Well, as promised, the first chapter. This story is pretty, ah… well, personally, it's my favourite out of all of them. At least, I think it will be.

Now, a massive thank you to everyone that followed, favourited and reviewed the two first stories, A Crown of Bones and A Realm of Ashes – if you haven't read them yet, you may want to do so before starting to read this one.

As for characters needed – the Night's Watch. I need characters for that – Rangers, Stewards, Recruits and, of course, the First Ranger and the Lord Commander. Bear in mind that at this time, the Night's Watch is a prestigious, elite force to be reckoned with.

And, of course, feel free to send in some Wildlings, as they are going to be another major faction.

Raff Bolton – The Dreadfort, The North

How foolish they all were. The famously loyal Starks and their bannermen. Markas thought that he could lead his forces against me. Then he was fucking empty-headed enough to challenge me to single combat.

My father thought I was a simple creature, that I would have accepted the Stark boy's offer to prove my honour to all the Northmen. But I was not just a simple Northmen – I was raised by the Krakens of the Iron Islands.

I didn't care about honour. I cared about fear. And after today, I would make sure that they all feared me.

I dragged the boy out of the battlements by his dark hair. He began to stumble and fall, his hands chained together. I took out my thin knife and pressed it to his throat, looking out at the Northern army that stood ready to charge. Led by that bloodthirsty Red Cedric Glover.

"Men of the North," I addressed them, "behold, your noble Lord!" I threw the boy onto the ground, a chain from his waist wrapped up around my arm. A little wolf cub… so scared and horrified. The last of his line.

"What do you want, Bolton?" Lord Reed spoke first.

"What do I want?" I crossed my arms, tapping my chin with the hilt of my blade. "A nice big castle, a pretty bride… and dominion over our inferiors!" I let out a chuckle. "Come, Red Cedric. If you charge, your Lord shall die. The House of Stark will end."

Red Cedric's rough cheeks hid his green eyes, which settled upon Markas, a boy covered in mire and blood, his hair tangled and sodden with grease. Red Cedric took several steps forwards.

"He's your only bargaining tool, Bolton," Red Cedric shook his head, "You wouldn't kill him."

I let out a laugh at this. The old codger had clearly never come across anyone like me before. And I knew why – there wasn't anyone like me. I grabbed Markas by the hair and dragged him up to his feet, placing my knife at his throat. "Red Cedric, I'll kill him. I want to kill him. And when I'm done with him, I'll come for your daughters. I'll come for your sons. Your houses will suffer from the same fate as the Starks!"

I took the knife and began to carve my way around Markas' ear. I pried it behind the soft skin and began to saw the tip of the knife through the base of his right ear. He kept his mouth shut, but let out pained gasps through his nose and muffled screams through gritted teeth. I looked at the poor boy, blood streaming down to his shoulder. "You're trying to be brave aren't you?" The boy's eyes looked up at me. "Oh," I chuckled, "there's no point to that."

Red Cedric let out a command and his men began to make ready to charge. The Stark men nocked their arrows and began to draw, as did my own men. I finished removing the Stark boy's ear and let him fall to the ground, throwing the ear to Red Cedric.

"You've failed your little Lord, Red Cedric," I began to walk towards Markas, twirling my blade in my hands as I came closer, "just as you failed his father."

"If you kill me," Markas spluttered, "you'll die too."

"Then let's depart together," I grinned into his ear.

I leant down and held Markas by the hair again, pressing my blade to his neck. I held him in front of me, and Red Cedric held up a hand, halting his army from advancing. Cretin. He was burdened by loyalty. By an oath. How like a dog.

"Something the matter, Red Cedric?"

"Spare our Lord."

"Glover-" Markas coughed. I silenced him by slapping the flat side of my blade against his neck.

"You were saying, Red Cedric?"

Red Cedric balled his large hands into fists as he locked eyes with the boy. That balding mess of fiery hair fading from his head bent forwards as he knelt, his hands shaking violently. "By the ancient laws of combat, you have won the claims of House Stark," Glover kept his eyes on my latest pet, "but there is no need to kill the boy now."

I looked down at the boy, thick and dark blood soaked his matted dark hair and smudged along his jaw. I turned back to Red Cedric. "I suppose you're right…" I muttered, grasping my hands behind my back as I saw that one-by-one, each of the Stark bannermen began to bend the knee. Not to my father or to my sister, but to me. Lord Raff Bolton.

