Greyjoy alla Breve (SI)

by ShaiGar

Mirrored story from SpaceBattles - Volume 1 from AndrewJTalon. An SI takes over Theon Greyjoy when he's brought to Winterfell as a hostage, and proceeds to bring the Industrial Revolution to Westeros, with the contents of the internet in his mind.

21. XLXI, XLXII,LXIII, LXIV, and Omakes

Mirror Notes: I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I didn't realise how many words I compiled for this, or the last chapter. I promise to try not to do it again.

XLXI: Perspective Check

AC 300, Riverrun, the Riverlands

Theon

"YOU DID WHAT?!"

You know, it was impressive how despite the bullet wound to her neck, the broken ankle, and a few other injuries, my mother could still yell very, very loudly. Enough to wake up everyone else in the hospital wing. I think the guy in the coma even twitched.

Robb sighed, and held Catelyn's hand as he sat at her side. I stayed behind him, avoiding the glare on her face.

"The fact is, mother... Many in the Westerlands are outright defecting to us. I'm not going to just roll over them all and burn their lands-"

"Accepting Tyrion Lannister into your councils!" She seethed. "Letting Jaime Lannister accompany him!"

"Under guard, and bound at all times," Robb went on. He raised his eyebrows. "And his say... Will be greatly determined based on how he performs the next mission."

"Who's ridiculous idea was it?" She demanded. Robb coughed.

"His own..."

I relaxed. Robb then sighed.

"And Theon's."

"Robb!" I hissed. Catelyn turned a baleful glare on me, and I held my hands up. "Now hang on a second, Mother-"

"You'd let that, that perverted dwarf into councils with your brother?!"

"Mom! If we don't want this war to continue into bloody rebellion and revolution, we need the Westerlands!" I insisted. "Isn't bringing this conflict to a close as bloodlessly as possible a good thing?"

"And he did warn us of the assassination attempt," Robb pointed out. Catelyn seethed.

"That doesn't mean letting him have a say! Bad enough you're going to tear down the Iron Throne-" She glared at me, "can't imagine who gave you that idea-!"

"It was my idea," Robb insisted. He grasped her hands in his gloved ones, and looked intently into her eyes. "Mother... We can't just burn everything to the ground. We need to build things back up."

Catelyn made a face. "Even with the strength we have... A knife between the ribs will kill just as surely as a sword through your chest."

"Actually, with the new ironwood body armor I pulled together, that's very..." I trailed off as Robb and my mother glared. "Right. Shutting up."

Catelyn sighed. She glared over at the patients and nurses, who were studiously going about their business. "Fine," she murmured. "But I will choose who keeps an eye on them."

"Of course," Robb said with a nod. He rose and kissed his mother's cheek. "Don't worry Mother... I'm the King. I can handle it," he gave her a cocky smile. She rolled her eyes, but held him bent over long enough to return the kiss.

"All right... And your fair wife? How is she?" She asked.

Robb flushed, but managed a serious looking expression. "She... Is very happy," he said.

"Her limp says that well enough," I muttered. Robb smacked my shoulder, and I gripped it with a wince. "Owww!"

Catelyn thought had a broad smile. "I'm glad," she said. She sighed. "Just... Be safe, son."

"I will be," Robb said. "I promise..."

They hugged once more, and Robb turned to head out. Brienne, who had been standing at the door this whole time, smoothly followed him out. I made to leave myself...

"Theon..."

I paused, and turned around. Catelyn was glaring at me.

Naturally, I tried to disarm her anger the way I usually tried.

"You look like you did when the chicks escaped the egg heaters," I said. Catelyn's lip twitched, just a bit.

"There were yellow chicks all over the courtyard," she reminisced. "It was like they'd fallen from the sky..."

"A few did," I said with a shrug. "Impressed they survived. The gas bottle blew up in just the right way..."

She motioned me close to her. I complied, and sat down next to her. She wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and sighed.

"Child... You have always bee reckless, and mad," she said. "I don't know where you got all this from... All..." She waved her hand, and I saw the bottle of anti-biotics, medical alcohol, and other medicines on her side table. "It almost seems like the Gods touched you... Imbued you with the knowledge of the Smith... And the Stranger."

I was silent. Frankly, I didn't know myself. Maybe I was Theon Greyjoy, just with the memories of some mad bored genius downloaded into my mind by some errant God. Maybe I was... That other man, stuck here in Theon's body.

"But despite all that power up here," she said, poking my forehead, "I was always impressed... And exasperated more, by what you have here." She poked me in the chest, and I flushed.

"I... I didn't-"

"You're so kind, and so trusting," she sighed. "You want to give so many people a second chance... Let them prove they can be good. It's worked..." She narrowed her eyes. "But it's mostly been pure luck. I hope you know that."

"I..." I sighed. "Yeah..."

Catelyn smiled a bit wanly. Proud and yet exasperated. "And that's the same reason you want to give the Lannisters a second chance. You want to save everyone."

I rubbed my mouth, and sighed. "... I knew I was never going to do that," I admitted. "But... I have to try, Mom. I have to..."

"And would you offer the same chance to Joffrey Waters?" Catelyn asked. I stared at her, and worked my jaw.

"I..."

"You want to, don't you?" Catelyn asked, almost accusatory. I sighed.

"I really don't want to... But... Yeah. Part of me does."

Yes, I'd had to suffer his company. His insults. His idiocy. But I'd also seen how he'd looked at his father, so desperate for attention and acceptance. There was a moment of humanity in there. I hated him, yes... But part of me still whispered "Maybe he's not too far gone."

"Just don't let your heart overwhelm your mind," she said gently. "It does you credit... But a hesitation... And you'll die." She hugged me. "And I don't want you to die..."

I hugged her back, sighing softly. "I don't want to die either," I admitted. "... Especially not on this dangerous mission I'm about to go on."

Catelyn sighed. "Then please... Don't," she murmured.

I had hoped to end this thread on 100 threadmarks-Good round number, 100. But seems like I'll have to do things a piece at a time. Damn...

XLXII: Accidents and Apologies

Riverrun, The Riverlands, AC 300

Theon

Sweat seemed to be drooling down my forehead, making me thankful for my goggles. The radio transceiver in front of me was whining, the signal getting through and filling my labspace. I licked my lips, and adjusted the toggles on my makeshift control board.

While microchips and even transisters were a long way off, I could still make use of the concept to build very simple "gates" for the vacuum tubes. It gave me a few more options than simple on or off, and it made the system a bit more efficient.

I turned the knob, and the whine grew louder. I took a deep breath.

"Testing, testing, one, two, three," I spoke into the microphone. I winced at the feedback, and stepped back a few steps. "Damnit... Testing! Testing, one two three!"

Still the transceiver gave me nothing but static, brightly glowing vacuum tubes burning in my vision. I gritted my teeth, and adjusted the gain.

"Testing! Testing! Testing, one, two-!"

The vacuum tube burst with a loud pop, and fire burned across my radio. I cursed and rushed over for my fire extinguisher-Just a small tank of water and a pump. I hurriedly pumped the water onto the table, cursing the whole time as I killed the flames.

"Damnit! Fuck! Shit! Bollocks! Crap!" I hissed at the sparks shooting from the device. "A load of worthless circuits and bullshit soldering-!"

"Bad time?"

I looked to the door. Arianne Martell was standing there, looking uncharacteristically solemn. I sighed, and grabbed a rag to wipe my forehead.

"No... Not at all... Thought I put a sign on the door saying 'keep out'," I observed. Arianne smiled softly, closing the door behind me.

"You did. But I am a Princess, am I not?" She asked.

"Doesn't mean you're fireproof," I pointed out. "Don't think there's enough Targaryan in you for that."

Arianne chuckled softly. I pulled on some gloves I'd treated with the local rubber equivalent-It was pretty greasy and gross, but it kept me from getting electrocuted. I picked up the forlorn remains of my transceiver, and sighed.

"Not the result you were hoping for?" Arianne asked. I nodded glumly.

"Yeah... I've been trying to shrink the transceivers enough for individuals to carry them... But they keep um... Melting," I said succinctly. I sighed and put the ruined transceiver on a pile of similar disasters. "I just don't have the materials to make them any smaller yet."

"The radios, correct?" Arianne asked. I nodded.

"Yeah."

"But I've seen men in your camp using a few bits of wire and metal to hear that," Arianne said, confused. I chuckled.

"Well, they can catch the signal with that. But they can't send anything back," I explained. "Two way communication is the ideal situation, and making it small and light is the goal..." I shrugged and pulled my gloves off. Arianne was admirably not making a face at the smells in the laboratory-It was probably pretty rank. "Something I can do for you?" I asked.

"I came to apologize," Arianne said, looking firmly into my eyes like she'd been drilled into it from birth. She probably had been. "My uncle... Suggested that my actions would be seen as..."

"Suspicious?" I asked. Arianne shrugged.

"As you say..."

"He didn't say I favored men, did he?" I asked, opening up the windows. Arianne shook her head, biting back a wry smile.

"No... After all, you stare at my breasts far too much to be a swordswallower."

"Yeah," I said with a nod. I looked for a chair that I hadn't burned or broken apart yet... And sighed as I saw the remains of some furniture lying in a vat of various hydrocarbon products I'd been experimenting with. "Damnit...!" I pulled the pieces out, gloves back on, and laid them on a workbench. "I uh... We can move somewhere else-"

"This is your place though," Arianne said carefully, "your domain. Where you are strongest..."

"Giving me an advantage?" I asked. Arianne chuckled.

"As far as you know, yes."

"You're admitting it?" I asked in some disbelief. Arianne nodded.

"Another suggestion of my uncle... He thinks you're about the least romantic person alive."

"Oh, hey!" I protested, feeling insulted. "I do okay!"

Arianne gave me the sexiest incredulous look I'd ever seen. I glanced out at the window, and coughed.

"Okay... I just... Um... It's not the kind of thing I really focus on," I said with a shrug.

"All this work... And you never stop to enjoy the world?" Arianne asked softly. I glanced at her.

"I do...! I mean, I try to... The last social gathering was not a disaster because of me," I insisted. Arianne nodded slowly.

"But you don't know how to be... Normal," she said. I shrugged, half-heartedly, and looked out the window again. The First Army was running through drills on the barn-Specifically, the Breachers. Grappling hooks, repeating rifles, flashbangs, small explosives, goggles and masks allowed them to get over walls and seize fortified positions. These Breachers had been with me at Golden Tooth, and were now training others in their ways. It made me smile a bit at all that going on.

"What's normal?" I asked. "Normal is in flux."

"As of late, yes," Arianne agreed, moving closer. "Thanks to you... You're defining it for the world. Or trying to."

"Sort of," I admitted again, feeling uncomfortable. The Dornish Princess sidled up to me, not touching but able to if she wished. Or if I wished, if I could read her facial expression accurately.

"And so you keep yourself here... Even outside," Arianne concluded, gesturing to the lab. "Even from your friends and family... Why?"

