, in addition to your war effort, I must profess I do desire these next words to be spoken in total privacy, should you allow it of course.”

She made sure to speak in a calmer, more measured tone this time so she wouldn't off put him any further, and it seemed to work. He nodded in turn and moved to the door to close it.

“I suppose I can allow that, although I have to know the news you bring to me. Is it bad?”

Rhaenys now had her turn to laugh as she let out a loud chuckle. She moved to the table and leaned against it before speaking again, Daeron looking a little confused as he closed the door.

“No… Not at all. In fact… I think it might be some of the most wonderful news you could ever hear.”

That caught Daeron's attention immediately as he turned around. The door by now was closed entirely. Good, total privacy. She wanted to make sure that Daeron would first accept this himself before anyone else. It was the smartest and safest way to go in any case. Even so she could tell that Daeron's mood was simultaneously calmed and intrigued. He stayed at a distance by the door still but he didn't seem at risk of leaving immediately. He spoke shortly after as he kept his gaze locked on her.

“Please go on then, if you have such confidence in this news of yours then I would hear it sooner rather than later.”

His voice was calm, warm, and inviting. His demeanor was suspicious, intrigued, and cautious. Rhaenys was tense as ever. This was it, she had by this point had about five or so weeks to think of what she was going to say, how she would break it. Now that she was here she felt as if it all was inadequate to the moment before her. But she spoke regardless.

“I first must inform you that there has been a minor deception, on the part of me and Prince Oberyn…”

Daeron suddenly grew more suspicious and tense, Rhaenys stepped in immediately raising a hand to express her intentions, and she made sure to speak with a small smile.

“Calm yourself, the deception was not meant to do harm to you or your cause in any way.”

Daeron again quirked an eyebrow before moving a bit closer.

“Then… what was it for?”

Rhaenys took a breath and spoke straight with no mincing of words.

“It was for my protection, your grace.”

Daeron suddenly had a look of worry cross over his face as he moved a bit closer.

“Protection? Is there something which threatens you my lady?”

Rhaenys was a bit comforted by his sudden reaction of jumping to help, or at the least know more about her situation. Yet she continued on as she kept her smile up, as it slowly became more genuine.

“Nothing which does not already threaten you, your grace.”

“Then might I ask for what reason did you require protection? And you have yet to say what the deception itself was.”

She took in a breath again as she placed the bag onto the table, she was holding the leather tight in her hand. But she kept her focus on Daeron all the while, her gaze never breaking.

“Funny as it is, my answer addresses both your questions at once…”

She felt a sense of hesitation rise in her chest again, threatening to stall the words in her throat. The last remnants of uncertainty which still lingered in her. But she had come too far by now to turn back. She spoke again.

“In truth, Prince Oberyn is not my father… he is my uncle.”

Daeron was surprised, yes, but it was clear that he wasn't in total shock. He processed the information and asked a question again hoping to clarify.

“So… you are Prince Doran’s daughter then? I thought he only had Princess Arianne? And if so, why did you need to conceal this from me? On the road I understand but you would have been safe here regardless.”

She smiled again as she spoke next, her voice growing more mirthful.

“I thank you for the reassurance of protection your grace, but no, neither am I the daughter of Doran Martell. They have cared for me as Lord Eddard cared for you, indeed they were like fathers to me… but my actual father died many years ago… as did my mother… and brother…”

Daeron was clearly becoming more and more confused by the second, Rhaenys however by now was beyond the point of waiting. She kept going.

“Shortly before my mother died I was taken to my uncles and raised within their walls, a great secret one might say… they loved me as one of their own as did my cousins… but I was never truly a Martell. And any family that remained to me on my father's side have since gone mad or remain far out of my reach… and I was sure I would never see them…”

She could see that Daeron by now was listening intently, trying to piece together what she was giving him. She continued onward, her own voice now dripping with emotions of all kinds swirling like waves on a beach.

“So imagine my surprise when I find out a brother of mine lives…”

Daeron seemed to grow extremely cautious of what she was suggesting, but she could tell he might have been slowly starting to piece things together.

“Your brother is not dead then?”

She could feel tears in her eyes now running down her cheek.

“My brother born to my mother… no. He had long since passed. But my brother born to my father… he lives.”

Daeron and Rhaenys were quiet for a second. Neither knowing how to continue, or not sure who should speak first. But Daeron broke the stalemate by asking the one question that would bring everything together. He spoke quietly, yet curiously, as if the words would shatter like glass if spoken wrong.

“Who was your father?... Your real father?”

Rhaenys stalled for a second, tears now flowing out from her eyes.

“Rhaegar Targaryen…”

Daeron went still, Rhaenys took the moment to open the bag and unwrap her dragon egg. Once Daeron caught a glimpse of it she could tell that despite his better judgment all doubt and suspicion was leaving his eyes. He spoke next.

“T-then… if… your father was… then that means...”

She could see the emotions piling up behind his eyes as he looked at her. Speaking in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

“Rhaenys?”

The smile on her face broke out entirely. As she spoke in a similarly breath-taken voice.

“...It's wonderful to meet you brother…”

Daeron's eyes keep flicking between her and the egg, he was completely struck dumb by the revelation, Rhaenys again seized the opportunity to speak.

“I know this is sudden, I know it might be unbelievable. I fully expect you to speak to my uncle after this to confirm my story, and I know it may seem impossible… but… it's the truth… and I want you, before you leave this room to know… that I am not here to challenge you… our family has seen enough pain and strife…”

She was now truly crying and it seemed as if Daeron was following her in that regard, her sincerity was unmatched as she pushed ever further.

“But I do wish to make it known… regardless of what father did… I have been paying attention this past week… and I do ask to stand alongside you… as a sister… if you will have me…”

Daeron was beyond shocked, Rhaenys was sniffling. Both of the Targaryen's in the room were so charged with emotions it felt impossible to speak any more. But Daeron moved closer as did Rhaenys, they met in the middle of the room wordless in their stride. She had no idea what he was about to do or say. But through a quivering lip he spoke.

“I would like that… I would like that a lot…”

Both gave a breathless laugh and smile.

Neither were sure who initiated it, neither were sure who wrapped their arms around the other first. And at first it was in some way awkward. But it didn't take long for the newly acquainted and united siblings to begin crushing each other in a hug that spoke a million words. Both were in tears as they held each other in that solemn yet joyful embrace.

Rhaenys thought her tears could only smile. The joy was unparalleled. She had no other way to describe it.

For the first time in years, she was hugging a brother.

For the first time in years, she had a brother.

And she could be no happier.

Notes:

A bit of an explanation for my late uploads recently, I have been across the damn world in a matter of weeks and I am exhausted. hopefully I can get back to a normal schedule again. Thanks for waiting :)

And of course thank you all for the kind words last chapter and for the critiques provided. Hope you enjoyed this one.

North/Riverlands: 42,000 - (260 ships + 160 ‘Celtigar + Velaryon. 1 Dragon)

Westerlands/Stormlands/Vale: 78,000 - (50,000 westerlands, 12,000 Stormlands, 13,000 Vale 45 ships "Lannisport")

Reach: 39,000

Dorne: Undeclared?

Iron Islands: Undeclared

Daenerys: 15,000 (8,000 unsullied, 5,000 in training, 2,000 freedmen. 3 Dragons)

(Note this might not be accurate with the books or show to a T but these are what I personally found to be believable estimates and as such will be using.)

As always, comments are welcome.

Chapter 33: Robb VIII / Tywin II / Jaime I / Baelish I

Summary:

Robb talks with Jon and Rhaenys, Tywin makes a plan, Jaime receives a revelation, Baelish assess the situation

Robb VIII

The news was utterly immense, immense and shocking. There was no reasonable way for Robb to justify feeling any other way. The closest event which rivaled this moment was when he and Arya had first fallen through the crypt wall in Winterfell and set all this in motion. Learning your brother was a Targaryen prince was bad enough, but learning that the person who you had spent the last week or so talking with was apparently the not dead Princess Rhaenys Targaryen? That was a hard pill to swallow, and it would have been impossible to had prince Oberyn not confirmed it along with her own dragon egg. Needless to say, this was an impressively odd scenario.

The court had taken it with mixed reactions and many were still getting used to it, prince Oberyn himself seemed upset with her announcing this as well. But by now it was all too late to contain again. So Robb, Jon, and Rhaenys found themselves talking to each other in relative privacy for a bit. And it was clear that Rhaenys wanted to figure out how she would be helping Jon in this war. And frankly Jon seemed to want the same thing. Such was the case they were currently in, sitting in Jon’s chambers with some ale and water to drink. Rhaenys is driving the conversation currently.

“Honestly I'm not sure how you have not been considering these possibilities up to this point thus far”

Jon tapping his finger on the table responded.

“It's not exactly been something I would have thought to deal with currently.”

Rhaenys rolled her eyes before taking another drink.

“Well you should. The layout of your court, especially your small council should be something you devote a near excess of time to.”

Robb responded after swallowing some ale.

“I see no reason to fret over this in truth. The oaths have been sworn and everyone seems to trust Jon’s leadership.”

Rhaenys rolled her violet eyes.

“Lord Stark, while your commitment to honor is admirable, you will find the lords of the south far more fickle than those of the North, especially within the halls of the Red-Keep. They will angle for power any way they can, even to your expense.”

Jon nodded, listening intently as he spoke.

“What would your recommendation be then?”

Rhaenys turned to face Jon entirely.

“Right now? Not much, keep winning the war. But what I will recommend is trying to lay the foundations for your small council, with that you can ensure when you're ready to take power that you can do it immediately and swiftly. It shows you're ready and willing to not only work but hear out your subjects. Something that will be sorely needed after what has been a rather destructive war with winter on the horizon.”

Robb spoke next.

“That I can agree with.”

Rhaenys nodded in agreement. She turned to Jon.

“Do you have any positions filled already?”

Jon spoke in a straight tone.

“I have promised lord Monford Velaryon the position of master of ships. But aside from that, no.”

Rhaenys thought for a minute before speaking, her tone joking and lighthearted.

“Hm, perhaps you're not hopeless in the realm of the court after all.”

Robb couldn't help but snicker with Rhaenys smiling in amusement. Jon however was a little more stern.

“Is now really the time for this?”

Rhaenys spread her arms open and spoke jokingly again.

“Im your elder sister, I have years of tormenting you to make up for.”

Robb laughed before pulling himself together to speak.

“It's actually really easy when you know what you're doing.”

Rhaenys chuckled.

“Why thank you, Lord Stark.”

Jon seemed to have a deadpan expression on his face as he looked between them both, the sulking look he so often wore in Winterfell returning for a moment. Rhaenys broke the laughing fit with a genuine comment.

“In truth that is a fine choice. Lord Monford will serve you well if his reputation is anything to go off of. Uncle Doran recommended him to me when he was trying to get me to claim the throne.”

Jon nodded, a bit tense still. To which Rhaenys noticed and calmed him immediately.

“Calm yourself brother, once more I state that I have no intention to challenge you.”

Jon responded.

“I am more than aware, it will just take time to get accustomed too is all.”

Rhaenys nodded in understanding before continuing on.

“I do however need to ask, have you chosen a queen yet?”

Robb drank from his cup, he knew that explaining Jon and Daenerys’ shared dreams would be a topic for much later down the road if they intended to give Rhaenys the impression that they both were sane. Thankfully Jon did the talking for this one.

“I have. Princess Daenerys Targaryen has accepted my offer as well.”

Rhaenys was obviously thrown for a loop.

“Daenerys!? You have been in contact with her?”

Jon nodded.

“For how long?! News of her has been sparse as far as I can tell.”

Jon spoke in response to her questions.

“In truth it was us who orchestrated her disappearance in the first place. Lord Howland of house Reed has been watching her for the past years and we have been frequently writing to each other all that time. She agreed to the betrothal some time ago.”

Rhaenys seemed genuinely impressed by the news. Clearly she had been expecting a far different answer. Robb was just glad that his brother had managed to find a way around the odd magic which loomed over their relationship. Rhaenys was again the next to speak.

“Very well then… and if I may ask… the news I have heard of her, her burning of Astapor. Is it true that…”

Jon picked up on what she was asking.

“That she has a dragon of her own. Yes, she has three.”

Once again Rhaenys was floored, taking a swift drink of ale to cope with the news.

“If this is all true, then you likely have secured the best possible marriage alliance. Keeps the family together, supplies you with more forces, and adds three more dragons to our cause. Add the legitimacy this marriage brings to your rule and this is a near perfect match.”

Robb couldn't help but notice the self-satisfied smile that Jon wore on his face. Rhaenys was again the one to speak next.

“Even so the fruits this union will bear are not ready to harvest. And it does temporarily put us in a bind for marriage alliances.”

Jon spoke in response.

“I presume that you do not wish me to offer your hand in exchange for an alliance immediately then?”

Robb knew Jon was making a joke, and he knew the likely answer to the question. But it still didn't stop the tightness in his chest from developing. The idea he found innately repulsive for some reason that he couldn't describe. Rhaenys by contrast seemed to take the comment in stride.

“Quite right brother. I have known you for little time and to ship me off as a brood mare so soon would hardly reflect well on you. That's if uncle Oberyn would allow such a thing to happen regardless. I know this is inconvenient for you but it is my wish.”

As she spoke however there was a tightness to her voice. Her reasoning seemed to carry an innate disgust of the concept. Jon’s gaze tightened, Robb could tell that he wasn't upset with the answer, rather intrigued. Jon’s eyes flicking from himself to Rhaenys, he spoke soon after.

“You are my sister, I have no desire to see you shipped off to a stranger so soon after our reunion. Inconvenient as this may be, I will acquiesce.”

Both Robb and Rhaenys let out a breath of subtle relief. But Robb could see that Jon hadn't finished his thinking, as his gaze turned over Jon spoke.

“Now Robb, father did have some plans regarding a marriage to you and either Margaery Tyrell or Arianne Martell. Are you still willing to secure those alliances?”

Robb felt the tightness in his chest again and a small pit in his stomach. Throwing a quick glance to Rhaenys she even seemed a bit on edge. But it was Jon’s persistent attention to them both that somewhat confused Robb, his brother obviously was trying to pick up on something but whatever he thought he had latched onto was a mystery to Robb. So Robb answered truthfully as he would.

“As crucial as father thought those possible alliances, we never did agree to anything. And I would like to think that the marriages of House Stark fall under the consideration of its head.”

Jon crossed his arms casually. He prodded further.

“So you wouldn't make such a marital alliance even in the most dire of circumstances?”

Jon didn't speak forcefully, rather he spoke inquisitively he was clearly looking for some specific answer. Robb could only answer truthfully.

“If the situation is that dire then I am willing to discuss it brother.”

Before Jon could respond, Rhaenys interjected.

“If I may, what value does a marriage alliance to house Stark actually provide? Yes they are closely tied to house Targaryen, but let's take the Tyrell's for example. I doubt they would accept such a proposal, I feel as if they would want something far more influential in terms of power.”

Jon turned his gaze to Rhaenys, still holding that inquisitive look.

“And what of house Martell? Would such a marriage not help to bring them into the fold?”

Rhaenys seemed to be even more opposed to that with how stern her next words came out.

“Well for one I ask again what such a marriage genuinely provides aside from a loose connection to house Targaryen. Marrying Robb to Arianne ties them to house Stark. And it will take much more than that to secure my uncle's loyalties, and that's assuming they could even get Arianne to agree to this in the first place. There is a reason she remains unmarried.”

Robb couldn't help but feel as if Rhaenys’ reason was somewhat weak. One might have even called it desperate. Jon’s inquisitive look melted somewhat and turned to contained amusement, he spoke after.

“Well this does put me in a bad position for negotiations. I will have to offer quite a lot to supplement a betrothal. But I will try for the both of you. That being said, Rhaenys. Prince Oberyn, he values your opinion this much?”

Rhaenys seemed a little taken back by the question, but she answered it all the same.

“To an extent, yes. He loves me as one of his own.”

Jon nodded.

“Very well then.”

Rhaenys responded.

“I do apologize, but it would seem that marriages for us are far less helpful than they normally would be.”

Jon under his breath, his voice barely audible said with an amused tone of voice.

“We’ll see about that.”

Robb swore for a second he saw Jon smirk in his cup as his eyes continued to flick between him and Rhaenys. He would need to ask about that later. Jon spoke again.

“It still hardly changes the uncertainty of this situation. I will be leaving tomorrow morning to negotiate with the Tyrell's and I will have to make some large concessions if we aren't willing to offer marriage as a security. And even then it may be fickle.”

Rhaenys and Robb both nodded their heads. That was true enough, and their resistance to marriages would cause immense problems in the immediate future. Once again Rhaenys broke the stalemate of silence.

“You are correct, but we do have other things to offer. Council positions and lands namely. And even then they will likely fight hard for a marriage pact with you, they may question the validity of your betrothal to Daenerys and try to leverage that.”

Robb by that point spoke up.

“I do apologize but considering the Tyrell's supported Renly does that not hamper what they can demand of us?”

Rhaenys turned over to Robb taking another drink of water before speaking.

“Well can you blame them? Lord Eddard did not make his intentions with Daero-”

Robb gave a quick cough which made Rhaenys blink for a second, she took a moment to correct herself before she spoke again.

“Jon… His intentions with Jon.”

Robb could tell that this would be a bigger hurdle for her to overcome than most, although in time he was sure that she would adjust to using Jon's chosen name eventually. For now Rhaenys continued her point.

“He didn't reveal him soon enough before Robert died. As such all lords of the Seven Kingdoms weren't aware that they had an alternative to Renly or Joffrey. You can't expect them to pay for information they didn't have.”

Jon spoke up in response.

“Well the problem with that is the fact they pulled half their forces from Renly’s host shortly after fathers death. What could be the motivation for that? Had they stuck with Renly with their full might they may have won the battle of Kings-Landing. So they must have known something, otherwise why pull back half your forces and stall a marriage alliance?”

Rhaenys was about to respond, but once she took a moment to think about it, she began to nod before saying.

“That is true, I will give you that.”

Jon added on to his statement.

“And if whatever they found out had to do with us and they acted on that information, they still hedged their bets. Meaning they were fully aware they were weakening Renly and reserving their strength for a later play. It's deceitful either way, and that I feel weakens their position even further, so I do agree with Robb, what they can demand of us is limited until they prove their loyalty as a house. At which point we may discuss a potential marriage arrangement, perhaps future children to one another.”

Rhaenys seemed to think for a second. All three of them were making good points and counterpoints and as such it was hard to determine how this would play out. She seemed to resolve her answer shortly thereafter.

“Odds are that we will not be able to guess what the deal will look like, only what we think they will attempt to demand. In which case we are in a bind.”

Jon nodded before standing up.

“Then it seems to me that the only way to determine the fate of this alliance is to make it. Robb, Rhaenys, I do ask that you keep things orderly in my absence. Rhaenys, it would please me greatly if you could perhaps speak to your uncle on the prospects of an alliance.”

Rhaenys nodded in acknowledgment. But before they all could leave Jon put his hand on Robb's shoulder.

“Brother, a word please?”

Robb a little confused by his brother's comment, agreed hesitantly. Jon led them to a secluded corner of the hall in which their chambers were before taking a deep breath.

“Robb, I need you to be honest with me. Is there a genuine reason you're opposed to the idea of a marriage alliance between you and the Tyrell's?”

Robb was taken aback briefly by the bluntness of his comment. But he gave it thought too. And the more he did, the more he felt as though there was a genuine reason as to why his chest now grew tight whenever he thought of such a situation when a month ago it was only nerves. The more he thought on it the more his opposition cemented itself in his heart. And now there was a growing suspicion as to why he now felt this way. Jon for his part seemed to pick up on his silent answer, Robb’s brother ran a hand through his hair and took a stress filled breath, he asked his next question.

“Rhaenys?”

Robb could feel the sweat on his scalp as he took a breath and spoke, his voice quiet and somewhat bashful.

“I would like to think so.”

Jon let out a breath before giving a small chuckle. He spoke in both an amused and stressed tone of voice.

“I suppose you could have done much worse. And make no mistake, in any other scenario I would be happy for you, but this complicates things. You know that well enough.”

Robb gave a small nod of the head in acknowledgment. Jon continued.

“But I do think that there is a way forward here, one that works to everyone's benefit. And if I'm right… you might have a better chance than you think.”

Jon's words were pointed and deliberate. And even with his strict tone of voice Robb couldn't help but feel a small fire of hope in his chest. Jon essentially saying that there was a chance brought an immense joy to him. Robb however, a little overwhelmed, spoke quietly if not a bit stressed.

“What would you have me do?”

Jon pointed his finger at Robb, his words sharp and blunt all at once.

“I would have you get moving. Word will spread of Rhaenys’ survival and that will attract the attention of unsavory eyes that I don't want an inch near her. I can try and buy you time and I can try to do what I can to placate the Tyrell's in the event they do agree to an alliance even without a marriage pact. And that is a bit of a long shot still. Put short, act fast. For both your sakes, got it?”

Robb tensed with stress and resolve, his brother's words hitting hard as he gave a solid nod. Jon gave a quick hug to Robb who in turn reciprocated. Shortly after Jon turned to leave and now Robb was left in the hall alone with his thoughts.

This was going to be a tense week.

---

Tywin II

Blood ringing in his ears had been the norm this small council session. What else could describe the absolute state of rage he was in. Now he would never show this to his counsel nor would he ever really admit it. But it's what he was at this very moment. Enraged beyond all measures. Who is he enraged at was an even grander topic. Because quite frankly who wasn't he totally enraged at this moment? The list was a long-running almost never ending catalog of names all tied to events which had worked these past few months to see his legacy slowly rotting in front of him.

The victory of Kings-Landing was supposed to be the decisive win which would deliver this war to him quickly and in a timely manner. Knock the Reach out, subjugate the Stormlands, and with the Vale as an ally, and shortly after Renly was the first to fall. With four kingdoms under his belt he should have been able to dispatch the Northern forces in the Riverlands within another few months if he was quick about it. The only snag that could have come up with the plan was the former princess Shireen posing a threat to his grandchildren's claims to the Stormlands.

And between the options of killing her and potentially marrying her off to Joffrey he favored ending the young lady's life all the sooner. It was much better to keep his grandchildren open to marriage alliances with another kingdom or powerful families rather than offering one of two very coveted marriages to a sick and feeble little girl who had already defied fate by living this long with her afflictions. Especially after what Joffrey had done to her father it was unlikely she would have been able to stay in line for long regardless. And in all truth killing her was likely a mercy.

Furthermore, Dragonstone was undefended; it shouldn't have been a hard fight even with the defending fleet. All of it should have gone smoothly, all of it should have gone easily and efficiently at which point he would have turned his forces and full attention over to the Targaryen brat and his brother. What such a campaign would have looked like was still a topic of discussion before the news of the battle of Dragonstone came in. Quite frankly everyone had been expecting a declaration of victory and an undeserved amount of self praise from the fleet commander. When they got instead however completely shook the foundation of everything this war was about.

After all, when a Dragon burns all your fleet, it would be wise to reconsider your position.

The news was so ridiculous it would have been unbelievable had the burn marks on the one ship that had managed to sail back not been so drastic. Suddenly the supposed rumors from Riverrun that a dragon was supposedly amongst the Targaryen's forces now seemed to carry a lot more weight. This had naturally thrown the entire capital into an absolute panic. The gold cloaks were overworked as is and now they have the unsavory task of putting down riots and panics every single night usually by force, all of a sudden the prisons were overflowing and people were starting to flee the city.

