Takes place after season 4's finale, with one exception. What if Stannis had failed to receive assistance from the Iron Bank? What might have changed if the Iron Bank chose a different sponsor? Will stick to TV adaption's universe and versions of events. However, a few characters exclusive to the books will be added in.

Mother of Dragons

"Tycho Nestoris arrives in Mereen on behalf of the Iron Bank of Braavos, your Grace. He has requested a formal audience with the Queen."

The Iron Bank. An all powerful institution. No advisers needed to fill her in on them. The mother of dragons straightened herself upon her throne.

"I accept the request."

A tall, gaunt man dressed in fine robes soon strode in, led by Unsullied loyal to their Queen.

Missandei wasted no time. "You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir of the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and First Men, the Mother of Dragons, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains."

The man held an unwavering smile throughout the monologue.

"It is my honor to stand before you, your grace. I, Tycho Nestoris, come as a humble servant of the Iron Bank of Braavos."

"I appreciate your long travels to meet with me. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"The Iron Bank has asked me to speak with you concerning your plans to take back your seven kingdoms."

Daenerys raised an eyebrow. Nestoris continued on.

"May I ask why you have chosen to stay in Mereen, rather than travel west, your grace? I have heard you have a great many ships." The mother of dragons clasped her hands together.

"I have chosen to rule over the city of Mereen. Here, I will usher in an age of peace and prosperity for former slaves that have known nothing but hardship. Only once this is done, will I sail west."

Nestoris maintained his grin. "How very noble, your grace. Our brank resides in a free city, thus we admire your dedication towards ending slavery. But I do have a proposal that may want to hear."

Nestoris took one step closer to the throne. "The Iron Bank is willing to aid in your high aspirations for Mereen. Aid in the form of fighting men and representatives loyal to House Targaryen."

How helpful. There must be a catch.

"And what would you ask in return?"

"I ask that you journey west, begin your quest to retake your seven Kingdoms from those have wronged your great family. We only ask for an affordable recompense once this is done, your grace."

"Are you asking me to abandon Mereen?"

"Most certainly not, your grace. As I mentioned earlier, representatives loyal to House Targaryen would rule here in your place. Men from the Golden Company would defend and enforce their rule, and by extension, yours."

"...These representatives, who would they be?"

"Close friends of Illyrio Mopatis." Illyrio, now that is a name I have not heard in a long while.

"You realize Illyrio is the man who brokered a deal that sold me to the Dothraki? He might have been loyal to one Targaryen, but not the one seated on this throne."

The gaunt man before her shifted his feet before responding. "He did ask to extend his apologies for his former actions, but he also wanted to remind you that he only made that decision for the future of House Targaryen… He also wanted to send along his congratulations for the hatching of his gifts."

The dragon eggs. My children. I suppose I do have him to thank for that.

"Even if I find his men trustworthy enough, I did not forget your mention of compensation. Just how much are you asking?"

"The exact amount has not been determined, but know that it will be cheap and affordable. For you see, we already have motive to unseat the current ruler in King's Landing. The Lannisters, of all families, have chosen to ignore their considerable debt to our Bank. And, well, the Iron Bank does has a reputation to uphold."

"And if I am unable to repay my debt to you? Will the Iron Bank plot against House Targaryen?"

"No worries, your grace. Illyrio Mopatis is willing to repay any debt that you may be unable to pay back yourself."

They have thought of everything, haven't they?

"Forgive me, my lord. You have given me much to think about. I ask that you enjoy a brief stay in my city as I come to a decision."

"Of course, your grace." Tycho Nestoris bowed deeply before turning to leave.

"The offer is tempting, your Grace. We have word that the state of the kingdom is, once again, in disarray. Tywin Lannister has lost his life. Their family's tension with Dorne is high after Oberyn Martell's death. A death the Lannisters are held responsible for. Even more, Stannis Baratheon continues to be a thorne in their sides, planning to amass his remaining troops far North."

"I sense a but, Ser Barristan."

"But I have little knowledge of Illyrio Mopatis. I do not know if he can be trusted, your grace. You seem to know him better than I."

Daenerys thrummed her fingers against the council table.

"It would have been nice if he came to speak with me himself."