"... Bad childhood," I said dryly. Arianne nodded, and looked out as well. I sighed. "It's complicated..."

"Complicated enough you won't tell me yet," Arianne said. I nodded. She smiled. "Good."

"Good?" I asked flatly. Arianne shrugged again, leaning over a bit to show off her cleavage. I tried to ignore it.

"Most men I desire give up in no time," Arianne spoke, "and many are not worth the effort." She glanced at me, but I tried to give nothing away. "You do not approve?"

"I appreciate everybody has their own route to what they want," I said diplomatically. "I prefer honesty though... With people who want to be close to me."

"But does anyone have simply one motive?" Arianne countered, smiling wryly. "I could tell you I am interested in you for power, and it would be true. To strengthen the bonds between our kingdoms, given we both know how this war is going to end. For my own ambition and for your benefit... But you don't want just that, do you?"

"Nope," I said, "I'd prefer love."

Arianne laughed. "As the sole motivator? You'll be waiting for a long, long time."

"Not the sole motivation," I said quickly, shaking my head. "But I'd... Ya know... Appreciate it. It keeps both parties honest. It makes it less about the material, more about the spiritual..."

"A philosopher as well as a scientist," Arianne observed. She giggled. "And a romantic to boot! Such hidden depths..." She leaned forward and smiled. "What I would give... To know them," she purred.

"How about an end to back aches?" I asked. The Dorne Princess blinked.

"Ah?"

"I've invented something called the brassiere," I said. "Keeps your bosom from bouncing around. Most of the female warriors use them-A lot of other women in the North too..."

She stared, and then chuckled again. "Is that a compliment as well as a dodge?"

"Just making conversation," I said. I shrugged. "Besides... You forgot the most obvious thing you had to do to become closer to me."

Arianne hummed. She chuckled. "Tell you I love you?"

"Wouldn't believe it," I said. "Try again?"

Arianne thought about it for a while, rubbing her chin. She glanced at me with a hint of disbelief... But shrugged.

"How do I get closer to you?" She asked.

"Asking is a good start," I said, smiling back slightly. I turned to one of the workbenches and tapped the ironwood. I nodded-It had dried very quickly. "Good..."

"What are you doing?" Arianne asked, curious.

"I've been using ironwood for a base for the radio transceivers," I said, pulling out a saw. "I've been trying to treat them with various chemicals to make them able to absorb more heat..." I locked down the piece of wood, and pushed down my goggles. I started to saw... Or at least, tried to. "Nngh... This batch though fell into the wrong vat!"

I pulled harder, but the saw stubbornly refused to cut. I growled, and put the saw aside. "Can you hand me the hatchet?"

Arianne stared at me in silence... But a moment later, she was holding the hatchet out to me. I took it with a thankful smile. "Thanks... Back up," i said. She did so, and I raised the hatchet up. I brought it down on the wood block, flicking my wrist.

The flick probably saved my life, because the axehead bounced off the wood and spun over my head. I yelped, ducking to avoid a nasty haircut as the hatchet sailed out the window. Arianne watched in shock, holding her chest as she panted in fear.

"Wha... How... Are you all right?" She asked. I very slowly looked over at the wooden block. There was no mark in the grain... I smiled.

"Yes... Hey! Want to help with an experiment?" I asked.

A few minutes later, at the firing range we'd set up in a section of Riverrun, I finished securing the block to a target pig carcass. I gave the ropes a good tug, checking the resistance. It was a little fiddly, and just a hunch... But I had to try it. Seeing everything was ready, I turned and eagerly jogged back. A small wall of sandbags had been raised, and Arianne was sitting behind it with her own pair of goggles.

"Lord Theon, can you please tell me what's going on?" She asked. I nodded as I crouched down, and held up my trust revolver.

"Easier to show you," I said. "Cover your ears!"

She did so, and I cleared my throat. "Fire! Fire! Fire!" I bellowed, warning away anyone in hearing distance... Before I pulled the trigger.

BANG!

The pig carcass shifted a bit from the impact. I stood up, and rushed up to the target. The princess followed right behind. I untied the ropes keeping the treated ironwood to the pig, and pulled it away. I grinned, half in triumph, the other half in disbelief. The bullet hadn't gone through, but it had certainly hit-The spiderweb like impact on the block proved it.

"... You can explain this at any time," Arianne said, sounding a bit annoyed. I laughed, and held up the block.

"Gonna take some more tests... But I think I just made my plan for saving Sansa a lot easier..." I grinned. "Princess Arianne, you are the first witness to the birth of the bullet-proof vest... Well, bullet resistant, but proof sounds a lot better, don't you think?"

Omake - Keep It Simple, Stupid!

Maidenpool, 300 AC

Theon leaned back in his chair as he glared at the map stretched across the table, weighted down by two daggers, a revolver and an ink well. He rubbed his knuckles against the stubble on his chin. "I don't know ... it seems too ..."

Robb's army had advanced to Harranhal, driving out the Lannister stragglers, mostly sellswords and deserters before pausing to regroup for the drive to King's Landing. Meanwhile, Theon's little group had gathered in Maidenpool to rendevous with the Seawolf, which would transport his assault team on his mission to rescue Sansa and Arya from the Red Keep. Unfortunately, Theon's original plan, of which he was quite proud, had proven ... unpopular among the more practiced schemers.

"Simple?" asked Tyrion, sipping at his wine glass, Jaime standing over his shoulder. Also sitting around the table were Meera Reed, Amarda, Bronn and Ramsay, who was busy cleaning his fingernails with what looked like a flensing knife, "Straightforward? Easy to comprehend and, dare I say, idiot proof?" The short, stumpy Lord Paramount Presumptive waved his goblet around. "Your original plan was an absolute disaster that had absolutely no chance of working. The issue, young Greyjoy, is that your first instinct when presented with a problem is to add complexity, like one of your machines: lots of jigity bits and doodads and gears, switches and pulleys."

He raised an eyebrow. "It may have something to do with your brilliance in mechanical areas: you have a strong reluctance to admit that you are wrong. Whenever you arrive at a new problem, instead of returning to first principals and starting again, you simply add another layer of complexity, more gadgets, more guesswork and more chances. Your original plan relied on being able to predict not only the results of your actions, but that of those you encounter, and if any one of those factors failed, the entire plan would fall apart."

Tyrion tossed his goblet back over his shoulder, and Jaime smoothly caught it out of the air, without his expression flickering. "Far simpler to simply bribe the guards who will be bribed and knife the ones who won't."

"Hey, my plans before worked out just fine! Like at Golden Tooth, and the Woods-" Theon insisted, feeling compelled to defend his brilliance.

"Yeah, but that's because you had to work with what you had, and you had people to keep you focused. Your genius can run away with you if you don't have someone to ground you. One of those flamewolfs is great-Using it to light off fireworks to send a signal to made a mechanical man jerk off poison into the king's dinner isn't."

Theon's eyes unfocused for a moment. "... Actually I wouldn't need fireworks to make such a signal -"

"My Lord? You're proving his point. Please stop."

"Yes Amarda ..."

"The point," Tyrion said, accepting a now full glass from Jaime, who was clearly well experienced at the duty after years of serving King Robert, "is that when planning such an operation, complexity is the enemy. The more ... whats the phrase? 'Moving parts?' The more moving parts a plan has, the more ... " he snapped his fingers twice. "Points of failure, that's it! A good planner has to be ruthless in removing as many of these points as possible, to give the plan the absolute best chance to succeed."

"In other words," concluded Theon, rubbing his hands through his sandy hair, "'Keep It Simple, Stupid.'"

"As your guest, I would be loath to use such blunt terms, but that's essentially the point," conceded Tyrion.

Before the discussion could continue, there was a knock at the door. Before Theon could blink, Ramsay and Meera were standing by the door, Meera's carbine and Ramsay's double barreled pistol were at the ready. In Westeros, there's no such thing as too paranoid ... just not paranoid enough. At Theon's nod, they opened the door, and a messenger stepped in, pointedly ignoring the brandished weapons. "My lords, my lady, mistress ... a message for you, Lord Greyjoy, from King Robb." He handed over a leather wrapped packet. His mission complete, he bowed his way out.

Curious and a little worried, Theon unbound the thongs sealing the packet, then unfolded it to reveal the letter held within. His eyes scanned over the relatively short message, paused, then read it again, more carefully. Then he did so a third time, and sighed, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb.

"Well? Don't keep us in suspense, lad," insisted Tyrion, taking another deep draft of wine. "Surely it can't be all that earth-shattering."

"Not for me, Lord Tyrion," Theon said rather formally, his voice unusually soft. He shook his head, then stood up. "My friends, I need to speak to the Lannisters alone."

Of course, Ramsay and Meera were hard to convince, and even Bronn thought it was a bad idea, but within a few moments the door closed again, leaving only three men in the room: a genius, a knight and a dwarf. "I must say, I've heard of your flare for the dramatic, but I never thought I'd see as clear an indication that you should be writing Bravossi plays," snarked Tyrion, but his voice held an edge of concern.

"The letter was in King Robb's own hand," Theon said. "He wrote it in response to reliable information he had moments before received from King's Landing." Only a trained observer would have picked up on the way Jaime's eyes and mouth tightened. "The Hand of the King ... Lord Tywin ... fell from the window of his apartments in the Tower of the Hand." Tyrion's hand froze, his goblet at his lips. "He was dead when he hit the flagstones below."

Jaime's only response was to tighten his grip on the hilt of his sword, but his green eyes were surprisingly expressive as one of the few certain things in his world vanished. The Lord of the Westerlands, whether one admired or loathed him, had been a power in Westeros for decades. Certainly, Jaime had never imagined him dying, except perhaps in the midst of battle.

"Well," said Tyrion after a moment, draining his goblet and putting it carefully on the table. "I suppose that simplifies certain matters, doesn't it?"

The room was silent for a moment.

"Seven fucking hells," snarled Jaime, grabbing his brother's shoulder and hauling him about to face him. "Our father is dead, and all you can do is joke?"

Tyrion brushed Jaime's hand off. "To be perfectly honest, I'm feeling a lot more than I had imagined, the last thousand times I've fantasized about our father's demise! The man hated me, blamed me for our mother's death, humiliated me at every turn, and the only reason he didn't drown me at birth was the fact that I was his blood, and nothing is - was - more important to our father than the dynasty. How would it look to the other Houses if he was seen slaying his own kin?" The little man took a deep breath. "Jaime, he wasn't much of a father to me, but he was my father. I'll grieve in my own time, but right now, we need to focus on how this changes things!"

Jaime's nostrils flared, and he spun about, clenching his fist as he fought to get himself back under control. As he did so, Tyrion reached for the wine jug, but almost fumbled it. He paused, then tried again, this time without as much shaking. "Lord Greyjoy, I wish to apologise if I seem -"

Theon reached over and took the jug, pouring the wine himself. "I feel I'm something of an authority on the subject of fathers: I've lost two. One was the finest man I've ever met, who lived by honour, and died by duty. The other was a raving, murderous maniac of a pirate who held nothing but contempt for me. I mourn them both, though in different ways." I put down the wine.