Viserys Targaryen – The Eyrie, The Vale of Arryn

"Allegiance?" I pondered the word, looking out across the Vale. A kingdom of clouds, rain, hard stone and mountains. Nothing like the soft, wet Riverlands or the bustling cities of the Crownlands. No, the Vale was ancient and noble, as were their Houses. I turned around to face Lord Arryn. "Your ancestors swore fealty to mine."

"They did. They also happen to be King Aeron's ancestors," Rowen leaned back in his throne, "who is also of my land."

"He killed my brother."

"So you say," Rowen nodded.

"Do you accuse me of something, Ser?"

Lord Rowen shook his head, "Of course not, Your Grace. But the word of one king is equal to another."

I turned to face Lord Rowen, clasping my hands. "Do you think me a liar, My Lord?"

Lord Rowen began to fiddle with a small sapphire ring on his left hand, his eyes set upon me. "No," he said after a moment, "no, I do not, Your Grace."

"Have you pledged allegiance to Aeron yet?"

"Not yet," Lord Rowen said slowly, roving his gaze over to a tall, muscular woman. Her eyes were a bright and hard blue, her lips thin and her nose long. A curved scar ran along her cheek – clean and healed – wounded by a sword, no doubt. She was clad in dark breeches and a leather gambeson. Nothing at all like Visenya's flowing hair or Haylise's delicate beauty.

Haylise… the thought stuck in my head like some plague I could not be cured of. Haylise… what Aeron had done to her. Her home. Her family. I may not had been happy being married to her but… I wanted to be, now.

But then… Ashriel. Gods, what had happened to Ashriel? Aeron couldn't have killed her – she was his sister, by law. No… she had to be alive - I knew she was alive. If she was gone, I would have felt it. For she was to me what air was to anyone else. Regardless of my feelings for Haylise… Ashriel and I were one and the same.

"Not yet?" I dragged my attention back to the situation at hand.

"Indeed… Aeron's mother, the Lady Dyanne, sent a raven. Aeron has invited me to King's Landing to bend the knee."

I felt my jaw drop. "You can't!" I insisted. "The man's an animal! A kin-slayer, a usurper-"

"He sits on the Iron Throne," Lord Rowen replied, "Each king would bid me to fight the other."

"I am the trueborn son of Rhaegon and Vysella Targaryen."

"Aeron was legitimized. And he is older, is he not? The law is clear…"

"He killed my brother," I cried, "he should be stripped of all inheritance. As is the law." Lord Rowen thumbed his chin. "What gives you pause?"

"Why do I tarry before declaring war against the throne?"

I bit my lip; I suppose I had not thought about this. But Lord Rowen needed to know my intentions. "I never wanted to be king," I informed him, "Draegor was the heir. Laena would have been queen. But Aeron killed my brother. The townsfolk rose against him and tried to assassinate him. He does not understand what it means to be a king. He razed Storm's End and Winterfell."

Lord Rowen nodded, "He did… he slaughtered innocents…" Lord Rowen rose from his chair, his fingers stroking the sapphire gem on his finger as he looked to the tall woman, "but your ancestor, Visenya…"

"Your ancestor bent the knee," I reminded him, "he was a boy."

"I do not hold you responsible for the actions of your ancestors, Your Grace," Rowen bowed his head, "though we both know what she would have done to that boy should he had refused to surrender his birth right." Rowen didn't understand. He wasn't there, and neither was I. But we were Targaryens… we had the Dragon's blood. We were different to the Westerosi. They warred for years, and we united them. Only by uniting all the kingdoms under one leader could there be peace. If one kingdom refused to follow, all would have. And that would have led to nothing but another age of war between the kingdoms.

"Forgive me, Your Grace," Lord Rowen rose from his chair, "I must excuse this matter as I am famished. I invite you to join me and my daughters for some food."

I wanted to push him back into his chair and tell him this matter was too urgent and had to be settled. But I was a guest in his home. And I needed his help. I bit my tongue and bowed my head before following him into his great hall.