Daario slid his hand along the table.

"Well I have heard of this Illyrio. He is known to be a rather shrewd man. I doubt a shrewd man would risk betraying a mother of dragons. One who was minding her own business, here in Mereen."

Illyrio had been loyal to Viserys, my own brother. And like the banker said, his gifts have become invaluable to me. Daario cut her from any more thoughts.

"I believe shrewd men tends to pick the winning team. You are the mother of dragons, is there anyone that holds a candle to that?" Always the flatterer.

But he is right, and placing trust in Illyrio is worth the small risk. Still, to leave Mereen now, will my children even follow?

What of Viserion? And of Rhaegal? Locked away, by their own mother no less..

Nothing can be decided without hearing from them.

Daenerys took in a deep, shaky breath, "I must see my children."

It was pitch black. I can see nothing beyond my own torch. Makes sense, no one has yet dared to come down to light torches.

It has not been long, just two days back, since she chained and left them.

I failed them. I should have raised them better. Instead I punished them, harshly. Do they even know why they are here?

Do I even deserve the title of "Mother of Dragons?"

The sliding of chains could be heard in the dark, her heart quickened and steps faltered.

They're close. They have to see me by now, my torch lighting up the dark. She began moving once more.

Her own eyes began adjusting, she could just begin to make out their shapes. Their wings. Then their spikes, their glassy eyes, and then their teeth.

Low growls reached her ears. Fear, they were scared. And angry. A lump formed in her throat.

I held you both in my arms when you were babes.

As they grew, Rhaegal always loved laying on her lap, crooning every time she stroked his head.

More memories sprang to the surface, and her vision began to blur.

Viserion was the mischievous one. He loved playing games, having her chase him. His head always looked back, making sure I was close on his heel. He always sought my attention.

I love you both so much. And yet, I have forsaken you.

She was within reaching distance. The growls have grown louder, and more pronounced. Their chains clanging loudly as they both tugged against them.

Are you scared of me now? Do you hate me? I wouldn't blame you.

I should have never locked you away. I was too harsh, neither of you knew any better. I should have raised you right.

Her hand reached out for the one growling the loudest, Viserion. Her hand found his scales. She could feel him trembling.

Tears began streaming down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, voice quivering.

"I'm so sorry." The growls died down, but Viserion's trembling didn't stop.

Dany dropped her torch as she moved to hug his neck. His scales were rough, and jagged. But that hardly mattered to her. He was her son, as was Rhaegal. As was Drogon.

They were the only children she will ever have.

Several moments passed. She whispered words of love, words of remorse.

The trembling stopped.

Daenerys smiled, tears of sorrow becoming tears of joy. Her hands slid over to the heavy chains wrapped around his neck. The bolt was hard to find in the dark.

"You will be chained no longer. You are my children." A loud clang could be heard as Viserion's chains fell.

Rhaegal began whining pitifully behind her.

She turned quickly to tend to his shackles. Rhaegal was ready for her, his neck and chain exposed, close to the ground.

As soon as Rhaegal's chains fell, she embraced him. Rhaegal's whines turned to crooning, as he had when he was small.

My children. My heart. They still love me, after all my wrongs. Dany stroked her hand across Rhaegal's scales.

"No more dark caves. You will fly. Fly along land. Fly across seas."

"Fly all the way home." Dany's voice grew steadier with each word.

"Our real home."

Bastard of Winterfell

He struggled to scratch at the binds snug tightly around his wrists.

A fool's errand. Too wishful for my own good.

"I made the mistake of trusting you once. Don't think I can do that again."

Jon stayed silent.

"I know it's only a matter of time before we take the Wall, last night's defense was weaker than I feared. How many did you have? A hundred crows at best?"

Jon's kept his gaze fixed on a tuft of grass nearby.

The King Beyond the Wall let a smirk grace his aging features. "Doesn't matter. Your brothers barely lasted one night. Our army is only warming up. Give it two days and the Night's Watch is no more."

Jon glared up towards his captor. "If you're so sure you'll win, why are you bothering to keep me alive? Like you said, you can't trust me after what I did."

Mance frowned in response.

"That eager to die boy? To join that army of dead on our tails?" Jon's gaze returned to the patch of grass swaying in the breeze.