The room was silent for a few moments, before Jaime spoke. "Thank you, Theon, for clearing the room."

Theon shrugged. "I imagined you'd prefer to hear the news in private, before anyone else."

"Thank you," echoed Tyrion. "But the truth of the matter is that this does change things. We need to bring the others back, and get to work."

A few minutes later, the room was full again, and more wine poured. The mood was fragile, with more than a few glances at the brothers, but Theon rapped his knuckles on the table. "So, the Hand is fallen. 'King' Joffrey now sits on the throne without Tywin's guidance: how does this effect the war?"

"It certainly throws my dear nephew into the shitter," observed Tyrion. No one looked at the boy king's real father at that moment. "Presumably Cersei will attempt to take over, although cooler heads may prevail. Of course, Joffrey may decide to simply rule by decree, dispensing with a Hand's advice ... which would be both good news and bad for King Robb."

Jaime nodded. "'The best swordsman doesn't fear the second best, he fears the worst,'" he quoted the ancient proverb. "Joffrey is ... unpredictable."

"To an extent, although if one simply assumes that one's opponent is a spoilt, arrogant, egotistical child with a penchant for petty cruelty and a crippling fear of actual danger, despite loud bravado, predicting him becomes somewhat easier," countered Tyrion, and no one spoke up to disagree. "On a more personal note, this simplifies my own situation remarkably - which was my original point," he glanced back at Jaime, then over at Theon. "Yesterday, I was the heir to Casterly Rock, rebelling against my father in the service of a rebellious would-be king. Today, I'm the rightful claimant to the seat, allied to a royal house of ancient honour and prestige, calling for all loyal Westerlanders to pledge their service. By a strict reading of the law, the conflict between the North and the Westerlands is hearby over: congratulations, you won the war." There was no hint of defeat in Tyrion's voice, leaving Theon to complete the idea: now you have to win the peace, which is going to be a lot harder.

"Still, Joffrey has some competant advisors left, and depending on how well he listens to them, things may actually get harder without Tywin's influance ..."

The group talked long into the night and before long called for more food and wine. It was not a short, or simple discussion.

A few hours before dawn, Theon slipped into his blankets, exhausted and more than a little tipsy. He was hoping for a long rest on a soft mattress under warm blankets.

He was not, however, expecting to discover his bed already occupied, and he froze for a moment as a set of long, smooth limbs wrapped themselves around him. "What the fuc-"

"Thought you'd forget about me, eh, husband? Your pretty kneeler girls might be able to distract you, but I'm the one you stole, fair and square!"

Swearing loudly, Theon scrambled out of bed, and lunged for the lamp. Turning up the flame, he turned around to see a vaguely familiar form reclining on his bed, blankets tossed back to reveal a dark haired woman, with smallish breasts and athletic body, trim from exercise and training. It took him a moment to place her pretty face and Wildling accent.

"Osha?" Then her words hit him. "Husband?"

Seven hells, I'm not drunk enough to deal with this …

LXIII: Misadventures in Marriage

AC 298, Winterfell, Winter Town

Theon

I will admit to covering mainly the most interesting bits of my adventure here in Westeros. As though I was a visitor from another universe, and not a madman... Potentially. The problem is, interesting varies from person to person. So to continue to fill out my story, I will happily go back in time and fill some lost moments out. Frankly, given how complex this entire affair has been, that's probably the best I'm going to do.

So, let's talk about another... "Unforgettable" moment. Before we even called the Banners. Before my father was dead.

I was sitting in the underground caves of Winter Town, trying to relax on a couch. I held my arm over my eyes and sighed, sparing myself of the large shining chandeliers decorating the ceiling of the Bank of the North. I was surrounded by warm green walls, and fixtures made of polished bronze-All part of the wealth of the New North being put to the use of showing off for the people. I guess I couldn't complain too much-The bank was just one of several important institutions using the cave system beneath Winterfell, warmed by the geothermal springs and ventilated by shafts dug by dynamite.

It would be considered a new wonder of the World of Planetos... Once that book was finished. I had other things on my mind right now though.

Dan Greenstone walked up next to me, coughing discretely. I sighed.

"Yes Dan?"

"My Lord, I understand the meeting was... Draining," Dan managed, "but relaxing like this in open view is probably not wise."

"What, am I going to be killed by the decor?" I asked dryly. I sat up and rubbed my temples again with a groan. I ignored the stares of other bank patrons sitting on couches, staring at me. They ranged from simple farmers in machine manufactured clothing, to a few rich local knights and lords. What did I care if they thought I was nuts?

"Urgh... Two hours of land development... Who do I usually have doing the job of overseeing that?" I asked.

"I believe it was Sir Holt," Dan said. "And he regrets being unable to attend, but his new duties have kept him quite busy-"

"Convenient," I grumbled. "He's demoted to a... Half-Knight."

"Uh, my Lord?"

"No! A Quarter Knight. God forbid I make him an eighth of a Knight, then he'll be sorry!" I grumbled. Dan stared at me blankly.

"I... I don't understand, my Lord," Dan said. I sighed.

"Why did I make you my assistant, Dan?"

Dan rubbed his chin. "Because you said I had a memory like an archive, and all the imagination of a rock?"

"You remember that? Good on you, Dan," I said with a nod. "Keep up the good work."

"Yes sir," Dan said, without any sense of irony. That or he was a very, very good actor. I hadn't ruled it out. Game of Thrones and all. Though so far the most cunning thing he'd ever done to subvert my efforts to reform the North was change the color of my binders for filing without telling me.

"So, what's next?" I asked. Dan flipped through his notebook.

"The opening of the Glass Gardens in the Warm Below," he said. "Nice and easy."

"Oh! That's finished?" I asked. I smiled. "Neat! Let's go!"

I rose and headed out the large oak doors of the bank, joining the main plaza. It was polished, with stalactites and stalagmites carved to hold light fixtures and just to serve as decoration. Carts run by salesmen populated the broad plaza, people sharing their wares, selling, bargaining-All in the comfort of the underground. People ate food in courts. A group of mechanics repaired a water fountain where anyone could get a drink of warm spring water. Posters advertising shows, hunting and mercenary services, and others hung on the walls, proof of a higher literacy rate. And the lights provided by my first electric generators, as well as mirror-reflected skylights, gave everyone more than enough light to do their business.

Like I said, Wonders of Westeros. Definitely making the list. Hell, even the King himself had been impressed! Even while drunk.

... Maybe even especially while drunk. I'd figured out how to make the lager, after all.

Though I will admit, the entire thing looked a bit like a steampunk Flintstones version of Rapture from Bioshock.

That said, the only people who would think that were in some other universe. So I put it out of my mind.

We made it to the Glass Gardens, which were covered in curtains. I grinned as I saw Robb and Caitlyn-They too had to do this. Caitlyn looked happy, while Robb looked bored out of his skull, even at the crowd of reporters and onlookers. Robb caught my eye first and I kept grinning. He glared right back as I walked up alongside him on the small stage.

"You look cheerful," Robb muttered, "finally get laid with Ramsay?"

"You look miserable. Lady Caitlyn catch you dancing again?" I asked. Robb sighed and rolled his eyes as Caitlyn glared at us both.

"Be proper, won't you?" She hissed. She turned back to the crowd, beaming. "This is a great day!"

"We have enough excess wealth to create cheap tourist traps," I said cheerfully. "All is going according to plan."

"It was your idea," Caitlyn muttered. I shrugged.

"True, but I can enjoy Robb being unhappy about opening a garden," I said. "Next up, he'll be cutting the ribbon at the opening of House Corvise's next shoe factory."

"I'm already doing that," Robb said flatly. I shrugged.

"Lucky guess...?"

"Honestly you two!" Caitlyn huffed. She then stepped up to the basic sound horn-Just a cone for speaking louder through. "Welcome all! Welcome!"

"My Lady and Lords!" The crowd replied. Caitlyn beamed.

"We are so happy to announce the opening of the Glass Gardens, down here in Winter Town. So that all children of the North may see the wonders of the South," she spoke. "With that done... Workers, please!"

Several workers pulled on ropes... And pulled a bit harder. A reporter coughed. Caitlyn glared darkly. The workers struggled a bit more... And finally, the curtains came down. Colorful plants of all shapes and sizes shined behind the sealed glass windows. Children pushed forward, pressing their noses against the glass as the photographers flashed their bulbs. And much applause filled the caverns of Winter Town.

Most of all, I was just happy to see the bright smile on my adoptive mother's face. Sure, I complained a lot. But it was nice to see her beam like that. Robb had to agree, given the small smile he was now wearing.

At least, until someone patted my shoulder. I looked over-It was a soldier of the First Brigade, which was still in training. A cadet-captain... Morcar Flint! His name came to me in an instant before he spoke. The younger man looked nervous.

"Ah, my lords," he muttered, "Lord Bran has... Has gone missing."

"Missing?" Dan whispered in shock. I gave Morcar a hard look as Robb took control of the situation.

"Where? Doing what?" Robb demanded.

"He was trying his new saddle-The one Lord Greyjoy built? And his horse went off, we lost track of him and-"

"We'll handle this," Robb said quickly. "Theon? Saddle up and go with Morcar. I'll follow with Gray Wind."

"Roger," I said. I turned to the crowd, thought of excusing myself dramatically... But a concerned look from Caitlyn stilled me. I shook my head.

"No problem," I murmured, as I turned and walked quickly to the nearest stairwell. "Just a little... Canon issue..."

Wait. When Bran rode off in the book and show... My eyes widened and I broke into a run.

Shit shit shit shit shit!

Fortunately, thanks to Gray Wind's keen nose and eyes, and Robb's latent warging, we found Bran in record time.

Unfortunately, he was being held by a group of wildlings near a trash heap on the outskirts of Winter Town. The butterflies caused by my changes hadn't affected the players too much-I could still spot a dark haired woman with the grungy looking men. But they clearly had been camping out in the dump-Something a lot of drifters and the homeless did, despite my best efforts to get them housing.

"I count five," Robb muttered as he observed them through binoculars. "They've got him... Right by the fire..."

"We could take them with a force of troops, my lords," Flint said quickly. "The First Brigade's training camp is not too far-"

"They've got a hostage and they probably know who he is," Robb said, "they won't stay any longer than they have to..." He shook his head and looked to me. "Got a plan, Theon?"

I hummed. I looked around the garbage heap-Pots, glass jars... A few glass beakers from my lab-Not sure why I threw them out-

"How much gunpowder do you have, Cadet-Captain?" I asked.

"A few rounds-" He began. I reached out my hand. He handed a few cartridges over, and I pulled out some tools and tape. It had been a bitch to invent, but it was money well spent-Even though it all smelled a bit like paint thinner. Something in the chemical mixture, should look into that.

I worked at it, adding a few pieces of junk and joining it all together. I grinned as I held up my creation, Robb and Morcar staring at it.