And the panic that had gripped the Red-Keep in the adjoining days was only relatively less chaotic and in some cases violent than the panic on the streets. Granted, however, it was much easier to get the Red-Keep under control in the streets of King's-Landing. Lords and Ladies and servants tend to do what they're told a little bit better when the King's-Guard point their swords at them. That being said however the reactions from the small council and Joffrey himself were utterly childish if not embarrassing. Which unfortunately was the current state of it in this particular meeting.

Pycell had thrown himself into absolute denial of the situation, or at least that's how he wanted it to seem with him. In truth Tywin knew he was ferociously writing to the Citadel trying to drag out every dusty scroll on dragons ever kept in its archives as if throwing books at the thing would stop it. They were now without a master of ships, not that they would have had anything to work with now. Varys had seemed calm and reserved in the face of this predicament, but it was obvious to anyone who bothered to pay attention that he was legitimately panicked. It was only confirmed when earlier it was brought to Tywin's attention that Varys was nowhere to be found.

It was obvious, he had taken his opportunity and ran as far as he could away from this place with all the peasants. Where he went now no one knew. But it was worrying that a man with such an extensive network of information, and intimate knowledge of the Red-Keep was gone into thin air. Resources would have to be diverted to finding him and making sure he was silent forevermore. However, the validity of that plan remained to be tested. Regardless, things needed to calm down here first and foremost.

Tyrion, petulant menace that he was, could only bark on about things he hardly understood and declare that the war was now more dire than ever. On that much he was right, horrible as it was to admit that. The truth of the matter was that this development would force them all to radically change how they prosecuted this war. The Targaryen host might be small now, but a Dragon was worth more than 40,000 men at arms. Tyrion, the coward he was, seemed to think that their current situation was untenable and that it would be smart to sue for peace. Fool, as if they would get anything but a death by dragon fire.

Cersei was all too busy drawing herself in wine to form a cohesive plan that did not involve her yelling about gutting the Targaryen boy where he stood. Thankfully this council was not devoid of sanity yet. Kevan as master of laws was still dependable. And Lord Baelish had already made his support known and was already contributing to the Lannister war effort by leveraging his wealth to secure food through the Vale and Gulltown. In fact of all at the table Lord Baelish seemed to be legitimately at ease and thinking ahead as opposed to obsessing over the Dragon.

However, such clarity was currently being drowned out by the one loudest voice at the table. Joffrey.

“HOW DO YOU MISS THAT!?! A DRAGON!? WHERE IS THE SPIDER!?! ILL HAVE HIS HEAD!!!”

That shrill violent and childish yelling had been the hallmark of this meeting. The second news of Vary’s absence had come in, he had just exploded at everyone in the room. Throughout the hour they had sat here he'd even been bashing his fist against the table so hard his hand was beginning to bruise. Pycelle did what he could to try and calm the king through excuses but he was not making any progress with the petulant boy. Cersei seemed uninterested in stopping this either. And Tyrion seemed to be taking great pleasure in this, as if the degradation of their discipline and the failing state of their house was something to laugh about.

Tywin had to intervene, and got the chance when Joffrey had screamed himself out of breath yet again.

“The time will come and the Targaryen will die. But this dragon complicates things. The game has changed and we must adapt if we are to survive.”

“Q-qite right, l-l-lord hand.” Pycelle stuttered weakly as he hunched over his seat.

“Quite right father. But unfortunately I do think that our survival and the Targaryen's death might be mutually exclusive.”

Before Tywin could answer Tyrion's quip Joffrey cut him off again with a vile yell through his hoarse voice.

“HE IS NOT A TARGARYEN, HE IS A BASTARD!!!”

Tywin had by now heard enough of Joffrey's childish and ineffective way of trying to discredit the Targaryen's heritage and legacy. The charade had to end today if they were expected to deal with this problem with any capacity of professionalism. So Tywin said.

“The boy is a Targaryen. It does not matter any more whether or not he was true-born or not. He has a Dragon. That alone is more than enough to sway the lords and smallfolk to accept his claims regardless of their truth. He has styled himself in the manner of Targaryen's of old and if we do not face and address that fact as such, we will lose.”

Joffrey seemed ready to yell again before Tyrion spoke again.

“Agreed, but even then, we should still sue for peace.”

Cersei snickered at that, putting down the goblet for a moment.

“Peace? Brother, do you think that the Targaryen who just burnt our entire fleet is willing at this moment to come to the table and speak peace with us?”

Tyrion sighed and looked to her.

“Truthfully, no. We have robbed him of his adoptive father, tried to harm his sisters, and if his letter is any indication, he will be looking for justice regarding the murder of Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon. Even by honorable standards we are in no position to demand peace.”

Cersei smiled as she spoke.

“Then why try to sue for it?”

Tyrion responded promptly.

“Because if we do so we at least show we are open to the possibility, and if they reject us we now can say we did try.”

Tywin should have expected Tyrion to recommend such a weak strategy, something he was not willing to abide by right now.

“Suing for peace makes us look weak, as if we are scared. Neither can we afford right now.”

Tyrion exasperatedly looked over and almost yelled.

“Then what are we to do?”

Tywin cocked an eyebrow at the insolent display.

“We change our plans. Dragons haven't won a war for hundreds of years, armies win them all the time.”

Tyrion again brazenly responded.

“Perhaps that may be because dragons have not been around in that stretch of time, or did you forget that?”

Tywin brushed off his comment.

“Even so it would be a poor decision to march an army on Riverrun with a dragon standing guard. As such we will divert our forces elsewhere.”

Tyrion responded.

“Pray tell, where?”

Tywin again sighed as he forced himself through Tyrion's exaggerations.

“Lord Baelish, you have done admirable service to the crown with your donation and have been a fine master of coin. However, I do have a new assignment for you.”

Baelish attentively faced Tywin.

“Your relationship with Lady Lysa Arryn secured us the Vale, however it would seem some of its lords have not received the message. I would ask that you travel to the Eyrie and sort them out, in return I will name you its Lord Protector until such a time Lord Robert Arryn comes of age and marries princess Myrcella. Is this acceptable?”

Baelish seemed a little surprised at the assignment, but spoke shortly after.

“It would be my honor to serve the crown in this way, my lord hand.”

Tywin nodded. Hopefully this would help bring the full might of the Vale to their forces. Now that Lord Baelish owed his immediate station and newfound power to Tywin, he was fairly confident that he wouldn't try anything for a bit, and if he did. Then he would have no problems in dispatching the minor lord as quickly as possible. But if he succeeded then perhaps there would be many further uses for him later down the road. Now onto the next item of business.

“With regards to our forces there is one more rogue element in this war.”

Everyone seemed to understand where this was going. The Reach.

Tyrion spoke first.

“And how do you intend to deal with them?”

Well it was true that the reach had declared for Renly initially they could still have their uses if managed correctly. And it came down to is it always did marriage.

“Grand Maester, you will write to Highgarden, you will remind them of Lord Mace’s betrayal and warn them that should they not agree to our terms we will raze their lands and use them for all their worth.”

Pycelle spoke again.

“A-and w-what would those terms b-be, my lord hand?”

Tywin spoke directly and coldly.

“Lady Margaery will be wed to Lancel, and Lord Willas will take Cersei’s hand in marriage as well.”

Cersei cringed at it, Tywin knew that she would be reluctant to accept another marriage, it hardly mattered, however. She would do her duty to the family and that would be that. Tyrion again however still felt the need to comment on the state of things.

“Quick problem with that father. Would it not be perhaps… insulting? And worse yet provocative? In what world do they accept these terms?”

“A world where they do not wish to have their crops taken and lands burned before winter. A world where they have some influence at court once the Targaryen is defeated. The Tyrell's are alone and without allies at this moment, their lord paramount is dead as is one of their sons. Their forces are halved and they are devoid of infantry. Their power is hardly what it was at the start of this war and they know it.”

Tyrion spoke again.

“At least a royal match would sound more appealing than Lancel.”

Tywin gave a hard glare across the table as the fire crackle was the only sound which broke the silence.

“The Tyrell's attacked this city alongside Renly Baratheon. And they are too conniving for their own good. I wouldn't let them within a foot of the throne if I can help it, and I can. Cersei is the queen mother and one of the most beautiful women in all seven kingdoms. If she does not suffice as a bride for Willas Tyrell then it is likely nothing would have ever sufficed save the throne itself.”

Tyrion again indignantly threw his hand in the air before letting it idly fall to his side.

“And so you would force him into the arms of the Targaryen? Give him another ally?”

Tywin remained stern.

“If they do choose to ally with the Targaryen then we will pay them in blood and burnt fields. They can either submit to our terms and join the court under our terms, thus depriving the Targaryen of an ally. Or they can side with him or remain neutral, either way the result is the same. We take what we can from their food supplies and burn the rest. Let their armies scatter while we enrich ourselves.”

Tyrion spoke again.

“And what of the dragon? Does it not play a factor in your plans?”

Tywin reached his boiling point with Tyrion almost yelling out at him.

“The dragon cannot be everywhere at once, they have one and one alone. To make sure it does not come to the aid of the Reach we will call on the force Stafford is gathering and begin to increase our raids into the Riverlands with Clegane at the head of the force. Meanwhile, Kevan makes our advance into the Reach with the majority of our forces.”

Tyrion got up and almost yelled back.

“Perhaps that is true, perhaps the Targaryen will call on the Dornish for aid too?”

Tywin slammed his hand on the table and yelled.

“THE DORNISH WOULD NOT SUPPORT DAERON TARGARYEN IF ELLIA MARTELL’S MANGLED CORPSE ROSE OUT OF THE GROUND AND TOLD THEM TOO!!!”

Tyrion stood down and stayed quiet after that. Tywin turned to the rest of the table which had long since fallen to silence.

“With regards to the Targaryen himself we will look into the possibility of a catspaw or two to break dragon from rider. We will kill the Targaryen, eliminate the Reach, and ensure this war ends in our favor on our terms.”

With that everyone nodded. And Tywin braced himself for the monstrous task ahead.

---

Jaime I

Jaime bit into the piece of bread which he was afforded as the day's meal. As to be expected it was stale and a little crunchier than it normally was. Perhaps the great chefs of Riverrun were feeling a little sad for him today. He couldn't help but laugh at the mirror idea of the peasants they had in these kitchens feeling any form of pity for him. As if it really mattered how long he stayed in this still for until his father inevitably found a way to get him out and back to the capital. After all, it had barely been a few months since the catastrophic incident at the Whispering Wood. And He knew that he served more value alive as a hostage and a turret for his father than he ever would dead.

Admittedly he occasionally forgot that himself some nights. So he would absolutely never imagine telling anyone, it did occasionally get rough in a singular stone room with only one window, with a perfect view of where the guards of the castle would conveniently drop their shit every day. He could only imagine that that was an intentional touch of the great Lord Robb Stark. As if losing to a green boy in the middle of a forest at night chasing a diversion wasn't insulting enough. Occasionally he would even hear the guards laughing at him.

It hardly mattered either way he remained Resolute in the face of all the adversity he had faced up to this point in his life and he would make it through this all the same. He knew that to be true. However, it would be an incredibly ridiculous notion to think that he had not been in any way taken aback by the events that played out shortly after his capture. After all he had almost had what amounted to a front row seat to the crowning of King Daeron Targaryen. That is to say he watched the entire event bound and gagged tied to the horse stables.

Had he not been gagged at the mouth he would have almost certainly called out the entire impromptu coronation for what it was. Gaudy, tactless, and completely rushed. Honestly, it was more entertaining than anything truly moving. What would think the resurrection of the House of the Dragon would warrant something far more extravagant. Apparently not. Then again if what qualified as a Targaryen king was Rhaegar's “not bastard” then perhaps the ceremony was more fitting than one would initially think. That being said, the dragon was absolutely a surprise he hadn't expected. Had it not been for that beast he probably wouldn't have believed the story which was presented on that night in the first place. Overall he found himself rather indifferent to it all.

But even so looking back on the event it was hard not to feel some sense of awe at least at the dragon. In fairness, how could you not? He had heard enough stories and tales of dragons from Tyrion when they were younger, he would often come into his room late at night with a book on the topics of Targaryen dragons and read them off endlessly to him. Most nights he fell asleep to the endless voice of Tyrion, but other nights he would stay awake and pay attention. And he could say without a shadow of a doubt that the dragon which landed on the keep that night lived up to the expectations his brother had nailed into his head.

After that he'd been provided with his personal quarters, and had remained in those quarters for the last few months. Rarely did he ever see the Targaryen, even rarer did either Daeron or Robb Stark speak to him. But he was by no means lonely in this room. Oh no, so very often did the Lords of the north come down to meet with him to loudly scream profanities and wish him death of so many kinds. He'd even begun to keeping track at this rate. And he had to admit the Northerners were quite creative with their selections of execution.

Some of his personal favorites included being tied to trout and pulled apart in the river. Having his arms and legs tied to two trees bent over and subsequently having the trees released thus tearing him apart in two. His absolute favorite was a particularly drunken threat from lord Karstark one night, it being that he would tie Jaime to the tail of the dragon and ask the king to fly him close to the ground with the dire wolves chasing him the whole while. And he had to admit if it wasn't him on the tail it would have been a very entertaining show, but alas he was the one being threatened and as such couldn't let it go unanswered.

He didn't remember exactly what he said in response. In all likelihood it was something to do with his family or wife perhaps considering how angry the old fat lord got with him afterwards.He remembered how hard the man had proceeded to punch him afterwards to the point where Jaime ended up getting a split lip and a black eye for a full month afterwards. He didn't particularly care as far as he was concerned it was worth it to know that he hadn't lost his edge nor had his spirit broken in the time he had spent like this.

Recently he had also noticed the days getting progressively shorter. It seemed as if winter was coming faster than anyone had really expected. And he knew that if snowfall did come onto Riverrun he was in for a very chilly time. Perhaps the gracious King Daeron would be so merciful as to provide a piece of sailcloth for a blanket in such trying times. In all likelihood however he would more than likely just get an extra set of clothes to keep him from freezing to death. Better than nothing he supposed.

Today however was going to be like any other so far. Sit down in his Corner, take a shit, then pace around the room for a few minutes and then rinse and repeat constantly until he felt himself get tired enough to pass out from exhaustion. Quite frankly he'd expected imprisonment to be far less boring than this, he was rather indifferent to the whole experience come to think of it. Aside from the usual tidbit of entertainment it was mostly just dull monotony. Some days it even got so bad he even wished he could be tortured just a little bit if it would break up the boredom. Put simply he felt nothing the entire time he was here, no sense of imminent danger nor any sense of dread at what was to come. He didn't even know what was to come in all fairness.

Thankfully however his thoughts were broken up by the sound of footsteps down the hall. Upon listening a little closer he could gather that there were about three people walking to him. Two of them seemed to be in armor but one of them sounded like they were walking in shoes of a particularly high quality. Odd. Perhaps it was one of the ladies of the north coming down to berate him for perhaps slaying one of their children in battle. In which case he would likely just tune them out and stare out the window offering little in the way of an apology. It was war and people died simple as that, if they didn't want to die they shouldn't have come. He had learned that lesson early on thankfully, and it was upsetting that others couldn't seem to get it through their heads. War wasn't glorious, after all it had gotten him here.

He was broken out of his melancholy by the opening of his cell door. He regained his bearings before turning his head to face whoever was standing there. But before he could give any sort of quip or snarky or remark he noticed that the person who would walk through his door was unfamiliar. Much more than unfamiliar, completely out of place.

Her long brown hair and darkened skin spoke to Dornish origin. She was exceedingly beautiful as well, her eyes an odd pale violet, and oddly familiar at that. Perhaps she was from Lys? If that were the case though why were her clothes so fine and more over why in the seven hells was she here? Now Jaime’s attention was thoroughly hooked. He spoke first.

“My apologies my lady, it would appear that I am in no condition to receive such fine company such as yourself. Although I'm sure we can work something out”

He spoke with an arrogance he so often wore. And yet the woman seemed unmoved. He was about to speak when she broke the silence first, her tone firm and very sharp.

“Ser Jaime, it has been the longest while…”

That made him raise an eyebrow. Again that odd familiarity rang through his heart. Did he know this woman? He spoke next, his arrogant voice slightly toned down.

“Pardon me but do I know you? I would think it's hard to forget a face such as yours.”

The woman seemed unamused, cold, and angry. She spoke in response.

“Evidently you have… then again it was so long ago.”

Jaime was now starting to get annoyed with how cryptic this woman was being. What was it with people and not giving a straight answer?

“My lady you will have to be more specific than that.”

The woman damn near yelled.

“Figure it out Ser Jaime! I had heard of your fall from grace but this is worse than I ever could have imagined!”

Jaime now faced the woman entirely before giving his own angered response. His voice was indignant and dismissive.

“I'm sorry, have I harmed you before!?”

The woman scowled.

“You certainly failed me before. Me, my brother… and mother.”

Jaime gave a quick response.

“How in all seven hells would I know your… mother…?”

Jaime took another look at the woman, the light from the window illuminating her pale violet eyes. And suddenly that sense of familiarity grew. He had seen those eyes before… long ago… on.

Wait…

No… No no no it just wasn't possible. It was official, he was losing his mind. Perhaps these months had been harder on him than he had thought. He had long since pushed back the memories of Ellia and her children. It wasn't his fault, he hadn't killed them. Aerys would have destroyed the city had he not done what he had done. He couldn't have stopped the mountain and Lorch in time. The shock of their corpses was all he needed to confirm the excessively vile deed. They were dead.

“You… your… you're not here… your not real.”

Rhaenys turned to the bread on the ground, picked it up, and chucked it at his head. She walked over and brought her hand down onto his face afterwards. The sting of impact knocking Jaime's senses back into order. She spoke right after, her voice a furious whisper.

“Was that real enough for you?”

Jaime was silent. Memories rushing back into his head long since forgotten. And all the feelings that came with them. Pain, anger, regret, guilt. All flooded his heart and mind like a force of nature as his green eyes made contact with her pale violet eyes. In his state he could only say one word.

“Rhaenys…?”

She scowled and spoke her next words through gritted teeth.

“So you do remember.”

Jaime could only mutter a response, his arrogance and bravado thrown out the window, the regret and confusion taking over his mind.

“Wha-wh… H-how? I-I saw…”

She pulled back.

“I was evacuated shortly before the city fell, ahead of my brother and mother. I was delivered to my uncles and remained with them since that day.”

Jaime blurted out his response.

“Who was brought out then? Who died!?”

Rhaenys took a moment, she was stealing herself. Her voice was much more somber when she did speak.

“I'm not sure of the specifics, uncle Doran only ever told me that she was close enough in look to work. I don't know where she came from or if her parents let her be my double willingly. But she paid the price that day, not me… but that's hardly why I'm here.”

Jaime took the moment to go quiet. She seemed to take that as silent acknowledgment for her to continue.

“My mother… that day… Did you even try?”

Rhaenys was clearly holding back tears as she spoke. Jaime for his part was shocked into a total silence. What could he have done? Try to take on the mountain and defy his father? Would he have won? Would Robert have killed him, would he have killed Ellia? All possibilities never to be known. And so Jamie only could shake his head.

“No…”

Rhaenys seemed to be only more infuriated at that. And he could only look on at her face as it contorted with rage and grief. She spoke again though gritted teeth, the rage and hate she spoke with genuinely worried him.

“I am here to fight with my brother. To see your father brought to the justice and death he deserves. And this will not be the last time you see me this week… I want you to know… when it comes to my grandfather I don't know what to think… but when it comes to my mother… to me, that is where you broke your oath… you failed her… she died a cruel and horrible death and you did nothing…”

Jaime spoke softly.

“What could I have done?”

Rhaenys shut her eyes before turning her back and moving towards the door. But before she left she said,

“I guess we will never know now…”

With that she took her leave and the door was again closed.

Jaime was left in his cell in total quiet. The last few minutes having shaken him to his core. More than anything had in years. Alone in the silence he felt all which he had tried to forget over that time. The guilt and regret once an afterthought now oppressively screaming in his mind. He could only sit in that cell with his thoughts now.

All thoughts screaming the same thing.

Failure.

---

Baelish I

There was no word ever devised in history that could have described the simultaneous stress and joy Baelish felt when all the news had come crashing down in the small council chambers these past few days. Many things about the Targaryen had seemed weird from the start, his story and claims as far as he was concerned were believable enough. But that was hardly his focus. What concerned him more in those early days were not the claims that the boy made. But the fact that Eddard Stark had managed to take the boy to court and take the lie across his gaze so flawlessly was very unsettling. He had pegged Stark long ago, a man who couldn't lie to save his life. But now the immediate proof to the opposite had made him reconsider a lot of what he had considered reliable.

He had since watched the boy's moves and simultaneously became calmed and concerned. With regards to Daeron Targaryen it was a relief to see that he took after Eddard as opposed to his blood family. He seemed to value honor in much the same way as Stark had and that made him vulnerable. His move to save Shireen Baratheon all but confirmed it. That being said he was by no means as idle as Stark had been. Where Eddard had wanted to bury his head in the snow for the rest of his life, Daeron seemed more keen on being proactive. His goal was clear, ideally motivated or not he wanted the throne. And he was thus far willing to fight for it.

What's more, as it currently seemed he may just have the upper hand. To the trained eye that was. Anyone who viewed war as nothing more than the largest army obviously hadn't learned from history. Baelish was no warrior, but he knew from a lifetime of experience that size wasn't everything. What's more, a dragon would most certainly tip the scales in his favor, at least militarily. That's what was causing the uproar in the capital. And there came the calm for him. A city at war he could hardly care for, it was bad for some business and good for others. But a city in turmoil? That was an opportunity.

And in the days following the return of the lone ship of the royal fleet he had set about leveraging all his assets to only increase his standing further. This came in two forms, leveraging his relationship with Lysa as he had done to provide the capital with food from another port so that a single blockade could not starve them out. Whether or not that lasted was of no consequence, what mattered was that he made his fickle loyalties known to Tywin. In addition to keeping the Vale in line he secured a major ally to the crown's cause as well. In short, he was currently irreplaceable. And at the news that Varys had fled from the city Baelish almost yelped with joy.

If the spider was gone only more opportunities opened up for him. For one, he could be more brazen in his schemes and plots, with no little birds watching his moves he could afford to take more risks. Then there was the lack of a relative rival for him in the small council. Anyone else was hardly up to his level. Pycelle was an old fool and had little use in any case. Kevan was a dog to Tywin, someone to send at his problems and heel when all was done, in other words easy to use. Tyrion showed promise in the realm of politics but Tywin’s unveiled hatred for the man would always keep him out of the limelight, to the side of all major plots and schemes. Cersei was halfway to being a drunk and held no real power regardless.

That left Tywin. Tywin was the most concerning of the council. Both a strong statesman and schemer he was not one to be trifled with. Openly that is. In truth what made Tywin less concerned for Baelish was indicated by his recent choices. The decisions to do away with Shireen and to try and strong arm the Tyrell's out of the war one way or another were not bad moves on the surface, rather blunt and brutal. But it was the long term effects of those choices which could spiral if not handled correctly. Had Shireen died then yes the crowns hold over the Stormlands might have been close to absolute. But she didn't, Daeron saw to that. Now they had a rival for that kingdom which would inevitably plague them later.