"You know, I still believe you were mixing some truth amongst those lies when we first met. Wanting to fight for the side that fights for the living. There was some meaning to those words, boy, I'm sure of it."

Half truths.

"You're right, there was. The Night's Watch guards the realms of men from any threats, whether it be wildlings or the dead."

Mance snorted in response. "Well I'm not so sure about that. You crows are making that army of dead mighty happy, trapping us freefolk beyond the Wall like you are. The Others grow stronger by the day."

Mance crouched in front of Jon's line of sight. "You want to protect lives south of the Wall, against anything that threatens them. Isn't that right?"

Jon raised one eyebrow. "That's right."

"Then making peace with us is your best bet."

Making peace? Jon kept his eyebrow raised, "How's that?"

"Because even if a crow miracle takes place, if some southern army comes to your rescue and scatters us north. We will still end up being picked off, one by one, and added to that army of Others. A win for the Night's Watch would be a win for them." Jon squirmed at that.

"Right now, Jon Snow, you and the dead are on the same side, do you understand?"

There was no good answer to that one. Mance is right. The army of the dead cannot be allowed to grow stronger than it already is.

"So what, you want us to surrender to your army, just to spite the army of dead?"

Mance's smirk returned as he revealed the truth behind his visit. "No, not surrender. Make peace. A truce."

Without warning, Mance's knife sliced through Jon's binds.

"An alliance."

"Eight thousand years Snow, eight thousand years and nearly one thousand Lord Commanders. If we bring those savages south, all the blood spilt by our ancestors will be for naught."

"If we give this army of dead anymore corpses, Ser Alliser, the realms of men will soon be for naught."

"We call them savages for a reason, Lord Snow. They can never be trusted."

"You're wrong. They are fighting for survival. They can be reasoned with. The Others have forced their hand." Jon looked around at his gathered brothers.

"Mance may be a turncloak, but he is no fool. He knows how futile a war with southern kings would be. And if he knows this, why would he fight us?" Silence followed.

"Because fighting the dead would be a far worse fate." Several brothers began murmuring amongst themselves. Jon continued on.

"If we promise them safe passage, they will promise to stay peaceful south of the Wall, even help fight against the army of dead. Mance promised this, and they listened because they value the future of their tribes."

Thorne sneered in response. "When he left us, Rayder became more savage than man. His promises could never be trusted." He promptly rose from his seat at the high table. "Perhaps now the same could be said of you?" Jon met Thorne's glare with one of his own.

"That's enough, Ser Alliser. You have said your piece." Maester Aemon languidly rose from his own seat. The air stayed tense until Thorne acquiesced. The aging Targaryen turned to address his brothers below.

"These are trying times. Perhaps if a southern army chose to come to our aid, we might not need to entertain terms like these."

"But that is not the case. We cannot hold out any longer. Only 40 brothers remain after just one night. Fighting to our last man would make little difference to an army that large."

"At this point, making peace is not only our last hope, but the last hope for nearby common folk, whose pleas for help will surely be ignored by this new Warden of the North."

Roose Bolton. Jon's blood boiled at just the mention of him. I will never forgive that traitorous scum. A new voice rose to interject.

"What makes you so sure Lord Bolton will fail to rescue us? Do you claim to be one of those fabled greenseers?" Aemon spared Janos Slynt a vacant glance.

"No need for magic to understand a man's motives, Janos. Lord Bolton is known to possess a sharp mind. If he wanted to quell a Wildling threat, he would have sent reinforcements by now. Every man is worth ten on a wall such as ours."

"His primary concern is likely a threat of northern rebellion, he would not leave himself exposed in the meantime."

Ser Alliser shifted in his seat.

"So that's it, Aemon? Have you gone senile? Surrendering to our sworn enemy because we are losing?"

Jon chose this moment to cut in, "Our sworn enemy is the dead. An alliance with the free folk is our only chance at quelling the greatest threat our order has ever faced." The murmurs amongst the brothers rose once more.

Jon did not waver from Thorne's ensuing glare.

"Well we have heard both sides. Given there is no longer a Lord Commander, all of us, together, must come to a difficult decision."

"It is time to vote, my brothers."