"What is that?" Robb asked.

"Very simple," I said, as I pumped air into my improvised noisemaker, "a little pressure and some junk... And... Oh! Robb, have Grey Wind ready to flank. Morcar, cover us."

"But-!" Robb tried.

"I have a plan," I said.

"Right," Morcar said, pulling out his rifle. It was one of the new breechloaders-Not my most elegant work, but still a faster rate of fire than any muzzleloader. I slid down the pile of trash, and lit my noisemaker. I peered around the pile of junk, and threw it as hard as I could. It landed... Right where I didn't want it to-The fire.

The Wildlings looked up as shots and small explosions burst from the fire, and the horse panicked. The Wildlings fled in terror, one dark haired woman pulling Bran along with a companion.

Morcar opened fire, one, two of the Wildlings falling. Robb slid down the junk pile and opened up with his revolvers, dropping the last as he ran after his brother. I followed, hopping over the bodies of the dead Wildlings.

We didn't have far to go-Grey Wind had stopped the fleeing Wildlings, and was snarling at them. Summer too was there, snarling from their flank. Bran grinned as he saw us and our wolves.

"Robb! Theon!" He shouted. Robb held his revolver out at the male Wildling, who was pressing a knife to Bran's throat.

"Let us go... Let us go, or the boy's blood feeds the trees!" Snarled the Wildling. Robb thought about it as the Wildling turned his back to Grey Wind... And then smirked.

"No," Robb said. He nodded to me. The Wildling tensed... Before I put a hole between his eyes. Bran winced at the blood, but his good mood returned when Summer slammed the dying man to the ground and set him free. The dark haired woman trembled and tried to run, but Grey Wind snarled in her face. She fell down, and the wolf advanced on her menacingly. I looked at Robb-His eyes almost looked yellow, almost as menacing-

"Woah woah woah!" I said, holding my hands up. I ran up in front of the cowering woman, and Grey Wind pulled back. "Hey... I think we've killed enough today, right?" I looked over at Robb and Bran. Robb was silent for a bit, and nodded slowly. He glared at the Wildling woman.

"You've tried to take the life of a Stark," Robb growled. "Your life can be forfeit as a result..."

"After a trial," I reminded him. Robb scowled.

"A trial?"

"Yeah. Trial. It's the law, remember?" I asked. Robb grit his teeth.

"But she-!"

"The other option," I said quickly, "is for us to take her... As our servant. Don't the Wildlings have some kind of ritual of being taken?" I asked. The woman... Flushed, and looked at the ground.

"I... Aye, sir," she said. I looked over at Robb with a smile.

"See? And we have that new thing of community service! She can serve the people she tried to take from!" I said cheerfully. "I'll take her under my wing! Because she's not going to pull this shit ever again, right?" I looked at her. She nodded meekly.

"Aye... Aye..."

"My Lord," Robb prompted with a glare. "You call us 'My Lord Robb', 'My Lord Bran', or-"

"Or you can call me Theon," I said quickly. "Right?"

The woman nodded. Robb knelt down by Bran and made sure he was allright, as I examined her.

"What's your name?" I asked cheerfully.

"... Osha," she said. "My lord," she added, at Robb's look. I mentally snapped my fingers. Osha! Right! She was played by the woman who played Tonks! I think. My memory was a little fuzzy after several years without the Internet.

Though I could have sworn Amarda looked like Hermione Granger's actress... Or maybe Luna Lovegood's.

It'd been a while, give me a break!

"Anyway!" I said cheerfully, as Cadet-Captain Flint approached with his rifle, "good work Flint! You're showing your stuff."

"Thank you, my Lords," Flint said modestly. Robb nodded.

"Very good shots... I think General Ryswell will need an aide. You're going to the top of the list."

Flint beamed, and saluted. "Yes, my Lord!"

"As for... Miss Osha here," I said, turning back, "let's get you back to the castle, shall we?"

"... Will you carry me... Theon?" She asked softly.

"Is... Your foot hurt?" I asked, confused. She blinked... And nodded.

"Aye, a bit."

"No problem then," I said cheerfully. I hefted her up in a fireman's carry. "Robb, you got Bran?"

"Of course," Robb said, getting Bran up. I smiled at my brothers, and at the Cadet-Captain.

"There we go then! Happy ending... Mostly..." I sighed as the wolves sniffed the dead body of the Wildling. "Miss Osha, you have any burial rites for your people-?"

"Burn them. All o' them. Please," she said quickly, fear in her voice. I looked over at Morcar and Robb, who looked confused... But I knew why. I nodded.

"Lady's got a point," I said. "Come on!"

It wasn't long before Robb and I were neck deep in preparations, our mother was kidnapping Tyrion Lannister, and the whole ugly mess of the War of the Five Kings began. But at least I had Osha serving the family and being a faithful retainer... With a surprising amount of work and affection given to me.

I didn't think anything of it though... Until that night in Maidenpool.

Omake: And so we enter ... Endgame.

Thunder rumbled over King's Landing.

Thunder was hardly an unknown to the half a million people who called the city home. Indeed, the frequent summer storms that washed over the city were welcomed for the sharp and focused downpours they brought with them; a torrent of water that flushed all the shit through Flea Bottom and out of King's landing into Blackwater Bay. A good storm could clear the air into something almost breathable for a day before the inevitable miasma returned.

However in recent days, a new type of thunder had started to intrude on the lives of those living in the capital of the Seven Kingdoms. One that made smallfolk and highborn both nervously glance out in the direction of the Crownlands when it came.
The thunder of the North.
It was nothing less than a herald; warning all who heard the terrible noise that Robb Stark and his army of vengeance were now so close to the capital that their cannons could be heard from the Iron Throne itself. And for all the work the agents of the Red Keep and town criers put in insisting the war went well, many of them hesitated in their practiced speeches as the distant rumble of the guns had sprung up, seemingly timed to mock their loud assurances that victory grew ever nearer.

But tonight at least, the thunder was not a harbinger of death.

No, to the relief of many, this was real thunder. Flashes of distant lightning could be seen deep over the Crownlands, briefly illuminating the clouds above as a late summer storm slowly gathered strength. Watching the play of nature from a balcony on one of the Red Keeps plentiful towers as an evening breeze stirred, Petyr Baelish couldn't help but wonder if a similar display of light and sound had inspired Theon Greyjoy so many years ago, causing the young Kraken to dare to steal fire and thunder from the Gods themselves to turn against his enemies.

Personally, he couldn't help but approve of the sheer hubris inherent in such a thought.

Indeed, he almost felt some measure of kinship with the young Greyjoy. Seized as a hostage and starting from nothing with nothing, the Squid had wasted little time making himself utterly indispensable to Ned Stark. Much as Petyr had in turn made himself indispensable to first Jon Arryn and then Robert Baratheon, Theon had become so to first Eddard and then Robb Stark, with his council now sought by half the Lords and Lord Paramount's of the Realm!

Simply put, when Theon Greyjoy spoke; High and Low born from The Wall to Dorne listened.

And yet there was one key difference between them. Despite his incredible power, Theon had refused to take that last obvious step to truly become his peer. Content to play a supporting role in the mummer's troupe around the King in the North, he was unable or more likely, unwilling to step around or over them to demand his due for everything he had given them. Or take it if they refused.

It had to be that damnable Stark sense of 'honor'.

Truly, he was Ned Stark's 'son', bound by chains the otherwise brilliant man could not see as he labored away for the North. Refusing to step outside of the role assigned to him as he masterminded events for the Starks. Spinning victory after victory in exchange for no more than a hearty well done and pat on the back...
That was where his sense of kinship faded. For all their similarities in inciting and navigating chaos and disruption as others drowned in it; Petyr Baelish would never, could never be content to play a beast of burden others used to drag forward their own agendas.

No, he would survive the storm closing in on King's Landing - and do so on his own terms. Dynasties came and went, rulers lived and died. Lords and Knights and Houses, causes and crusade rose and fall. Order gave way to Chaos, Chaos in turn gave way to order.

But he remained.

"Poetic isn't it?" a familiar voice broke into his thoughts from behind him as he took a sip of Dornish wine from the cup he had brought with him. "The distant storm that is now almost at our doorstep as we ask 'how did it come to this?'"

Petyr did not react in any way to the unannounced presence, save to put a well-practiced smile onto his face. He was going to miss these little chats...

"Some of us may ask that" he agreed as he continued to look out at the distant storm far beyond the walls of King's Landing and flashes of lightning. "Others may reflect that this was inevitable from the moment Ned Stark's head hit the ground"

"That is true" the Master of Whispers acknowledged as he stepped up silently, folding arms onto the top of the parapet and studying the distant flashes of lightning. "Such a pity that preventing it became inevitable after that day in the Throne Room. But then to be perfectly fair, you did tell Lord Stark not to trust you" the other conceded before offering him a sly smile. "And it is rather hard to stab someone in the back unless you are standing fully behind them".

Petyr felt his grin twitch a little at the jab, covering it easily with a sip of his wine. One of his greatest achievements to date; having Lord Stark and his men walk right into the trap set for them, even doing him the courtesy of leaving their thunderarms behind. He certainly had not wanted the man's bodyguards armed to the teeth - he had seen first hand how terribly intimidating they were when Jamie Lannister and a group of his soldiers had confronted Ned Stark outside of his brothel weeks before. When Jamie had drawn his sword in response to Ned's (false he knew even at the time) claim that Tyrion's arrest had been at his command, Ned had simply snapped a finger in an uncharacteristically showy way … and a half dozen of his men concealed on roofs around the square had suddenly revealed themselves - and their whistler sharpshooting rifles.

All aimed squarely at the Kingslayer.

And as the Lannister men had hesitated and looked to the frozen Jamie for leadership, Ned's 'official' guards had stepped out from his brothel, carrying enormous double barrel shotguns that had become legendary in the training yards for the sheer mess their 'flayer rounds' could make of close groups of pig carcasses, making it abundantly clear that if either Jamie or his men tried anything, they would die very quick, very painful and very messy deaths.

Eddard Stark had let the unspoken threat stand for a good five seconds or so of strained silence, before finally responding to Jamie's previous bravado in a voice as cold as a Northern Winter.

"Aye, you're fast with that Sword Ser Jamie … but I've yet to see a man who can outrun a bullet".

Despite his dislike of Ned Stark ... Petyr couldn't help but feel a fierce sense of delight in being present to witness an event as historic as Ser Jamie Lannister facing mortality for perhaps the first time in his life. The realization that for all his confidence in his vaunted abilities … he would be dead the instant Lord Stark ordered it, if he wanted it so.
And for once showing commendable common sense Ser Jamie had backed off, darkly warning that his father would hear about this. And events had only spiraled out of control from there.

Gloriously.