The Tyrell's would absolutely try to gain the upper hand on Tywin's offer once it arrived, but should they not accept and yield to his demands then they were handing the Reach off to Daeron essentially. At which point Tywin would charge in regardless. The result of the battles which would engulf the Reach were the topics of tomorrow so to speak. But both indicated an over reliance on Tywin's old methods, fear and brutality to quell opponents. And both indicated something deeper than the war. Something about Tywin that was unavoidable and could likely not be held off for much longer. Put simply, Tywin was getting old.

The man was well into his late fifties by now and men died younger and for far less more often. This would be Tywin's last war, and more importantly to the old lion, the war he would be remembered for. That's what made this useful in Baelish’s eyes. Tywin's obsession with his legacy would be defined by this conflict, and currently with how things were going, it didn't look good. Multiple failures and children that couldn't seem to keep their heads straight were driving the old lion ever further into trying to find a quick and decisive move that might be able to turn this all in his favor. Whether or not that would actually happen was in no one's power to control.

But what mattered right now was keeping the army going to give Tywin the hope of such an opportunity arriving in the near future. Whether or not something came of it was of no concern, what mattered was driving the stakes and by extension the conflict ever further towards the edge of a cliff, and sooner or later, something would inevitably give. And hopefully it was the old lion. His death would be the perfect opportunity for Baelish. Tywin’s shadow had long been cast over Westeros and as such he was felt in every deal made, every barter struck between the lords of the seven kingdoms. Baelish couldn't help but smile at the idea, would he ever wish to be as open as that? No, far too risky, but from the shadows? That he could live with. When all felt his breath down their shoulder, when all the wolves were dead, and when Cat was by his side. All would be perfect.

But that ending came at many costs and prerequisites. One of which being that they first needed to win this war. Or rather it needed to end in general. But the means by which he would achieve his end goal were dramatically different depending on the scenario in which the war ended. Most notably who won. Baelish ever since the ending of today's meeting had spent a lot of time thinking about that. Even now in his small chambers with the sky dotted with the stars he still thought about it sitting in his chair with a piece of paper and a quill ready for whatever he needed them for. But the more he gave effort to this series of thoughts the more he narrowed it down to two potential plans.

In the event the Lannister's won the war, and in the event that Daeron was defeated along with by extension the Starks and Tully's. Found himself pleased at how easy it would be to achieve two of his potential end goals. The first one being the death of a Starks who would undoubtedly be put to death as traitors to the crown. The second one being to have Catelyn's hand in marriage. He was certain that with the amount of help he provided the capital and its time of greatest need he could convince Lord Tywin or whoever was in charge by that point to allow him to care for the wife of the traitor Stark. Granted if his current plan with the Vale turned out well he would have to see Lysa cut from her mortal coil, hardly something to care about. From there it would be almost child's play to achieve any form of power he wished. Needless to say, that was the preferable sequence of events.

But then there was the other scenario to consider. And in truth at least currently what seemed to be the more plausible of the two outcomes. The one in which Daeron won the war and took the iron throne for himself. That would be significantly harder to navigate around. For one, it would mean they would still have to work towards the downfall of the Starks at an extreme disadvantage considering how close they would be to the royal family. Catelyn would be harder with that as well. And any power he would acquire would have to be won back viciously in the background. And that wasn't even considering one possibility which might put his life on the line immediately should they win.

That depended on how much they knew of his involvement in Eddard's death. Now he can almost certainly spin a lie or two to try and justify his role in the plot if they did happen to know. The question is then would they believe it? For men who seemingly valued honor as much as they did it was hard to say. If they knew only that he was implicated in the event then he could likely find a way out of it. If they had any deeper proof than that then as far as he knew honor demanded that he be put to death.Needless to say it was a contingency he would have to plan for, and in the event it did come down to that he would need to figure out a way to escape the situation alive and to come to grips with the fact that he would need to claw back every ounce of power he had ever gained over his entire life.

That was undoubtedly the worst case scenario, and he hadn't gotten this far in life only planning for the best. But even so this was a rather hard situation to plan for admittedly. Thinking about it further, if things got bad enough he might have to consider leaving for Essos for a while just to protect himself should things go that awry. But if that was the case that would be close to admitting defeat and giving up, which was something he would never allow himself to do. Should worse come to worst he would find a way through it and he would come out on top as he always did.

And even so there was still the war currently to consider. And if he wanted any more opportunities he would have to Not only make use of the current chaos which was engulfing the capital but perhaps add to it in some ways. Thinking on it, he would preferably want to turn as many as he could against the Targaryen or galvanize those who already stood against him. Either way he needed to provide a strong opposition. And with how things were looking in the capital while there were chances for him to expand his own base of power which he most certainly would.

Tywin could make all the military moves he wanted or try to strong-arm as many lords as he saw fit; it didn't change the fact that without a motivated populace they had no way to continue. And if Baelish was being honest he also could tell that the loyalties of the Stormlands and the chunk of the Vale they currently held were fickle. Shireen was the obvious problem with the Stormlands and the love the Vale lords had for Eddard Stark was not something to be underestimated. House Royce was already causing problems for him as they were attempting to reason with Lysa to retract her support from the crown's cause. He knew she wouldn't do it so long as he told her this was what was best. But it didn't change the fact that it made their coalition look weak.

Well he might not be able to do anything for the Stormlands he could certainly help with the Vale. After all, being named its Lord protector might have been the single greatest boon to his plant that Tywin could have possibly given him. However, if he expected to see his full control of the Kingdom in a timely manner he would have to focus quite a lot of his time and energy into it. Which meant he would be distracted from the events of the court. It was times like this he wished he could be in two places at once managing the Affairs of the capital and the Vale all at once. But alas he was one man.

But then it struck him, yet another possibility provided in this unforeseen sequence of events. After all if Daeron's ultimate target was the capital, and if Baelish was in the Vale simply following Tywin's orders then perhaps he might be able to work his way out of Daeron's bad graces. After all he was only doing what was commanded of him by the hand at the time. Surely such an honorable man couldn't strike him down for that. Yes, perhaps that could work if he played his hand right.And if it was necessary and the cause of the crown was truly lost then perhaps as Lord protector of the veil he might be able to shift some loyalties in the Targaryen's favor. Perhaps he could cut ties at the last moment if need be.

Granted that was a longer shot than he cared to admit and it was still unsure how things would play out at this moment even if the winds of fate seem to be favoring the Targaryen's at the moment at least to him. But either way maybe it was best at the end of the day that he was departing King's-Landing. With the state of it all and the ever-present chaos of war, it was almost comical how many possibilities and situations became available and closed to him at any given time. And it all came down to picking his moment.

Notes:

Thank you all for the kind words last chapter and for the critiques provided. Hope you enjoyed this one.

North/Riverlands: 42,000 - (260 ships + 160 ‘Celtigar + Velaryon. 1 Dragon)

Westerlands/Stormlands/Vale: 78,000 - (50,000 westerlands, 12,000 Stormlands, 13,000 Vale 45 ships "Lannisport")

Reach: 39,000

Dorne: Undeclared?

Iron Islands: Undeclared

Daenerys: 15,000 (8,000 unsullied, 5,000 in training, 2,000 freedmen. 3 Dragons)

(Note this might not be accurate with the books or show to a T but these are what I personally found to be believable estimates and as such will be using.)

As always, comments are welcome.

Chapter 34: Jon X / Willas I

Summary:

Jon and Willas negotiate.

Jon X

The wind ripped violently through Jon's hair as he clutched on to the reins which wrapped around Weirya's snout. At this height he had to squint his eyes so he could see through the immense amounts of air being shoved right into his face. But he had to bear it all the same if he wished to make it to his destination as quickly as he could. As far as he was concerned he had wasted more than enough time already simply talking about what he might or might not be able to accomplish here with his council of family and lord. And what everyone thought about the negotiations were mixed to say the least.

He’d surmised that there were two general camps which existed within his court and remain divided by their opinions on how today's proceedings would go. On the one hand there were the less politically savvy lords, as Rhaenys called them, who had the utmost confidence in the idea that the negotiations would turn out in their favor regardless of what was offered or not. It was of their belief that the mere presence of Weirya would remind the Tyrell's which family it was that put them in their position in the first place. Needless to say Rhaenys, many of the other lords, and Jon had their doubts about the validity of that.

Then there was the opposite camp which had a significantly less optimistic view of the entire idea of negotiating with the Reach in general if all was being said. Many of them were staunchly of the position that the Reach would be reluctant to join their cause either out of their previous affiliation with Renly.And then there were those who believed that they wouldn't join regardless due to the threat that the Lannister's now posed. Both had their merits and both did to some degree worry Jon. Many of the lords often talked about how ruthless and manipulative the lords of the Reach were, especially the Tyrell's.

Honestly at this rate if Jon didn't know any better he might have thought the lords were a few drinks short of calling them demons. And if that didn't give away their disdain for them than the mere fact that they all pretty much unanimously agreed that Ser Barristan and should accompany him on this trip was certainly the thing which gave it away. And then truth Jon was reluctant to bring along the old knight, skilled as he was. The entire time they had spent flying good at least 2 days by now he had clung tightly to his midriff and refused to let go. There might have been some humor in it but neither of them had the will to find it at the moment.

And of course it would be a few days back to Riverrun in any case. So the unfortunate truth was that the poor man was in for a very uncomfortable ride back. Jon did not envy that point of travel either even if the added protection was a good idea. If all else failed at least he had someone he could completely rely on. But even through all of that neither of the two could deny that the view from up here was absolutely astonishing. If you looked long enough you might be confused into thinking that it was an endless sea of green and golden fields stretching on as far as the eye could see.Sometimes the fields were cut by rivers and sometimes by hills but the entire land screamed of a vibrancy Jon had not seen yet in his life.

Moreover, even with summer fading fast there was still a distinctive warmth in the air which would allow the plants to grow for that little while longer just before winter set in. A warmth so comforting and strong that it cut through even the cold wind of flight. Jon was certain that he could get used to it given enough time, and he very well might if these negotiations went well. Of course, he would need to finalize whatever details they had ironed out should everything go successful and that would involve his stay lasting at least a week here.

Either way the Reach was beautiful. Such was the same for the various hills and forests they were passing over as they kept an eye on the Mander river as a reference for navigation. In the far distance one could swear they could even see the beginning of the Dornish marches rising gently out of the horizon like a great wall of stone. Thankfully however the journey was about to reach its end as they saw their destination. And to say it completely took Jon by surprise would have been the greatest understatement of the millennium.

Just by the end of the forest and across the Mander river where great rolling fields began after a short line of trees stood a monolith. A castle of truly epic proportions rising out of the landscape more as if it was a dream rather than a man-made structure. Three rings of walls each standing a little higher than the other created the main base of the castle. At the center of the interior ring of wall stood a complex of buildings and of course a great singular keep in the form of a towering spire casting its gaze over the incredible structure and landscape. Moreover, that actually seemed to be a relatively common theme within the castle's design, so many spires looking out of which land the Tyrell's ruled.

Jon was so impressed by the size and scale of it the only other building he could think to equate it to that he knew of was that of Winterfell. And then there were the decorative features which when seen from above looked more akin to a piece of art than any humble garden. Each ring seemed to contain a large amount of plants whether they be trees or flowers. And of course there was the fact that the walls were entirely white. Jon could only imagine what anyone else would give to see it like this. But in truth it actually hardly mattered anymore, they had finally arrived at Highgarden. He took a deep breath and prepared to steal himself for the conversations ahead.

He clutched the reins tightly and slowly guided Weirya down out of the clouds they were flying amongst so they could more easily be seen. He had been advised and Long considered how he would actually go about approaching the castle uninvited. And as not to cause a panic he had taken the advice of Rhaenys, he guided Weirya to fly low but not land. For a while they circled the castle and a few long lazy arcs often throwing in a theatrical dive, loop, or spin in air as to show they were in no mood for a fight. In truth, he could think of no other way to express their non hostility in the situation without just landing in the middle of their castle and telling them that he wasn't there to fight. For some odd reason he was quite sure that wouldn't work.

But after a good hour of simply circling around Highgarden they both decided that now was the appropriate time to introduce themselves and actually land. And so it was that Jon carefully guided Weirya down again aiming to land within the courtyard of the central keep. Not only did this present the largest area to land that would not crush what was in all likelihood about a thousand hours worth of labor devoted to the plants.But also have the added benefit of demonstrating the futility of their defenses at least around the outer rings. He was certain that no army could in any way easily take this castle by land, but he had a dragon, and it would be good to remind them of that.

Quickly however he could see the guards gathering around them with incredible speed. Although all of them seem to be incredibly reluctant to go anywhere near them. Even with their halberds in hand none would step too close to Weirya who seemed to accept the situation with an incredible amount of patience and grace. But JonCould feel the instinctive caution that was emanating through their bond. He gave a reassuring pet to her neck is she continued to look out, her white pupils drawing closer into slits as she shifted her gaze from one guard to the other.

Jon was the first to dismount, helping Ser Barristan down the length of Weirya’s wing. Only afterwards did the pair stand alongside each other as they left their hands very close to their swords. Both were dressed far more splendidly than they would usually have been. Ser Barristan donned a new suit of plate armor freshly made by Gendry. The white armor of the king's guard was this round decorated with bands of Targaryen red and black interlaced with stripes of Stark gray along its trim. Jon for his part wore a more fashionable doublet and pants with a sash decorated with dragons and direwolves across his left shoulder. All of it secured by a brooch with his personal sigil. He wore no crown today but rather a gold band along his head and left his hair loose. It had by now grown down to his shoulders and was paired with a small beard as he had given up shaving a while ago.

Either way both men could tell that their appearances certainly took a lot of the guards around them by surprise. But of course it wasn't the guards they were attempting to impress or make any form of impression on. The people they were interested in just happened to be running out the door right this very instant or rather one of them was. A young woman with long brown hair and a green and gold dress came out first, her face riddled with an expression of shock and awe. She was beautiful, no sane man would deny such a notion. And it was because of that they both instantly knew who this had to be, Margaery Tyrell.

Neither Jon nor Selmy made any move towards her, rather staying by Weirya's side for as long as they could. Shortly after however there came a second man. He was older than Margaery by a few years, but his looks certainly held a lot of similarities to her. Long brown hair almost down to his chest, wide brown eyes and a similarly colored beard, his appearance was well groomed and he wore very fine clothes, greens and golds. But what caught Jon’s attention was the cane the man rested his weight on, he clearly was trying to stay off of his right leg. That was the giveaway for the man's identity, Willas Tyrell.

Jon remained firm as Ser Barristan stood ready with his sword unhooked.There was a tense silence which followed the arrival of the two Tyrell children. Jon and Selmy were ready for any altercation that broke out as was Weirya. The Tyrell men and the Tyrell’s themselves were collectively in a state of shock unsure who they should make the first move. After a little while Jon figured it would have been best if he broke the silence. He stepped forward as he removed his riding gloves as some of the Tyrell guards tightened their grips on their weapons. Jon kept his eyes on the siblings as he spoke.

“I do apologize for my abrupt entrance. I figured however that it was long since time we met face to face. And in the interest of well-meaning introductions I am Daeron Targaryen, third of his name. This is Ser Barristan Selmy, lord commander of my kings-guard.”

Jon finished there as Ser Barristan kept close to his side. The Tyrell's seemingly at a loss for words between the both of them took a moment for they could scrap together some form of response, however when they did manage to speak Jon was surprised by how quickly they could put on a pair of smiles and speak so calmly. Willas was the one to break the silence.

“If that is so then come in, I am lord Willas Tyrell, head of house Tyrell and lord of Highgarden. This is the lady Margaery Tyrell. We welcome you to Highgarden, your grace.”

Willas spoke with a voice as soft as velvet and as warm as a fire during winter. His mannerisms were calm and collected in spite of the surprise he had just been expressing not moments ago. Jon was surprised by how quickly the man could shift his mood and attitude. Then of course Margaery made her way down, albeit cautiously so as not to rouse the ire of Weirya. Which seemed to be on her brother's mind as well in fairness. So as to accommodate Jon stepped forward and bowed his head to her, Selmy followed suit. She was the next to speak between them.

“Come now, I am sure the journey has been long and arduous.”

Jon gave a quick chuckle in response.

“Quite the contrary my lady. The journey was exhilarating.”

Jon did manage to catch a glance from Selmy which seemed to say ‘speak for yourself’. Nevertheless, Margaery continued on with her questions as the party began to walk into the castle itself.

“How so? I had always imagined that flight would be exciting but I am curious to know how.”

Jon curled an eyebrow a little put off by the friendliness, even if it was just for formalities's sake. He gave as much of an answer as he could.

“Simply that I see the land as none have for over a century. Every river and mountain becomes so much more magnificent from the sky I suppose.”

Margaery seemed to accept the answer with a genuine interest. What caught Jon’s attention more was Willas’ seeming interest in what he had to say.All the talk of the Tyrell's untrustworthiness might have had more of an effect on them than he was willing to admit at this moment. He wasn't sure if he was simply overthinking or if there was something to truly observe here but he found himself paying a lot more attention to every single one of their looks and mannerisms then he normally would have. A sense of paranoia of sorts.

However, it was a very short walk up to the main doors of the castle which were opened by a group of four guards who had to apply all their strength simply to move the gargantuan wooden doors. Inside was a great hall running down what seemed to be the length of the keep sprouting off different sets of stairs and smaller hallways the left and right of the corridor. The interior building material seemed to be of a different type of stone that was used on the outer walls, a mix of what appeared to be sandstone and various wood carvings and furnishings decorated the walls including a massive amount of tapestries which hung from the ceiling.

Selmy kept his guard up as the pair followed the Tyrell's through the castle. But the longer they moved, the more Jon began to notice little things in the background. Namely how oddly quiet it all seemed, he would have figured that a castle of this size would have had servants running left and right to and fro tending to the place every day all day. But there was nothing, perhaps he had whipped up more of a panic than He had intended to with his lazy flybys earlier. But then at a certain point he swore he could hear in the faint distance the sound of a woman crying. No one else seemed to notice it so he let it slide but he couldn't deny that he was unnerved by the place.

Eventually and quite frankly almost mercifully Willas spoke up, his voice this time seemed to be a lot more serious and increasingly professional although it still had a very noticeable softness to it.

“Your grace, I do apologize for the abruptness but might I ask why have you come?”

Jon could tell that Willas was being formal. He knew why he was here, Jon was quite reasonable he could bet that everyone in this castle knew why he was here. But given that he was being treated courteously all the same he responded with a similarly courteous and professional response.

“I am here to negotiate a military alliance with you.”

Willas nodded his head, Margaery seemed to drop hers a bit. Both siblings exuded a somberness which Jon recognized quickly. He had known of Lord Mace and Ser Garlan’s passing since the battle of Kings-Landing. But it was clear that at least these two were still mourning the losses. And he couldn't blame them, rather feel an immense amount of sympathy for their current situation. He was also willing to bet that perhaps both of the siblings were not too keen on the idea of getting involved in a war again, Jon however needed to secure this alliance. Like it or not he had to push on. Willas again broke the tense silence.

“Very well, if you have come all this way for such a meeting then you will receive it. That said, we must introduce you to one more member of our family.”

Jon nodded, silently dreading the upcoming meeting now.

“Lead the way my lord.”

Willas nodded and led him down a set of stairs. They went through a set of shifting corridors for a small time until they eventually exited the halls back out into the light of day now seemingly having descended to the second ring of the castle's walls. Jon remembered from his visuals in the sky that the second ring of the castle seemed to be dedicated more towards private gardens and walkways rather than any living measures. And as such he was led down a gravel path which snaked its way under trees across small artificial rivers and through large beds of flowers, mostly roses unsurprisingly. All the while not one servant was seen.

That was until they got to a small gazebo built out of the same white stone material as the castle's walls. Its roof was tiled green and gold the same as the house's sigil. And under its shade sat a large table with several chairs around it. In one of the chairs at the head of the table there sat a woman of particularly advanced age. She was a small woman about the size of a large child, wrinkled face and wearing very fine clothes. But even from this angle with her facing away from him Jon could feel her scrutinizing gaze.

This was the moment he had feared ever since he had heard of the Tyrell's, the queen of thorns.
He took a deep breath and assured himself that this was not going to be a particularly easy discussion. Far from it actually this was probably going to be one of the single most divisive and tense conversations he was likely to ever have in his life. One way or another he had to go through with it now, he had come way too far to turn back.

He took a deep breath and strode over to the opposite head of the table pulling out a chair and taking a seat with Selmy standing guard next to him. Willas and Margaery took up seats next to Olenna on the far end of the table, about two seats away from Jon. Olenna turned around finally, diverting her gaze from the view of the Mander river flowing below. Margaery was the first to speak as the verbal engagement began.

“Grandmother, might I introduce Daeron Targaryen, third of his name.”

Olenna gave a small scoff before saying with a tone dry as Essos.

“You may.”

Jon stayed quiet for a moment, quiet but stern and collected. Olenna wasted no time at all before making her next move.

“So this is him… Daeron Targaryen… I must say, your appearance is hardly what one would imagine of your family.”

Jon responded in kind.

“Does that displease you?”

Olenna kept her gaze level and lethal, but her answer was spoken with a hint of dry amusement and recollection.

“Quite the contrary. I remember when I was your age, how everyone fawned over the Targaryen look, their silver hair and violet eyes. I found it all rather uncanny. So to see one who looks like a human is actually rather refreshing.”

Ok, there's that.

Jon tilted his head in acknowledgment, just then a servant walked in with a small platter of fruits and plates. He was about to leave when Olenna stopped him with a snap and spoke.

“Where is the cheese?”

The servant looked a little confused and responded.

“The cheese will be served later, my lady?”

Olenna rolled her eyes in extreme annoyance.

“The cheese will be served when I say it shall be served, we are hosting the last of the Targaryens here today, now go and do your job.”

The servant rushed off quickly as a rat as Margaery spoke up in a near whisper.

“Grandmother, what will his grace think of us if-”

She was cut off by Olenna with a quick voice.

“He may think we have some bloody wits about us. Something that is sorely lacking in the world today, wouldn't you say?”

Jon gave a small pause to the question before answering after a drink of Arbor wine.

“It depends on where you look.”

Olenna raised an eyebrow and gave a simple.

“Hmph….”

Jon by now had finished a glass of the wine and watched as the cheese platter was swiftly brought out. The party dished themselves out their portions, Jon making sure Selmy got his fill as well. Once it was all ready and done Jon knew it was time to cut the pleasantries and get to work. He looked up to Olenna and spoke.

“My lady, I would ask that we begin to speak on the reason for my visit.”

Olenna placed down her platter of cheese and fruit turning her head to Jon. All the while Willas and Margaery watched. Her gaze again sharp as an arrow.

“Would you not savor the hospitality of the Reach for as long as you can?”

Jon returned with a quick and abrupt response, if not a bit sterner in tone himself.

“With all due respect my lady, I would not like to play with the lives of my men by delaying them while I feast. There is work to be done and I would see it done as soon as I can.”

Olenna seemed to take the comment with an apathy of sorts. But she did put down her platter and finished her wine. Willas and Margaery turned to give their full attention to him as well. Olenna again was the first to speak.

“Very well then, if you wish to talk business we will talk business. And you need not explain your purpose to me. I know why you are here. You wish for the Reach to support your claim to the Iron Throne.”

Jon nodded in turn.

“Aye.”

Olenna’s gaze hardened further.

“Why?”

The first question proper. And one of the hardest to answer. Jon had long considered how he would respond. He could restate his general reasons for going to war again although they likely would not help in this situation. Olenna would want specifics, and as such he was inclined to give those specifics. He spoke directly with no hint of humor or apathy in his tone.