Ser Edgar Sand – The Red Keep, King's Landing, The Crownlands

The throne room was large, filled with all sorts of nobles. Pink-skinned and soft. I stood beside a pillar, my arms crossed as I kept my eyes on Aeron. He was handsome, in a traditional way. Face sharp like a knife. He lounged in the throne, examining the approaching peasant that held his hat in both hands.

"Y'Grace," the peasant bowed his head and knelt. Aeron rested his jaw in one hand and waved the other so the peasant rose, "M' name is Gestin. I… I's come to ask you…" He put his hand to his face and began to blubber. Such a child… "M' sister, Daisy. Worked a' the Goldfinch in Gin Alley," he sniffled, "ripped apar' she was."

"By a dog?" Aeron narrowed his eyes.

"No, Y'Grace," He sniffed, "by a customer. She were a whore, sire. Beggin' y'pardon, sire."

"My condolences," Aeron bowed his head. "Did she have children?"

"Yessire, two bastard girls."

Aeron nodded. "I'll see that they are given jobs in the kitchens. Lord Lannister, you can see this done, can you not?"

"I…" Lord Lannister opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by the commoner, Gestin.

"A thousand blessin's on you, Y'Grace, but 'ats not why I's here," Gesting took a quivering breath, "it's the third time it's 'appened. In Fleabottom, sire."

"The third?" Aeron frowned. He turned to the Lord Commander of the City Watch. A man in his thirties, with a pretty gold cloak and a pretty brown beard. "What are you doing about this, My Lord?"

The Lord Commander frowned, "…It's Fleabottom sire."

"Do you have any daughters?"

"I… one, Your Grace."

"And what would you do if this happened to them?" Aeron raised an eyebrow as the pretty little knight kept quiet. His violet eyes drifted over to me. "Ser."

All the eyes in the room shifted to me. I frowned, looking behind me to see if they were looking at someone else. I then remembered I was now a knight, as the Westerosi were so fond of. I walked from the pillar and approached the throne, standing next to that lumbering beast, Ser Mikal Drake.

"You desire a place on my Kingsguard, is this so?"

"It is, Your Grace."

"Then I charge you to journey into Fleabottom. Find this mindless killer, and bring him before me. Do so, and you shall be justly rewarded."

"At once, Your Grace." I plunged into a deep bow.

"Lord Commander, how many of the City Watch can you spare?"

"I'd prefer to be on my own, Your Grace," I quickly insisted. "Golden cloaks in this… Fleabottom? May gain me nothing but attention."

Aeron nodded. "As you are, Ser Edgar."

I bowed again, glancing my eyes at the foul, oath-breaking Mikal Drake, before leaving the throne room to find myself a murderer.

Julian – The Kingsroad, The Riverlands

I crouched down by the stream, dipping my hands into the water and splashing it upon the back of my neck. I stretched out my legs and sat down, peeling off my boots. I turned to the other recruits, seeing them examine each other's blades, taking practice swings at some imaginary foe.

My mind swept back to when I would do that in the forge. Roto would always give me some backhanded compliment. Something like "I wish I was as determined as you… you're still trying to get better…"

I swallowed the memory and lay back in the grass; How long would it be until I felt grass again? I tried to remember the feeling of it; wet and sodden, small pools of water pressed from it under the weight of my calloused hands.

"Enjoying the warm?" I turned around to see Kenn Stark there. Greying hair and wiry frame as he walked towards me, absent of his thick cloak.

"It isn't warm," I stated.

Kenn chuckled, "Spend some time at the Wall, and this may well be Dorne to you."

I gulped at the thought. I hadn't thought much about the cold. I'd been more preoccupied with standing on top of a seven-hundred-foot-tall wall of ice. Or the Wildlings. I wasn't young enough to still believe in Grumpkins and Snarks and Wight Walkers, but I was sure that strange things lay beyond the Wall. Strange things that were better off being left as myths to the rest of us.

"You still sure about this, lad?" Kenn caught sight of my face, "It's no easy life, you know?"

"I know."

"Then what's stopping you from jumping off that cart and running to Oldtown?"

"Besides giving you my word?" He nodded. I cast my memory back to the Witch-Child in Fleabottom… the words she had spoken to me. I was the Champion… whatever that meant. "I think that this is…" I stuttered, trying to find the right words, "w-what I'm meant to do."

Kenn nodded slowly, flicking his tongue over his lip from beneath his beard and narrowing his eyes at me. "You're one of that sort then."