Still after witnessing that incident first hand, he had made sure that Lord Starks Guards had left their powerful weapons behind when marching into the Throne Room, promising overwhelming numbers of the Goldcloaks would be present alongside his own men. Stark had readily agreed to his implacable logic that if things did go bad, the last thing they needed was a stray bullet hitting the Prince or Queen and setting off the very war he was trying to avoid.
But to be perfectly fair, he had never confirmed to Lord Stark on whose side the overwhelming numbers of Goldcloaks would be...

"That I did" Petyr conceded the point easily. "Whereas I, as always, stand in awe of your firm unshakable loyalty … to the Targaryens. Then the Baratheons … and then the Lannisters". He paused for just a half second before continuing to drive in the point with a smile. "Shall we soon add the Starks to that exalted list? Or perhaps" he dared, "the Targaryens once more?"

Or perhaps never anyone but the Targaryens he said without saying, the implication all too clear to the two of them.

"It is always gratifying to know one's talents are in high demand" Varys parried without blinking. "Although I'm not terribly certain if Robb Stark would have much use for your services - he seems quite happily married to the flower of the Reach now. And he really doesn't seem to be the type to sleep around".

"Early days yet my Friend" Petyr felt his smile grow for a moment before schooling it back into submission. "I'm sure many said the same about the honorable" - he filled that word with the scorn it deserved- "Ned Stark before he showed up with Jon Snow". How the man had so brazenly cheated on Cat like that and been forgiven without a second thought, still held up as a paragon of virtue instead of a hypocrite … even now it could make his hand clench involuntarily.

"Yes. A most fascinating story that one" Varys agreed with a tiny hint of … something … in his voice for a moment. "But it does seem that the Young Wolf and his bride are madly in love with each other".

"Your expertise on the subject, I am sure, is legendary" he couldn't help but snark, getting one final jab in at the others lack of 'equipment' in that arena. "But still my friend, business is always business, even among a pack of Wolves".

And I know business.

"Indeed" the other saluted the hit with a slight nod before pulling back and turning back to observe the storm, while continuing to talk. "In fact while we are speaking of business, I dorecall a Little Bird came to me several days ago talking about a new, shall we say, business opportunity that has opened up in the Vale of Arryn. In the Mountains south of Coldwater Burn? I mention it only because I do know it is close to your ancestral holdings in the Fingers…"

"Oh?" Petyr kept his face perfectly composed. "Please, do tell?"

"Well, if you insist" the other said, glancing at him with a brief smile. "It seems that large quantities of coal were discovered several years ago in the region, never touched for lack of any real demand at the time as I understand it. But with the North increasingly consuming it faster than they can dig it out, it has become quite the valuable commodity to them. And a new… company … of sorts, has just been granted mining rights to the region by the Lords in question. Giving said company, it so happens, control of the largest known deposits on the continent..."

"What a fortunate coincidence" Petyr agreed with an absolutely flawless look of mild interest, even as he again lovingly calculated just how much money he would make from the operation. And even better, the sheer strategic value of the operation should encourage the North to be as pragmatic with him as they were being with the Lannisters.

"Still, one must admit a sense of relief that one's home has managed to avoid the horrors and chaos of this war".

"Really? As I understand it Edmure Tully made quite the mess of all three towers at your 'home'" Varys quipped back, always one to seize an opening to needle him. "He does seem to have become all too fond of those cannon of his - I hear Robb Stark has actually named him field commander of his armies artillery. He seems to certainly be moving up in the world..."

"Harrenhal was but a means to an end, the title turned out to be far lighter and easier to move than the rocks of that ruin" Petyr scoffed, trying not to be baited by the mention of Edmure bombarding his nominal holdings; the childish brother of Catelyn and Lysa had always delighted in mocking him when they were young. No doubt he had been equally delighted in using that decrepit ruin for target practice after hearing it was nominally now his holding. "No as the days go on, I must admit I do increasingly yearn for the mountains of my youth in the Vale".

"Ah yes, the Vale of Aryn. Such disturbing rumors I hear these days" the other said with a voice of false sympathy. "Increasing numbers of Lords who grow restless with their forced neutrality as they watch the North close in on King's Landing…"

"All I am sure, wishing to be let out to support their King" Petyr said with a perfectly straight face.

"But of course" Varys agreed, both knowing the King in question the Lords wished to fight for certainly wasn't the one in King's Landing. "I do fear that House Aryns hold on their vassals is slipping, sad to say. Talk of banners being raised without her permission to enter the war - or even raised against her in frustration at the Lady Aryn's inaction. Not helped I am sure, by the Despoiler continuing to lay the blame for Lord Aryn's death on the hands of certain Lannisters..."

"Shocking, truly - I'll be sure to investigate closely when I arrive" Petyr promised with just the right tone of concern. He indeed would be sure to do that; by the Old and New Gods, the last thing he needed was the Vale fragmenting just as he was moving his final pieces into place to take over! He had already heard word from his agents that Mya Stone, one of Robert's bastards and an accomplished enough warrior in her own right had slipped away with a 'wink and a nod' from House Royce to join Robert Starks army, alongside any number of 'volunteers'. Apparently her own decision after reading newspapers that extolled any number of 'Warrior Women' in service to Robb Stark.

He didn't believe that for a second.

She was a bastard, which let House Royce cast her aside should this backfire on them … yet high up enough that they could take full credit for her glory in the event of a victory, putting them on the winning side of the King in the North as seemed a foregone conclusion now. Quite clever. And if something wasn't done soon, she might only be the vanguard...

"Oh yes, your pending marriage to the Lady Aryn. I suppose congratulations are in order - I do know how long the thought of this has been on your mind. Surely, a truly joyous day for you ... or at least her. And a marriage not without its compensations I must say …"

The tone of the other was truly a thing of beauty. The assured, knowing voice that said Varys knew exactly what kind of a person Lysa … yet mixed with annoyance that he was about to be put into a position of real power in the Seven Kingdoms. Becoming a Lord Paramount in truth, if not in name once he was settled in.

"It is quite flattering - really" he smiled instead as he pushed away from the parapet, leaving the cup behind and closing the distance between them with slow deliberate steps as his mind flashed back over the last week where he had found himself unknowingly almost trapped in the middle of a carefully spun web of this man. "That you feel such … dread at the prospect of me getting what I want".

"Thwarting you has never been my primary ambition I assure you" the other dismissively sighed before Varys let a tiny smile play on his face for a moment as Petyr halted just in front of him. "But then" he added, "who doesn't like to see their friends fail every now and again?"

"You're so right" Petyr agreed, his smile darkening ever so slightly. "I in fact had quite the bad investment recently. A young woman of particular skill, but one who didn't bring me any enjoyment. Any compensations. Simply trouble begetting trouble" he noted, stepping around the other and back to the parapet, glancing down into the courtyard and letting his smile widen slightly, delighted beyond measure that Varys would be here to witness this event.

From said courtyard, sudden bangs of gunshots rang out, one after the other. No cries or alarms and ringing of alarm bells followed to indicate intruders, instead only a woman's screams could be heard. Varys turned to follow his gaze … and for a fraction of a fraction of a second out of the corner of his eye, Petyr could see the man clench his jaw at the sight far below as he realized what was happening before he again smothered his expression.

"She was a bad investment" Petyr didn't quite gloat as two final shots rang out in rapid succession, the screams of the woman churning off into a gurgling that faded away finally into nothing. Ros, a whore from the North with nothing but her body whom he had elevated into a position of real power, only for him to repay him with betrayal. And now? Now she was nothing but a carcass being hauled down from the wall, her once stunning face a ruined mess. A fitting end for the whore and payment in full for services rendered.

"Luckily, even bad investments can have their losses recouped with some … ingenuity" he smiled down at the dead body with no small amount of satisfaction. "And our King was soeager to prepare for what is coming to King's Landing and get in some target practice…"

Down below, a couple of Lannister soldiers dragged away the corpse bleeding all over the courtyard. Standing in the open, his shoulders still heaving in excitement and Ned Stark's former revolver clutched in his hand, Joffrey Lannister turned to shoot a grin at a cluster of people dutifully following him who applauded his 'skill', thrusting 'Blizzard' high into the sky in triumph at them. Indeed, the King had been so delighted with the opportunity he had not even hesitated in giving him a sealed travel document ensuring he would get through the checkpoints and patrols around King's Landing without delay.

Far more useful to him in death than in life, Ros had turned out to be...

"Bad fortune and reversals come to all of us in such troubled times" Varys simply said before casually changing the subject, clearly having gotten the message and acknowledging the little victory in their back and forth game. "I do hope that your journey is a safe one my Lord. Our King is certainly in need of close, dependable counsel and the loss of you in the small council chamber will be felt most keenly".

"Indeed" Petyr agreed, ignoring the rather unsubtle implication that his leaving the city for good would be a net improvement for the King, at least in the Spiders mind. But that was fine. Let Varys fret about his precious 'Realm' as it continued to shrink or his Targaryen fools across the narrow sea or whoever he truly supported - he honestly couldn't care.

Varys could die with his past while he created the future.

"Of course" he continued, "with the Northern Fleet blockading Dragonstone and Blackwater bay I have been forced to take a somewhat more … lengthy route. Which will, unfortunately, result in my absence for an extended time".

"King's Landing simply won't be the same without you" the other said in a voice so perfectly absent of sarcasm it somehow came back around to reach a whole new level of sarcasm, even as he offered a small bow, his hands again folded inside his sleeves. "A safe journey then My Lord".

Petyr wordlessly saluted the other with his cup before placing it casually on the parapet and moving away, back into the tower and to the winding stairs in the middle of the stone structure. A bonus that was, Varys arriving to wish him goodbye just in time to see his newest 'little bird' pay the price for her treachery. Some small payment on the enormous debt he owed the man for the events of the last few weeks. And a warning that said without saying that he knew exactly what the Spider had done.

Or at least, what the Spider had tried to do …

As he stomped down the stairs, his mind again flashed back to just over a week ago walking down a near identical stairwell in the Tower of the Hand. He had just finished (escaped might be a better word) his meeting with Tywin Lannister, having successfully foisted off responsibility for the failed attempt on Robb Starks life onto Joffrey. Congratulating himself for being sure to have the assassin's leader meet with the King and 'take his orders', then getting their real orders from him before they left King's Landing - through a cutout of course. A thin illusion to be sure, but it was enough that Joffrey would be left with no defense when his furious uncle confronted him about his actions and accused him of ordering the assassination and forced him to accept the consequences of his failure.
At the same time, he had been somewhat distracted wondering where in the seven hells his knife was. It was no cheap weapon, but castle forged steel with precious gems and gold in the pommel … but it was missing from its scabbard. He dismissed the idea he had been pickpocketed inside the Red Keep almost at once, deciding that he must have left it inside his chambers when getting dressed. Exiting the tower feelingly mildly annoyed with himself for leaving his chambers unarmed, he had started to cross the stone courtyard to rectify this mistake … when Tywin Lannister had arrived.

That is to say, he had crashed to the ground next to him with a sickening crunch, compressing into a horrific tangle of bone, blood and fine clothes, barely missing landing on top of him by a matter of meters.