“Because even if I win the war without your aid, things become far harder once the war is over. Without the Reach the capital and perhaps most of the seven kingdoms starve when winter comes. That is something I am not willing to allow. Furthermore, I want to see this war over as much as anyone. And that means an army capable of standing toe to toe with Joffrey.”

He took the moment to quietly observe each of their reactions to the statement he had put out. Margaery on a surface level seemed to be intrigued by his reasoning although at the same time he was never truly sure what she was thinking. The same went for Olenna, she was absolutely unreadable in any case, no sign of emotion giving away any of her thoughts. But Willas, he seemed to be genuinely intrigued by his answer. He noticed the Lord lean in a little bit closer when he had finished as if waiting to hear the next set of exchanges. Olenna again spoke.

“I see. Armies and grain as all before you. I had hoped your reasons would be far more creative but I suppose pragmatism will do.”

Jon fought the annoyance in his chest only for Olenna to continue

“I must say however, regardless of your reasoning I am very reluctant to entertain this meeting.”

Jon raised an eyebrow and asked.

“For what reasons my lady?”

Olenna’s gaze hardened again.

“Tell me your grace, did you receive an invitation to Highgarden? A request for negotiations sent by us?”

Jon felt the disappointment and worry building in his chest and spoke.

“No I did not.”

Olenna responded.

“Ah, you did not. You arrived uninvited and unannounced. Did it ever occur to you that perhaps there was a reason we did not call for your audience?”

Jon gave an internal sigh. It seemed as if they had been intentionally choosing neutrality in the conflict. Instantly he knew that the negotiations were going to become much harder as a result. He responded shortly after.

“And yet you entertain this meeting all the same. For what reason?”

That made Olenna smirk. She reached over to her side and pulled from a small box a letter. She said,

“Before everything went to the Seven hells, Lord Stark wrote me this imploring me to halt Margaery’s marriage to Renly. He said ‘​​For soon another opportunity might present itself, one that yields far greater yield to your house.’ despite his atrocious word choice and hasty writing I trusted him.”

Jon could feel the gratitude surged through his veins. Silently he thanked his father for this one last gift. But the mood was killed when Olenna spoke next.

“And as a result of this I lost my son and grandson.”

Jon could see the pain on Margaery and Willas’ faces. He could even see how Olenna was grieving in her own way as well as indicated by the slightest shaking of her voice.Composer was regained when she produced another letter from the same box, one with the hand’s seal on it.

“Just today we received a Raven from Kings-Landing. Tywin wishes his drunken tart of a daughter to be wed to Willas and for Margaery’s potential to be wasted on his brother's halfwit son. He demands our subjugation and forces contributed to your destruction. So I do trust that you have something of equal value to offer us in exchange for our aid.”

This was it, the moment of truth. And what would in all likelihood be the moment of disappointment for a lot of Tyrell ambition. Jon took a breath and asked.

“I am open to negotiations. Although I cannot offer my hand in marriage.”

That made all three Tyrell's reel. Olenna being the first to voice her disappointment. Her tone was biting and somewhat frustrated.

“Oh, and to whom have you sworn it to?”

Jon knew there was little use in keeping this particular piece of information secret from the larger world by now. So again, he spoke the truth.

“Princess Daenerys Targaryen. She has already agreed to the match and will be on her way to Westeros within the year… with her three dragons.”

Those four words were enough to once again put all three Tyrell's on the back foot. Margaery and Olenna seemed reserved in their surprise, Olenna perhaps upset that Jon's choice of wife was an actual equal if not greater choice than Margaery would have been on the basis of military strength alone. But again Willas drew Jon’s attention with how not only shocked but slightly panicked he seemed. Between the three of them he looked to be taking this news with the weight it actually deserved. And seemed to respect the idea of the match if his nodding was anything to go off of. But again Olenna applied pressure.

“And you wouldn't consider Margaery under any circumstances? After all, the princess has been missing for years and only recently resurfaced as far as anyone can tell. Furthermore, what does she know of Westeros, she might as well be a foreigner. Margaery is well-educated in Westerosi politics, she knows the norms and ways of court life. And her betrothal would undoubtedly secure our support in your war.”

Jon retorted.

“If you seek to insinuate that Daenerys Targaryen is too far gone to serve the realm as its queen I would have it known that I orchestrated her disappearance in the first place, I have provided her with all the necessary help she will need to serve the Seven kingdoms as it deserves. She is no foreigner nor ignorant to the ways of the court.”

That seemed to actually give Olenna pause. She even took a moment to come up with her next words, a chance which Jon seized immediately.

“I know this is inconvenient, however there are other options for alliances. I am sure that Lord Stark is open to negotiations for marriages within his family a-”

Olenna cut him off immediately.

“To what end? So that I might watch as the pride of Highgarden is sent away to Winterfell to freeze? No, such an arrangement will never work as far as I am concerned. And with that you have few other bargaining chips to use. Here is our offer, you will cut off your betrothal to Daenerys and accept Margaery in her stead, you will name Loras to your Kings-Guard, and you will transfer portions of the southern Westerlands to accept us as their new lords paramount.”

Jon could feel the anger building up. He quickly gave his counteroffer in an attempt to salvage the situation.

“I am not willing to move on my choice of queen. However, I am more than willing to discuss council positions, land exchanges in a limited manner, appointees to the Kings-Guard, and possible betrothals of future children. If you can find it in you to work with me on these terms I can assure you, you will be satisfied with the results.”

Olenna gave a wary glance. As did Margaery. Willas seemed to be considering the offer genuinely. Jon now could only wait for their response. And he got it soon enough. Olenna was the one to respond.

“In four days time we will reconvene and we will attempt to renegotiate this. Until then try to enjoy Highgarden, your grace.”

Jon could hardly believe it. But at the same time he supposed it was better than outright rejection. Upset and angry he moved away from the gazebo and was led to his temporary chambers by a servant.

---

2 Days later.

---

It was early in the morning and the sun had barely risen when Jon was pacing the gardens with Ser Barristan listening to his every word. Every single frustrated word. He had walked the same spots in the garden by now so much that he might have thought his footprints would be embedded into the soil. His expression was sullen and tense. He had spent the previous two days going back over what had amounted to a completely inconvenient delay. And he made no effort to hide his true feelings from his Kings-Guards Lord-Commander.

“I do not think that this delay will result in any meaningful change. That is all I am saying."

Selmy calmly spoke in response.

“I think you are too quick to judge them. No alliance of this size should be decided in a day. If it was, I would be rather concerned. Patience.”

Jon turned to face Selmy, his eyes fierce as he responded.

“I would agree if not for the fact that Lady Olenna seemed entirely set in her convictions.”

Selmy did nod to that in fairness. Only shortly after responding.

“You still seem to be on good terms with Lady Margaery and Lord Willas. Perhaps that might be your opportunity to shift the odds in your favor. Olenna seems to value them.”

Jon rolled his eyes unconvinced of the ideas' validity.

“If they had any real authority they would have exercised it at the meeting. Instead, they let her talk and only provided courtesies. Even if we still speak at dinner I doubt they will be able to bring their voices to bear.”

Selmy had no response, whether because he actually couldn't think of one or because Selmy thought otherwise, Jon couldn't say. Funnily and scarily enough he found himself wishing that Lady Stark was still here to perhaps provide some insight. Seven Hells, perhaps anyone to help him. He found himself silently second guessing his moves up to this point. Should he have brought Rhaenys with him? Should he have pursued a more aggressive route? What else did he have to offer? Should he have simply tried to take the capital once Shireen was safe? Jon continued.

“It’s just… How do I convince one of the most important kingdoms to help me, when I have nothing they truly want?”

Selmy bowed his head and stood beside him as they looked out over the acres of forest below them.

“It's a hard question.”

Jon sighed.

“I know it's a hard question, I'm looking for an answer.”

Selmy took a moment to again consider his response to the question and eventually came up with an answer, he spoke in a measured and quiet voice, but with it, he carried a certain wisdom that could only come with a man of his age and experience.

“Your grace, I am no politician nor priest. I am a knight and can only give the advice of a knight. And I would advise you to be open to sacrifice. When battle comes to a stalemate and no one warrior can get the upper hand, the match is concluded by the one who is more willing to offer more at the expense of themself. I do not know if that is the way out of this dilemma, to perhaps sacrifice Daenerys for the Reach, or the Reach in general. Perhaps some detail eludes us yet which will bring this all together. But do not expect whatever they ask to not be taxing on you. Be ready for it, your grace.”

Jon accepted the advice with genuine determination. He began to think, what would he be willing to lose. What could he offer to tip the scales. Would he be up to forcing Robb’s hand if they accepted his offer? Would he need to pull in Rhaenys if the need called for it? Would he be willing to give up Daenerys? The thoughts plagued him and frightened him. He needed a moment to himself. He turned to Selmy and bowed his head.

“Thank you for your council Ser Barristan. If I might have some time to myself, I need to think.”

Ser Barristan nodded and turned out of the garden. Jon knew he would be close enough to act if the situation called for it. But even the thin illusion of privacy helped with his thoughts.

And so it was he stayed in that spot for well over an hour thinking to himself, sulking by the nearby fountain. He held his dagger out onto the rock, taking the time to sharpen it. With each dull scrape of metal he felt one thought come and go like leaves in the wind. A small windchill sending a shiver down his spine. He took the time to look around, despite everything he found he quite liked Highgarden. Perhaps when everything was over he would have a garden like this built in the Red-Keep.

“I see you are enjoying the silence”

Jon turned as quickly as he could dagger clutched tight in his hand. The surprise coursed through his body. But he was suddenly at ease when he saw it was Willas who had spoken. Suddenly he felt rather embarrassed by his swift motion and stowed the dagger away. He spoke quickly.

“Forgive me Lord Willas, I had not expected to see you here.”

Willas chuckled as he moved out from behind the fern he was resting on, his cane silent on the dirt ground.

“No apologies necessary, your grace. I was just coming out for my morning stroll. It would seem you have found my favorite spot to sit.”

Jon gave a small laugh as he again took in his surroundings. Every single plant and flower coloring his vision.

“I can see why you like it so. The sounds and sun… I could age to it.”

Willas seemed to appreciate the sentiment as he smiled before responding.

“I think I will happily age to it. I have heard it said that it is always winter in the North. If that is true then I would say that perhaps it is always spring in the Reach.”

Jon knew that it was a fantastical sentiment, the Reach did get snow very rarely as far as he knew, but he couldn't deny the idea was appealing.

“You truly have a blessed land.”

Willas nodded in agreement.

“And we are thankful for it.”

Jon nodded. Willas however continued the conversation.

“If I may be so bold, might I show you to another of my favorite spots?”

The offer was interesting to be sure but Jon saw no harm in exploring more with the Lord of the castle as his guide. Jon rose to his feet and kept pace with Willas so as not to put pressure on the man. He led him around the second ring and past the keep, where again Jon could hear the faint sound of a woman crying. He had restrained himself from asking the first time out of propriety and every time since. Not this time.

“My lord, that crying… who is it?”

Willas’ face suddenly lost all joy and went rather pale. He clutched his cane a little tighter as he walked, his lips curling into a sorrowful frown under his beard.

“That is the Lady Leonette, widow of my late brother Garlan…”

Jon instantly regretted asking as he felt a cold tension in his chest. Instantly he tried to course correct.

“I am sorry, I mea-”

“There is no offense taken your grace… she has been wracked with grief ever since the news arrived as has my mother… I rarely see her anymore…”

Jon nodded his head solemnly as Willas continued to lead him away from the keep. They found their way to a small wooden door leading into the second curtain wall which Willas opened as they descended down a hidden staircase exiting out into the hedge maze surrounded by the outer wall. By now Jon had noticed the increased pace Willas was moving at as he led him further into the maze. He unclipped his sword and dagger as he grew more wary. He had to stay close lest he get lost in this place. Willas navigated each turn and end with an uncanny precision until finally they arrived at an opening in the hedges. It was a small thing with a few benches and another fountain.

Jon looked around intently. No guards, no servants, no Selmy… just the two of them as far as he could see. He immediately didn't like it as he was the first to break the silence.

“What is this place?”

Willas responded, his voice calm and professional.

“A favorite spot of mine and my siblings. Far from any prying eyes or eager ears.”

Jon had a hard time believing that.

“And should I expect your grandmother to be hiding in the brush as well?”

Willas laughed.

“No your grace, my grandmother hasn't walked these ways in years, nor can any of the guards or servants remember the way through here, only me and my siblings know.”

Complete privacy.

“...why have you brought me here my lord?”

Willas took a breath and kept his sharp and intelligent gaze focused on Jon.

“To negotiate.”

Immediately Jon was confused. There were another two days to go until he was to reconvene with everyone. He took a moment before finally managing to spit out something.

“Negotiate?’

Willas nodded.

“Yes, negotiate. More specifically the terms of an alliance.”

Jon was flabbergasted. He quickly tried to regain his composure to little avail and gave a hasty response.

“But… do we not have two more days until-”

Willas shook his head.

“I am aware that we have another two days to reconsider terms. But where my grandmother remains opposed to changing her conditions, I have already reconsidered.”

Jon blinked both in annoyance at Olenna’s stubbornness and Willas’ words. He continued on.

“I trust that you found my grandmother's terms unsatisfactory?”

Jon nodded his head.

“It would seem then quite fortunate that I share your sentiment.”

Jon raised an eyebrow as he began to listen in more.

“You disagree that Margaery would be a better match for me?”

Willas tilted his head slightly.

“As much as I love my sister, and I do quite a bit. I have to admit if what you described of her is true, then I am convinced that not only did you make the right decision, but the best one.”

Jon again was pleasantly surprised by his words. His doubt slowly crumbled as he continued on.

“And yet your grandmother still wishes me to conform to her previous offer?”

Willas sighed and nodded his head before speaking.

“My grandmother wishes the best for our family, she truly does, I will not have it said that she attempts to walk this road solely for ambition. However, she also believes that she will be able to achieve her desires given enough time, and I have no doubt that she will eventually do the same with you. That said, I believe this is where we have two mutual interests.”

Jon nodded along listening intently.

“Which are?”

Willas spoke again, his voice stern and sharp.

“One, time. We simply cannot play the long game. Winter is coming and the more this war drags on the more the realm will suffer, lords and smallfolk alike. I think we can both agree that cutting this short as possible is in everyone's best interest?”

Jon gave a confident nod.

“Aye, we can. And what of our second mutual interest?”

Willas noticeably stiffened as his gaze turned tight. His voice was strained and tense.

“When your first letter came through, announcing your survival. My grandmother thought it's best to reserve half of our forces from Renly’s host… and when the time for battle came we fought and we lost. My brother in the fray and my father… executed…”

Jon stiffened as well with his own memories flooding back in, the pain and anger taking precedent. Willas continued.

“You lost your father as I lost mine. And I lost my beloved brother too…I think it true when I say that perhaps you understand more than anyone else the pain of such a loss.”

Jon definitely knew. And could imagine the fury and rage which would consume him if he lost Robb, Bran, Rickon, Sansa, Arya, and even Rhaenys. Needless to say he nodded in agreement, much to the respect of Willas.

“So revenge then? For their transgressions?”

Willas nodded. He continued his voice full of venom.

“And take that in tandem with lord Tywin's demands… his grandson sits a throne that does not belong to him, he demands that we bend the knee, that we bleed our fields dry to feed his host and have none left for us when winter comes, and to end it all he demands not only that I marry his mad daughter, but that I give my sister to his family… I trust you can see why these terms are unacceptable at best?”

Jon nodded.

“Aye, I can. And yet?”

Willas calmed down and regained his lordly composure.

“And yet my grandmother wishes to see how she can best tilt the scales to her favor. She desires retribution as much as all of us but I cannot allow for an excess of ambition to break our chances.”

Jon understood where he was coming from, what's more he felt like there was an actual opportunity here. So he started.

“If that is the case then I am sure we can work something out… What are your demands?”

Willas smiled as he leaned against his cane. He spoke softly but with no small trace of determination.

“First and foremost, I want Jaime Lannister.”

Jon was unsurprised, he had long sat on the issue of Tywin's heir and now the opportunity to use him was ready. But he had to ask.

“What would you do with him?”

Willas took in a breath.

“Considering the unwarranted nature of my father's death I would see the same done to him. I don't need you to agree with my morality rather just deliver him… is that acceptable?”

Jon thought for a moment to himself. It was true that by now he had implicated the Lannister in more than enough crimes to actually warrant an execution. Thought of sending him to death without a proper trial hung over him, he figured he could work out some form of deal for that.

“It is, so long as he is found guilty at trial first. No trial by combat permitted due to the severity of some of his crimes. He will be transferred to your custody and you may do what you will in the meantime, so long as he lives in one piece until the verdict.”

Willas seemed a little surprised.

“You would offer him that chance?”

Jon responded.

“As I see it, justice is not subjective. I would see it passed evenly to all. Even those I despise.”

Willas seemed to be both annoyed at the lack of an immediate execution. But still rather impressed by Jon’s conviction.

“Then I find that acceptable.”

Jon smiled.

“Your next demand?”

Willas continued with his measured tone.

“I would ask that you name my brother Loras to your Kings-Guard. He is a warrior of few equals and a true knight of the Reach, he will serve you well.”

Jon grimaced at the ask. It was a big one, and so he gave an honest answer.

“Considering house Tyrell’s current standing I cannot in good faith name him. However, I will bring him on my war council and if house Tyrell proves itself loyal and exemplary in its duties during the war, then I will revisit the offer in 5 moons time and give you my final answer then.”

It was Willas’ turn to be disappointed but he responded all the same.

“Three moons, and then your answer.”

Jon raised an eyebrow, sensing that was likely the best he was going to get responded.

“Very well then. Your next demand?”

Willas responded.

“I would ask that several houses of the Westerlands pledge their fealty to house Tyrell as their lord paramount. From Crakehall to Deep den. I am open to discussions on this, however.”

Jon immediately tensed at that offer. He didn't have to be a genius to recognize this as an attempt to not only spite the Lannister's by stealing their lands but also as a potential way for the Reach to enrich itself off of the remaining gold mines in the Westerlands. As much as he would have loved to see the Lannister's power reduced to that of a country Lord, he had to admit further enriching one of the most powerful kingdoms was a bad idea.

“I am not sure I can provide you with that to the extent you wish. I would ask that we perhaps discuss this once the war is over.”

Willas seemed to shrink a way a bit in disappointment. He responded shortly after.

“It seems as if there is little to be gained so far. And I presume you're still unable to talk about the possibilities of a marriage alliance?”

Jon sighed.

“That is the business of House Stark as much as it is mine… their daughters and sons are not mine to barter, nor would I see them sent away any more than you would see your sister taken…”

Jon gave a hard glare with that last statement. And it seemed to connect with Willas as his previously reserved look softened a bit. Jon in turn softened as well. They sat in silence for a moment listening to the fountain when Willas spoke up his voice hard but hopeful.

“Your terms are rather shaky, your grace, and had I been another lord then perhaps I would have rejected you long ago. But there is one more offer. And for it, I am willing to forego talk of marriage alliances, land exchange, and commit my armies to your cause.”

Jon grew more hopeful. Willas in turn resolved himself.

“What would you want then my lord?”

Willas smirked slightly.

“That I would be your hand.”

All of a sudden Jon's mood shifted entirely back around to shock. He hadn't expected that to be his offer. And in some way he might have thought it could have been worse than a marriage alliance. That much power in the hands of a family that had up to this point expressed their desire to see their power only grow was concerning for any sane man.

It was a hard choice and a dangerous one at that.

But at the same time he thought to himself, the alternative was to say no and give up any hope of an alliance with the Reach. And all the problems that came with that, or possibly try to force his brother and sister to do their duties and accept potential marriage pacts. And if he knew anything about Robb, he knew that it wouldn't be a pretty scene. And if Rhaenys was forced into this after he had promised her not to, well that might kick Dorne out of the picture too.

It was either accept Willas’ offer, or return home empty-handed.

But he had to know.

“And your grandmother won't oppose any of this?”

Willas gave a small laugh.

“She might, but she is smart and will come around to it eventually. And if I remember correctly… my grandmother isn't lord of Highgarden.”

Jon took his humor bluntly. He swallowed a breath and braced himself.

He made his choice.

“Then swear your oath Lord Tyrell.”

---

Willas I

He took a breath. It was over. Thankfully. Willas could scarcely imagine a time he had been more stressed than he was while negotiating with Daeron Targaryen. Sure he had put on a dutiful face both while at the table with his grandmother and while talking with him privately in the hedge maze, both times however his nerves were racked one way or the other. The first time at the table when everyone had met for the first time he was quietly stressed about how his grandmother might have been pushing a little too hard with the Targaryen to drop his choice of queen.

She had bet that he was desperate enough for an alliance with them that he would have taken the insinuation regardless. And it seemed at least on that front she had been right even if he didn't agree with how hard she pushed to prove that idea. But it was that lunch that he realized she was still trying to push the game to her advantage. He could tell from the way he adamantly defended his choice of queen that he would not drop any form of betrothal agreement he had already made, this compounded with his honorable reputation as well.

Admittedly the plan had been to test his limits initially, to see what he was willing to discuss, what he was willing to take and what he wasn't willing to give. Then they would renegotiate their terms over the next 4 days and return with a generally more reasonable offer under the excuse of proper reconsideration. However, both Margaery and Willas knew that this couldn't go on for too long. Father and brother had died and neither of the siblings were willing to take that lying down while grandmother tried to continue her games.

Did she want retribution as well? Absolutely, they all did, each one of them had gone into that meeting knowing that at the end of the day neutrality wasn't an option in this war whether they side with the Targaryen, or go at it alone as their own independent force. Granted however that second option would have undoubtedly involved feigning acceptance of Tywin's offer and contributing their forces to destroy Daeron, all the while they schemed in the background waiting for their moment to strike. That was the breaking point for Willas.

He would under no circumstances allow the family who had killed his brother and father within an inch of his sister. That much he told Daeron was true without a doubt. And he suspected that it had gone a long way winning over either his loyalty or respect or a bare minimum his ear. And in one fell swoop he had managed to position his family in one of the single most powerful spots at court and potentially provide an upfront candidate for the Kings-Guard which would only be a more prestigious position as time went on.

Could he have gotten more? Possibly. Did he need more? No. He knew his want and critically, knew when to stop. Then again he supposed it was a bit easier that it otherwise would have been given how badly the first meeting had been. It was a common tactic after all, to open the negotiations with terms so egregiously high no one would accept, only to then lower your terms down to what you actually desire. Granted this time it had been performed more by accident than intent, and the agreed terms were hardly what grandmother would find acceptable given the situation. But it was done now.

Willas by this point was moving to the family wing of the keep. And to his spacious personal Solar. There in the seats he found Margaery writing to herself, only taken out of it by Willas’ arrival. Her face was stern and inquisitive, rather fitting for her in general when the need arose.

“It is done then?”

Willas nodded as Margaery exhaled in relief. She said.

“We have a new king.”

Willas said.

“We have a new king.”

Margaery gave a slight smile in return, but a forced one. Willas hobbled over to her side before ushering her to sit, she refused. Willas raised an eyebrow.

“This troubles you I take it?”

Margaery gave a small scoff in response, but Willas knew his sister too well. She was upset, in a limited capacity yes, but she was unhappy all the same. And he could guess why.

“I know this is hard for you to accept.”

Margaery turned around, her expression strained with frustration and anger.