"That sort?" I frowned.

"A glory-seeker. We've a few of them in the Watch…"

"No," I shook my head, "It's… I know it sounds bloody stupid but I was told by this… this witch. She said that I had to come here. Well, to the Sept. She told me that 'the Wolf' will guide me."

Kenn continued to chew his tongue, eyes steady on me before he took his gloves from his belt, pulling them on. "Aye," He muttered, "that is fucking stupid," He turned around to the other men of the Watch, "Get your fucking arses back on that cart! It's a hard to Riverrun before sundown, and the rain clouds are gathering!"

Lord Commander Mikal Drake – Fishmonger's Square, King's Landing, The Crownlands

Aeron had bid me escort his Queen, Delyth Tyrell, to the Fishmonger's Square, to watch over her giving gold dragons to the poor. I stood beside her, a hand resting on the hilt of my knife as I flickered my eyes across the approaching masses. Beside me, stood Ser Fillan of the Crow's Wood. He was an able warrior, and had been one of the Kingsguard whom protected Rhaegon during the Ironborn Raids two decades ago. Sadly, the man was becoming old and slowing.

And then, I heard a tune; a song being hummed. It was an old one, one I'd not heard in my time in King's Landing, not since the days where I'd known Daisy. It was the song of my House's defeat. And, what with my Kingsguard oaths, it seemed that this song, the Plight of Drakes, was all that remained. That, and my Meat Cleaver – the axe engraved with ancient runes. The last piece ever forged at Drake Castle before it crumbled near a decade ago.

The woman that hummed the song had a head of red hair, in decorative plaits. Sky blue eyes, sun-kissed skin. She wore a dulled rose dress, carrying a loaf of bread in a basket. Those shining blue eyes glanced across to me, and she smiled. I couldn't help but recognize Daisy's smile in her. And then I began to turn sad, remembering Daisy's bloodied neck, staining my hands. A knife with a stag's head still clutched by one of the many men I'd slaughtered.

Then I felt nothing but rage.

"Can I help you, Ser?" The woman smiled at me, resting one hand on her hip.

"I…" I shook my head, trying to centre myself, "That song you sing. Where did you learn it?"

"As a bard, I try to know as many songs as I can, Ser." She bit her lip, looking me up and down. "You're him, aren't you? Ser Mikal Drake, the Butcher."

"I am," I nodded stiffly. Most men would have shied away at the name. But I wore it as proudly as the three-headed dragon upon my steel armour. It was a promise to my enemies, and those of King Aeron's.

"Used to handling lots of meat, then?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Cleaving it, more often."

"For the honour of King Aeron?"

"He is our King," I replied, "and a finer one than an Oathbreaker like Viserys Targaryen."

"My, my, my, you should be the town crier!" She chuckled. "I'm Cara."

"Cara." I smiled at the name.

"Hill," She said eventually.

"Hill?" A bastard?

"My father is a Reyne of Castamere."

"Reynes…" I sniffed at the name; King Aeron's Lord Hand, Lucian Lannister, held very little love for them, and as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, I too held next to nought.

"Not all of us are lucky enough to have the right mother."

"I have no mother," I replied. I turned back to see my Queen Delyth had wandered further away with Ser Fillan. "Forgive me, My Lady, I must return to my duties."

"I'm no Lady," Cara reminded me.

"Not yet," I couldn't help but flash a smile back at her. The first time I'd smiled in a long time. I couldn't remember the last time I had been so aware of the absence of thoughts of revenge or memories of pure, unaltered grief.

"The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, suggesting notions like that to a bastard minstrel?" She laughed. "I think I have my next song to write."

"You shall have to entertain me with it when you are able."

"There shall be some entertaining, yes, Ser," She grinned and turned away to leave. Before she left, she gave me one final look and a smile.

A smile full like Daisy's.

This took ages to write – mainly because I have a summer job and also because I wanted to add in more characters to catch you up with where we are with the story.

Let me know what you think, put in predictions, send in men of the Night's Watch as well as Wildlings… and yeah. Don't forget to follow to keep up to date!

So, I've been looking forward to writing the next chapter for ages. It'll be up when it's ready but I can give you the name of it: The Pack Survives, and it will take place in King's Landing, Riverrun, the Dreadfort and Braavos.