To say he was shocked would be something of an understatement.

That frozen moment had in turn shattered into a million pieces as with a loud ding, a familiar knife had crashed into the ground next to him, bouncing into the air. Its handle gleaming with jewels and its castle forged blade shimmering with blood … and the mockingbird symbol in its hilt seeming almost to wink at him.

Petyr had always been a fast thinker, a man in his position needed to be after all. But for the first time in his life, time itself seemed to slow down to grant him long enough to fully take in the situation as his eyes locked onto the mockingbird, as the consequences of this became readily apparent.

Fact. The body of Lord Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King and Lord Paramount of the Westerlands had just smashed to the flagstones right next to him.

Fact. He had been the last person to see the man alive.

Fact. His knife, clearly covered in blood, had just landed right next to the body in question.

It didn't take someone as smart as he to realize exactly what this confluence of facts would mean when presented to Cersei and Joffrey.

Faster than he had moved in his life, his hand had swung down without conscious thought, just pure desperation. Snatching up the knife even as it bounced back from the ground. Catching it cleanly by the hilt, he slammed it home into its scabbard in a singular fluid motion he suspected he wouldn't have been able to duplicate on any other day in his life as time seemed to speed back up again with the rumble of armored footsteps approaching-

"No!"

a voice had cried out and he looked up to see an ashen looking Lancel Lannister and a group of guards come running towards him from around a corner-

"I was … I was just walking out of the tower and he fell-" Petyr had rapidly started to spin his tale, only to be cut off by the Knight.

"I know, we saw him falling from around the corner" Lancel replied in shock as he skidded to a halt and knelt gingerly next to the mess, his face growing even more pale as he realized that the true power of the Lannister family … was dead. And while not the brightest fire in the night, surely even Lancel could appreciate the chaos that was sure to come.

"Did you see anyone? Anything?" the other demanded his eyes wide with adrenaline, fear and uncertainty. And helpfully, Petry provided him with some direction. The right direction. Away from him!

"I .. I just finished meeting with him and left his chambers perhaps five minutes ago!" Petry didn't have to work hard to sound like he was in shock as his mind spun deciding to throw some suspects at the other. "There are any number of servants and nobles inside the tower I passed on the stairs as I made my way down from his chambers-"

"To the tower, let no-one out!" Lancel yelled wildly at his guards and they snapped into motion, reaching the door and starting to push back the people who had started to gather them into the tower without concern for social niceties or rank. Some protested, but all shut their mouths as the grim guards drew their swords.

"I will inform the King and Queen Mother" Petyr volunteered, getting a nod from the other as he charged into the tower.

And he had done so … after stopping by his chambers and hastily rinsing his knife clean of any trace of blood, washing his slightly shaking hands and checking his appearance was appropriately disheveled before hurrying to the Throne Room. Suffice to say reaction had been stunned when he stormed in, making the most of the full court present to play to the audience with his announcement. Cersei had gone white with shock, then fear and finally fury at the announcement while Joffrey had looked, if anything, delighted to be relieved of dealing with petitioners, dismissing the court with an attempt at grandeur and sorrow that was rather pathetic.
Petyr in turn had used the chaos and confusion as room was cleared and the Small Council assembled to carefully go over the events once more and get his story straight in his mind … and to his shock, he realized he had not been the last man to see the Hand of the King alive.

Replaying the events, he now recalled that as he had left the apartments that cupbearer Tywin had picked up at Harrenhal had been present, easing past him with a load of food and drink into the rooms. He had in fact all but pushed past her in his haste to get out of the rooms before Tywin changed his mind about who to blame for the Riverrun fiasco. And as he took his seat in the Small Council chamber, he had need to work hard to suppress a totally inappropriate smile as he realized he had the perfect sacrifice to throw suspicion onto. Oh he doubted she was responsible for the death of the Lannister patriarch. If nothing else, the girl had plenty of easier opportunities before now to eliminate him, when his death might have actually made some kind of difference in the war's outcome. But he could care less about her innocence; she would do perfectly as a bone to throw to the Lions to keep them distracted...

That happy scenario had only lasted for a few seconds after they had settled down however, with Lancel Lannister arriving somewhat out of breath followed by the hulking form of Ser Sandor Clegane, who had been on guard duty outside the Hand's chambers. At once, Cersei in a voice of fury and rage had seized control of proceedings, demanding to know how this had happened and who was responsible. Not one to be upstaged and now sitting at the head of the table, King Joffrey (quite possibly finally realizing that with Tywin gone he answered to no-one) had also jumped in at that point, snarling and demanding that the 'dog' answer the question of why he shouldn't have his head put on a spike then and there for his failure.

Something- Petyr wasn't sure what- had flickered through the 'Hound's' eyes at that demand, but it had been gone almost before he had seen it. And to his annoyance, the gruff Hound had matter-of-factly reported that Petyr had just left the chambers (causing everyone to turn and look at him in a very unsettling way) as man's cupbearer had then entered the rooms. Sandor had walked over to keep an eye on her, but she had simply put the food on a table before being chased out by a furious but very much alive Tywin, who had slammed the door shut and locked it behind him, clearly angry about something and in no mood for company. Then, a minute or two later, his attention had been drawn out a window to a body on the ground by screaming. He had promptly kicked the door in and a quick search of the rooms had found them to be entirely empty, with the food untouched. Lancel then adding that a thorough search of everyone in the tower had found no evidence of murder or four play.

The lack of any clear evidence had stalled Cersei for a moment, her tear streaked face seeming to wildly swerve around the room looking for a target, with no-one daring to speak up lest she chose them as the next one. She had then interrogated Sandor, Lancel and him too, blasting them with questions and suspicions, grasping at straws in her grief and fury to find someone -anyone- to blame for the death of her Father.

For once actually being helpful, Maester Pycelle had interrupted to babble on about recent medical knowedge breakthroughs around heart conditions in older people (smartly not pointing out that Theon Greyjoy was the indirect source of said knowledge). Conditions that were often brought on by great stress, where older men could simply collapse and die as their hearts gave out - and if he had been stressed and gone outside to the parapet, feeling the heat and shortness of breath of such an attack and looking for fresh air …

That of course had caused Cersei to once again round on him, her eyes blazing as she demanded to know what he had done to make her father so furious. Petyr in turn had slowly started to explain about Robb Starks wedding, shooting pointed looks at Joffrey several times before the boy-King finally 'got' it and belatedly jumped in to protect his culpability, standing up suddenly to declare he had heard enough and that this was clearly a tragic accident. And despite the appalled look on his Mother's face, he had dismissed the council, running out to collect his Grandfather's 'whip' through which the Unsullied could be controlled.

The Gods alone knew what fun he was going to inflict on the poor citizens of King's Landing with those utterly obedient soldiers.

Cersei her face darker than the Long Night had stormed out after him, Pycelle shuffling as quickly as he could in her wake to leave only he and the Spider present in the chamber. And as they had risen from their seats, his gaze had for just a moment locked with that of Lord Varys and the tiny smirk on it before he too had shuffled out … and suddenly everything had come into focus with breathtaking, terrible clarity.

As soon as practical after the immediate chaos had died down, he had left the Red Keep for his brothel, having some of his more useful thugs snatch Ros as he stormed through the building, bringing her to his office. It had not taken terribly much encouragement in the face of his fury for her to admit to his suspicions; that she had been passing information to Varys after she had gotten caught up in the game between Tyrion and Cersei, begging for forgiveness from him he had little inclination to give. He had not even bothered to listen to her pleas when she had denied separating him from his knife and handing it off or leaving it out for the assassin, knowing she was more than smart enough to admit to the lesser betrayal while vigorously denying the greater one. Instead he had her thrown into a cell for the amusement of the City Watch until he could decide what he would do with her.

Later in the evening as the bells continued to ring out to mourn the death of Lord Tywin, Petyr had banished all from his presence as he carefully thought through everything, becoming increasingly convinced that he had worked through to the horrifying truth of things. It all made such perfect sense after all. On the face of it, the Lannister cause was doomed. Lord Tywin clearly would not surrender, but if he were to die suddenly, there was every possibility Robb Stark would be happy enough to forgo the final battle and allow for a smooth transition for Varys's precious 'Realm' to whatever came next.

And that was only half of the genius. Using his knife to do the dead, framing him and ensuring his execution removed him from the game board, something he knew Varys had wanted to do for a very long time. What was that saying Theon Greyjoy was so fond of?

Oh yes, 'killing two birds with but one stone'. An apt analogy.

That cupbearer had saved his life. Her entering the room and delaying things as she had (one of those impossible to predict 'complications' in such 'business') had in turn caused Tywin to storm through his apartments to kick her out and lock the door, surely destroying the timing of the assassination. Because if it had happened, as it clearly was supposed to, tipping the Hand of the King over the balcony at roughly the same time he was leaving the room with his knife along for the ride...

In that case he would have been greeted by the body in the courtyard when he exited the tower. A body with his knife right next to it, which left the top of the tower at close enough to the same time he had been meeting him...

Pure, distilled, genius.

But complicated; a plan that needed perfect knowledge of his movements, access to the Tower of the Hand to slip an assassin in undetected and his knife. Varys was the only possible person who could have arranged this to be with Ros providing the knife and his schedule and Varys no doubt knew of some secret way into and out of the Tower of the Hand, to pull off the second attempt in recent memory to frame someone for a murder using a knife …

And that stray thought caused his eyes to widen yet again.

This entire war had started because he had falsely led poor naive Catelyn to believe Tyrion Lannister had sent an assassin after her cripple of a son, paid for with a rare Valyrian Steel knife belonging to Tyrion. That falsehood had almost gotten Tyrion killed several times in quick succession - would have gotten him killed if not for that sell sword he had grown so fond of.

Tyrion, who had always been surprisingly friendly with Varys, even more disturbingly a friendship built entirely upon pragmatism and mutual interests.

Tyrion who loathed his Father as much as his Father loathed him, who with his Father out of the way was now theoretically the Heir to Castley Rock. Something he had wanted all his life but his Father had made abundantly clear he would never give him.

Tyrion, who was now by all his reports much more an honored guest than a prisoner of the Starks, having won their conditional trust and respect, who would be the perfect ally to bring the Westerlands to peace and win the war at a stroke as soon as they took King's Landing.

And Tyrion, who had been framed and almost killed by his efforts. That was a debt that had yet to be paid by him … and a Lannister always paid their debts. What better payment could here have been then having him framed and executed, using his own knife?

Convinced, that night Petyr had woken the people he needed woken, sent the Ravens he needed to send and accelerated all his preparations he could make. His plans to quietly move into the position of power in the Vale were well advanced, but he drove forward now with a new urgency, determined to get out of the capital while he still could. Before another more direct attempt was made on his life, keeping the revolver he had acquired at considerable cost hidden inside his jacket from that point forward.