“Why wouldn't it be? Grandmother drilled me with lessons for years, etiquette, politics, mathematics, the trappings of court life. For years, I was convinced it was inevitable that I would be made queen, if only because she so often told me so… and to be so close only to lose it at the end by no one's fault but fate… it's a hard thing to let go.”

Willas felt for his sister. For so long she had been convinced of her role in the family and the world. And as far as Willas was concerned there was no one more qualified than his sister for such a position. She would have thrived as queen. If only it had not been for circumstance. One king a murdering child, the other betrothed to another woman already. Willas knew it was not only a hard request for Daeron to give up his betrothal but a rather insulting one too. Yet he still wished that perhaps he took it. Perhaps he might have yet been convinced. But thinking as if it were Margaery who was being broken off with, he admitted that the notion went beyond hurtful. So he couldn't blame him.

All the same he went up and pulled his sister into a hug. The family had been through so much these past few weeks it was hard for all of them to endure more chaos. Perhaps now clarity would come through for all of them, he's so very much hoped it did. Quietly he spoke to her.

“I know, but we must let it go all the same. Even if grandmother does not, we must. We have been given a great opportunity dear sister. A chance to see the lions fall and for us to honor our family words. But for this I need you with me…”

Margaery took his words to heart as she always did, despite her disappointment she knew that it was the smartest move they could make. But even then he could see that doubt still chewed away at her. She voiced her fears to him quietly..

“What is to become of me brother…? If not a queen then what am I to be… an unused product of our family's ambition?”

Willas cut her off with a smile and a chuckle, he spoke softly as he used to when she was a small child.

“Margaery, you possess such wonderful gifts. Your intellect and subtly to name a few. We will find you a match worthy of you I promise. But not now, for now I must have you put your gifts to the test. I am hand and Loras is to accompany me to Riverrun. In our absence the rulership of the Reach falls to you. I need you to hold our home together while we fight abroad… I need to know you will do this to the best of your extraordinary abilities… please?”

Margaery took a breath as her expression hardened at his words. And he meant every single one of them, if he was to serve his hand his attention would be diverted far away from his home. And in his stead he trusted none other but his sister to take care of his affairs. And in that he had only the utmost confidence in her. And the gods only knew what kind of opportunities the future would present for them. After their losses perhaps this was their stroke of luck.

Margaery slowly nodded her head as she spoke.

“It will be done brother. For as long as you need.”

Willas nodded back. Margaery spoke again, however.

“Have you told grandmother yet?”

Willas immediately responded.

“No, I have not…”

Margaery pulled away and returned to her writing.

“She will be furious.”

Willas already knew that to be true. He had anticipated that she would eventually come around to the idea, but in the intermediary he knew she would be absolutely furious at him and Margaery going behind her back. Did Willas regret his choice? No. And he was sure that despite her disappointment at the circumstances, Margaery also had no shame in supporting him in this plan. But that wouldn't make the immediate confrontation any less painful or scary for that matter.

With incredible resolve he turned to head for the door. Margaery, now seated again, returned to her work. Willas however had one more thing to ask.

“Margaery, before I go, draft a letter to Bitterbridge. Alert Loras that it is time to make our move and to ride for Riverrun with all the company he sees fit to bring. And write to lord Randyll Tarly, tell him to call all the banners of the Reach who remain. And prepare to ride north.”

Margaery nodded before furiously writing her letter drafts. All while Willas left for his grandmother.

---

The walk down the hall was short as it ever was. Grandmother only stayed a few rooms down anyway. Cautiously Willas opened the door to her chambers. He found her reading by the window sitting in a very elegantly carved wooden chair. Upon his entry she immediately took notice putting the book down and off to her side and folding her hands in front of her.

“Willas my dear? This is rather unexpected.”

Willas took in a breath and made his first tentative steps into the room closing the door behind him.

“Indeed it is grandmother. But I do express the urgency of this visit. There has been a development with regards to Daeron Targagreyn.”

Olenna was instantly intrigued, taking the moment of silence to speak.

“Finally reconsidering his position? Good. Honorable as the boy proclaims to be, he is woefully inexperienced in the realm of politics as far as I can see. And as cruel as our offer may seem it will serve him well as a lesson, I can promise you that my dear.”

Willas took no more of this and responded when she had finished.

“He has not accepted your term's grandmother.”

Olenna’s demeanor shifted slightly. She wore an expression of disappointment now as she responded.

“Oh. Then what is the development?”

Willas braced himself for the storm he was willingly walking into as he rested on his cane.

“He has accepted alternative terms.”

Olenna's eyebrows raised as her face morphed into surprise.

“Alternative terms?”

Willas nodded. Olenna continued.

“And just what were these… alternative terms?”

Willas once more took a breath in. And he spoke.

“I have been named hand of the king, Loras is being considered for the Kings-Guard, I have secured Jaime Lannister as a hostage, and I have opened the door to the possibility of furthering the Reach’s territory into the Westerlands.”

Olenna to anyone else would have seemed calm and collected. To Willas, who had lived his life around her, knew that she was steadily growing more livid. And it was only a matter of time before she let loose the dam.

“And you secured this without a marriage pact?”

Willas sighed.

“As part of the terms I will be holding off on such discussions for the time being.”

Olenna nodded to herself.

“Ah, I see. All these years I have spent teaching you… only for you to turn out as oafish as your father.”

Willas let out an exasperated breath.

“Grandmother please.”

“Hush and don't you grandmother me! What were you thinking? What could possibly possess you to go behind my back and drag our kingdom to war?!”

Willas by this point was unwilling to shift his stance. He needed to go forward, with or without his grandmother. So he spoke.

“Because it is the only way we ensure our family remains as one.”

“Oh please.”

“No… you would have forced the Targaryen's hand and caused undue strife or slowly work our way to breaking down our enemies all the while we play their supplicant. Both I am unwilling to let pass.”

Olenna seemed to be getting more and more angered with every given word. Eventually she forced a response.

“You have raised your banners for someone with no proper measure of security for your alliance. What makes you think that this will last beyond what he needs of us?”

“A number of things, primarily his need for our good graces when the war is over, if he hopes to run the realm he will need our grain. You know this and I know this better than anyone.”

“And yet you succumb to his wants, you give him what he demands and don't exact more for your services. Why?”

Willas wasn't sure what overtook him at that moment. Perhaps rage, perhaps fear, perhaps resolve. All he knew was that his answer was raw.

“Because you didn't see it!”

Olenna raised an eyebrow at the sudden outburst of emotion. And fairness it was unlike him to get that way save very rare occasions. She continued her inquiry.

“Didnt see what?”

Willas spoke with a shaky breath and almost fearful tone as he ran back through his memories of the previous days.

“You didn't see that dragon, dive from out of the clouds towards our home… We saw it fly around, yes, but you didn't see it as I did… for a moment I was truly convinced we were all going to die… our walls which have repelled many men who would wish to see harm done to us were worthless in that moment. All knights of the Reach were meaningless against that thing…”

Olenna seemed taken aback for a moment but tried to respond as she usually did.

“And yet we are here,”

Willas continued,

“Yes… we are… he has only burned his enemies… but that's just it. His enemies… The only reason we stand alive today is that we serve him better as allies than foes. And even if we tried to slowly poison the Lannister court from the inside we have not considered the other scenario. What if, with a lack of allies and enemies on all sides. He decides to unleash his dragon… without thought. Grandmother I will do any task the family needs of me, be it the dutiful son, the hospitable lord, or the shrewd politician… make no mistake… I am terrified… I have been ever since the first letter came in…”

Olenna now seemed to be taking on her grandson's words with an immense amount of concern. She hadn't seen him like this in a long time… he didn't remember the last time he was like this. He continued on.

“Grandmother… we aren't dealing with the Targaryen's you grew up with… not anymore. The house of dreamers and politicians is gone. Those days ended when Robert took the crown. They have returned with their houses' mythic strength which once brought Westeros to heel and I think will do so again… four dragons live in the world now… four… and even if they were not to be joined in matrimony what then? Grandmother we are witnessing the beginning of the next era of the Targaryen's… I don't think everyone has appreciated the situation with the seriousness it deserves… you think we can scheme and plot our way to the throne… Tywin thinks he can force the world to heel with enough fear and violence… both are lies as I see them… there is no way we win this unless we stand beside him…”

Olenna listened still, her face now cold and her skin a little more pale than usual.

“Grandmother… if the stories of Astapor are true… and given what we know of the battle around Dragonstone… they are willing to embrace their family words if need be. I have secured us a position of the highest honor and strength. We might have an influence in how this new Targaryen dynasty looks… You call me an oaf for my decision… Perhaps I am… but I will not allow our family to hedge its bets for any longer, for our sake, for mother, Leonette, Loras, and Margaery’s sake… I am lord of the Reach. And I have made my decision.”

Olenna went silent, taking a drink from a wine glass. She remained quiet for a bit longer before eventually breaking the silence.

“Hand of the king?”

Willas nodded. He himself coming down from his heightened emotions. Olenna continued.

“I never wanted any harm to come to you, Margaery… your brothers… or your father, oaf he was… he was still my son… these are uncertain times we live in… and if you were acting in the interest of house Tyrell… then perhaps you did well.”

Willas nodded and took her hand in his. Both of them were tired by now, a fog of grief hanging between them. But he wasn't done just yet, one more thing had to be said.

“Grandmother… you have taught me and Margaery well… but father is dead. And I rule in his place… I wish for you to help Margaery manage the Reach while I am away with the king. But I do ask this… I can't have us contradicting each other.”

Olenna squinted and focused her gaze.

“You ask me to follow your decrees and lead?’

“I ask you to trust in your lessons. And to trust in my handling of our home… please…”

Olenna hardened her expression once more before giving only three strained words.

“We will see…”

Willas knew that was the best he would get. He got up and left the room, by the sounds of it things seemed to him as if he had come out of that debacle victorious. He was now committed to the Targaryen cause. But a small part of him couldn't help but wonder, would his grandmother stay that way, or would she try something.

He didn't pay it much mind as he left her quarters. Intent on speaking with his new king.

---

The last few days around Highgarden were some of the most chaotic he had ever remembered. Letters flying in and out from lords all across the Reach were the common talking point at the dinner table. But eventually after about another week and a half of effort. It was time that he departed from his home and joined Daeron at his court in Riverrun. He moved outside as quickly as he could, having said his goodbyes to Margaery and grandmother. Out to the courtyard where he expected to have a wheelhouse ready for him.

Upon entering the courtyard he was again shocked to see the great visage of the dragon sitting there seemingly accepting gestures of affection from Daeron. Willas had often caught himself wondering these past few days how such a gargantuan creature could seem so gentle and affectionate. It almost tempered his fear. Daeron seemed to notice him standing in the doorway.

“Lord Willas. Just on time. Come, we have a long flight ahead of us.”

Willas moved down the stairs and spoke in a measured manner.

“Indeed. I would like it to know your grace, my brother Loras had set out from Bitterbridge a little over a week ago with his best riders. They seem to be making good time if our information is anything to go off of.”

Daeron smiled.

“Excellent, well it would be best if we don't keep my lords waiting. Are you ready to depart?”

Willas gave a small smile.

“Indeed I am. I will hope to see you at Riverrun by the end of the moon.”

He was surprised when Daeron gave a laugh, and Ser Barristan a look of knowing discomfort.

“My lord Willas. I cannot afford my hand to be apart from my court for so long. You will travel with us.”

It took him a moment to realize what he was insinuating. But one look at the Dragon’s eye fixed on him gave it away.

“...what?”

Daeron gave a small smile.

“Come, I will help you up.”

Willas gave a short list of protest but it soon became obvious that Daeron would have it no other way. Both he and Ser Barristan helped Willas of the length of the dragon's Wing to sit him relatively comfortably between a set of the creature's gigantic spinal spikes. Daeron secured him to the beast with a rope tied between those spikes and each other. Willas was for his part, very uneasy about all this. Leaning up to Ser Barristan who sat ahead of him on the dragons back and asked him.

“This is safe… right?”

Ser Barristan took one look at him, then to Daeron, then back to him. He said.

“Just hold on.”

That was hardly reassuring.

It wasn't long before they had departed off the ground and we're now soaring high above the Reach. The gargantuan structure of Highgarden slowly slipping into the distance like a child's toy. And despite his soul consuming fear, even Willas had to admit. The view was spectacular as they flew to Riverrun.

Notes:

Thank you all for the kind words last chapter and for the critiques provided. Hope you enjoyed this one.

North/Riverlands/Reach:: 81,000 - (260 ships + 160 ‘Celtigar + Velaryon. 1 Dragon)

Westerlands/Stormlands/Vale: 80,000 - (50,000 westerlands, 12,000 Stormlands, 13,000 Vale 45 ships "Lannisport")

Dorne: Undeclared?

Iron Islands: Undeclared

Daenerys: 15,000 (8,000 unsullied, 5,000 in training, 2,000 freedmen. 3 Dragons)

(Note this might not be accurate with the books or show to a T but these are what I personally found to be believable estimates and as such will be using.)

As always, comments are welcome.

Chapter 35: Daenerys V

Summary:

Daenerys deals with Yunkai.

Daenerys V

The sun beat down violently on her yet again. It was a hotter day than usual. But it seemed as if the heat would be the least of her concerns. She was again meeting with Lady Stark today. And what became readily obvious after those meetings was that she clearly resented being here. Be that because of her direct assignment at Jon’s word, or the fact she was made to be so far from her home in general was still up in the air. But the fact remained that she displayed her distance for where she found herself with every word and action. And Daenerys noticed it all.

Even so she did prove her worth in the aspect of her knowledge. She had quickly proven herself invaluable in the explanation of all the diplomatic alliances and dealings of the Seven Kingdoms. She also provided a plethora of knowledge regarding the lords who were now under Jon’s command. Both would be invaluable to her if she was intending to both make a strong impression on her new subjects and understand the realm of her birth so that she might not be seen as a foreigner upon her arrival.

Howland had been particularly worried about that last part. If not for the fact that she had lived in Essos her entire life then certainly for the fact that she had lived amongst the crannogmen for years. If half the lords of the Seven Kingdoms believed any of the stories regarding both The crannogmen and the cultures of Essos, she would almost certainly be snubbed in an instant. Whether Jon brought them in line or not. She had no intention of allowing them such an opportunity for even a moment. But even given her resolve to deal with the situation and her knowledge of its importance, it still didn't make sitting in a tent with the lady of Winterfell any more pleasant.

Now that she sat here she could definitely see why Jon always thought coldly of her. As far as she was concerned the lady of Winterfell was far too strict with both her dealings and herself. She gave off the image of a noble lady at all times, dutiful, honorable, and bound to her family. Daenerys, who by this point had long-lived amongst a very small group of people both lord and their subjects, could easily tell a farce when she saw it. This was not Catelyn Stark, this was something she propped up in an attempt to both please Daenerys and herself. She didn't know how the lady of Winterfell thought this would help her case but old Daenerys could focus on how shallow it seemed. Perhaps she was trying to set an example for her to follow.

She couldn't help but preemptively sense the disappointment Lady Stark would have when she realized that Daenerys had no intention of following any such lady-like example. She had been the docile and quiet princess for her brother. She would not be forced into a similar position if she had anything to say on the matter. Her struggles had been hard and painful, her triumphs hers and those she trusted, she was a dragon, and nothing less. The life of a quiet queen was not hers to lead. Whether it was thought proper or not, she wouldn't walk that road. And thankfully she had some allies in that ambition. Howland would stand by her, of that she was truly confident, the same went for Jon. And with the arrival of lady Stark she had found another.

Arya was ferocious and sharp. Quick and intelligent. She had a sharp tongue and an eye for detail. Not only that but she was quite skilled with a sword too. In the days since they had arrived she had continued to train openly with her tutor Syrio Forel, and had even started challenging some of the Unsullied to sparring matches at his request. She claimed it was for practice and Daenerys had no doubt about that fact. But it was clear that she had an energy about her, a distinct drive to oppose and find trouble. Even if Daenerys could not match that energy herself she certainly respected her tenacity. In short, she was everything Jon had described her to be.

Not only that but the pair had enjoyed quite a few entertaining conversations with each other. Their topics often varied depending on their moods but the one thing that remained the same was how enjoyable their mutual company was. When speaking with Arya, Daenerys felt oddly at ease. She even found herself frequently questioning how she could be the daughter of Lady Stark. Much less Eddard Stark given the man's reputation. It seemed impossible to the extreme. But she was not complaining about it. Truly Arya had been a rather fine addition to her entourage. That said her sister on the other hand had genuinely begun to concern her.

Sansa seemed lady-like, she seemed to be the ideal aspiration of a young girl in Westeros, in that regard she strongly resembled her mother. However as the days dragged on, odd habits began to show themselves in the young woman. For one, she always got particularly quiet around her wolf. She could often be seen at night near her just staring. Occasionally Lady could be seen wandering camp out of its kennel, sometimes it would find reflective surfaces, others it would just watch from afar. It had put both Daenerys and Arya on edge several times. Although neither could think of a way to address it. Then there was how cold Sansa would get whenever Joffrey was mentioned. Daenerys had been informed as to the events of Kings-Landing well enough by now. And through that she could understand Sansa’s resentment.

But with how sharp and fierce her gaze would turn whenever the pretender was brought up, one could swear that she was an actual wolf. Lady Stark had tried to keep her regulated and she seemingly obeyed. But Arya had pointed out that it was different now, compared to how she used to be. Before she was said to be a naive girl with her head full of stories, now that facade seemed shallow, paper thin at best. There was a genuine anger in the young woman. And Arya had commented on how long it would be before it came out. She didn't want to say it, but the thought of whatever the woman had brewing in her heart coming out was disturbing.

Suddenly she was brought out of her thoughts by the sound of Lady Stark’s voice.

“Princess I must request that you pay closer attention to what I am saying. Such knowledge will be critical for your arrival and entrance to the court.”

She resisted the urge to sigh. Not for a disregard of the material, rather Lady Stark’s demeanor which she still did not care for. Nevertheless, she spoke.

“Proceed my lady. And if I may, would you please elaborate on the details surrounding the alliances between the Reach and Westerlands?”

Lady Stark seemed to calm down and nod her head. She entered into a lengthy discussion on the marriage alliances surrounding the two kingdoms. And Daenerys for her part listened intently, not letting her mind wander. Yet by the time it was over she had her attention diverted by the sudden appearance of Howland coming into the tent. He bowed his head respectfully and looked at her. He spoke in a measured and professional tone.

“Princess, I am sorry to disturb your meeting but our scouts have returned. They bring their findings for us to interpret.”

Daenerys rose from her seat and spoke.

“Very well, Lady Stark. I thank you for your time but this matter requires my attention.”

Lady Stark bowed her head and walked off, if not a bit perturbed at the interruption. Daenerys paid it little mind and turned to Howland.

“Show me to the scouts and tell me of their findings.”

Howland needed to give no response as he led her away from the central tent and to the far outskirts of the camp, where a small group of Unsullied awaited her along with Ser Rodrik and Arya. They watched as the horses carrying her scouts returned and stopped in front of them. Missandei was quick to arrive to translate. With everyone assembled Daenerys watched as the scouts walked up and bowed before her. She looked at Missandei and said.

“Please ask them of their findings, what are the defenses which surround Yunkai?”

Missandei dutifully gave her words and translated the responses. She spoke in a soft voice.

“They say that the masters have armed the city in preparation. Guards raised from the city's population, and two sell sword companies. All guard the gates and walls which seem to be old and crumbling, its towers ready to fall. Perhaps you would be able to take it by force.”

Daenerys turned to Howland and Ser Rodrik. Who both gave their attention to her.

“I would listen to your counsel. How should we proceed?”

Howland was the first to speak up, his voice indicating an extreme amount of thought he was putting into the problem presented before them.

“Our aim remains the same. We are building an army and it would be counterproductive to decimate a large portion of that in open battle to take the city.”

Before Daenerys could respond Ser Rodrik spoke in response.

“Unfortunate as it may be Lord Reed, we are faced with a dilemma. We cannot afford to move past the city, we need its numbers for our cause, and I doubt that the princess would accept leaving the people behind for the sake of pragmatism. Nor would it be tactically sound to walk past an opposing army, a defense can be easily turned into an offense in our circumstances, I see no way forward but to deal with the opposition.”

Daenerys found herself agreeing with Ser Rodrik’s reasoning. Both in the moral sense and that she would not leave behind those people suffering simply to save time, and on the aforementioned tactical level. Daenerys spoke up.

“Would it not be possible to take the city by surprise?”

Howland and Ser Rodrik looked at each other, Rodrik being the first to speak.

“Aye, it might be, but for that we would need to be inside the walls. And I doubt we have the capabilities for such a maneuver.”

Then it was Arya who spoke next.

“And why don't we?”

Daenerys split her attention between the three of them, then focused on Arya.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, why do we not have the capabilities to sneak in? Surely there is a blind spot somewhere. There must be some way in unseen.”

Daenerys looked to Ser Rodrik and Howland who both considered the idea. Howland spoke first.

“Perhaps we would be able to get in unseen, perhaps we could get to the front gate, but lest we forget that there are still two sell sword forces guarding it. To make it in we would need to divert them or ruin them to let us in, either way, it incurs a cost which we can seldom afford.”

Daenerys thought for a moment, several realizations occurring to her before she spoke up again. And when she did, her tone was strict and authoritative.

“Lord Reed, I would ask that you take our finest and go to the walls of Yunkai to offer a parlay to its leaders and their bought captains. Ser Cassel, I would ask that you speak with Grey Worm and determine what he thinks of the matter, and alert him that in the future I expect him here for these types of dealings as commander of the unsullied. Go fulfill your duties.”

Both men bowed their heads and went off in their respective directions, leaving Daenerys with Arya and Missandei. She ushered Arya to follow her as Missandei returned to her duties beyond Daenerys. The pair walked through camp for a long while ultimately ending up by the wolf kennels. They were situated as close to the sea as possible, in hopes that the cool air of the ocean would help with the heat. Whether or not it actually worked was another matter entirely but they certainly seem to be happier here. And as they looked out over the sunset a calm quiet fell between them.

Arya found her way to a rock where she sat down and began to sharpen needle, resting it on her leg. Daenerys remained standing as she kept her gaze out to the ocean and occasionally looking northwards towards the dim lights of Yunkai in the far distance, and as she watched she couldn't help but let the silence overwhelm her somewhat. It wasn't as if she was distressed rather she was simply tired. And sure enough Arya seemed to notice. She lifted her head from its position removing her focus from the blade.

“You troubled?”

Daenerys turned from her focus and gave her attention to Arya fully. She held her lips together tightly as she looked for a response to her question. Until finally she was able to come out with something.

“No, not troubled. Simply… thinking.”

Arya matched her gaze as she continued her questioning.

“Thinking of what?”

Daenerys took a moment again to try and find an answer to the question. Mainly because she didn't have one. In truth, what wasn't she thinking about, there was so much going on in her mind at the moment that she couldn't quite put a quantitative limit on it. That was until she looked out to the west again, across the sea. All her thoughts seemed to coalesce into one. As she gave her response.

“I suppose the future. And just the future.

Arya continued her asks.

“What of it?”

Daenerys again took her time, but not as much this round. She gave a small sigh before her response.

“I was born on Dragonstone, and immediately taken away for the sake of me and my brothers lives. From there we made our way around Essos just out of reach of the usurpers hired knives. Even if Jon helped me through it… I'm not sure I can so easily let go of all my life here.”

Arya raised an eyebrow listening intently.