Jon felt a stick poke his back.

"Your innards should be round me neck, boy."

Jon slowly turned to face him. Ghost made his presence known, snarling at the red-haired wildling.

"Your chosen King went through quite the trouble to form this alliance. You eager to ruin that for him? For all of you? To risk the lives of your own daughters?"

The bearded man let out a grunt.

"I raised my daughters right, they would sooner die than kneel before a bunch of crows."

"No need to kneel when making alliances, Tormund Giantsbane. Or do you forget all the clans in the forest that made peace to get here?"

"Peace with other free folk is not like peace with crows."

Stubborn fool. Jon turned to place more sticks before him.

"Losing daylight. Much has to be done."

Jon hesitated, "I know that."

"You loved her." Jon kept his head facing forward.

"…Aye."

"She loved you, even after you left." Jon's chest tightened in pain. He felt Tormund pass by, placing his own sticks on the pyre. Jon grabbed the torch stuck nearby.

Long strands of hair, kissed by fire, could be seen among the branches and sticks.

"Don't ever betray me." But I did, right from the start.

I didn't deserve her love.

Ghost's snout nuzzled at his side. He remembered how that always brought him comfort in times past. Not today, his heart felt too hollow for that now.

"What is honor compared to a woman's love?"

Maester Aemon is a wise man.

This is the price I pay for being a man of the Night's Watch.

After that thought, everything felt duller than just moments before. Jon dropped the torch, and the pyre was set aflame.

A man of the Night's Watch. For this night, and all the nights to come.

The sun had set by the time Jon reached their camps, Tormund in tow.

They didn't get far before groups of wildlings surrounded them.

"The crow is back."

Tormund gave Jon a long look before disappearing into the growing crowd.

"Bring him to Mance."

"By vote? Ha! Never would have guessed! Crows tend to hate us free folk as much as we hate them."

Mance clapped a hand on Jon's shoulder, "Glad you got them to see reason."

Jon let out a tired breath, "Not all of them, the vote was closer than I'd have liked."

"No matter. What's done is done. Now did any of your voting involve how to settle us South?"

Jon nodded. "Groups of no more than ten thousand at a time. Three groups a day." The wildling king frowned at that.

"If we fought with everything we had tonight, we could get over sixty thousand south of the Wall, by tomorrow morning."

"And thirty thousand dead. Three days is the best I can do. Three days to migrate ninety thousand free folk is generous enough."

The King Beyond the Wall relaxed at that. "Aye, there's quite a few of us. And next to none of you."

Jon stepped within reaching distance of Mance. Just a day ago, he would have pounced at the chance to stick a hidden knife through his heart. But much has changed.

"This alliance means you're a part of us now, Mance. It is those that breathe against those that don't. You best stay true to your word."

Rayder gave him a long, hard look. "Oh I will, long as you stay true to yours."

A certain rainy day sprung to Jon's mind. The claw marks around his eyes itched, along with the scars from his arrow wounds. "Don't ever betray me."

Mance's eyes lost its edge as he continued, "When will you open the gate for the first group?"

"…Tomorrow. I'll stay the night and lead a group in at first light. In the meantime, you best let your people know about the conditions we negotiated once they settle south. No raping, no reaving, no-"

"Then you best come with me, they are your terms after all." Jon gave pause before nodding.

"Let me get this straight. No stealing southern girls. No killing crows. No eyes for my collection. Agreeing with terms like that, one could call you a kneeler, Mance."

Weeper was a strange one, with eyes that never dried, holding a scythe of all things.

"Terms are just that, terms. Did you already forget what we agreed on last year? Don't fuck with us and we don't fuck with you, then we all get to live another day. This is no different. They will mind their own business, we will mind ours."

"They should have no say! Crows are weak, they barely lasted a night. Southern kneelers will be no different. They'll all fall before my scythe, no need for mercy on the likes of them."

Raucous cheers and laughter followed those words.

"That's not what would happen." The cheers fell silent, all eyes gazed beyond the fire towards Jon. His face half seen beneath the shadow of nightfall. Weeper turned to him.

"Is that right?"

"All it would take is one well trained southern army. One on horseback, to send you all packing." The crackle of the fire sounded louder than before. Mance shot Jon a warning look.