And so, as Petyr Baelish hurried down the stairs, a hand subconsciously drifting to feel the reassuring presence of the six shot gun, he moved quickly to collect his final 'precious cargo'. A cargo that would guarantee he would survive this war and rise even higher afterwards. As he swore to the Old Gods and New Gods that he was not finished yet.

Not with Westeros. Not with Varys. Not with Tyrion. Not with any of them.

Not by half!

Watching his opponent stalk away, the Spider gave no outward signs of his feelings, instead slipping his arms back inside his robes and also vanishing into the tower, but unlike Petyr, he vanished into one of the numerous secret passages that crisscrossed the interior of the Keep to let him move unseen. Cramped, narrow and unlit, they did offer excellent privacy, to move and think unseen.

It truly was a pity about the girl Ros, a final petty act of spite from Baelish in their little game. Trust, badly misplaced or not, was often the only currency worth anything in his line of work and he she had given hers to him. In desperation perhaps, but given none the less that he would keep her safe in exchange for just a little bit of useful information before Lord Baelish left the city.
Still, she was dead now and nothing would change that any more than he could stick Ned Stark's head back on his body and undo the chaos that mistake had set into motion.

No, all he could do was try to shape the future as he always had, protecting it from men like Littlefinger who would gleefully burn the realm down if they could but rule the ashes. Unfortunately, Petyr's smug confidence aside he was already well advanced into positioning himself to not simply survive this war, but thrive from it. No doubt his nemesis presumed that with control of so vital a resource to the North and becoming a Lord Paramount in all but name, his sins would, if not be forgiven, at least excused.

Especially if he could bring back a few tokens of his loyalty to the new order to … what was that charming phrase Theon Greyjoy used? Ah yes, to spin the truth, just enough.

And when Ros had told him that Petyr had organized at considerable expense, a luxurious Bravosi flagged ship waiting somewhere in the Bay of Crabs with a stateroom fit for a Queen (which he would never buy for himself) to take him across the short distance from the Crownlands to the Vale, surely unimpeded by any Northern warship under such a banner, it had become exceedingly clear that he intended for Sansa Stark to be his 'bargaining chip' with the North. And it was annoyingly one that might actually work, given that the North had shown it could be pragmatic given the whispers he was hearing about Kevin and Tyrion Lannister securing a new alliance for the Westerlands for the 'post Tywin' timeframe. If he 'rescued' Sansa, claimed to have secreted her away in the middle of the night to the safety of her Aunt and from there called on Robb to come collect her …

It just might work. And the thought of Littlefinger worming his way into their inner circle like the parasite he was, ready to destroy the best chance for the Realm from the inside out once more…
No. No, the time had come to tidy up the loose thread of the old to prepare for the new.

Accordingly, he had already put his own plans into motion. A few words dropped into the Queen's ear to remind her that they still held Sansa. A very significant 'piece' on the board who Robb Stark would trade a great many concessions for, if used well. Bringing her warnings he had heard whispers there were traitors close to hand growing nervous about her son. Traitors he could not identify as yet, but might be planning to seize her and spirit her away to a no doubt rich reward from Robb Stark. Leaving them nothing to stay his wraith.
Cersei had at once seized on the idea with her typically paranoid focus, moving Sansa into the Royal Apartments with her best (and most fanatical) people in place to 'protect her', a fact Littlefinger would no doubt find to his extreme annoyance in the next few minutes. That said apartment had a long unused but perfectly functional secret passage in one wall was of course simply a happy coincidence for him…

Even Sansa's servants had been mostly dismissed out of paranoia, reduced from a dozen ladies in waiting to a mere two people. Lord Tyrion's former 'servant' Shae -who was fiercely protective of the girl to the point that even Cersei had not bothered to try and split them- had stayed with her. And that former cupbearer who had briefly been the focus of attention today had become the second simply because Sansa had been trying to comfort the shocked girl and thus been available to be tapped for the job.

An odd death indeed for the Lord Hand. But not one he had looked terribly deeply into. Random chance had its part to play just as much as deliberate action, it was something you had to live with and adapt to. He suspected Petyr in turn suspected him of plotting the man's death, a suspicion he had been careful to neither imply nor deny to the other. Instead, he had been content to let the man's thoughts run away with him as fast as he was running away from King's Landing itself. But while he was sure that losing Sansa as a bargaining chip would hurt Littlefinger, it certainly wouldn't be enough to stop him.

No, to finally put an end to the man before he entrenched himself too deeply in what came after Joffrey, he had arranged for some of his agents in Pentos to arrange of a number of documents to fall into the hands of Theon Greyjoy's 'facilitators' in Bravos. Quite authentic documents with the signatures of both Lord Tywin and Lord Baelish on them, agreeing to the purchase of legions of Unsullied, with payment terms in Gold … and a number of Northern prisoners of war, shipped via Pentos. A test of commitment the Good Masters had insisted on that Lord Baelish had personally negotiated and agreed to.
It would be a true pity he couldn't be there to see the look on the face of his good friend when he read the Despoiler issue that would no doubt be blasted across all of the continent, when the North found out just whose signature was on the documents that had sent their sons into slavery...

But as with all things in life, one person's mistakes could be another's opportunity. For if the carefully husbanded favors he had called in went as planned, the Northern slave shipment should have been delayed and transferred through several intermediaries just long enough to arrive at Yunkai, at what should be roughly the same time as Daenerys Targaryen - if her army was on schedule and as efficient as he hoped. Another of his little birds had finally re-made contact with Jorah Mormont, slipping him a note that alerted him to the imminent arrival of said ships and their cargo. And informing him that the few records of his … activities … on behalf of the Iron Throne had been carefully eliminated.

Ser Jorah had never struck him as the smartest of his family, but certainly he was shrewd enough to put things together quickly and realize the incredible opportunity presented for himself and his 'Queen' these prisoners could be. Redemption for himself as he freed Northern slaves after being exiled for sending a handful of criminals into slavery and a unique political opening for his mistress into the new powerhouse of the world.

Navigating through the pitch black tunnels from memory, he halted exactly at the entrance to his room. Carefully, he opened up the tiny hidden vision slits that would let him check the room was empty and the door still secure, before he emerged back into his rooms, sealing the passage behind him before getting to work.
As always when he left via his 'back door', before doing anything else he carefully checked his 'tells' were in place. Small little things that would be all but impossible to notice unless you knew they were what they were, but that would tell him instantly if anyone had entered his room while he was out. A strand of hair resting in the doorframe at a precise height. A pile of documents on his desk that were aligned just slightly off straight. His desks chair touching the underside of the table at a very specific point…

None of it had been touched.

Satisfied as well as he could be that no-one had entered his office, Varys sat down on a comfortable chair at a small side table. A second chair was set on the other side and between the two, covering the bulk of the table surface, a square wooden board had been placed. Made of the very highest quality woods, two different shades had been used to define an even grid of sixty four squares. In front of him in the first two rows, sixteen black marble figures of the very highest quality had been placed. Soldiers in the front row. Castles on the edges of the back, followed by two rearing horses, two Most Devouts and then finally a King and a Queen.

On the opposite side of the board like two armies facing off before a battle, the exact same figures mirrored his, but done in a white marble.

Smiling slightly at the two lines of stone figures, Varys allowed himself a very rare sense of anticipation as he reflected on the fact that finally, tomorrow evening, he just might have someone arrive who could truly challenge him in this glorious game.

But then, he certainly wouldn't expect anything less from the man who had invented it.

Omake – King Joffreys Management Style

"Your Grace," said Lancel Lannister hesitantly as he bowed to the King, as Joffrey lazed on his ornate seat overlooking the courtyard. Servants were scattering sawdust and sand to cover up the blood as the corpse of the latest dog to die in the 'melee' was dragged away. Recently Joffrey had decided to start finding the fiercest, nastiest and most vicious dogs in the Crownlands so he could 'throw the Usurper dog to the dogs', so he had commanded that the castle staff organise dog fights for him to observe. The sight of canines tearing each other apart never ceased to send the young royal into paroxysms of laughter.

Swinging his leg over the arm of his chair, Joffrey accepted a wine goblet from a timid looking serving wench. "Lancel - how goes the training? Finished preparing my armies to crush the Stark cur?"

"I ... that is to say, Your Grace, the men are learning well, but our rations of powder are running rather low, so I was hoping that -"

"What? What powder?" Joffrey asked with genuine confusion in his eyes.

Does he ... does he not actually know how thunderarms work? "T-the black powder, Your Grace, that makes the guns fire. Our m-men have been using it to train with, to get them used to the sound and effect of the weapons, b-but I have only been issued enough for a few shots per man."

Joffrey straightened up in his seat, putting his still full wine goblet aside. "Why would they need to practice? I mean, it's not all that hard," he smiled, stroking the heavy weight of Blizzard where it sat on a cusioned table next to his chair, within easy reach in case he decided to use it. "Point, pull the hammer, pull the trigger, then do it again!"

"Y-yes, Your Grace. However, under the c-chaos of battle, we would prefer that our troops are used to -"

Joffrey's eyes lit up. "Ah, I have it! You're afraid they'll seize up at being shot at, am I right?"

Relief flooded Lancel, and he straightened his spine. "Yes, Your Grace, you have it completely!"

"Well, why didn't you say so?" asked the King, launching himself to his feet. He picked up Blizzard and slid it into the holster at his side. "We must tend to this issue of morale at once! Take me to your men, General!"

Lancel paused, but then bowed, and escorted the King, along with the knights of the Kingsguard and various hangers on, to another courtyard, where several dozen men in Lannister colours were lined up, their muskets in their arms, powder horns and bags of lead balls at their wastes. At the entrance of the king, they all snapped to attention.

Joffrey addressed the soldiers. "Men of Westeros, it has come to my attention that part of your training is experiencing the sound and fury of gunfire, so that you're not alarmed when you encounter it on the battlefield! I am pleased to assist in this endeavor!" And with that he pulled the revolver from his side and put a lead ball through the face of the nearest trainee.

As the thunder echoed about the courtyard, the men drew back in shock and surprise, even as the Kingsguard drew their own blades, in case the soldiers took umbrage to one of their own being slain. "Don't be afraid of the Northerner dog's guns: be afraid of mine! If any of you run from the battlefield, I'll have you shot, then I'll have your wives and daughters raped, then I'll have any who survive sold off to the Free Cities as whores!"

Then he turned to Lancel, who was staring at the dead man with a shocked expression, his face white. "There, cousin! I've solved your morale issues. You don't need to thank me: as king, it is my duty!" Slapping the older man on the shoulder, he headed off, handing Blizzard off to a Kingsguard to be reloaded.

If one listened carefully, one could hear the dripping of liquid from Lancel's trousers, since the 'general' had pissed himself.

LXIV: Keep it Simple, Stupid! Part 2

AC 300, The Riverlands, Maidenpool

Theon

The Maidenpool castle had a pretty nice solar. Granted a gorgeous view of the Bay of Crabs, ships with sails like icecaps on the clear waters. Seabirds flying and calling for each other. The sun shining down on the landscape, rendering everything in beautiful colors.