“I can be told all about the politics of Westeros by your mother, its histories by Jon, and the intricacies of the old gods by Howland. But even with all that given to me, all that at my disposal and the resources at my command… I can't help but think of how my return will transpire.”

Arya’s look grew sympathetic, but only slightly. Daenerys continued.

“I do not dread the scorn I will receive, I know it to be an inevitability in some way. That some of the nobility shall always see me as a foreigner no matter what I learn or say. I have no intention of fulfilling their inane fantasies mind you, but I know some will cling to them regardless. For that I can see no remedy now. But… beyond my duties, beyond what is expected of me… what is there I wonder?”

Arya seemed to be lost in her words. As she spoke up.

“Im sorry, I'm not sure I understand your worries.”

Daenerys could hardly blame her. Seven hells she was trying to make sense of it herself. But the only way she seemed to be able to do so was to talk more. So that is what she continued to do. Her voice growing in both resolve and curiosity.

“I mean what future will be for me? When I land on the place of my birth with my armies and children in tow, when I stand with Jon and we take the throne… after that… What am I to be? A silent queen, never, that I intend to make sure of. But what else then? What else might life be for me then? I know that I will have responsibilities. Yes, I know that I will stand with people who wish to see me as strong as I wish to see them… but what does that look like?”

Arya trying to put together her words and thoughts spoke up again.

“You wish to know how you will be remembered?”

Daenerys gave a small chuckle.

“Lord Reed told me that the history books remember battles and titles. None can ever remember life. For that is your own to make.”

Arya, seeming to understand her words better now put it together.

“You wish to know how you will continue when you have fulfilled your role, once the wars are over and peace returns.”

Daenerys gave a small smile, taking a seat on a rock opposite Arya’s. She spoke after she had sat down.

“I think so, yes. Now that it's in words I don't think I can take my mind off of it… I don't know now what the histories might call me. Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, the Beggar Princess, lady of the swamps. But I cannot help but to know that whatever awaits me beyond the sea, once I have finished here… that it might not be as I expected it in my youth. Perhaps I knew that in word for a long time. But faced with it now… I can feel the weight of such words. What will become of me?”

Arya listened for a moment more, until she spoke up.

“I would have liked to know much before all this started. Before Kings-Landing, before I found out Jon’s true name. But such a thing is not ours to know. Perhaps we may see a glimpse of it, but never all of it. As far as I see it now. Perhaps it is best not to worry about such things, rather see that we pay our dues and achieve our wants.”

Daenerys felt some comfort at those words. But at the same time there was a hint of uneasiness with it. She wasn't sure why but something about Arya’s words unnerved her. She was about to respond when they both heard the sound of Unsullied looking for them. With little delay they returned to the camp.

---

It was quite a time later, the next day actually, when the leaders of Yunkai decided to rise from their gilded thrones to meet face to face. And in turn Daenerys was intent on being ready for the meeting. As such many preparations were made for it. More so than one may think. Everything had to be made to produce a picture of both regality and power. All in the hopes of intimidating the slave masters into either surrendering, which was a long shot regardless, or shaking the faith of their sell sword captains who would also be in attendance. And of the objectives to accomplish, Daenerys wanted the second one to happen more.

Should she rattle the sell swords more, then perhaps she might have an easier time taking the city, at a significantly lower cost of life. Which to her, was the best possible outcome of the entire scenario. If she could save more people from this city than the bare minimum, then she would undoubtedly consider this entire endeavor a success. And from there she could continue on north to Meereen. Whereupon she would try something similar to this in hopes of the city falling swiftly. If that was done in a timely manner she could assemble her forces, send for a fleet and transport the entirety of her host overseas and join Jon in the war for the Iron Throne proper.

However, both scenarios were predicated on the success of this meeting entirely. Should the city surrender then she would still see all slaves made free, and take those willing to fight with her northwards. But if all failed and she couldn't get either an immediate capitulation or either of the sell-sword companies to throw down their arms, she was in for a siege which she had no time for. As such she needed to make sure everything went just right today down to the last small detail. The Unsullied had their armor cleaned and shined the night before to display their prowess. This would be an insignificant battle detail but right now appearances mattered.

Furthermore, a meeting pavilion of tents was established at the heart of the camp, two rows of tents providing shade to both Unsullied and Westerosi warriors from the Riverlands and North who were to stand guard the entire time. This to give off the clear message that two of the great houses of Westeros were backing her. Normally this would mean little, the lords of Westeros were hardly known or cared for out here. The hope was to instill the idea that perhaps if they refused her offer, then the slavers might find themselves dealing with a force much grander than was currently available. Or even feasible truth be told. Then there was the display of legitimacy that brought her, not a girl crawling from the swamps and sands, but a legitimate queen issuing her demands, her supporters by her side.

Hence, was the importance of not only the soldiers, but the banners displaying the sigils of houses Stark, Tully, Reed, Velaryon, and Targaryen to be arrayed behind Daenerys as she sat in the tent down at the back of the isles, at the end of a red carpet in a seat fit for a queen. But importantly with the back of her tent open to the clearing made behind the meeting area. As to display her children in all their might. Of all the things she hoped would bring her the upper hand in this negotiation, Eddaron, Rhaellon, and Rhaegal would be the tipping point, the queen in the game of cyvasse she now played. If not for the houses, the army, the presence of three battle ready and loyal dragons would surely be the thing which won them the day.

She, Lady Stark, and Howland had discussed at length her mannerisms and demeanor which she would need for this talk. Lady Stark, while finding the whole thing improper, did understand the necessity. As such she instructed Daenerys on some basic mannerisms which she found to be a bit too similar to how she was told to behave in Illyrios manse. Howland on the other hand made sure to instruct her on how to utilize her perception to find hints of weakness in her guests. Howland was no politician, but he was a hunter, he knew fear and uncertainty, and he knew how to exploit it. Daenerys by now considered herself in a similar vein, a hunter. And in this meeting she would be what she was. A Dragon, strong, authoritative, and dominating. But at the same time a Lizard Lion, keen, perceptive, and precise.

When the time came around to begin it was late morning. Daenerys had taken up her seat adorned in a gown of silk, its color a scarlet red fading into black as the color descended the skirt, her shoulders bare and exposed with the dress covering her chest, supported on a single silver ring which kept it up as it attached to similarly colored silk around the back of her neck. Across her shoulders and neck were chains of silver adorned with gems of onyx, jade, and ivory. Atop her head a circlet of a similar silver, shining in the sun. Her hair was braided in a northern style with some Essosi elements. And a makeup scheme made to emphasize her violet eyes. The look of a dragon queen.

To her side sat Howland. Behind her stood Grey Worm, Ser Rodrik, and Syrio Forel. Also under the canopy sat Lady Stark, Sansa, and Arya off to Daenerys left. Arya still brandished Needle in her belt, secure in its scabbard. The two Dire Wolves sat close by in silence, awaiting a moment which would hopefully not come. Then of course Missandei stood to Daenerys’ right near Howland. Daenerys had no intention of leaving her out of such a critical moment. Then the rows were filled with all 200 Stark and Tully forces, and some 200 unsullied behind them. All ready for a confrontation at a moment's notice. Then of course her children sat ready behind her. Eddaron positioned directly behind her back.

Even from the seat she could feel the last traces of his warm breath. A comforting warmth as far as she knew. She could feel the anticipation in Eddaron, still and stable, but fierce. She made sure to send some reassurance to him through their bond as he lowered his head down. Eddaron would have to behave for today at least. A little intimidation was good, yes, but it would do no one any good for Eddaron to viciously attack whoever stepped forward. Not that things would get that bad, hopefully. Still the moment was now upon her.

She watched as a Stark soldier looked outside and gave a nod to Howland who in turn ushered two Unsullied to bring in the first of their guests. Daenerys had ordered that the man who would speak for the slave masters and the captains of the sell sword companies be brought to her and spoken to separately, she would give her offers to them individually and under the cover of privacy. But now came the first of them, the slave master. What first was seen rounding the corner was a palanquin being carried on the shoulders of eight slaves. Immediately she held her hand up and turned to Missandei. She spoke quietly.

“Tell them that if the master wishes to speak, he will walk the length of the carpet to see me.”

Missandei nodded and as she spoke her command Daenerys turned to Howland and whispered.

“See to it that each of the men who bear this man's weight are given their share of food and water.”

Howland nodded and issued the command to some nearby freedmen who quickly set about doing their job. Daenerys watched as a man walked out of the palanquin. He was strange looking to be sure, a lean man with a white smile, not very tall admittedly, but certainly dressed fine with a Myrish lace tokar, and to top it all off his hair pulled over his brow almost like a horn set the man as eye catching, and not in a good way as far as Daenerys was concerned, her sentiments seemingly mirrored by Lady Stark and her children. Missandei however, dutiful as she was, spoke the man's names and titles.

“Now approaches the wise master, Grazdan mo Eraz, lord of men and speaker to savages.”

Daenerys couldn't help but smirk at what was in all likeness a direct and intended jab at her. Not that it mattered to her how these men slighted her. What mattered was that he was walking to her, unhappily so yes but that was irrelevant. He was obeying the command, he was responding to her will, she was in control and he knew it. Hopefully that would make the dynamic of the situation very clear to the man, but for some reason she doubted it. Nevertheless, he arrived at her feet, taking a seat on his knees and needing to look up to her on her seat. She watched as his eyes took in the scene around him.

Her children peering through the open back of the tent stared at him, the four hundred troops to his right and left glaring unflinching, her courtiers and allies giving similarly frost glares. And she of course remained neutral in her expression, she saw as he grew more nervous, more unsettled. She could see the fear there. As such she acted on it taking the initiative of the conversation.

“I trust you found your way through my camp easily enough?”

Grazdan gave a small smirk in response, his white teeth flashing. His voice was slippery and more akin to the hiss of a snake than the speech of a man. But he spoke nonetheless.

“Indeed, you have quite a fine organization princess. But I trust that I was not brought here simply to admire your army's perfect tent pitching.”

She held a neutral expression, the man's poor attempt at self satisfying humor not cared for. Daenerys continued with the first proper declaration now that the poor formalities were done with.

“I then trust you know why I have summoned you here?”

Grazdan’s face stiffened again as he spoke.

“To offer your terms.”

Daenerys nodded slowly.

“Indeed, I would rather this end without bloodshed. You can make that so. If not I trust you are well aware of the fate which befell Astapor.”

She saw him stiffen as he quickly came up with a counter. A pitiful attempt to bloviate on his cities history and former strength now long rotted with time.

“I apologize to inform you of this but Yunkai is far different to Astapor. Yunkai is ancient, our walls holding since the days of old Valyria, you will find no easy conquest here.”

All her advisors and allies looked to her with equal expressions of unimpression. She spoke in response.

“Oh? Well if that is the case then I have no qualms with putting your claims to the test.”

Suddenly the man looked at her with a greater intensity as he spoke.

“If blood is what you wish for then blood will flow. But as I understand it you do not wish to stay in Essos. Your homeland awaits you does it not? Your kin? If such is truth then the generous people of Yunkai would aid you in that journey.”

He clapped twice as four slaves moved to grab something from the back of the palanquin only to again be alleviated of their burden when one of the Tully men stopped them. The man took a bar of gold from the chest and walked it to Daenerys at Howland's prompting. She looked at the gold before the man spoke again.

“The wise masters of Yunkai present you with the fruits of our gratitude. Much is here and much awaits you on your ships.”

Daenerys couldn't help but laugh internally. As if such a bribe would work in any case. And it seemed to amuse Howland and Arya in a similar capacity. She didn't intend on wasting any more time with the man and his empty placations, however. So she seized on the opportunity and spoke next.

“I understand and appreciate your gratitude, and rest assured this gold will be put to good use. However, I would not have you labor under the impression that I in any way agree to depart these lands, not yet.”

The man looked confused for a moment, until she took the chance to slip in her next words.

“Rather I think it should be made clear that Yunkai will be mine by the end of the week. One way or another. As such I offer my own gift, the lives of you and your fellow wise masters. But such a gift comes with its assured costs. Firstly all your arms will be laid down and you will surrender the city to me without a fight, secondly all the ships your city has to offer will be added to our host. Thirdly, every single slave, man, woman, and child, will be made free and kept free in perpetuity. And unless I am wrong, Lord Reed, what does in perpetuity mean?”

Howland gave a smirk and spoke.

“Forever, princess.”

Daenerys turned back to the slave master who seemed to be fuming with rage at her proposition. She expected no less of a reaction from such a man. A cowardly and spiteful creature was what she was speaking too, nothing less. She had fully known the moment she saw him that he would never accept any of her terms. But even so it was hardly him who mattered in this negotiation, the critical players would be dealt with shortly if all went well. But of course the man could not help but scream some more in a pathetic attempt at retaliation. His voice was scratchy and clearly exasperated.

“You are mad woman! What makes you think you are worthy of such demands? To think that you and you alone will bring down that most ancient of trades, that which made our people so great and wealthy!? Truly you do not think yourself such an architect of fate? If so, I thoroughly underestimated your hubris! We are Yunkai, we will not break as Astapor did! When the dust of battle has settled and victory has fallen on us, we shall return your army and servants back into slavery! Perhaps the same for you and your fellow whor-”

That Daenerys was not willing to abide by. The immediate insult to her men and advisors was not something she intended to answer lightly. Calling Eddaron to bring his head over the tents and to bear his black teeth at the man. Her other children followed suit as all three dragons now glared at the slave master who quickly found his voice die. Daenerys spoke sharply yet sternly.

“I will remind you that you still breathe at my mercy, and my mercy alone. Do not think yourself so strong as to hurl such vulgar insults at me and my court so flagrantly. And considering how your great city seems to crumble as we speak I will leave you with this, we accept your gift, and you have until tomorrow to surrender the city and agree to our terms without condition. Anything less and there will be no dawn for any man who owns another in Yunkai. Be gone from my sight, and never insult me with your presence again.”

The man looked both afraid and enraged, he turned to enter in palanquin again. But Daenerys thought that perhaps the man was deserving of more consequence given his insult. So she turned to Grey Worm and whispered something into his ear. Shortly thereafter two unsullied drew short swords and walked to the palanquin. Whereupon they separated the holding staffs at the base, leaving the gilded thing inoperable. Grazdan turned back positively enraged as he moved again to scream. A single roar from Eddaron stopped the tantrum before it began. Daenerys spoke again.

“It is such a lovely day, oh wise master, surely you wouldn't wish to waste it under the shade of silks.”

Grazdan could do nothing but begin his long walk back to Yunkai with the four slaves in tow. His fine bejeweled sandals already growing thick with dust not a few steps outside of the tent pavilion. Once gone Daenerys exhaled as Lady Stark spoke first.

“Princess, I apologise but I must ask. Was speaking to a man, vile as they were, in such a manner a good idea? This will make none of his fellow flesh traders any more willing to surrender.”

Daenerys was about to respond when another voice unexpectedly spoke first. Sansa's voice.

“He wouldn't have agreed regardless…”

Her voice was soft and cold. But moreover she was correct as far as Daenerys was concerned, and seemingly so did everyone else. Howland spoke up next to accompany the young girl.

“Your daughter speaks the truth my lady. Men such as these understand little aside from pain and gold, it is how they do their business. And if the presence of three dragons does nothing to convince them of the situation's futility then nothing we would nor could have said would have worked in their place.”

Lady Stark accepted the situation with a nod of acknowledgment. Daenerys spoke next.

“Besides, they are not the ones we must convince. Hopefully their hired spears will see the truth clearer than any of them could. Bring them in.”

Two unsullied nodded and turned heel to exit the pavilion. Daenerys readied herself again as Arya’s vigilance grew. Everyone repositioned themselves as a trio of men walked in. The first of which was an older man of tanned skin, his face broad with a thick beard of brown and gray. The second a large man of green eyes and a long bushy orange beard, scars adorning his body. The final one a younger man with blue hair and a beard to match, of slim build and blue eyes. He certainly had the most interesting look of the three. Shortly thereafter their names were rattled off in quick succession by Missandei.

“Now presenting the commander of the Second Sons, Mero, the titans bastard. And the commander and captain of the storm crows, Prendahl na Ghezn, and Daario Naharis.”

Daenerys spoke next.

“Come forth.”

The three men walked ahead as chairs were brought out for them to sit upon. Mero attempting to walk further only to be stopped by four Stark spearmen who in turn made sure he took his seat with the others. She looked at each of them closely. They were seasoned fighters that much was obvious by the scars the commanders held. Naharis seemed to be the least experienced of the three, but he certainly had the look of a fighter nonetheless. That said she found herself unnerved by how long his gaze would linger on her. Regardless, the meeting commenced then and there, Mero speaking first with a hard and gruff voice.

“So, the dragon lady arrived at last? I almost didn't believe it when I heard the stories, much less with a woman at the lead.”

Daenerys gave away no emotion, no hint of the annoyance at the comment. So she quickly pivoted away and spoke next with no strength nor conviction lacking in her tone.

“Commander’s and captain. I trust you are informed enough, or intuitive enough to know why I have called you here?”

Prendahl spoke next with a voice slick as oil.

“You wish to negotiate a settlement with us?”

Daenerys turned her gaze to the Ghiscari man with none of her passion eliminated.

“Of sorts, I would rather not see anyone undeserving of death be given it, as such I wish to make your companies an offer.”

Mero spoke up.

“Ah, we then graciously accept your surrender.”

Everyone at the tents chuckled at that comment including Daenerys, much to the Braavosi’s dismay.

“Hardly commander. No, I wish to see your companies shift their loyalties to me and consign yourselves to my cause. Whereupon you will be both compensated for the loss you would have incurred with this battle and rewarded generously with your pick of the riches of Yunkai’s wise masters when the dust settles.”

The sell-swords listened to her. Mero on the cusp of scoffing and leaving. Prendahl, stone-faced and surprisingly professional. Naharis looked on in intrigue. Everyone else around camp waited for the response which came from Prendahl. Who admittedly spoke respectfully and cordially.

“We are swords for hire princess. Our contract is our bond, to break such a binding agreement would spell disaster for our company. With no faith that we will stay true to our word we lose all chance of future business for years, possibly decades. You are not the first to make such an offer and will most certainly not be the last if I am right. Even so, what makes you think your position is as strong as you think?”

Daenerys humored the man’s arguments with her own.

“My army numbers some fifteen thousand strong, all quality men trained from birth, our commanders are strong and sound. I would consider such forces to be quite the deciding factor would you not?”

Prendahl was keen to respond when Naharis stole his wind and spoke first in a sly and confident voice.

“You have no siege engines, no cavalry, no archers. We might be few at three thousand strong on the open field yes. But we are not on the open field, are we? Behind the walls of the city, weak as they may be, our force's effectiveness is practically tripled. We have the provisions to last for a while and by the looks of how fast you seem to want this battle to go, you have no such luxury of patience.”

She found herself taken aback by the man's tactical reasoning. And one look at Howland confirmed to her that he was in fact correct. Once again they couldn't move past the city lest they be enveloped. So Daenerys took the chance and made her gambit.

“Sound reasoning to be sure captain, but lest we forget I have three dragons. All ready to fight, and last I checked you have no proper counter to such a move.”

Naharis stayed quiet with another uncomfortably cocky grin on his face which made Daenerys reel internally. It was almost a mercy when Mero broke the silence again.

“Sure you have them, but how many of the old legends can be trusted? After all stone doesn't burn.”

She almost laughed at the man’s argument. And in a piercingly sharp voice she retorted.

“But men do.”

Prendahl spoke up in turn.

“And are you willing to take such actions?”

Daenerys again turned her attention to the commander and spoke in the same biting tone.

“Ask the masters of Astapor.”

That was the sentence which put all the sell swords into a collective silence. Seizing on the moment she spoke again.

“I will leave you with this, you may fight and die when the time for battle comes. Or you may seize your chance and align yourself with me and my forces to reap the benefits which follow. The choice is yours to make.”

She watched as each of them seemed to mull it over internally. Mero had lost his voice and was now quiet. Naharis was still smiling, casting glances at her. Prendahl was the first to speak, his voice still slick and composed.

“I am Ghiscari, these lands are my own, these people, my own. I would not betray them any more than you would yours. However, the storm crows are a company of free men. As such they will have the chance to choose for themselves. I will return with the choice on the morrow.”

Daenerys couldn't help but respect the reasoning. It was in some way relatable. And she could wait a day for the response. She then turned to Mero who still remained quiet for a longer while until he finally said.

“I will do the same with my men.”

No reasoning on his part, not that Daenerys really cared for his words in the first place. Of the three men laid out before her, she had the least faith in him to accept her offer. Perhaps he would run before the battle started or perhaps he would fight all the same. He didn't seem smart enough to really grasp the situation before them. Then there was Naharis who was a mere captain and thus would only have his voice alone amongst his men. Perhaps he could sway the rest of his company to see things clearly. But if not then battle would have to be the way to go.

As much as she didn't want it to be that way. Should everything devolve into a brutal melee she would utilize her children in the fight to take down the walls and melt down the masters’ pyramids as quickly as she could to spare as many of her own as she could. Still she wished for no harm to come to those innocent behind the walls but what other choice did she have? If none were willing to surrender in the commanders not willing to back down then there seemed like only one way forward. That was unless…

---

She had quickly then bid the commanders goodbye and watched as they left the camp. Whereupon she convinced her war council and advisors in her private tent. They poured over a map of Yunkai stolen from Astapor as they all debated the results of the meetings. Needless to say there was discontent with the response they received. Predictable as they were in all truth. The long and short of it was that the masters wouldn't surrender until they were torn apart. The commanders were harder to gauge. As Ser Rodrik made clear.

“These are sell-swords, they may purport to be fair but their forces are fickle as is their loyalties. They are as likely to accept our terms as they are to run away or betray us for the master's benefit. It would be folly for us to rely on them for either aid or anything for that matter.”

Lady Stark spoke next in agreement.

“I concur. We must find an alternative to using them as a crutch for which all our designs rest upon. Apologies princess for my brashness, it was a fair idea to give them a chance and the honorable thing to do, but the trust as I see it is that they will fight for the one who pays them the most, and as of now we do not have such reserves to offer a suitable alternative.”

Howland was the next to speak.

“Again however, open battle is not what we need nor can afford. We may debate their morality all day and night, but their captain was right. We will find ourselves bogged down for too long a time if we attempt to seize the city by pure force of arms alone. Our goal remains to return to Westeros.”

Lady Stark spoke again.

“Why not then leave now? Sail home with what we have.”

Daenerys cut them all off with her voice splitting through.

“Because people still suffer behind those walls. I wish to join Daeron in his war the same as all of you and rest assured it is our goal still. But I will not abandon those in chains to their fates while we can do something, while we can still offer even some of them a way out. Besides, perhaps open battle is not necessary.”

Everyone focused on the princess as she continued.

“Lord Reed, is it not possible for you to take your most trusted men to infiltrate the city and break it open from the inside? Could we not then simply swarm the city before they have the chance to retaliate?”

Everyone stopped to give a little thought to the idea and indeed they seem to agree. She knew that if such a plan was pulled off correctly then perhaps it would lead to a lack of blood spilled for all parties involved. The city walls were crumbling and while certainly manned well they didn't exactly project the image of a city at its greatest strength meaning there was almost certainly a gate or a spot they could exploit if they played their hand correctly. Ser Rodrik spoke up next.

“Lord Reed, is such a mission possible?”

Howland nodded with a small smile aimed at Daenerys.