Weeper recovered from his surprise, only to close in, "You have quite the mouth on you, boy. Too cocky for your own good." he flicked his scythe around with practiced ease.

A Thenn rose up from nearby, gesturing at Jon, "You're the little cunt that got lucky killin' Styr, aren't you? Got a big head from catching him off guard? You got no idea who you're dealing with here." Jon noticed a few others rise.

Jon held his ground, despite the rising nerves bubbling to the surface. Ghost's low growl could be heard behind him, but that didn't seem to deter any of the freefolk.

The King of the North raised his voice amongst the confusion, "That's enough. You made me your King, so if you want to go South you have to respect the terms. If not, I'm sure the Others will be happy to embrace you with open arms."

Weeper's voice rose to interject. Louder than before.

"My ancestors would spit on me if I broke bread with a crow. And I say these southerners are nothing but cocky shits that can't stand up to proper warriors. How did our King grow soft so quickly?" He swung his scythe around as more voices chimed in agreement.

Things are getting out of hand. Something has to be done.

Jon stepped forward "A southerner can't handle a proper warrior like yourself?" He unsheathed Longclaw and pointed it at Weeper. "Here's your chance to prove it." More laughter could be heard.

Jon's felt Mance's eyes burning though the back of his head. Weeper sauntered towards him, chuckling under his breath.

"With pleasure."

Ghost's growls grew louder in the background, but Jon silently willed him to be still.

A scythe swung within inches of his face. Jumping right into it, are we? Jon quickly backed up as he assumed his stance.

Weeper twirled his scythe around before curving it downwards upon him. Jon crouched low as he angled Longclaw to parry the swing, then kicked him to further create distance. Don't' let up! Jon lunged Longclaw at the Wildling's ankles, keeping him off balance.

Jon does it twice more before Weeper spins away, knocking Longclaw aside with his scythe.

Jon remembered back to his fight with Styr, how careless he was to lose Longclaw among the dirt and blood. Twisting Longclaw into place, Jon lashed out at Weeper's swinging scythe. Valyrian steel met the scythe with ease, and Weeper stumbled to recover his hold.

May be best not to kill anyone tonight. Jon planted one foot and drove his other knee into his gut.

But Weeper shrugged it off and whipped his head forward. Jon's eyes stung as he pushed off, blood dripping from his nose. Jeering could be heard around him.

Jon heard the scythe swing just inches from his face. "I'll have your eyes tied round me' neck, crow."

A fight to the death, no way around it.

Jon tightened his grip and ignored the stinging pain, unleashing a flurry of blows that forced his foe to lose ground.

He doesn't like me targeting his right side. Jon pressed a few more swings in that direction as Weeper quickly grew agitated and spun away. He's caught on.

The Wildling went on the offensive, but Jon chose to duck the first swing and respond with a feint to his right side.

Weeper quickly moved to parry the feint with a wide swing of his scythe. It met nothing but air.

Moments later, his Valyrian blade found flesh.

A shuddered cry rung out as the scythe slipped away. Jon pulled a fist back and lashed out with a hard left hook. Weeper slumped to the ground, weakly grasping at his right side. Jon pulled a bloodied Longclaw away, drawing in heavy breaths.

Weeper's grunts of pain echoed in the surrounding silence. No one moved to help him.

The king beyond the Wall slowly stepped forward, giving the writhing man one swift kick. Weeper gave out a strangled cry.

I almost pity him.

"This right here, is one of our most seasoned warriors. He struck fear in the hearts of many."

Mance turned to Jon. "And this one joined the crows just a few years back." Many free folk slowly looked among one another.

"You still stuck on fighting southern armies? With foes like this? Men on horseback? Decked in armor?" Once again, silence was the only response.

"We all banded together to survive. And aye, I made terms with crows for that same reason. Think of your children, and their children after that. Hells, we're lucky we don't have to kneel!"

By this point, Jon's breathing slowed to normal. He did his best to meet the gaze of anyone choosing to look his way.

"Either we live together, near crows and kneelers alike, or we die alone. Time to choose."

More quiet met Mance's words, until a looming shadow rose to great heights across the flames.

A giant.

"Live."