Not that I was particularly interested in gazing out at the wonders of Planetos. I was focused on preparations for the mission, while signing off documents Amarda handed to me.

It was familiar. What I'd done most of my life here. Paperwork, resolving things, and fixing things. Comforting, really.

Even with Amarda right by me, and that awkwardness hovering in the air between us.

"The Freys have brought three thousand additional men to Harrenhal-training them in the new armaments is going to take time given the huge number of recruits," Amarda said, holding up the relevant letter. I read it over, and sighed.

"We'll shift them over to the Tully companies-They've been at this for about two months now," I said, flipping through the papers at the desk. Amarda frowned.

"Why not the Reach companies?"

"Frankly, I don't hate the Reach troops enough to inflict a horde of Freys on them," I said wryly. Amarda nodded, making a note. She was still distant, which was quite a feat for such a taciturn woman.

"Greatjon Umber's demanded we give him more time to train with the portable Bolter," she said, "He estimates at least five thousand rounds until he's fully proficient."

I sighed and pinched my brow. "See what we can do," I said. "But for the record, it's his ridiculous idea, he should be paying for it."

"He is," Amarda noted, "but the Boltons are reluctant to part with so much ammunition for one experimental weapon."

"Don't blame them," I muttered. "Okay. We'll talk him into a lower number... Maybe swing for a few more Bolters in his companies."

"Understood," Amarda said. I sighed and leaned back in my chair, the weight of the last few days hitting me hard. It was like my body, now in contact with a chair, had shed all pretense and just let the fatigue go. And a harsh headache, which made me cringe. Amarda kneeled down next to me, worrying her lip.

"My Lord... We can take a break," she said.

"You can," I said with a sigh.

"Are you so quick to ignore Maester Luwin's instructions?" She asked wryly. I looked up at her and smiled.

"Not ignore... Just... Take under advisement."

"Ignore," she pointed out again. I sighed and rubbed my temples.

"You know, I'm not particularly inclined to go to bed right now," I said. Amarda tilted her head.

"Could I offer..." She trailed off, blushing. I looked up at her with a frown, and a blush of my own.

"... Incentive?" I asked. Amarda grimaced, but managed a stiff nod.

"... That is, if you are interested at all," Amarda said tightly. "After all... I am here to serve you, my Lord. That is what I am, is it not? All I am?"

I stared at her in disbelief. "You... Hang on a second," I said, holding up my hands. "I didn't imply-"

"After all," she continued, eyes narrowed, "I am the mere daughter of a merchant, despite my position at your side. And indeed, many already think we are involved in such a fashion." She turned and sorted through some papers, creasing the surfaces with her nails. "It would not be a stretch, and I'm quite sure politically speaking you would still be able to be matched to a suitable bride-"

I got up and grabbed her shoulders. I turned her around, and she glared at me angrily.

"Amarda!" I said earnestly, "would you let me explain myself?!"

"Now? After saying nothing for days? After speaking with the Princess several times? Or the Wildling woman in your bed?" She asked icily. "You do enjoy throwing yourself into work to avoid unpleasant topics. I've noticed it many times."

"I... Yeah, okay, but you're not one of those unpleasant topics!" I said defensively. "I was... I was just trying to figure out the right time to say what I needed to-"

"What more needs to be said?" Amarda asked coldly, adjusting her glasses in an imperious manner, "the world needs to be saved... And your hand is worth much in marriage now that King Robb is wed. To dally with me would complicate matters. Your decision was completely logical."

"I... But you're still angry," I pointed out. Amarda glared.

"Does it matter what I feel?"

"Does it-?" I smacked my forehead. "Of course it bloody does, Amarda! I do care what you think! And... And what others think of you."

She opened her mouth to continue, but I held up my hand.

"Just... Hang on a second?" I asked. "Okay? Look... The fact of the matter is, Amarda, yes... Part of my reasoning for not... Ya know... Dallying is because... Yeah, I'll probably have to get married for politics."

Unless I figured out a way around that particular roadblock, but... One problem at a time. Save the world from the White Walkers, then sort out my love life.

You know, in order from easiest to hardest task. Only makes sense.

"But!" I grasped her shoulders and smiled at her, "I also didn't... Dally with you because I didn't want people to think that's all I hired you for. I love you for your wit, your patience, your ingenuity... You've saved the North, probably a lot more times than I have. You are someone I care for, very deeply. I could not imagine my life without you, and I never want to find out."

Impulsively, I hugged her tightly. She froze like a statue, and then slowly returned the hug. It felt warm... It felt right...

She blushed. "I... I see," she murmured. "And... You do not wish people to think... Badly of me?"

"No! Never!" I said, shaking my head. "You're not just some... Some mistress I bang. You're just as important to the North as me-More so."

Amarda nodded slowly. "I... I see..." She sighed, and sucked in a deep breath. She looked me square in the eyes. "My Lord... I... I would not mind... What people thought... If we were... So involved," she said. "I appreciate that, but given how I've been treated... Such barbs do not harm me." She rested a hand against my chest, and I broke out in a sweat. "And... I would be... Happy to do so... To be... With you, in such a way..."

"I..." I nodded, and grasped her hand, "so would I... But. It's not just your reputation... Or the politics... It's also the fact that, ya know... We have to save the world." I shrugged. "And hey... What if things went badly? You really want to be stuck with me for the rest of your life?"

"i've been putting up with you for four years," Amarda pointed out, "how much less annoying are you likely to become?"

"Okay, fair point," I sighed. "That said... I would prefer our relationship remain... Professional. Until certain conditions are met by reality." I sighed. "That and... Well... When I do get married... I'd-"

Amarda held a finger up to my lips, and shushed me. She nodded slowly.

"I know," she said softly. "Given how things were in Winterfell with Jon Snow... Yes, such complications would be difficult to surmount." She withdrew her finger, and sighed. "I just... I wish things were not so... Complicated," she muttered. I shrugged, and gave her another hug. And a kiss to her forehead.

"You're the one who says we must see things as they are, not as we want them to be," I reminded her. Amarda sighed, resting her chin on my shoulder. I could feel her heartbeat.

"Yes... You make that very, very difficult, my Lord," she said. I smiled.

"Should I take that as a compliment?" I asked teasingly. I got a hint of a smile out of my assistant.

"You probably would anyway."

"I will!" I said cheerfully. Amarda nodded... And stood on tiptoes to steal a kiss. I felt like my face was going to ignite into flames, as our lips met... Then tongues...

Then she pulled away, gasping for breath. She coughed, and adjusted her glasses and hair-When had I mussed those? She pulled out of our hug, and I felt... Ahem... Nevermind.

"Sorry," I mumbled. She shook her head, taking deep breaths to calm herself.

"N-No... It was my actions... I..." She cleared her throat. "Ahem... Perhaps... I think I will see if the Seawolf has signaled yet," she said quickly. "I-I believe it was recalled from an engagement with a few Royal warships-I will make sure it is on schedule-"

"Of course!" I said with a nod. "And I'll go do... Um... Things!"

"Preparing for your mission!" She seized on. I nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes! That! Of course!"

"Of course," she echoed. "Good day, my Lord."

"Miss Honn," I responded. She turned and walked out quickly, her cheeks still glowing red. I sighed and sat back in my chair, rubbing my temples and trying to dispel the stupid grin I had on my face.

"Good session with your assistant, lad?" Asked a familiar voice. I drew my revolver and nearly emptied the first round into the head of the man grinning at me across the desk. Fortunately it stayed 'almost' as it was Oberyn Martell who had invaded the solar. His grin didn't waver, even in the face of my gun.

"I-Nothing happened-When did you get here?!" I sputtered. Oberyn chuckled.

"Well! I got myself assigned to your mission," Oberyn said cheerfully. "I convinced Lord Tyrion that my presence would be useful."

"I... You didn't have to work too hard, I suppose," I admitted. He smirked and raised an eyebrow.

"All depends on how hard I want to work," he said with a warm gaze that left me a bit flustered. Hey, I may be straight as an arrow but Oberyn Martell is a master at making people double or even triple check their sexuality.

"Ah... Thanks," I muttered. "Glad to have you aboard..."

"It's not a good idea to go into battle with such awkwardness hanging over you, lad," Oberyn said with all the subtlety of a Lannister waving gold in a pouch. "Especially given how the two of you have been carrying on-"

"We haven't been carrying on!" I emphasized, focused on a map of the Red Keep Tyrion had drawn up for me. "I... We've been doing the exact opposite!"

"Which is the problem," Oberyn said with a grin. He reached down and cupped my chin, making me look him in the eyes. "She loves you," he said, with a... Gooey look in his eyes. I coughed and looked aside.

"Yeah, well..." I shrugged. "I can't do anything about that..."

Oberyn sighed. "Lad, I know for damn certain the Ironborn didn't instill this frustrating prudery into you. And the Starks are bad, but not that bad. So tell me... Where'd you get this distressing habit of denying yourself a bit of fun?"

I thought it over. There were times when I still was convinced I was just someone from Earth in Theon's body. And yet, all the interactions with these people who had seemed fictional... And yet were now so real...Made me second guess that. I didn't think I was the Earthborn person anymore... Or Theon Greyjoy. Who or what I was... I wasn't sure. And my drives... They were so blurred between what was original and what wasn't... But...

"... I sometimes think I'm making up for past sins... Or future sins," I admitted. Oberyn was silent. I took a deep breath. "In my mind, there's... What could have been... And there's what I could have done... And what I failed to do... And from the moment I was eight years old, it all seemed to... To crystallize."

The older man frowned. "Lad... You were eight years old. What could you have done to warrant this?"

"I guess," I began, working it out in a way that made sense to him... And myself. "I guess it was this feeling that... That I had so much to make up for. That I was a hostage thanks to my father's ways. Ways that had caused war and death and misery... And in that moment, when I was staring at what was going to be my home for the rest of my life, I... I realized I didn't want that to happen again. I wanted Greyjoy to mean something more than reaver, or pirate, or war and pain..." I sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

Oberyn chuckled. "Bit of a martyr complex... With father issues. I figured it was something like that."

I looked at him sharply. He grinned again.

"Lad, you've had a full head of steam since you reached Winterfell. That I know. And I'm guessing between your two fathers, you tried to please the one who would most likely return favor. Did he?"

"... Eventually," I admitted. Ned Stark was not prone to emotional moments. This made his hugs and his smiles and his pats on my shoulder, rare as they were, all the more precious.

"But he's dead now," Oberyn said. "And it's clear at this point, ya just love bein' clever... But it doesn't mean you need to forsake everything else." He shook his head at me. "And if you're worried about politics and marriage... Let me be clear. Even if you knock up Amarda... Or any other girls, Arianne will still be happy with you. If you yank your head out of your arse, that is." He patted me on the shoulder, and gave me a hug. A hug that lasted a bit too long, but I didn't mind that...

"Oberyn-Hand off my ass or I'll break your wrist."

"Is that a promise?"

"GAH!"