“If given enough time to scout the defenses absolutely. Considering however that the longer we wait in this place the more confident our enemies will grow I would say such a plot must be enacted fast. Fast and brutally so.”

Daenerys agreed as did everyone. They were on a time limit, and seemingly the intel they already had would not be enough to make such a plot work. The longer they waited, the more their enemies would take their stagnancy as weakness and push an offensive perhaps in the middle of the night. Which was something she would both not tolerate nor wish for. In addition to how much delay it would put on them. So again she spoke up her voice strong and aimed at Howland.

“Lord Reed, you will take your best and find a way inside the city of Yunkai, whereupon you will relay that information back and open the gates for us the moment the opportunity presents itself. Do I make myself clear, my lord?”

Howland smiled and bowed his head.

“You do indeed princess. And it will be done.”

She smiled at him once more before turning to the others assembled at the table to close off her statements for the day.

“That will be all until tomorrow. I want watches doubled and kept throughout the night, so I will not have them take us by surprise. Until then all of you may get some much-needed rest.”

Everyone seemed relieved by that. As they filtered out of her tent Howland stayed behind still looking over the map spread out before them. Daenerys took the chance to remove her jewelry and to sit while Missandei undid her braid. She observed as Howland stayed motionless for a while, deciding to break the silence she spoke softly.

“I trust you will be able to accomplish your job in good time?”

Howland smiled at her pushing away from the table. Standing at her height he spoke quietly and with a distinctive tenderness to his tone.

“Of course I will princess. Do you fear I won't be able to?”

Daenerys stiffened at the thought but gave a curt and well-meaning response to his joke.

“I will always be concerned when your life is at stake my lord.”

He smiled and relaxed his shoulders.

“All will be well, I got you out did I not?”

She knew that alone was excellent proof of his capabilities regardless but still could not shake the fearful feeling in her chest. So she responded.

“You had weeks to plan that and you only had to get me out of an open wedding. This is quite different.”

He again chuckled. And spoke in response.

“And now I must sneak into a city under the cover of night, make it past hired and unsuited guards to open a door. I do believe that despite the circumstances being different, that perhaps they are not outside of my skills.”

She couldn't help but smile at the humor he put into his response. But he did continue speaking.

“I must say that you handled the talks well.”

She raised an eyebrow and smiled a bit.

“Truly?”

Howland smiled.

“Aye, you did. Granted there was little chance for surrender in the first place as you know by now. But still you put in a strong, and more importantly, genuine effort. Such qualities should be commemorated in any ruler.”

She retorted with sarcasm in her voice.

“What, giving the chance to give up?”

Howland responded again with genuine sincerity.

“No, you genuinely want to not only see conflict avoided but to see those behind the walls live.”

She responded.

“And yet we will be going to the field of battle again tomorrow night. It seems as if such actions cannot be avoided no matter what I do or threaten them with.”

Howland moved to her side.

“Perhaps not. Everyone has their reasons for fighting. The masters have their gold to think of namely. And take our commanders from earlier. Mero looked to be a brute who could only survive in such a life of violence, hence he seeks it out. For Prendahl this is a personal fight, it's his homeland and people, his ways of life, hence he wishes to not back down from the altercation. Win, lose or draw.”

Daenerys couldn't help but ask.

“And what of Naharis? What did you see as his reasoning for fighting?”

Howland's face soured and tightened. Of all the men they saw today it appeared that Naharis perturbed him the most. And Daenerys was most keen to find out why.

“He seems to be the kind of man who hunts for thrill.”

She quirked an eyebrow and asked.

“Thrill in battle?”

Howland took a drink of water.

“Thrill in all he do I would say. Fighting, pleasure, and everything in between. He is the type of man I think who wishes to leave his mark wherever he goes, to claim what he wishes and to enjoy all the attention thereafter. And I tell you this now princess, when you meet a man who finds as much thrill in battle as he does in bed. That is a man to be wary of, much less trusting of.”

She listened intently now, not willing to let a word of advice pass her by.

“In the event that the storm crows agree to my terms and turn to my side… how should I deal with him then?”

Howland thought for a moment before responding. It was clear he genuinely wished to guide her on this issue. What he came up with she listened intently to.

“It is said that you should keep your friends close yet enemies closer. I would argue that Naharis in the event he does come to our side proves himself neither a friend nor enemy with such a move. Hence, keep him at a distance, always in sight but never close to you. And I do believe he wishes to find thrill with you given his looks during the meeting.”

Daenerys felt a shiver run up her spine. She did not wish to allow such a situation to befall her. And what's worse she knew that Howland was correct if the glances she saw from him were anything to go off of. And now this for her confirmed it in totality. So she nodded. But her response was cut off when a voice, familiar and unwelcome, rang out through the tent.

“Well, I have been in the quarters of many a fine woman, yet I think none can match you.”

Daenerys drew her knife and Howland drew his sword. Missandei stood firm by Daenerys’ side as Naharis walked into the tent. Howland pointed his sword in the man's direction as four unsullied rushed in with spears to Naharis’ throat. He still held the look of unbridled smug arrogance at the entire situation. As if he found it all amusing. Howland's reasoning growing more and more justified in Daenerys’ mind by the minute spent with the man.

Howland spoke up.

“How dare you come here at such an hour in such a manner.”

Naharis smiled and rolled his eyes. And spoke to Daenerys.

“My my, this tall dwarf of yours is rather touchy isn't he?”

Daenerys, thoroughly unamused responded.

“Who do you think you are?”

Naharis again with an arrogance unrivaled in all the world responded.

“Why such a question was asked when I challenged my commander earlier. He asked ‘who do you think you are to usurp my command?’ I responded ‘ah I am Daario Naharis, servant to none’, and new commander of the storm crows as of tonight.”

Daenerys focused on the man as silence hung in the air. She wasn't quite sure what he was getting at but she didn't need to wait long for him to elaborate.

“Well I suppose I shouldn't have expected a wellspring of praise but a thank you would be appreciated. Perhaps such courtesies have been something your tall dwarf here neglected to teach you. Even so I-”

Howland, thoroughly out of patience, put the sword to Naharis’ neck which did shut him up. But certainly did nothing to temper his arrogance and restrained glee. Daenerys spoke again now standing from her seat.

“And why should I be thanking you, Captain Naharis?”

The man smiled and spoke again, yet quieter thanks to Howland's blade to his throat.

“Well, you see. For one, you may thank me for offering my company's services to you. As befits my new position of command I have accepted your terms. You may also thank me for quelling Mero and adding the second sons to your forces as well.”

Howland spoke up next.

“And I assume Prendahl just made you commander on his own volition?”

Naharis inhaled through his teeth as he looked at his belt. Daenerys looked too. She saw two bags, both stained red on the bottom, their contents were large and round. Immediately she knew what they were, and if she wasn't trusting of Naharis before she certainly had less reason to be now. Howland took the realization significantly harsher as he dragged Naharis by his collar down to eye level, sword still aimed at his throat. He spoke with a hard and gruff voice.

“So what, we should trust you because you killed your commander and compatriots? What the hell did you think we would do when you arrived? Fall to our knees and praise your cutthroat display!?”

Naharis smiled and laughed.

“My friend, you misunderstand me. Prendahl offered the choice to the company as he said he would, yet he refused to accept their choice to join you. Something about remaining loyal to his people or so. I stood up and challenged him in a fair duel for command of the company in front of all my men. And sure as the sun rises, I won. And took his head as is tradition.”

Daenerys and Howland shared a look. They didn't know the depths of Esso's tradition, or even the company culture of the storm crows. Neither of them could reasonably call Naharis’ bluff, if it even was one. However, that did not explain Mero’s head. Howland again took the initiative.

“And what of your fellow company? What gave you the right to bring them to heel and agree to our terms?”

Naharis again smiled and spoke with a voice of tainted piety.

“Ah well, upon our choice to switch to your cause. Mero took the opportunity to declare his contract invalid and tried to raid the city himself. Naturally I thought it was a good chance to prove our loyalties to you. So the storm crows raided the second son’s camp and once Mero was dispatched I had them swear loyalty to you and take the city.”

Daenerys was surprised as was Howland. They hadn't expected such a turn of events, much less a pair of sell-sword companies to be added to their numbers in a day. That said it was known between them that this was by no means to be trusted. Especially not yet, Howland's words and assessment hung in the back of her mind the whole time. But even so she needed to know.

“And your sack of Yunkai. Whose lives were forfeit in your attack?”

Naharis raised an eyebrow and spoke.

“Well, we didn't go through the streets killing slaves if that's what you're asking. You may have your pick of the lot tomorrow. But all masters are dead rest assured. As are most of the city watch. So in my humble opinion, that is why you should thank me.”

Daenerys looked to Howland who in turn lowered his sword from Naharis’ neck. Daenerys stepped forth and spoke.

“Very well, Congratulations on your victory and promotion commander. That said if you wish to remain in my ranks you will tomorrow go through Yunkai with my advisors and offer all who would follow the chance to join as well. You will leave a detachment of your men there to guard the city, yet you will come with us on the road to Meereen. Is that understood?”

Naharis smiled and spoke again.

“Oh, most clearly princess…”

Daenerys spoke again.

“Good, now leave…”

Naharis did as told and the four unsullied followed. Daenerys turned to Howland. A wary look in her gaze. But she spoke all the same.

“Despite the fortuitous outcome of this night I want you to watch him closely. And at the first sign of disobedience, treachery, an inch out of line. Bring him to me, and I'll administer the justice he stole from me tonight.”

She had wanted to take the masters' heads herself, as she had done in Astapor. But she knew such a chance was beyond her now. Better to make the best of the situation, precarious as it is now was. Howland responded.

“Gladly princess.”

With that he left for the night. Daenerys was still stressed beyond reason with the turn of events. But Yunkai was dealt with. She now had a clear road to Meereen and from there she needed only to send for Jon and to have him sail over. Yet even then she feared she wouldn't get good sleep tonight.

That was until she awoke in a golden field. From there her night became far happier than she ever could have anticipated given the news Jon had for her.

Notes:

Extremely sorry for the delay in this chapter, I lost my job and had to get a new one fast, my birthday was recently, and college is starting so lots of life. That along with the fact that I have started a new fic which I will be writing alongside this one. But I will always update. thank you all for your patience.

And Thank you all for the kind words last chapter and for the critiques provided. Hope you enjoyed this one.

North/Riverlands/Reach:: 81,000 - (260 ships + 160 ‘Celtigar + Velaryon. 1 Dragon)

Westerlands/Stormlands/Vale: 80,000 - (50,000 westerlands, 12,000 Stormlands, 13,000 Vale 45 ships "Lannisport")

Dorne: Undeclared?

Iron Islands: Undeclared

Daenerys: 21,000 (8,000 unsullied, 5,000 in training, 7,000 freedmen, 1,000 Sell-Swords. 3 Dragons)

(Note this might not be accurate with the books or show to a T but these are what I personally found to be believable estimates and as such will be using.)

As always, comments are welcome.

Chapter 36: Rhaenys II

Summary:

Rhaenys talks the next steps with Jon, Robb, and the new hand of the king.

Rhaenys II

She held the egg in her hands gently, the orange and purple flecks showing different colors when held to the light shining through the window in the solar she sat in. The warmth emanating from the shell like the sun in the early morning. Soft and comforting. It had been on her mind for a bit now, day after day looking at it. She felt a lot of things when she did so. Primarily she felt jealous, jealous that Jon had been gifted Weirya from such a young age. Jealous that Daenerys had not only hatched one, but three. Three dragons on the same day. And here she was holding the same single egg.

She couldn't help but feel cheated, scorned, in some way less than all her remaining kin. She hated it. What's worse she had only begun to feel this way. Or rather had only recently begun to focus on it to this extent. What made it worse was the fact that her jealousy was paired with an intense hope. A hope that if both Jon and Daenerys could see the dragons return to the world then why not her? Why could she not be gifted the same thing as both her kin? Admittedly it was a thought that brought a small smile to her face.

“Are you alright dear niece?”

Rhaenys turned to see her uncle standing in the doorway. She had been so lost in thought that his presence hadn't even been registered. But it was still nice to see him. Come to think of it, she had seen little of him these past few days. Still she responded kindly.

“I am just fine uncle. I was… simply thinking.”

Oberyn stood and walked to her, taking the egg in his hands. He breathed deeply before speaking again.

“Do you know how this egg came to you?”

She nodded. Father had found it during one of his trips south to the old ruins of Summerhall. While playing his harp amongst the rubble and ruin he had uncovered it by chance and brought it back for her while she was no older than one name day. It was a kind gesture, but ultimately a fruitless one. Or rather it seemed that way until very recently. Her uncle spoke again.

“Your mother asked us to take it with you when she sent you our way. And I have known you to treasure it, but never obsess over it. What brings you to this?”

She inhaled and let out a curt sigh.

“I just… for so long my family grasped for dragons. So much blood spilled in their name, all for nothing. Yet within twenty years four have come back. And only under the command of two… why them? What makes them so special to where they warrant such power… and I remain? I do not hate them for it… I just wish to know.”

“Dear niece, I must say your feelings, while I understand and sympathize… I must ask why does this make you feel anything less than what Daeron is? Are you not the first and true-born? What makes Daeron or Daenerys more Targaryen than you? Nothing.” Oberyn said.

Yet Rhaenys took a look down to her egg once more. And while she did listen to her uncle's words and understood the logic of them even accepting it to a certain degree. She still couldn't shake the feelings of inadequacy and jealousy. Nor would she for a bit as she was slowly coming to realize. They sat in silence for a moment, that was until she began thinking again.

“Uncle might I ask why I have not seen you much as of late?”

“I assume because you have been rather busy yourself. I have been speaking to the River and Northern lords on a variety of topics in the meantime.” Said Oberyn.

Rhaenys gave a small chuckle. If she Knew anything about her uncle, and she absolutely did know quite a bit. She knew damn well that he was certainly making trips to local villages for more personal reasons so to speak, amidst his princely duties.

“However I will admit that there is another reason.” Oberyn said, a hesitancy to his voice as he spoke. Which caught her attention prompting an eyebrow raise as he continued.

“I think that it might be time to consider departing back to Dorne, so that we might inform my brother on our findings.”

Her uncle's words were a shock to her. All of a sudden everything around her shifted, the context of her stay and all her interactions. She had known that when they set off from Sunspear this was intended to be a shorter stay overall but not only did she imagine it would be this short but now she didn't exactly want to leave. So immediately she put up her protests.

“I apologize uncle but I do not think that would be wise. Especially not now.”

“I assumed you would have your objections but-” His response was cut off immediately by her continued retort.

“There is no argument to be had here uncle. I have shown myself to Daeron and his court, word of my survival will spread if not already known. Returning to Dorne would offer little safety nor do you need me present to recount uncle Doran as to our findings.”

“Sweet niece, not only does my brother miss you dearly but it would take you away from the center of war. The peace Riverrun has enjoyed is only bought by the Lannister’s continued distraction. With Shireen Baratheon and you here it makes it all the easier for Tywin to focus on Daeron. War will return to the riverlands soon, within the week possibly. And I would not like to see you here for that.” Said Oberyn.

Rhaenys rolled her eyes as she set the egg back down.

“Might I remind you uncle, that not only have you taught me to take care of myself but a Dragon watches over this castle as well. Along with an army some forty thousand strong. I can assure you that Daeron values my safety as much as you do. I am in no harm here.”

Her retort was spoken with confidence. But Oberyn seemed not to buy it. In fact, he looked to be growing annoyed by the back and forth conversation. He spoke up again.

“A dragon who seems to be frequently away I remind you.”

“Because Daeron utilizes her, he does not sit idle and does what he can to advance his cause, he trusts his allies and advisors to keep things together in his stead. Which they do I add.” She said with a growing vigor. This prompted her uncle to step back a bit as he considered her words. Suddenly his gaze grew sharp and scrutinous. He looked at her and said.

“Is there something you're not telling me?”

She gave him a confused look before responding.

“Hardly uncle. It's just that in addition to my confidence in my safety should I remain here, it's that I have also become something of an advisor myself to Daeron. He heeds my advice and values my words. I am making myself an important member of his inner circle. As such I cannot leave so soon.”

Oberyn glared further as he again spoke.

“You have been with Lord Stark for quite a bit have you not?”

Rhaenys suddenly felt that confidence crack and wither. She held her teeth together tight before she gave a response.

“I have no inclination as to what you are referring to uncle. Other than Lord Stark and I both act as advisors to Daeron and we respect each other.”

Uncle Oberyn, she could tell, didn't believe her. With worry growing in her chest she shook her head and attempted to continue.

“I know not what you think you see. But I can assure you uncle that the substance of our relationship goes no further than respected… advisors.”

Even she knew that sounded weak and so did her uncle. Who in turn raised an eyebrow and asked.

“Have you…?”

Suddenly even without thinking, Rhaenys blurted out.

“NO… no, no, no absolutely not… we have never… no.”

Oberyn gave a genuine laugh and spoke again.

“Niece… of all who would judge you for such an act I am hardly one to do so.”

Rhaenys simply glared at him. Unfortunately Oberyn continued.

“And know that out of all those you could have chosen… I will say that Lord Stark seems to be far from the worst. He had a strong sense of honor as his father did, and I doubt would be one to cast you aside for a tavern wench.”

The approval of her uncle did settle her worry a bit and even brought back some sense of hope. A light shimmer to her pale violet eyes showing. Yet once again her uncle spoke.

“Unfortunately I still must insist that we return to Dorne.”

Rhaenys responded.

“And I insist that I will stay. If you feel the need to return south then so be it. I do agree that uncle Doran should be informed of all we have found. But I have made something for myself here, or at least have started to make something. Furthermore, it would not reflect well on us to leave now so suddenly would it?”

Oberyn considered her words for a moment longer, ultimately shaking his head and walking out, but not without one more word.

“We shall discuss this later, but my stance remains the same.”

Rhaenys responded in kind.

“As does mine, uncle.”

Oberyn left the room after that. Rhaenys sat for a while longer and gave thought to her uncle's words. Not regarding whether or not she would leave, she had made her stance on that well and truly clear by now she had no interest in changing it anytime soon. After all she had said to her uncle it would be moronic to do so at this juncture. Her uncle was right, war would inevitably return to the riverlands and ditching on account of that especially when she had Jo\n's ear and capacity to help would not reflect well on her. That said however even if she didn't want to admit it her uncle was right about the other reason she wished to stay.

As much as she wouldn't admit it to anyone, she had grown appreciative of Robb’s presence, if not outright fond of it. Whether be their private sparring sessions, long talks in the godswoods, or the occasional private meal they took in his solar. Every single time she thought of those instances she couldn't help but be reminded of the joy she felt in those moments. Back in Sunspear she had always been close with her cousins, Arianee especially. She was fond of them all, this however was distinctively different. This wasn't familial, but it certainly felt as comfortable.

Even now thinking about it simply brought a smile to her face, she couldn't explain it even if she wanted to, it just made her happy to be close to him. And the mere idea of leaving now, especially on the basis of alerting her uncle as to their findings. Something that she still thought could be accomplished by Uncle Oberyn on his own, was to her equal parts distressing and ridiculous. So no, she had no interest in leaving Riverrun anytime soon.

All of these thoughts were only confirmed when she heard the sound of people rushing outside in the courtyard. For a brief moment she thought that perhaps they were under attack but when she heard the beating of heavy wings approaching she realized what the fuss was about. Quickly she rushed out of her chambers intent on being one of the first faces her brother saw. After all it had been just about a week since he had last left and no ravens had been sent. Which meant that the meeting must have gone quickly, and she was more than intent on finding out what had happened.

---

Her rush took her to the camp outside the walls once more where she found Robb at the fore of the gathering crowd. She made her way to his side which prompted a small smile from him. She in turn reciprocated the warm and kind gesture immediately. However, both their attention was again diverted back to the now grounded Weirya. Who seemed to be very cautious in her movements as she lowered herself as close to the ground as she could manage. Which did puzzle Rhaenys for a moment. However, all soon became clear when she saw who accompanied Jon and Ser Selmy.

She saw that he was a tall man, slender and fair in his complexion. But what caught her off guard was how both Jon and Ser Selmy needed to help him to the ground off Weirya's wing. Whereupon Jon passed the man a fine wood cane which he supported most of his weight on. Yet the way the man presented himself was by no means improper or inconsiderate. No, this was a lord, and a fine one at that. It didn't take long for her to realize who this was, few other men would have matched the description. And if she needed any formal confirmation of her theory, then her uncle's excited and friendly response would have sufficed.

“Lord Willas?”

And the man's reciprocation sealed her confirmation.

“Prince Oberyn!”

Her uncle made his way to the Tyrell lord and shook his hand, Lord Willas reciprocated the kind gesture formally. Her uncle spoke next still maintaining a warm mirth in his voice.

“My lord, I must say your presence is most unexpected.”

“I would have said the same for you, had my king not informed me as to your presence long before we arrived. Suffice to say your presence while expected is no less appreciated nor unwelcome.” Said Willas.

That brought a smile to her uncle’s lips. She had known of the pair's friendly correspondence, the reason for Lord Willas’ injury notwithstanding between them. With how straight forward her uncle had generally been around Riverrun with very few exceptions, it was nice to see him in such a positive way at the sight of an old friend. Her uncle spoke first.

“Well, now that you stand here I am led to believe that you have declared for house Targaryen.”

Lord Willas smiled and nodded his head. He spoke next.

“The announcement will be made later tonight to all the court. The Reach will see Daeron Targaryen on the Iron Throne.”

Uncle Oberyn seemed to be considering the man's words. Likely trying to discern how genuine he was about it. And if his upturned smile was anything to go by, Lord Willas was not found wanting. It was then that Jon walked over, flanked by Ser Selmy. He spoke to Lord Willas, his voice calm and professional.

“If I may my lord, there are two people you must meet before we can begin our discussions and talks in full.”

Lord Willas nodded curtly as Jon walked him over their way. Jon ushered both Robb and herself up to meet the lord. Robb's step was eager and determined, her own step was precise and measured. But they both ended up before Lord Willas. Jon spoke first.

“Might I present Lord Robb Stark, my brother and greatest commander. You will find no man in the seven kingdoms more loyal nor honorable.”

Robb and Willas shook hands there both wearing a smile, Robb did eventually speak.

“My lord, it is good of you to come so far to join us. Your presence is most welcome.”

Lord Willas spoke next.

“I am thankful for the warm welcome Lord Stark. I would like to further express my condolences for your father, I would much like to help administer needed and warranted justice.”

Robb had gotten better about dealing with mentions of his father. But she could see the still present pain in his eye when the topic was brought up. It was never a look she liked to see. Even so Robb gave a kind nod and a thankful response. Following that Jon spoke again, seemingly pushing the pain down as Robb did.

“And may I present to you my lord, the princess Rhaenys Targaryen, my sister and close advisor.”

It took Lord Willas a second to process what Jon said. For a while the lord looked at her and seemed on the verge of laughing. It was clear he didn't believe him. Perhaps he was reconsidering his allegiances then and there. But when uncle Oberyn confirmed Jon's words, the skepticism slowly but surely faded. And in the disappearance of that doubt, his eyes grew wide and his jaw went slack. Shock now dominated his face, his words reduced to breathless sounds as realization struck him like a mace.

With no further prompting he lowered himself as best he could given his condition. Now he spoke with respect and reverence.

“Princess I meant no disrespect, please forgive me. I-I wasn't aware of-"

Rhaenys spoke up, not willing to let his drag on for any length of time longer.

“Your apologies are unneeded my lord. I understand the shock of such a revelation and you need not worry. I am glad you are here now and willing to lend your support.”

Lord Willas once more bowed his head and returned to his full stature, whereupon he turned to Jon once more. They spoke for a short while and eventually agreed to call a full meeting of all the lords later that night in the great hall. It seemed to be important to Lord Willas, as such Rhaenys was excited to hear what was to be said. Nevertheless, she watched as Lord Willas moved on into Riverrun, as did Uncle Oberyn and Robb, who promised to speak to her later. Eventually it was just her and Jon, and of course Weirya.

She approached Jon slowly and curtly, bearing no hint of caution or worry in either her step or voice when she spoke.

“It would seem that the negotiations went as well as could be expected.”

Jon turned on his heel and began to walk by her side as they moved closer to Weirya who seemed to be resting her head on the ground, seemingly about to fall asleep. Jon spoke in response.

“Aye, all went well. If not better than we had anticipated. The Reach now stands beside us in its totality.”

She smiled at the news, it was truly good to hear admittedly. That not only was a massive new force coming to support them, but the promise of their food as well. Truly it seemed as if the idea of ready and prepared court was becoming more and more likely by the moment. Yet even so she knew that such an agreement was not ever going to come to fruition without some serious concessions. And she had guessed some of them already. Still it would be nice to confirm them with Jon before she let her mind run wild with accusations and adjustments to whatever plan she had previously. With that she spoke.

“So tell me brother. What was given for such a boon to our cause?”

Jon spoke now with a far more professional tone, his gray gaze locked onto hers.

“I will be giving them Ser Jaime to do with as they please. I also am taking Ser Loras under consideration for my kings guard if house Tyrell proves themselves worthy of such an honor in 3 moons time. And I am considering giving several portions of the Westerlands to the Reach under the same conditions.”

Rhaenys considered all the terms carefully and individually. Ser Jaime’s transfer was likely a wise choice, it was growing steadily more concerning just how long he had been left stagnant these past moons. No doubt Tywin was plotting something to get him released, so as far as she was concerned the sooner they dealt with him the better. Ser Loras being accepted to the kings guard was harmless enough she figured, politically prestigious for house Tyrell? Absolutely. No doubt they would hold that honor in high regard and attempt to leverage that influence for minor gains. But taking the situation in the lens of Loras as an individual there was little wrong. If all was to be believed he was a great warrior and loyal, perfect for the position.

Then there was the potential transfer of lands to the Reach as a whole. That was what concerned her the most currently. Such an action would not only rewrite the borders of the seven kingdoms, something which had not happened since the annexing of Dorne. But it would also allow the Tyrell's access to some of the southernmost gold mines. That was genuinely worrying for her. The reach was already extremely powerful, by virtue of its fertility and trade. To give them such access to raw mineral wealth would only make such power expand exponentially. There would be little control over them should that happen. And yet even so she could tell that there was more. The Tyrell's wouldn't have accepted this deal without something truly concrete. So she spoke

“And was there anything else you granted them?”

Jon nodded and spoke directly.

“I have granted the position of Hand to lord Willas.”

There it was. That was it. That's what sealed the deal. And considering the other terms in tandem, it certainly spoke to the ambitions of the Reach. As of now the Tyrell's held one of the most powerful positions in all of the court. And their list of other demands would surely see their prestige and power expand exponentially if granted in full. And what's worse, the only thing the Tyrell's needed to do was fight hard. While yes, it would ensure the success of the war theoretically, Rhaenys couldn't help but think that perhaps more advantageous terms could have been reached had things gone on a bit longer. So she spoke.

“I see…”

“Does my decision displease you sister?” Jon said, his voice somewhat inquisitive.

“Perhaps a bit brother.”

“Then say your peace and say it straight.” Jon said.

“Very well then, I think that perhaps better terms might have been able to be reached. I have no objections to their demands regarding Ser Jaime and Ser Loras. And I will admit, Lord Willas, if both my memory and uncle’s words prove true, then he is an exemplary choice for hand. He has a keen mind and sharp wit, furthermore he secures the Reach in perpetuity so long as he holds the station, thus tying the glory of his house and success of the Reach to the success of your reign. It will keep them more in line than they might have otherwise been. It is a good choice.”

“Then where does your worry begin?” Jon asked.

“It begins with the terms regarding land brother, the Westerlands is rich in gold, we both know this. But the Reach has been and will likely always be one of if not the single wealthiest kingdoms in the realm. They have the capacity to match all others in resources, prestige, wealth, and military might. As such, lending them more power by means of gold mines seems a dangerous gambit. And take that in addition to Lord Willas’ new position as your hand. Such power is now affordable to the Reach and if we punish the Lannister's for their many crimes we won't be able to count on them to stand as a suitable counter.”

“I have afforded them too much then?” Jon asked with genuine interest.

“Truthfully I can not say brother. The situation is young and growing, you have done well in bringing the Reach to our cause. But if they acquire all specifications of their bargain I fear you may create more problems than you solve in the end.”

Jon stood quiet for a moment and thought. She wasn't sure if it was strategy or regret which ran through his head. But he spoke all the same.

“Assume the worst should happen with the Tyrell's, what would you do to restore a semblance of balance?”

She thought for a second, putting all her knowledge and education to use. Eventually responding.

“I would not see the Lannister's arise again, I think that lord Tywin has dragged them too far from grace in the name of his ambition, he had scared the seven kingdoms too deeply, and should Ser Jaime face his fate at the hands of the Tyrell's, it is unlikely that he would allow lord Tyrion to inherit the rock. Perhaps Tommen but… in truth I see little future for house Lannister.”

“I thought we were talking about the Tyrell's.” Jon retorted dryly.

“I'm getting there brother, have some patience, now. Let's consider some alternatives. Assuming the Tyrell's get their wanted land and the Lannister's are too unfit to remain as wardens of the West we could do one of two things. One, we could establish another Westerland house to fill the Lannister’s place, whereupon we see their development and present them as a strong and more importantly loyal counter to the influence of the Reach. Or we could take the truly drastic road.”

“And what would that be?” Jon asked with a raised eyebrow.

“We could abolish the kingdom of the Westerlands all together and transfer its lords and territories to the riverlands under house Tully.”

Jon went silent for a moment as he considered the option. Rhaenys for her part remained stalwart and silent in her conviction. Jon eventually turned back to her and spoke in a very uneasy tone.

“Sister, I am not so sure as to the validity of that road.”

“Neither am I brother, believe me. But I ask you to hear my reasons. For one such a move not only creates a rival for the Reach in both resources, population, and size alone. But it also serves to send two messages about you at once. One, that you do not tolerate slights as the Lannister's have made, and are willing to go to great lengths to see those wrongs answered, but you are also willing to bestow great gifts on those who support you wholeheartedly. Not only that but such a move would help facilitate the Riverlands reconstruction. Which if I may remind you was brought on by the Lannister's in the first place. It would also give them a much-needed increase of strength and wealth which they greatly need.”

Jon took in a deep breath at the thought before speaking again.

“Rhaenys, as much as I wish to reward the Riverlands for their aid of my cause, I just can't see such drastic measures being taken yet. Wouldn't such a radical change upset all alliances between the kingdoms?”

“Truthfully yes, and make no mistake I do not present this as a preferable or even good option. Such a change in the political landscape of Westeros has not been seen in a very long time. But these are extreme times in which we live brother. So much has happened these past decades and we must consider all options before us. And if our new world's peace is made on the sacrifice of old borders and ways of life… well then perhaps we would be wise to try and alter things for the better.”

When all was said and done the pair stood in shared quiet for a while. It had been a time and now such major political shifts were being talked about in the open air. Both needed an excess more advising before they came to something, anything even remotely resembling a conclusion on the matter. So with that they walked together through the camp. Before eventually returning to the great hall for that night's council.

---

It was much later that day when she saw anyone again. Having taken time to herself to train and relax. Now tension had returned to her as she sat in Robb’s solar. There also was Jon and now Lord Willas, who had by now been caught up on all important information regarding the war effort and where they stood militarily. Every known detail with Daenerys and her goals, and all specifications regarding their own forces down to the last spear. Needless to say, on the surface all seemed to be in their favor. Granted Renly Baratheon also had the quality of numbers and such a gift bore little fruits. Stagnancy had reigned in their camp as they gathered their forces and resources. Now was the time to act in full.

Sitting down around a circular table the four were provided water at Robb’s request, they were going to be there for some time. It was time for them to begin the work of strategy. Maps were spread over the table and wooden pieces representing houses were placed all over it. Willas, having processed all the given information, was the first to speak up.

“I must admit your hosts are both vast and impressive. You seem to have secured much needed alliances, and with the Reach at your back I trust you will now consider making moves to win this war on the field?"

Jon spoke next.

“Aye that is the hope. With your men our host numbers some eighty thousand now. And even now Daenerys’ host grows in the east. We now present a force that can truly win this war.”

“If so we should march for Kings landing and take the capital. End it fast and break their forces, that way when Daenerys arrives we can spread out and take on the rest one by one.” Said Rhaenys.

“I cannot agree with that.” Said Robb who spoke up immediately. Rhaenys, not one to let such a response go without question asked.

“And why not Lord Stark? Actually before we continue, where is Sherry Brynden? Surely we should include him in these talks.”

“He rides east with a small host to curb a Lannister raiding party getting too close for comfort.” Responded Jon.

“Then surely Lord Edmure should be here in his place.” She said.

“My uncle is a kind man, but on the topic of war I think there is much of him to be desired, besides he spends most of his hours with my grandfather at his bedside.” Robb said with a persistent pain in his voice, Rhaenys dropped the topic there, even if she felt that the exclusion of a representative of the river lords was a mistake. Nevertheless, Robb continued on with his response to her initial question.

“But as I meant to say, I would advise against a full assault on the capital. As we stand the Vale, the Stormlands, Crownlands, and the Westerlands are our opposition. Together they field some eighty thousand. A match for our force numerically, not only that but the majority of their host resides in the capital itself. Assuming we were to attack head on with all our might, we not only face a force within a well defended city and well rested, we face a well-prepared force in terms of skill as well. Is such a fight winnable? Possibly. But at what cost.” Robb said.

It was a fair point, and it was only strengthened by the voice of lord Willas.

“Lord Stark speaks truly, and if we were to bring the dragon to bear against our enemies we would be unleashing it against the entirety of Kings landing, they would hide behind their walls and amongst the small-folk. I doubt our king would wish to burn them out of their homes.”

Again fair point. Then Rhaenys spoke again.

“The perhaps we siege them. Let them hide and negate burning the city. We have the ships to blockade the capital, we hold Dragonstone and driftmark. Why not let them hide and starve?”

Again Robb spoke.

“Because that brings us to the issue that our enemy has forces outside of the capital. I am willing to wager that Tywin won't have been sitting idle in the capital all this time. Likely he has been making requests of the Vale and Stormlands to raise new armies and train them. We know he has requested Stafford Lannister to do as such in the Westerlands. Assume we get ourselves into a siege with all our host, that leaves the Riverlands and Reach open to raids and conquest. While we focus our attention east they sweep in from behind and trap us, if they do have forces to the north and south then we face a fight from three fronts. Not something desirable. It took a while to retake the Riverlands alone, I don't think anyone wishes to do it again.”

Willas spoke up again.

“Agreed, Lord Tywin has already threatened the Reach with raids should we not comply with his demands. I expect him to follow through on it. And our armies won't be able to feed themselves if all our food is stolen and crops burned. We cannot coalesce ourselves into a singular host as far as I can see.”

“Then what? We sit and wait for the Lannister's to drop dead of old age and wine poisoning?” Rhaenys responded somewhat sarcastically.

It was then Jon’s face brightened with realization.

“Hardly. If we cannot face our enemy head on as of now we face them individually at once.”

“Explain brother.” Came Robb's response.

“If we cannot face them at once then we should be the first to create multiple fronts of the war. If lord Tywin wishes to attack the Reach, we direct the Reach to attack the Westerlands from the south, we curb the progress of Stafford Lannister and threaten Lord Tywin's ancestral seat of power. Hopefully that will nullify any attempt at striking us from behind. If they attempt to attack the Reach from the west we divert the soldiers of the Riverlands to defend and reinforce if need be. I have already requested Theon Greyjoy to begin a blockade of Gulltown to cut off the Lannister's second major port which may draw the attention of the Vale.”

Robb spoke next, scratching his beaded chin.

“I might agree your grace, but I see issues as well. For one, we run the risk of spreading ourselves too thin in response. I like the idea of a multipronged attack but it still doesn't cover all angles. For one, diverting all forces of the Reach to take on the Westerlands seems a waste of troops, and in turn it requires the River lords to play the defense of both the Riverlands and Reach on its eastern borders. Which leaves the North as the only offensive force which could be overcome if caught in the wrong spot. Weirya might mitigate the worst for one force, but she can only be in so many places at once. If you have her on the offense it leaves the defense weak, if you have her on the defense it leaves the offense to die outnumbered, crushed between the Vale or Stormlands and the Crownlands.”

Jon fell quiet. And for good reason, Robb's advice was sound. And it brought a realization to Rhaenys even with their host this would not be easy, even with Weirya this would be a hard task. But again Willas spoke up.`

“Your grace, if I may.”

“Speak your peace Lord Hand.” Said Jon.

“As of now, yes, our military prospects remain ill balanced. The Lannister's need only keep their host on the defense and raiding, waiting for an opportunity to strike. But I would like to present another option to further weaken them.” Said Willas.

Rhaenys was the next to speak up.

“And in what manner would you recommend we act?”

“Perhaps we focus on breaking down the bonds of our enemies' alliance. Lord Eddard was raised in the Vale. Jon Arryn loved him as a son. As did many of its houses. I can't imagine that Lady Lysa’s choice to ally with his murderers has gone down well. As such I think there's an opportunity to sew division in your enemies ranks. Not only that but you also hold the power to do the same for the Stormlands. I say you should have Lady Shireen push her claim to Storm's end. I think that given the choice between the trueborn daughter of Stannis Baratheon and the incestuous child of Cersei… I think the choice will be clear and obvious to all those with loyalty still in their hearts.” Willas said.

Everyone around the room seemed to be in agreement on that front particularly. It was by no means a terrible idea. In fact, it was likely the best thing to do in combination with making moves militarily. Willas continued.

“If we intend to make way in sewing dissent in the Vale I recommend starting with house Royce. They are both a house of great standing and had quite the love for Lord Eddard. I do think that they are your best chance."

“I will take such negotiations into consideration, Lord Hand.” Said Jon. Then came the voice of Robb.

“If I may, I have another recommendation.”

“Go on.” Said Jon in response.

“I think that perhaps we should consider the Iron Islands as well. If we send Theon as an envoy to negotiate with his father, we could promise them the wealth of the Westerlands as incentive. Draw Stafford's attention away from the east and into the defense of his coastline. That might leave a large portion of the Reach available to join us on an offensive into the east, or for defense of their own homeland. Either way it would provide us some much-needed breathing room.”

Both Jon and Willas seemed to recoil in concern at the idea. With Willas speaking up first.

“Lord Stark I do admire the idea but I don't think we can put any faith in the Ironborn to rise to such a responsibility. They are raiders and belligerent at best, outright rebellious at worst. I don't think we could trust them.”

“And I have my concerns regarding whether or not Theon is up to the task.” Said Jon.

But before Robb could speak again to argue his point further, Rhaenys spoke up with her own addition to the situation.

“I must add something to Lord Stark's reasoning. If we intend to bring Daenerys over to Westeros we will require ships. Normally I would recommend the Velaryon and Manderly fleets. But both are pinned down blockading the Blackwater bay and Gulltown soon enough. I would also add that the Mormont fleet might be too small to transport the numbers you describe her forces as your grace. You will need to muster a larger fleet to make the voyage possible. Not only that but the Lannister's still hold the Redwyne fleet down with their hostages, and in lack of any better options it might be wise to draw upon the Iron Islands for their ships. That is unless you wish to wait for Daenerys to muster her own fleet in addition to her army. Which would only delay her arrival further.”

That made Jon seemingly reconsider the idea. Willas stayed suspicious. Which he voiced soon enough.

“And how would you present such an alliance? Return young Theon to his father having been separated for so long and demand he acquiesce? What would you offer to make such an alliance stick?"

Rhaenys spoke again.

“Wealth of the Westerlands for one, perhaps some castles along the coast. Guaranteed positions of honor in court. And should the lords be willing, marriage pacts.”

Willas responded.

“And who would be offered in such a pact? Lady Sansa? And to whom? Theon? The boy who has been gone so long his father might not even care to negotiate with? Princess I'm sorry to say but we have little in the way of leverage to use against them aside from the promise of unregulated violence against the Westerlands. I doubt they would ever agree to such terms. No, we must find alternatives to gather ships for princess Daenerys, and to tie up the Westerland forces.

Rhaenys looked to Robb who now looked rather defeated. But he spoke once more.

“At least let us bring the idea to Theon.”

Jon spoke up.

“I will run the prospect by him, and if there seems to be a chance it will work, then I will give the idea more consideration. For now, we table the discussion. Besides, there is another option I would like to present that might have a better chance.”

That caught everyone's attention as they turned their focus to Jon, who in turn addressed Rhaenys first.

“Sister, before I left for the Reach you said that Prince Doran took your say and word with serious consideration.”

Rhaenys nodded.

“Indeed brother, I state again he views me as one of his own.”

“If that's so, then perhaps we might fare better in pursuing an alliance with Dorne than the Iron Islands.” Jon said confidently. That did pique the interest of everyone. Rhaenys listened as her brother spoke on.

“An alliance with the Dornish would ensure true numerical superiority, and would allow us to attack the Stromlands from the south as well as from the west. And it might go a long way to healing the wounds my father left.”

Willas spoke next.

“It's not a bad nor Implausible idea. But I must ask how would you seal such an alliance? The Dornish would not agree should the gains be light.”

Jon now wore a smile as he spoke.

“My Lord Hand I am well aware, but I do think that we have that capacity.”

“Then what do you intend to offer them?” Said Robb. To which Jon simply looked between Robb and Rhaenys. Suddenly a nervous sweat ran down both their heads as Rhaenys caught on to what her brother was suggesting.

“I would offer a few marriage pacts. For one, I would see that their royal blood in Rhaenys is not wasted by seeing her betrothed to Lord Stark. That way the two families who harbored and protected house Targaryen are honored with a prestigious and politically powerful match. The way I see it, the new prestige of house Stark will be found in my court as my family for all my life, and the acknowledgment of house Martell's links to the throne through Rhaenys would be a fair match. Should my sister and brother agree to the match of course.” Jon said with a sly smile as he focused on both Robb and herself.

She had figured that she would be utilized in such a way eventually. And he wasn't forcing her or Robb to take the offer. But the way he smiled said it all, he knew that Robb wouldn't refuse an offer like that. So that just left her own stance on the idea. And it took only one look at Robb for her to know, she didn't necessarily want to refuse it either. It was then that Willas spoke up.

“It's not a bad idea, but perhaps more would be asked of you for an alliance.”

Jon turned to Willas.

“Oh I am aware Lord Hand, hence why I'm offering you a similar prospect.” Said Jon.

Willas turned to Jon with an eyebrow raised.

“I would ask for you to consider a marriage pact between house Tyrell and Martell as well. Perhaps a betrothal of Margaery to Qentyn, after all if she can't be married to a king then perhaps a prince will suffice. Or a marriage between you and Arianne Martell."

Both Rhaenys and Willas looked shocked at the idea, Willas more so. His response came out as more confused initially, but then Jon explained.

“If such a match was offered it would see house Martell bound to both the throne through Rhaenys, and to the highest position of court through you. It would secure their influence and power and hopefully see their slights answered and paid for. Not only that but perhaps in addition to your friendship with Prince Oberyn it would go a ways to healing the feud between Dorne and the Reach.”

Rhaenys watched as Lord Willas’ face returned to a true neutral, his calm rationality returning to him rather quickly. From there it didn't take long for him to begin putting together the logistics and benefits such an alliance would bring. For that matter so did Rhaenys, it was a sound idea in theory. But practice often puts such plans to ruin. Yet even so, it was worth a shot. And Willas’ response seemed to confirm that.

“I will consider the proposition your grace.”

“Thank you, lord hand. And Lord Stark, sister. I do ask that we continue to discuss the possibilities of a marriage pact between you both.” Jon said.

Rhaenys felt a tightness in her chest again, a cold sweat running down her face. And from a glance so did Robb. She wanted to contest Jon, argue against him. State that she needed more time to consider such a monumental offer, and to check if such a move would have the intended effect. Her own feelings further accounted for she felt as though she needed just a bit more time. Perhaps a few more conversations with Robb and she would know for sure.

And just as fast as the topic was brought up it was cast aside, not by any intentional shift in the topic, rather the sudden intrusion of Ser Brynden Tully into the solar. His breaths ragged and his eyes fierce. Small patches of blood coated his armor. Clearly he had rushed here as fast as he could manage. The tone of his voice spoke to the urgency in which he sped over here.

“Your grace… I apologize for the intrusion but I bring news most critical.”

Jon, taken aback by his arrival, quickly regathered his bearings. He spoke in a calm voice, yet stern to relay the degree of seriousness in which he took the old knight's word.

“Speak clearly then Ser Brynden. And tell us what brings you here in such a state.”

Ser Brynden stood straight as he walked over to the table. He pulled out a map of the Riverlands laying it flat on the table, knocking over some of the already positioned pieces. He proceeded to place down several wooden markers representing their forces and Riverrun. And across the Red Fork he placed down a marker representing Lannister forces. All those gathered at the table focused their attention on the old knight as he began to speak, intently and with what could only be described as some form of excitement.

“My force was riding southward along the Red Fork for some two days. We had set camp up last night and established sentries to keep watch. Well in the dead of the evening two of our scouts woke me up and alerted me that a force of Lannister riders had been sighted near Stone Mill. And they said that amongst the camp's banners they saw one in particular. Three black dogs on a field of yellow… I need not tell you who rides under that banner.”

Everyone at the table stared at the map. They had been trying to track the Mountain for a while. He wasn't exactly subtle in his strikes but he always managed to slip away before they could bring their forces to bear. But even in their wildest dreams they could not have imagined such a perfect opportunity being presented to them. Rhaenys especially, she could feel the combination of excitement and rage grow and spread like a fire. All other thoughts left her head as she spoke with a voice like dragon fire.

“Brother, I ask that you alert my uncle… and if you see fit, ready a force to strike… you have the chance to kill the mountain…”

Notes:

Extremely sorry for the delay in this chapter, I lost my job and had to get a new one fast, my birthday was recently, and college is starting so lots of life. That along with the fact that I have started a new fic which I will be writing alongside this one. But I will always update. thank you all for your patience.

And Thank you all for the kind words last chapter and for the critiques provided. Hope you enjoyed this one.

North/Riverlands/Reach:: 81,000 - (260 ships + 160 ‘Celtigar + Velaryon. 1 Dragon)

Westerlands/Stormlands/Vale: 80,000 - (50,000 westerlands, 12,000 Stormlands, 13,000 Vale 45 ships "Lannisport")

Dorne: Undeclared?

Iron Islands: Undeclared

Daenerys: 21,000 (8,000 unsullied, 5,000 in training, 7,000 freedmen, 1,000 Sell-Swords. 3 Dragons)

(Note this might not be accurate with the books or show to a T but these are what I personally found to be believable estimates and as such will be using.)

As always, comments are welcome.

Notes:

welcome to the start.